Just For Fun

From the outside, they looked like sisters. But beneath the surface, they were moving on opposite orbits — one toward success, the other toward something softer and harder to define. Tonight, their paths would finally collide, and nothing would be the same.

Maggie was always a step behind. Not in a way doctors could label, but in how she moved through the world. She saw life through a different lens — one that was slower, softer, and more trusting. But it was her crooked smile, her bubbly laugh, and her boundless love for everything and everyone that best described her. Maggie was sixteen and still believed in wishing on a star.

Danielle, older by a year, was everything Maggie wasn’t — quick-witted, sharp-tongued, effortlessly popular. From the time they were kids, Danielle was the sunbeam everyone basked in. Maggie? The odd shadow behind.

With their parents out of town for the weekend, Danielle had plans — a party to end all parties.

“Can I come?” Maggie asked as her sister clung to her phone, discussing preparations — the important guest list, time, music, beer and liquor, and, of course, what to wear.

“No, Maggie,” Danielle would say. “It’s not for you.”

But Maggie still watched her, adored her, and believed every word she said—because Maggie didn’t have the wiring for sarcasm, cruelty, or suspicion. Yet, in the end, she had plans too.

*****

Maggie stood at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the banister, her mother’s old evening gown slipping from one shoulder. It was Robin’s egg blue with sequins everywhere. Pearls hung softly around her neck—too long, but they made her feel beautiful. Her blonde curls cascaded gently over her shoulders.

Below, music pulsed. Laughter rose and crashed like waves—teenagers draped over furniture, plastic cups in hand.

“Danielle?” Maggie called down, her voice hopeful.

Heads turned. Danielle looked up, her expression stiffening. “Oh God, what is she wearing?” she muttered.

Maggie took a step down, careful and proud. “I dressed up,” she said, smiling. “For the party.”

There was a pause. One of the boys whispered something—a ripple of laughter.

Danielle’s date grinned. “Loosen up. Let her come down.”

“But—” Danielle started.

Too late! It was the invitation Maggie needed to hear, and she descended the stairs like a princess floating down to her Prince.

She entered the living room as if it were a ballroom. Her bare feet peeked from beneath the gown’s too-long hem. People stared at her with wide-eyed expressions, while others sported cruel little smirks and made crude comments behind their hands.

Unfazed, Maggie made her way to the table, piled high with party food. She picked up a strange roll wrapped in seaweed and sniffed it, wrinkling her nose. “Smells like fish,” she mumbled.

“Try it!” someone shouted.

She took a bite, then quickly set it down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her face scrunching in confusion.

Next, she reached for a brownie. Chocolate was safe. Comforting. She took a big bite and smiled.

“Better,” she said softly.

What she didn’t know was that it wasn’t just chocolate. Someone had thought it’d be funny to spike the brownies with something more substantial — an edible, passed along as a joke.

It didn’t hit immediately.

But within minutes, her smile turned glassy. She swayed slightly as she walked, blinking like her eyes weren’t quite cooperating.

“I think I need some air,” she said to no one in particular.

Danielle leaned toward a girl with too much eyeliner. “Someone get her a drink. One of the fruity ones.”

The girl giggled as she mixed a concoction, pouring vodka over punch. She handed it off to Ben.

“Give it to her,” Danielle whispered. “She said she wants some air. Take her outside.”

Ben hesitated. He wasn’t cruel, but he was seventeen, unsure of himself. Danielle was watching. Everyone was.

He nodded.

Outside, the porch was quieter. Crickets hummed beneath the music’s distant thump.

Maggie sat beside Ben on the steps, the folds of her gown pooling around her feet.

Beside the railing, a small wooden stool held a sketchpad and pencil — something she must’ve left there during the day. Without a word, she reached over, picked up the pad, and began to draw. Her hand moved softly, the pencil whispering against the paper.

Ben watched her in silence.

After a few minutes, she looked up and handed it to him.

It was a pencil sketch — two small figures on porch steps. Ben, with his camera slung over his shoulder. Maggie in the gown, barefoot, smiling.

Ben stared at it.

“You just drew this?” he asked, stunned. “Maggie… this is amazing.”

