Sorry (Seems To Be The Hardest Word)

Chapters

Ombra Di Dubbio
Non Sarai Mai Perdonato
La Famiglia Dell'amore
La Compassione Regna Trionfante
Troppi Problemi

Ombra Di Dubbio

Sour Sweet was not enjoying recess. Namely, she wasn’t busy sneering at other students’ fashion tastes. Instead, she sat fuming in her corner of the cafeteria.

“Can you believe I got five detentions?” she complained.

On the opposite side of the table, Sugarcoat wiped her glasses. “Is that question for emotional support,” she droned, “or do you want a real answer?”

“Tch, why do I even ask?”

Next to Sugarcoat, Lemon Zest lowered her sketchbook. “Dude, we must be swapping karma or some stuff! When Cinch was in charge, I was always getting detentions. Now Cadence is in the hot seat, you’re getting all my detentions. How does it feel!?”

“Yeah,” said Sunny Flare, who as usual sat next to Sour Sweet like a twin sister. “I’m pretty sure karma doesn’t work that way.”

“But it could, right?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. “Right. Get back to your doodling, Lemon.”

“Kay yay!”

“Well honestly, what did you expect?” Sunny returned to the imperative task of brushing her eyelashes whilst using her wrist device as a mirror. “You acted out. Cinch didn’t care, Cadence does. Tough break.”

Sour Sweet held out a hand for the eyelash brush. “Yeah, well, it was totally worth it. Lovejoy always had it out for me.”

“Dear, everyone had it out for you. It’s what you got for talking back, for starters.”

“Cadence’s choices are a complete joke!”

“Pretty funny stuff, though, right!?” Indigo Zap landed hard on her seat, knocking the table and nearly spilling her lunch over everyone else’s. “Heheh, Lovejoy’s not getting much joy out of love, am I riiiiiight!?”

No one else laughed.

“Hilarious,” said Sunny carelessly.

“Well, you all laughed earlier,” muttered Sour Sweet.

Awkwardly, Lemon shrugged. “In the classroom, yeah. It was kinda funny. But… now…”

Sour Sweet looked at them all as if she’d never met them before. “Cadence is getting to you, isn’t she?”

“You were the one complaining Cinch was an out-of-touch tyrant,” droned Sugarcoat.

“That’s different.”

“Not really. Now you complain Cadence is an interfering tyrant.”

Growling, Sour Sweet flopped against her backrest. They were the Shadowbolts, the team beyond all teams, the cream of the crop, the enemy’s nightmare. Something had gone sour the last few months, though, and she was sure it wasn’t her. She was pretty sure it wasn’t her. Over 50%, at any rate…

They were normally so reliable. Even under the puffy-wuffy pillow of Cadence’s care, there was something fundamentally spiky about the Shadowbolts. If they’d ever gone to see the greatest cinematic romance of all time, they still would’ve ended up mocking it, sleeping through it, pointing out the plot holes, or (in Lemon’s case) trying to change the channel within five minutes.

It had made Sour Sweet proud. They didn’t leave the world alone to read a dumb book; they barged into its room, tore the book away, pinned it down, and shouted, “NOTICE ME!” It was what got her out of bed most mornings.

And now it just wasn’t working. The Professor Lovejoy stuff about the boyfriends had been A-class material, but no one else had talked about it since. Not like they normally would. There seemed to be an unwritten rule now.

Instead, talk switched elsewhere.

Lemon kept on sketching whilst she talked. “Hey, did anyone catch last night’s episode of ‘Who’s My Friend?’ Canter Zoom was on the panel!”

Sunny sneered. “I don’t watch tacky game shows.” Then she noticed Lemon’s expression and added, rather nervously, “But… I guess I could… start.”

“What are you even doing?” said Sour Sweet, who was getting annoyed by the scratching of Lemon’s pencil. “And what’s with the open textbook?” She pointed at the copy of The Old Man and the See-Saw.

“Brain thinging,” said Lemon, not looking up. “You know the saying ‘A picture’s worth a thousand words’?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh oh,” whispered Sunny, with a small smile that vanished nervously.

“Well,” continued Lemon, “supposing you drew a picture of a thousand words? Then, if each word is technically a picture, that must mean each word is worth a thousand words. So what do ya got? A picture worth a million words!”

Once the concepts of logic and common sense had been adjusted for a “Lemon” setting, Sour Sweet’s brain stopped hurting so much.

“Um…?” said Indigo Zap. “Way to go, dude?”

“I can see you’ve thought this through very carefully,” said Sunny.

“Is it much fun on Planet Weirdo?” snapped Sour Sweet.

Trick pulled off, Lemon grinned at her smugly. “Better than Planet Frowny-Face.”

After a while, Sour Sweet realized she was getting really sick of the sound of tapping feet. “Sugarcoat, what are you doing under the table?”

Sugarcoat immediately stopped. “Ballet practice. I’m practising my footwork.”

“Well, do you mind? It’s getting on my nerves. Some of us don’t have practice to look forward to later on. Some of us have detentions to deal with.”

“You wouldn’t have, if you didn’t keep tormenting the new teachers.”

Sour Sweet looked up sharply, but then thought better of it. In a rational butt-kicking contest, going up against Sugarcoat would be like going up against a porcupine: she wouldn’t be fazed, and you’d only end up with a load of barbs in your leg. She simply didn’t have room to be intimidated, or embarrassed, or anything remotely overemotional.

So Sour Sweet rounded on Sunny. “You’re sane. You explain to her why this is all – What are you doing?”

A sapphire eye stopped jangling: Sunny took her hand away from her earring. “Like it? They’re gold-framed with Ancient Somnambulan royal markings. I call them ‘Pharaonic Statement’.”

Deep inside Sour Sweet, a little girl who’d once bonded over jewellery gazed back in starry-eyed awe. Around her, however, several layers of flint bristled.

