Alacrity Minifics

Upper Crust sighed at her reflection: a geeky, awkward young mare with braces the size of Equestria strapped to her teeth.  All she ever wanted was to be beautiful, but it seemed fate had another plan in mind.  She was plain.  Ordinary.  A forgettable face in the crowd.

After hours of primping herself to what she deemed a passable state of appearance, she finally left the ordinary house of her ordinary parents to head out for another ordinary day of school.  Perhaps today she'd have the courage to speak to her ultimate crush of three years, the wonderful and extraordinary Jet Set.

He was in the running for class valedictorian and captain of the polo team, though a stallion named Buck Withers had lately caught the attention of most mares in her class and was vying for the captain position.  Jet Set was the only one in her eyes, however.  The only problem was getting him to notice her.

On the way to school, Lyrica Lilac caught up with her.  "Hey, Uppa!"  Her voice was, unsurprisingly, perfectly melodic.

Lyrica was destined to sing opera and chase greatness.  She was also the closest thing Upper Crust had to a friend, which wasn't saying much.

"There's only a few months left until the Fall Formal," Lyrica said, beaming.  "How many stallions do you have asking for your hoof?"

Upper Crust kept her eyes forward.  "Zero."

Lyrica gasped.  "Zero?  But Uppa, that's impossible!"

"Clearly it is not," she grumbled in reply and quickened her pace.

"Well, I have four suitors, so I'll simply mention your name when I let down the ones I'm not interested in."  Lyrica smiled with utmost innocence.  "I'll see you in History!"

Upper Crust snorted after they parted ways.  Lyrica was beautiful, with lusciously curly blonde mane that always seemed to be perfectly maintained without a hint of frizz.  It was annoying to be around her and all the ponies that sidled up to her because of her family's wealth, but she was the only pony who would be friends with a mare of no social significance.

Whether it was pity, genuine, or something more deceitful that motivated Lyrica was unclear, and Upper Crust didn't really care to know the truth.

Homeroom was the usual bore of announcements for the day, and then finally, Upper Crust arrived at her favorite club: flag corps.  It was dorky, she knew, and certainly not the way to popularity, but it was something she enjoyed.  She felt competent.  She felt at ease.

While she twirled her flag and marched in time with the beat set forth by the band club, her mind wandered to the Fall Formal.  Her braces wouldn't come off until long after.  The ease vanished and she fumbled with the flag, glaring at her hooves.  Why did it have to be hooves?  Why was it her fault that earth ponies and pegasi were at a disadvantage?  She sighed and fell back into sync with the others.

The Fall Formal was her last chance and it was out of reach.  This was it, then?  This was her life?  She would get an ordinary job like her parents and never rise to join her peers in the high class world of her dreams?

Then she would accept her lot in life with dignity and grace.  Holding her head even higher, tossing her pale indigo and light grey mane over her shoulder, and placing a smile on her face, she spun the flag with one hoof and passed it to the other.

After the blue and yellow flag fluttered across her line of sight, she gasped when she saw him.  Jet Set had wandered onto the field and was watching them.  It felt like he was watching her.  Of course, that was impossible, but she put on the best smile just in case.  If he was going to be watching the flag corps, then she wasn't going to let something like nerves get in her way.  Nerves were a reminder that one hadn't truly conquered fear and had to try harder.

"All right, ladies!" the instructor yelled and the band's music came to an abrupt stop.  "That's enough for now.  Take a break, get some water, then we'll take it from the top."

Just as they started to file toward the water fountain, Jet Set and his stallions approached.  The mares twittered in excitement and giggled to one another, but Upper Crust held her nose high and kept walking.  She would not betray her true feelings and make a fool of herself by melting into a puddle so he could walk right over her to the mare he was actually after.

"Hey!"  His voice was like spearmint gum: cool, refreshing, and with a hint of a brisk thrill.  "Wait up!"

Her peripheral vision was empty.  There were no mares to her sides, and certainly none in front of her.  Finally, she turned her head with a flutter of hope in her chest.  "Hmm?"

He was walking toward her.  His eyes were locked on her.  Her.  She stopped and turned to face him completely.

Jet Set smiled and tilted his head.  "What's your name?"

"Upper Crust," she said as quickly as she could without sounding rushed, but without flashing her braces more than necessary.

His head bobbed in a small nod.  "I see.  Do you have a date to the Fall Formal, Miss Crust?"

She absolutely loathed her name, especially when it was shortened, but he could shorten or lengthen it however he liked.  She responded with a small shake of her head.

"Would you like one?"  He flashed a charming smile.

Behind him, the two stallions that always followed at his heels gasped and glanced at one another, muttering something.  As unladylike as it was to think, her inner voice spat Buck them and she smiled.  "Yes, if it's you."

His ears perked in surprise.  Honestly, she was surprised at herself; an ordinary mare like her being asked to the Fall Formal by a wonderful, handsome, rich stallion like him should be screaming and squealing and blushing and all sorts of things opposite from her current outward reaction.

There would be time for those feelings later when she told her diary all about it.  For now, she maintained her cool composure.  This was her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and she was most certainly not going to waste it.