She smiled gently. “Sometimes, when things get too loud, I draw what I want to remember.”

He folded it gently. “Thank you.” He tucked it in his camera case.

She took the cup from his hand and sipped. “Tastes like lemon candy and fire.”

He offered a tight smile. “Probably just juice and soda.”

They sat in silence. She hummed a little tune. Her head tipped slightly.

“I think the stairs are moving,” she whispered.

Ben turned. “Maggie?”

She giggled, blinked, and tried to stand. Her knees wobbled. He reached out, but too late.

She crumpled, the sketch pad slipping from her hands, landing on the porch step.

Inside, someone peeked through the blinds. “She drank it!”

Laughter.

“Take a picture!” someone called. “Ben, come on — this is your thing!”

Danielle pushed her phone into his hand. "Here — do it! Save it for posterity."

Ben stared at her, then down at Maggie, who was now blinking slowly, a dazed smile still on her lips.

"Say cheese, Maggie!" someone called.

Maggie, clearly woozy, held up two fingers in a peace sign and tried to smile.

Ben raised the phone and clicked.

The laughter roared. A moment later, Danielle took her phone back and snapped several herself.

Ben stood frozen. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked quietly.

Danielle shrugged. "She's fine. Just having fun.""

He left the party without another word.

He didn't sleep that night. Or many nights after.

****

Weeks later, long after the photos had gone viral, long after Danielle had disappeared from the headlines, Ben stood alone in his quiet apartment, packing up his gear for his first professional gig. After graduation, instead of pursuing a college education, his uncle offered him his dream job, and he accepted.

Checking and rechecking, he opened his camera case, making sure everything was there.

A folded paper with worn corners poked out of the side pocket – Maggie's sketch.

He held it for a moment, thumb brushing the edge.

She had drawn him the way she saw him, not as the boy who handed her a drink, not as someone who watched her fall. But as someone who might still be kind. Someone who could change.

That piece of paper weighed nothing in his hand but everything in his heart.

He tucked it in his coat pocket before walking out the door, smiling as her smile crossed his mind.

*****

Years passed. Danielle finished college and hit the big city like a whirlwind. She was ready to take on the world — wearing the right clothes, meeting the right people, saying the right things. The society papers loved to splash her face across their pages.

Maggie stayed in town. She worked at the shelter. Drew in her notebooks and sent Danielle birthday cards with flowers drawn in the corner. And had daily lunches with the pigeons in the park.

One spring day, Ben recognized her on the park bench. The shame of that night still haunted him. He started to turn away, but a familiar voice called out, "Ben, it's Maggie. Do you remember me?

A warm rush settled under his shirt collar when he nodded.

"I remember you," Maggie said with a grin. "You were nice to me."

Ben choked back his emotions and stammered, "Yeah, it's been a while. How's Danielle?"

Maggie's smile dimmed. It wasn't that she hadn't expected him to ask about her sister, but she'd hoped he'd remember her first. "Oh, everyone knows Danielle flourishes like a flower in the garden. I'm sure you've seen her in all the society pages."

"Actually, I'm so busy taking wildlife photos for my uncle that I rarely see anything else." Something tugged at his heart, and he added, "But I'm glad I saw you."

"Me too," Maggie said, then added with a shy smile, "I've been hoping to see you again."

"Do you have time for coffee?"

Neither knew it, but that moment was the beginning of a growing relationship.

*****

Months later, she knocked on his door with a flyer in hand. Danielle was hosting a Visionary Weekend —something to do with a gala event.

"Think she'd want to see me?" Maggie asked.

"Let's find out."

Maggie was like a kid in a candy store when Ben pulled his car into the estate. Neither had imagined Danielle was living so lavishly. They both sat there, staring at the impressive façade, until a valet tapped on the car window and asked to park the car.

It was a long drive, and they arrived late. The flyer said 'Visionary Meeting,' but by the number of people, it was much more than that. Maggie's mouth was wide open as she tried to take in all the glitter and glam — champagne glasses, glittering chandeliers, soft music, and Danielle stood in the center of it all, smiling.

A half-naked man was kissing her neck, and his hands gripped her derriere.