“What lovely earrings!” she trilled. In an undertone, she added, “If you want ears that stare back.”

“That’s not all they do. Watch.”

Sunny held up a second sapphire earring, pressed the eye-like gemstone in the centre, and then lowered it to the floor and slid it across. As one, the Shadowbolts watched it slip neatly under a distant table where three girls and a boy were chatting excitedly.

From Sunny’s ear came the faint mumblings of recorded conversation.

“Two-way radio,” explained Sunny. “Perfect for a little eavesdropping.”

“Ears-dropping!” Indigo Zap beamed.

“Quite,” said Sunny. Then she caught sight of Lemon’s eyebrow. “And for… contacting friends, if necessary. I do love a multifunctional accessory.”

Sugarcoat watched the distant table. “That seems like a good way to get them smashed.”

Seconds later, an errant foot from one of the girls hit the floor hard. Sunny yelped and yanked her earring off; they all heard the sharp crack, as of a two-way radio suddenly hitting static and falling silent.

Sniffing, Sunny fished a third earring out of her pocket. “Lucky for me, I always have a backup.”

“Why’d you want to eavesdrop on them?” said Indigo.

“Well, keep it under your hat –” Sunny glanced up at Indigo’s head. “– or goggles, but I heard Jet Set and Upper Crust are dating.”

This awakened a flurry of interest around the table, except for Sugarcoat, who merely looked less sleepy.

“Noooooo!” crowed Lemon.

“Yeeeaaah,” crowed Sunny back.

“What’s so surprising about that?” said Sour Sweet, despite her own pink stirrings in what passed for her soul. “Everyone could see it.”

“What, like, actually dating dating?” said Indigo, craning to see.

“Awww, but aren’t they just perfect for each other?” Sour Sweet patted Sunny’s hand. “Do you think they’ll –?”

“Absolutely. No one can stick their noses up in the air like those two. They’re soulmates.”

“Cool,” said Indigo. Then she grabbed Sunny’s arm and tapped the touchscreen display. “This thing have P.E.G.?”

“Er…” said Sunny Flare. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to watch the Grand Pegasus Prix! They’re starting in five minutes!”

Growling, Sunny Flare yanked her arm away. “Then get your own D-Cannon. You’ve got the money.”

“Dad cut off my allowance! After I bought that yacht last month! He said if I could afford a Wind Rider, I could afford to start my own software company.”

“Oh, you must be so hard-done-by,” muttered Sour Sweet.

“What? I can’t help it if my family’s rich.”

“Thanks for offering us a ride, by the way.”

“I told you guys already; Dad won’t allow it. He says private is private is private. Anyway, last time we had a party on Dad’s yacht, he said we left stains where there shouldn’t be any stains –”

“Shush, shush! He’s coming!” hissed Lemon urgently.

They didn’t need telling. The room had suddenly darkened.

A massive form shuffled among the tables. Grim scratchings marked the raking of the crystalline floor by a broom that had doubtless been hacked away from the elder branches of a graveyard yew at midnight. Rumblings grumbled as the dustpan clanked on hinges of iron, snapped up the errant scraps of Pharaonic Statement, and conveyed them as a mortal sacrifice to the yawning pit of the portable garbage can.

The effect was ruined by the squeaky wheel as his trolley went past.

Only once the room had brightened did they relax.

“That janitor,” droned Sugarcoat, “is creepy.”

“You’re not kidding!” Lemon gasped. “I heard he once caught a student trying to carve her initials into the bathroom door, and then he picked her up with one hand, opened his black pit of despair, and –”

“Garbage can,” corrected Sugarcoat.

Lemon gave the scowl of a good storyteller heckled by an inferior audience. “He’s pure evil!”

“I bet he stalks people after school,” whispered Sunny, shivering.

“And mugs them for coffee mugs,” said Indigo.

“What?”

“I broke into his janitor’s closet once. He had loads of chipped mugs.”

“Maybe he’s a runaway warlord in hiding,” said Lemon.

“Or an ex-con,” droned Sugarcoat.

“Or a thug,” said Sunny.

“Or an international jewellery thief!” said Indigo.

They all looked at Sour Sweet, who scowled back.

“He’s just some guy, you know?” she scoffed. “Listen to yourselves. You don’t make up stuff to make him look bad. You snoop through his stuff and look for evidence that he’s bad. Then you put him in his place.”

Irritably, Sunny backhanded her arm.

“What?” said Sour Sweet, rubbing the spot.

“I wouldn’t boast about that sort of thing, if I were you.”

“What, I should make up stuff out of nowhere like you weirdos, you mean?”

They scowled at each other, then looked away from each other and idly tapped their own lunch trays.

“‘Put him in his place’,” repeated Sugarcoat. It didn’t sound any better in a dull monotone.

Lemon groaned. “We’re really screwed-up, aren’t we?”

Moodily, Sour Sweet took a swig of grape juice from her plastic cup. “Speak for yourselves,” she grumbled.

“Er, excuse me?” said Sunny; she made a noise between a cough and a laugh. “We’ve handed out our apologies already.”

“Like when?”

“Like… last week? When we said we would?” She noticed Lemon’s cocked head. “Except for Lemon, who did hers a month ago.”

“Yeah,” said Lemon, fidgeting on her seat and putting her pencil behind an ear. “That was… fun.”

Sour Sweet felt four unfriendly gazes weighing down on her. It wasn’t fair. They’d all bullied and picked on people whenever they felt they could get away with it. What made her so special…?

Guilt laughed in her skull. Of course she was “special”. The worst the others had done was passively treat people like Twilight Sparkle with barely disguised contempt. Sunny and Sugarcoat had preferred to keep their distance. Indigo had largely acted like Twilight was letting the team down. Only Lemon had treated Twilight as halfway human, even though, e.g., Twilight had no idea who The Nightmare Moon Wish even were, or what their number one hit from three years ago had been. But at least she’d tried.

Sour Sweet, though? To her, Twilight – apologetic, awkward, overly nice and sickeningly polite Twilight – had been some kind of personal insult. And Sour Sweet paid back insults with interest.

She wished she could go back in time and slap herself.

“So…?” said Indigo.

“I’m working up to it!” shouted Sour Sweet.

Sunny snorted. “Right, because saying ‘I’m sorry’ needs so much rehearsal –”

“Back! Off!”

A hush of outrage washed around the circle. The Shadowbolts would sneer at the idea of team loyalty, but even in their twisted hearts, there were some things you just didn’t do.

Sugarcoat cleared her throat. “It’s no good lashing out at us,” she droned. “All you’re doing is projecting your own inadequacies onto other people and doubling down on your own antisocial behaviour. It’s classic reactionary overcompensation. You’re just refusing to let go of the same maladapted behaviours that have seen you through the last few years. You can’t say sorry to your past victims because you won’t let go of your old persona. It’s a fundamental identity crisis.”

After a careful pause, Indigo jerked a thumb in her direction. “What she said.”

“She means you’re stuck, dude,” said Lemon.

Gently, Sunny patted Sour Sweet’s hand, which was trying to help grip the rest of Sour Sweet in a tight self-embrace. “Look, Cadence is better than Cinch. That’s all there is to it.”

“Tarn dooting!” said Lemon. “We’ve never had it so good, man. Maybe it’s time you let it go? Say sorry to Twilight. Everyone else has.”

“It wasn’t easy for us either,” droned Sugarcoat, “but if we can do it, logically you can too.”

Sour Sweet’s lip trembled. It trembled some more because she was fighting to hide it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get your point,” she said.

“You scared, yeah?” said Indigo.

Sour Sweet broke out of her own embrace with fists and gritted teeth. She didn’t do anything else for a while. Then, the geyser of fury ran dry; Sour Sweet collapsed into a sullen little world of her own.

“Huh,” said Sunny as though the entertainment was over. “Guess everyone’s got issues. Come on. Class is about to start.”

Patiently, Sour Sweet let them all leave first. To make sure she was left alone. She was trying not to think about Twilight, but she couldn’t hide from her own thoughts.

Non Sarai Mai Perdonato

That evening, Cadence held the first detention in Professor Lovejoy’s classroom. On one of the desks, Sour Sweet’s muttered insults and complaints were just quiet enough for Cadence to pretend she couldn’t hear them.

Normally, she’d have used the principal’s office, but Cadence had started feeling her stomach tighten at the thought of that place. All those piles of paper ganged up on her like a lawyer’s committee, and their silent smugness reminded her too much of Cinch.

Besides, there was a chance Sour Sweet would associate her own punishment with her actions here. Or maybe not. At this point, Cadence was willing to try anything.

To show some solidarity, the principal kept herself busy with her own paperwork. Both girl and woman wrote together in complete silence.

Neither for fun. Principals, Cadence thought, were deans on overdrive. Between the revised mission statement – a waste of time which the schoolboard had insisted on – and the scheduling of the next field trip, she was still puzzling over the mystery of where all the staff mugs had gone.

She looked up: Sour Sweet wrote as though the paper had personally offended her.

Cadence wondered if she should say something. Reassure her, maybe. Ask her if she was all right, or if she wanted to talk about anything. Remind her they were in this together, and not against each other. Dean Cadence wouldn’t have hesitated. Hadn’t.

But principals weren’t supposed to “baby” their students, so she put her head down and continued writing. Her soul recoiled. She didn’t want to seem like the bad guy.

She paused.

No: she didn’t want to be the bad guy.

Cadence stared down at the droningly official sentence slowly cooling on the paper. This was all going wrong. Her heart said so, and firmly. Yet if she called off the detention, it’d send the wrong message.

At least Sour Sweet was doing something more thoughtful than just lines. For her punishment, she was to write an essay on the right to privacy and the respectful treatment of other people’s emotions, and on why it was wrong to do what she’d done to Professor Lovejoy. Hopefully, that was indeed what she was doing: Cadence wouldn’t put it past her to deliberately write something offensive.

Tick… tick… tick…

The hour hand clicked into place. Cadence sat up straight.

“Time’s up, Sour Sweet,” she said.

Sour Sweet dropped the pen as though scalded. Her satchel hit her side so hard it bounced.

“If there’s anything you’d like to discuss, I’d be more than happy to…” Cadence was talking to an empty classroom, and the distant footsteps died away. She sighed and tidied up the desk.

The janitor waited for her at the entrance, already wiping the trophy display. His gaze was intense, determined to destroy every germ foolish enough to trespass on his quiet kingdom. She gave him a quick “Goodbye, Mister Sombra,” then glanced back suspiciously. Then shrugged. Then moved on.

Ah! A walk at sunset!

Cadence breathed generously, as though to reward her lungs for all their hard work. Passion burned orange overhead, the breeze rustled the trees like the susurration of wings, and her heart felt for a moment as free as a bird, tethered to the mortal earth only by the dragging gravity of her legs.

Her walk took her along a green paradise within town. Pedestria Park was ablaze with the rainbow flowerbeds of spring, but the gathering of wispy firs and fuzzy grasses made it seem as though Nature wanted to woo everyone. Better still, Cadence saw people she recognized: walking dogs, shepherding schoolchildren, pushing prams, or sitting on benches and drifting off to the Land of Nod.

Shops and eateries lined this side of the road, and Cadence heard the soothing violin music – played over speakers, admittedly – of what she called the “love café”: The Golden Match.

Couples sat outside already. Most talked happily or at least politely, but Cadence counted three kisses in full throttle.