The scene behind her moved the upstanding party in another direction. Men and women, some scantily dressed, were lounging everywhere on spacious velvet couches — drinking, devouring chocolate-covered cherries and other delectable goodies.

Danielle turned, and her smile disappeared as the blood drained from her face. Someone caught her champagne flute as it slipped from her fingers.

"Maggie?"

"Surprise!" Maggie yelled, possibly too boisterous for the guests gathered around her sister.

Danielle, dressed in a glittering gown and dripping diamonds, stepped forward slowly. Her voice was husky. "What are you doing here?"

With the innocence of someone truly pure of heart, Maggie replied, "I missed you."

There was a pause. The music played on, muffled by the whispers and snickers from the guests. Maggie and Ben were clearly underdressed and unprepared.

Ben leaned in slightly and whispered, just loud enough for Maggie to hear, "You didn't tell me it was going to be this much fun."

Maggie’s eyes widened at the scene around her — the velvet couches, the champagne, the man still adjusting his clothing behind Danielle.

“I guess Danielle’s stepped up her parties,” she murmured.

Ben almost laughed — not because it was funny, but because it was Maggie. Sweet, sincere Maggie standing in a room built on mirrors and smoke, still seeing her sister through the best parts of her heart.

Ben lifted his camera and clicked.

There was a flicker in Danielle’s expression. Panic? Recognition? But she recovered quickly, turning her body slightly to block the view, lifting her chin as though nothing had just cracked open.

Maggie didn’t speak. Her gaze drifted over the velvet couches, the flickering lights, the champagne, and sequins — and then settled on her sister as if trying to find the girl she once drew on birthday cards.

She touched Ben’s arm.

“Let’s go,” she said softly. “We shouldn’t have come.”

He nodded, already pocketing the camera.

They turned toward the doors.

Danielle followed, heels sharp on the marble floor. “Maggie, wait.”

Maggie paused, hopeful for a moment.

But Danielle’s voice was all surface.

“Next time,” she said, “you might want to call first.”

Haughtily, she turned to Ben, her tone shifting. “And the pictures? You better delete them.”

Ben met her eyes, steady.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” he said. “You taught me that.”

Danielle’s face twitched.

Maggie stepped forward and placed a folded piece of paper in her sister’s hand — a sketch, delicate and careful. Danielle smiling. No diamonds. No gowns. Just joy.

“I just wanted to see my sister,” Maggie whispered. She walked out with Ben beside her.

Danielle stood there, still holding the sketch. She glanced down at it. For a moment, her expression softened. Her voice returned, low and tight. “He'd better destroy those pictures.”

But she already knew. He wouldn’t.

*****

In the car, Maggie stared out the passenger window, the glitter of the estate fading behind them.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

After a long moment, she said softly, “We were kids, Ben — I’ve let it go.”

Ben kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. “You were kind,” he said. “She was cruel.”

Maggie didn’t argue. She didn’t have to. She just reached across the console and laid her hand over his.

He gave it willingly.

Epilogue

Ben sat at his desk, the edited photo open on his screen — Danielle mid-laugh, her diamond earring askew, her gaze just slightly off. Behind her, the party had blurred into something unpublishable. He’d erased all of it.

Except her.

He didn’t need the credit. He’d seen enough over the years to know stories didn’t need his name to make a point.

He sent the image to a journalist friend, someone who still wrote with integrity and owed him a favor.

“No credit. Use it if it fits.”

Before deleting the rest, he pulled up one final file — the unedited photo from that night.

He attached it in a message and sent it to Danielle with only four words:

Just for fun. Remember?

Quietly, he deleted the rest — all but one — a picture of Maggie.

The sketch Maggie had drawn of the two of them remained, folded neatly in his drawer.

*****

A Week Later

Maggie stirred honey into her tea and flipped through the Morning Gazette.

Halfway through, a headline stopped her:

“Small-Town Girl Meets the City — Visionary Figure Withdraws from Initiative Amid Questions”

Beneath it, a photo: Danielle, alone in a gown, still beautiful but with a look just uncertain enough to crack the illusion.

Maggie traced the edge of the image, her finger pausing on her sister’s face.

She said nothing.

Instead, she picked up her pencil and opened a blank page.

Today felt like a good day to draw forgiveness.