She had to smile. Romance always calmed her down and lifted her up, spirited her away to a better place, and left her spoiled for choice. Maybe Lemony Gems and Spearhead had come here? If not, she had to recommend it. How lovely it’d be to see them together…

Assuming they remained a couple.

Cadence remembered the flushed fury aflame in Spearhead’s face. Commitment anxiety: she’d seen that look before in other men. For pity’s sake, she wished Shining had been a bit gentler with him. Or that Spearhead had felt strong enough to resist. Or that Lemony had told her sooner, so she could help them both deal with bumps on the road. None of her friends’ love lives ever suffered when Cadence took an interest.

And that was the problem. People screwed up. If only this, if only that… If only Sour Sweet didn’t keep acting like she didn’t care, like they’d had no friendly history together…

Part of Cadence – especially the part that had spent hours trying to decipher the handwriting of officials – wished she could throw up her hands and run away. But if she did, she wouldn’t be Cadence. She could never stop. The price for smiling and helping was that she always had to smile and she always had to help.

And she had to do it even when she secretly thought a quick smack behind the ear would do someone a world of good, because usually the only world that felt good would be her own, and that for all of five seconds.

In Cadence’s world, she didn’t help people because they were nice. She helped people because they were people. Gratitude was just a bonus.

Unfortunately.

Then she spotted Cinch.

Cadence stopped and doubled back to check.

Definitely Cinch. In the park, gazing out over the duck pond, sitting alone at a bench along the gravel path. Still dressed as though she’d come back from a tea party for accountants.

Cinch. Former Principal Cinch. The one who’d gone to the Friendship Games full of spiteful pride, and who’d come away offended at anything less than a straight win. Cinch, who’d dumped this mess on –

A car honked.

Cadence caught herself crossing the road. She waved at the driver apologetically and hurried on over.

What in heaven’s name was she doing? Going up to Cinch was a waste of time!

Before she could cross the road again, Cadence hesitated. Was there something smug in the way Cinch sat there, like a gloating grandmaster?

No. Cadence didn’t want to pick a fight, and she couldn’t argue with someone like Cinch. She might as well shout at the wall; at least the bricks wouldn’t raise a supercilious eyebrow.

The last time Cinch had told Cadence to deal with a student’s problems, it had been gym student Fleur, an obvious model-wannabe who’d been struggling to eat anything.

Hatred hit Cadence like a tidal wave. If Cupid had tried hitting her with one of his arrows, it would have bounced off.

Unfortunately for the script hastily being improvised in Cadence’s head, she was spotted first.

Cinch offered a token smile as Cadence approached. “Ah, the new principal. I trust all is going well at my old school?”

Cadence’s hands froze into fists. “As well as it can be,” she said coldly.

“So I hear. Yet my eagle eye sees that you are somewhat stressed. I hope the pressures of maintaining my school’s good name are not too much for you?”

Cadence resorted to barefaced politeness. “How are you keeping these days?”

“Quite enjoying my retirement. For the moment, that is: I have more ambitious plans regarding certain… interesting discoveries.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Cinch looked at her as though she was a backwards pupil. It was a look she had mastered over her spectacles long ago.

“I refer, of course, to the magical nature of events during the last Friendship Games. Obviously, CHS are too clueless to capitalize on the discovery of a lifetime, but I am already making enquiries of my own. I am… well-connected, after all. Several young physicists, for instance, owe their careers to me.”

“Well…” Futilely, Cadence fought against the pincer attack of anger and sudden worry. “I’m glad you’re keeping well.”

As though she were a grandmother enjoying children at play, Cinch watched the ducks drift by. “Yes, you simply have no idea how well-earned this feels after a lifetime of service.”

That was it.

Cadence snapped.

“You mean a lifetime of driving students insane, ignoring the bullies right under your nose, blackmailing students –” Twilight’s pained cringe hit Cadence’s memory like a lightning bolt. “That lifetime of service?”

To her fury, she saw Cinch smirk as though at some idle joke. “My job – and yours now – is to encourage the brains of the future, not to coddle bleeding hearts. I merely did what was best to achieve that end.”

“They’re children, not tools!”

Cinch put her palms together and tapped her lips as though Cadence had asked her to solve a complex riddle. “I see your point, despite your petty and childish means of expressing them. But consider: those students will become useful to society. Some must fill necessary roles. Therefore, only the cream of the crop are the top priority. I don’t deny my methods were… exacting. The results, however, speak for themselves.”

Already, Cadence knew this was a waste of time. She felt the cold, relentless grip of Cinch’s rationality crystallizing around her own head. That was Cinch’s trick: that’s what she’d done to Twilight. She spoke like she was being patient with you, because you were too stupid to understand…

Not a dust of doubt was allowed anywhere near Cinch. She showed not the slightest hint of regret. She’d wanted functional, mechanical wonders from her students, and anything “human” – anything that had a mind of its own, or feelings, any weaknesses, any “broken goods” – was garbage to be tossed aside. And she’d never apologize for the blood and tears. She wouldn’t see that there was anything to apologize for.

She was like a machine herself. You shouted at it and kicked it and demanded it feel your pain, and all it did was ignore you and await its real instructions from someone competent.

Cadence remembered herself in time. Gently, she breathed in, hand on heart, and then breathed out, sweeping the weight out of her aching chest.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound level, “I’m glad you’ve found a new calling.”

“One that could change history,” said Cinch. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on CHS.”

“You stay away from Twilight.” The words escaped Cadence’s lips before she could stop herself.

Both of them stared at each other wide-eyed: Cadence in horror, Cinch in dismay at this scandalous breach of etiquette. The ducks slid further away from their side of the pond.

Then Cinch adjusted her spectacles; behind them, her eyes dulled to pure cold blue. “You always were overemotional. So protective of your charges. I imagine it’ll prove a credit to you when the schoolboard receives this year’s exam results.”

She stood up in one graceful move, like a ballet dancer made out of birch canes.

“By the way, have you solved young Sour Sweet’s emotional problems yet? Mood swings, family issues, I daresay a deficit of love and affection like some kind of undernourished office plant… You see, I remember her best as one of my more promising students, but I also recall you took a special interest in her. Or vice versa. Certainly, she visited your office devotedly.”

Cinch’s smile opened and shut like window blinds.

“Made any significant progress?” she asked.

Despite herself, Cadence felt the righteous anger leak out. Without it, she felt empty. No more meaningful than a bit of shaped air.

“I see. I can’t say my hopes were high. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time acting as their ‘mother’. It’s not in your job description.” Somehow, Cinch’s gaze didn’t seem to be focused on Cadence. More on something past her.

Instinctively, Cadence turned around.

A head ducked behind a tree some yards away, but the whiplike ponytail was unmistakeable. Its owner thought so too; she gave up and stepped out.

Cinch chuckled. “Bringing your work home with you now? You are committed, I’ll grant you that.” She gave Cadence a curt nod. “Good day, Dean Cadence.”

The crunch of gravel died away.

Sour Sweet and Cadence stood staring at each other. In those painful seconds, they were both younger, both too drained to do anything but sit in a pink office, both trying not to think of how embarrassing the echoes of hurt words had been, both seeing the drops of sympathy in each other’s…

Then Sour Sweet frowned, and her eyes gained too many years in an instant.

Cadence hurried forward as the girl turned on her heel. “Sour Sweet, I know you’re frustrated, but you shouldn’t listen to Cinch –”

“Oh, yeeeaaahhh,” belaboured Sour Sweet over her shoulder, her voice like honeyed venom, “because obviously I’m going to care about some old bat being a sore loser.”

Cadence hurried faster, hand reaching out. “I can help you. Please, there’s no need to be afraid –”

“Like I can’t walk wherever I like after school. I wasn’t following you, anyway. Don’t touch me!”

Cadence’s hand fell. Sour Sweet’s shoulder had only been inches away.

“And another thing!” spat Sour Sweet, not even bothering with cutesy sarcasm anymore. “Twilight’s not your problem. She’s moved. Let it go already!”

“Is that what this is about?” Cadence spoke like she was running over quicksand. “Look, please understand I’m just trying to set things right, and you –”

Sour Sweet hugged herself but did not turn around; Cadence let her have some space. “I already apologized! At the Friendship Games! I don’t see why I have to do it again!”

“Yes, I heard that ‘apology’. Blaming Cinch doesn’t solve anything, believe me. Anyway, that was for the Friendship Games. Think for a moment, Sour Sweet. What about the years before that at Crystal Prep? Don’t you think Twilight needs an apology for all that? A proper apology? Don’t you think it’s only right –”

“Whatever! I’m going home!”

“It’ll help you too!” Cadence shouted after her. “I’m trying to help you!”

Sour Sweet’s angry strides might have been convincing if it wasn’t for the quick wipe of her arm against her eyes.

And that was the worst part. Cadence couldn’t help someone who didn’t want help. Her instincts screamed at her, but she couldn’t. She could only watch.

Beautiful sunset or not, Cadence didn’t enjoy the rest of her walk.

La Famiglia Dell'amore

By this city’s standards, Sour Sweet’s house was pretty normal. The norm, admittedly, was for a house containing four bedrooms – one a guest room – all the up-to-date tech needed to flawlessly stream the latest crime drama, and a lounge that could’ve been the set for a 90’s sitcom. But it was… home.

As soon as she stepped in, she stumbled under the lunging cuddly-wuddly of her Daddy-Waddy.

“Hewwo, pwecious!” he burbled, kissing her forehead with a “mwah!” “And how’s my widdle sweetie-kins?”

“Get off me.”

“Daddy-Waddy bought a tweat for ’oo.”

“Pfft, whatever.”

“Wook! It’s your fave-wit!”

Grimacing, Sour Sweet looked. In his offered palm, there was a shiny new case for a shiny new game called VR Town 2: Shiny New Streets. According to the sticker, it was suitable for all ages.

She took it as stiffly as she dared and tried to indicate as stiffly as possible that she would bin it as soon as possible.

“See?” Her father pouted: she noticed he was wearing a pink, frilly apron over his evening suit. “Daddy-Waddy always wuvs his pwincess.”

Sour Sweet gagged. “Like an idiot loves a stuffed teddy, maybe.”

“Aw-haw-haw! You’re sooooooo funny!”

What she really hated was the sting when he pinched her cheek. Her dad must have gone insane years ago, which probably explained why he seemed stuck in his daughter’s infant years.

“Now, why did my naughty widdle pixie come home so wate?” he said, tapping her on the nose. “Daddy-Waddy was waiting in his big bad car to take you to horsey-worsey widing, and you never showed up!”

“That’s… because… you… suck!” hissed Sour Sweet.

It was petty, she knew, but five seconds in his choking company made her want to kick. Once upon a time, she’d have felt bad whenever her dad’s lower lip wobbled. That had been sometime before she’d learned her ABCs.

Then her dad’s brain decided that the infantile fantasy made for better viewing and slotted in another roll of film. He laughed: a gurgling giggle that made Sour Sweet’s teeth tense.

“Ohoho, no special pudding-wudding for you, sweetie-kins! Daddy-Waddy will just have to buy you another boring ol’ choccy cake instead.”

From upstairs came a sharp yell. “Shorten Sweet! Are you ready yet!?”

Even Sour Sweet winced. Glass shards scraping against iron would have sounded better.

Her father tore off his apron and hurled it aside; his very tie was pink. “Weady, my wuv!”

“Ugh,” scoffed the woman coming downstairs. “You’re pathetic.”

“Just as ’oo say, pumpkin!”

“Shut it! Don’t you dare even think of talking like that at the party!”

Sparkly red dress swishing around her stiletto heels, royal purple gloves bearing a cigarette-holder as long as a cane, and auburn hair bunched up into an impressive rich mink around her skull-like face, Sour Sweet’s mother swept into the hall, the only housekeeping she would ever do in her life. She looked as though she’d come from a long line of scythes, and her sweeping gaze had much the same effect on her daughter.

A switch flicked in Sour Sweet’s mind. Her dad was little better than bubblegum stuck in her hair, whereas her mother…

“H…” Sour Sweet’s feeble fingers waggled in a weak wave. “Hi, Mommy! I… love-love-loooove that dress you’re wearing!”

Her mother’s sneer scythed at Sour Sweet’s face. “Decided to join us at last? Good thing you don’t work for my company – yet.” Her mother’s tone suggested anything less than corporate ambition would result in immediate family disownment. “Heaven help you if you get a job, the way you’re heading. Where were you?”

“Awww, Mooom,” said Sour Sweet in a nervous sing-song voice, “I was juuust on my way hooome, I prooomise!”

Her dad pinched her cheek again. “You hear that, Sour Milk?” he babbled. “Our pwecious is sowwy.”

Her mother snorted like a smoking pipe being blown clean. “Trashing some back-alley with that Lemon brat? Well, that’s too bad, because you’re getting no dinner tonight.”

Like you ever do anything anyway, thought Sour Sweet, who was too scared to do more than clench her fists behind her back. Her mother had long ago taken one look at Lemon Zest’s wild hair and assumed she was some TV-infamous delinquent.

Sour Sweet’s gaze took in the tiny handbag her mother was trying to make glitter in the lamplight: it was about big enough for a chihuahua. “Oooh! Are you two going somewhere special!?” she squealed.

Her mother waved her aside. “Spoiled Milk –”

“I think it’s Spoiled Rich, my sweetheart,” corrected her father.

“Spoiled Milk – like she deserves to be called ‘Rich’! She’s nothing but a gold-digging slacker! My sister is hosting a soiree, and several businessmen will be there.” Sour Sweet’s mother spoke as though that was the sole reason she was putting up with this nonsense. “I was going to make a few calls to the office tonight, anyway. If I play my cards right, this could lead to big things for Grindstone Technologies. And as for you…” She jabbed her daughter with a claw-like fingernail. “You are getting nothing unless I see homework completed and your room tidied when I get back.”

“But Mooom, I haven’t got any homework!” pleaded Sour Sweet, wringing her hands together.

“Wrong! Attitude!” Her mother planted a cursory kiss on her cheek as though she didn’t want to get infected, then signalled for her bowing and scraping father to start the car. “Your grades have been slipping, and I’m not having people talk about my daughter unless it’s A-grade material. You hear me? Shape up or ship out.”

“Yes, M–”

The door slammed.

Outside, more doors slammed. An engine started up and then faded away.

Safely alone.

Sour Sweet slumped. Who was she kidding? She was never safe. It was like saying a pond was steady just because no more bricks were being hurled at it; the ripples would take ages to settle before the next brick arrived.

Nerves. She needed to steady her nerves.

So she went to one of the garages. The others held her mother’s various cars – one for business, one for vacations, and so on – but this one had been left to Sour Sweet’s devices.

There were:

Three archery targets.

Seven mounted longbows.

Twelve quivers full of arrows.

Lots of space.

Sour Sweet snatched up the red bow this time; this wasn’t a peaceful blue day, and there was no way she’d touch the pink sparkly one. Her dad had bought that one. It sucked: too tight to draw back the string properly.

Deep in the misty past, Sour Sweet’s ancestors had stampeded across the steppe on the backs of warhorses, shooting down game and chasing other tribal warriors. That age of wild equestrianism was long gone, but it left cultural heirlooms behind as if they were old swords, ones that were kept because they were still really good at slicing shields in half.

She fired. Fired. Fired. Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye.

Then she woke up from her mindless motor memory and noticed the photo.

Bang in the middle of the target where there should have been a red dot, a taped photograph of Twilight Sparkle’s face.

Long ago, Sour Sweet wouldn’t have cared. Twilight was one of those horrible, apologetic wet blankets that reminded her too much of Dad. If Sour Sweet had been a boxer, Twilight’s photo would’ve been taped to a punching bag.

But now?

Sour Sweet raised her bow and arrow, tensed, aimed…

…trembled with the effort of holding…

…stared down the innocent glasses of Twilight. Sighed. Lowered her weapon.

She had no defence against this sudden rush of fury. Why should she do anything!? This was all Cadence’s fault! If she hadn’t said that stupid – If she hadn’t, that – The way she spoke, it –

“GAH!” Sour Sweet nearly threw down her bow; only professional pride stopped her. In one swift movement, she swiped forwards. Twilight’s photo was gone. Simple.

She aimed again.

She lowered again.

What was the point? All the fun was gone now. A black slick of sickness slimed all over her. She felt unclean – impossible to clean off again – feeling nothing else ever again –

She shoved the bow away and loped off to her room, seeking refuge. Slammed the door. Threw herself onto the bed. Played dead for an hour – not that she needed much practice. Didn’t even hear the clock tick.

It was like she had too many Sour Sweets in her head, and they all kept fighting for control.

Suddenly, she wanted to talk. She hadn’t even wanted to move an hour ago, and now she felt if she didn’t talk, she’d break something.

Snatched up her phone.

Dialled… Dialled…

Dial who? She checked the contacts list. Picked the first name she liked.

Waited.

Beep… beep…

Click.

“Yeah?” Sunny Flare. Not one to mess around.

“Hhhiii, Sssuuunnyyy…” Argh! She couldn’t even coo right! Not in this mood! “You doing anything tonight?”

“Theatre. Music Be The Food of Love is on at the Dramatis Personae tonight.”

“I thought you saw that one last week?” That’s right, she thought. Let’s pretend this is all totally normal…

“Nah, that was Lag of a Brother?”

“The one with the ugly guy as the lead?”

“No! You’re thinking of The Green-Eyed Monster. Week before last.”

“How do you keep them all straight?”

A pause: Sunny had probably shrugged out of reflex. “It’s a knack. Wanna come? Could be funny.”

Sour Sweet waited to see how she felt, or if any feelings were forthcoming at all. “Er…”

“Don’t feel like going out tonight?” Sunny’s voice was far nicer than Sour Sweet had expected.

She pinched her nose to steady herself. “Sorry,” she said, and to her own surprise heard how it slumped on her tongue.

“Hey, no biggie. Hang in there, and all that jazz.”

“Er, OK. Bye, Sunny.”

“Bye, Sour Sweet.” Beep.

Sour Sweet wasn’t sure whether it was cool or sad that she thought of Sunny as the closest thing she’d ever get to a sister. She dialled another number.

B– Click! “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!?”

She hung up: Lemon Zest was exactly the wrong choice. She began dialling another number before she realized Indigo Zap wouldn’t be much better.

No, none of them could help. In Sunny’s case, Sour Sweet really didn’t want her to think she needed help. She didn’t believe she needed help herself! Not really! And she’d believe it right now, if she knew what was good for her!

Sour Sweet wondered which of the many Sour Sweets in her head had just threatened the others, and whether she realized that was stupid.

She stared at her phone. Pain was threatening to climb up her throat.

There was only one way out…

Very, very reluctantly, and not just because she resorted to it very, very rarely, she dialled the number for Sugarcoat.

One thing everyone forgot was that “Cadence” wasn’t her real name. She’d always preferred something less exotic, more approachable, and had simply insisted on it for so long that everyone now called her that. She only ever signed official documents with her real name.

Technically, she was Principal Mi Amore Cadenza.

There was only one place where she would let that slide, though. In the one place where her name wasn’t remotely exotic at all, and where approachability was never an issue.

The closer Cadence drew to the ivy-strewn cottage on the outskirts of the suburbs, the more she relaxed as the festering worries and rotten nerves were scoured clean from her system. Fresh country air washed her from the inside out, and lights spilled out of every window to greet her. She managed, despite the corners poking out, to force the day’s stress behind a curtain in her mind.

Cadence knocked once, twice, three times.

The second she stopped, an uproar swept through the house. Faint excited conversations took flight, muffled name-calls darted among them, and footsteps gave a drumroll towards the front door, which swung open in alarm at the sight of the large man barrelling through it.

His percussive belly settled down a little while after he did. Then his beaming face heralded the arrival of gracious goodwill.

“Mi Amore!” he boomed. “The great maestro returns!”

“Love you too, Dad,” she replied.

For such a large man, he moved with a balletic grace, as though he were mostly made of curved light and billowing cloth. The many kisses he planted on each of her cheeks could have been brushings from a royal eiderdown.

“Aha,” he boomed, his voice’s natural volume as subtle as an iron bar, “she is not quite full of spicy passion today! It’s exhausting, I see, setting right what once went wrong, my little crusader!”

“Knock it off, Dad,” said Cadence, feeling her kiss-burned cheeks sizzle. “I wouldn’t call myself a crusader.”

“Maestoso,” chided a flutier voice from behind the eclipsing father. “She’s tired. Let her breathe.”

A smack of a rolled-up magazine persuaded Maestoso to shift his bulk aside, revealing a woman who had rolled up her sleeves and clearly was one of the strong few capable of handling such a large mass of husband.

Cadence’s mother planted only one kiss per cheek, but she made up for it with firmness: a cheek kissed by her stayed kissed.

“Well, Mi Amore, you took your time coming back,” she said. “Almost missed dinner. Take the scenic route?”

Cadence was too tired even to come up with a half-truth. “It’s been one of those days, Mom.”

“It’s been a lot of those days lately…”

“Tutti, come come!” Maestoso ushered them in as though introducing the grandest of operas. “Bring Mi Amore into the warmth!”

Gratefully, Cadence for once let someone else take the reins as she was pulled inside by her mother and boomed at by her father. Lots of faces peered through from the dining room; it seemed the family had trebled since she was last here. There were faces she didn’t recognize right away.

Through the greetings and kisses and generally being passed around like a sacred Straddlevarius violin, Cadence already felt the last of the principal crawl away and slink into hiding, leaving just… her. On instinct, she swam among the sea of faces and picked up interesting specimens from the colourful corals. Not all family: friends too, platonic loves brought along to eat at the same table – perhaps something left over from the ancient days of nomads and communal feasting huts – and even better… Cadence’s heart gave a flutter… lovers! Boyfriends and girlfriends, engaged, married, nervous, proud, intimately entwined, chastely polite, and many more besides.

Then she remembered: Hearts and Hands Day! On the massive bowls of lasagne in the centre of the long table, she saw her mother had managed to engrave the symbol of the holiday. Two hands clasped around each other, tight as if lamenting they couldn’t become one flesh.

Some of her relatives already had tomato sauce staining their empty plates. Evidently, she’d missed the early performances and was just in time for the interval.

Bracing herself, she let her fussy mother manhandle her into a chair beside her father, who kept breaking off from excited chatter to plant a kiss on his wife whenever she passed. Most of the nearby children were already going “Yuk!” and turning their noses up at him. The adults didn’t bat an eye. Several of the men, in fact, were trying the same thing with their wives, to some muffled complaints between mouthfuls.

Cadence helped herself to a ladle, no mean feat when multiple hands grabbed for it one after the other. Eventually, she managed to scoop a portion of molten cheese for herself. New bowls and ladles appeared as soon as the old ones emptied, thanks to her mother’s keen eye and swift reflexes.

“Mmm,” rumbled Maestoso. “Cousin Coloratura has moved out of her family’s farm.”

It was taken for granted that everyone around the table wanted instant family news.

“I thought she might,” said Cadence, settling in. “Her heart was always set on singing.”

“Didn’t you give her lessons?”

“Just a little informal training.”

“And a lot of hope. She wants to make it big in the city! She doesn’t settle for half-measures, does she?”

“Good,” said Tutti in passing, who fended off another of her husband’s ballistic lip-bombs. “A little ambition is a good thing. I don’t hold with this ‘crab bucket’ nonsense.”

“I’ll have mine with tartare sauce,” said Maestoso absentmindedly.

“I mean it’s good to seek a better life, better jobs, better prospects. Envy is a crab in a bucket pulling its brothers and sisters down.”

“Seriously, can I have that with tartare sauce?”

This earned Maestoso another light whack via rolled-up magazine. He chortled into his dinner. Further along the table, one of Cadence’s brothers was spooning large chunks of mixed vegetables into his girlfriend’s mouth. She’d predicted that couple herself. Five years ago. It had always been a special talent.

Well, ’tis better to give than to receive –

“Did you hear about Lemony Gems and Spearhead?” she asked innocently.

Maestoso’s shout choked him with ricotta and mozzarella. Cadence thumped his back until he could speak above a quaver again.

“Noooo!” he exclaimed.

“I called it, didn’t I?” Cadence’s smirk was as sharp as a scimitar.

“Oh, how lovely,” said Tutti over plates of garlic bread. “You met them recently?”

Cadence’s smirk went flat. “No, I… heard about it. But I’ve been predicting it ever since they met at the opera last year.”

“There’s an idea! You should follow Coloratura’s advice. Go back to the opera.”

“That… might be a bit tricky right now, Mom.”

“Mmm,” hummed Maestoso shrewdly, “and all is well in Loverland, I take it?”

“What do you mean?” Cadence knew all too well what he meant.

“I remember your Lemony. Full of hot sauce, yes! But so, so strong, no ordinary man could tame her. I don’t know; she might be too spicy for this Spearhead.”

For all his posturing, Cadence sensed the secret game being played right under their noses. Of course, her father loved a good romance as much as anyone – no one who sang with that hip action could be doubted – but he tested her, always pushing back a little, forcing her to brace herself.

“Actually,” said Cadence, “she loves the artistic-athletic type.”

“Aha. So you want to make a new wager, eh?” There was a twinkle in Maestoso’s eye.

“You’re on, Dad!”

“But!” His voice was so bass the plates rattled. “You wouldn’t interfere by helping them both! Would you, Mi Amore? That would be cheating!”

Hardly a challenge. His game face was granite, but Cadence had long since learned to dig deep for the softer stone underneath.

“There’s no rule against me trying to help them both,” she retorted. “It’d only work if the love was there anyway. And if it’s there, then with me or without me, love will out.”

“Still as quick-tongued as ever, I see!”

“And besides…” Cadence shrugged apologetically. “…I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Maestoso tutted, as of a chess grandmaster whose apprentice had fluffed a check. Between them, Tutti slid into the space available for a while; one of the aunts had taken over fussing duties.

“And what about Shining Armor?” whispered Tutti.

Cadence felt herself quivering red under the friction. “I’ve… seen him around.”

“Has he popped the question yet?”

“Mom!” Cadence banged her elbow against the backrest.

“Well, you shouldn’t dawdle, Mi Amore. You can’t let such a fine man go. Oh, I can see your passion! The love between you: it is a fairy-tale love!”

“Moooooooom…” Cadence squirmed.

“And we want some grandkids,” piped up Maestoso.

Cadence dropped her spoon and choked on a slice of garlic bread. It took her mother patting her at a faster and faster tempo before she could breathe again.

“Daaaad!”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt.” But he quailed under his wife’s stern eye and pretended to be very interested in whatever had just made his son double up with laughter.

Trying not to think about herself and Shining, Cadence tucked a stray curl behind her ear and returned to her lasagne. “We’ll see, Mom.”

“That’s a wager I know I’ll win.” Tutti winked but wisely dropped the subject. More brightly, she added, “How is Twilight these days?”

At least this was a less-fraught subject: Cadence’s mother asked every time. Once, Cadence herself had introduced Shining and his family to her family, and so far it had been the only time Twilight had gathered evidence that Cadence hadn’t just dropped out of the sky like a wishing star. Twilight had tried to hide behind her mother – she’d been at the age when her mother’s skirts were a kind of portable security blanket – but to Cadence’s relief everyone had ended up merging as if they’d always known each other. It certainly helped that Cadence’s mother and Twilight’s mother had known each other from their schooldays. She’d wondered for a while if all mothers knew each other…

Tutti had treated Twilight as though she were one of her own; somehow, the little one’s panicky overuse of “please” and “thank you” had made a nice change of pace from jostling elbows and cheeky husbands. Guiltily, Cadence wondered if Twilight even remembered her.

“I’m pleased to report,” said Cadence, “that Twilight is much happier now she’s among friends.”

“Awwww.” Tutti wiped away a tear.

Maestoso, however, gave a gruff grunt. “And happier now she’s away from old enemies!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” was Cadence’s gut response. Images of Sour Sweet leaped to her defence.

“But she was bullied!”

“Everyone needs guidance, Dad. Even bullies. It just has to be the right guidance.”

Maestoso snorted, accidentally spraying aubergine bits over the table. “Sorry, Tutti… No, Mi Amore, I’m afraid you are wrong! Once a bully, always a bully. You don’t eat bad eggs. You find fresh ones.”

“No, Dad, I don’t agree.”

The tones were soft, but it was as if a wizard had banged his staff once on the hard floor. The echo was almost a click. The magic, a spark. It even seemed as if the table quietened down, just for a moment, except sheer familial momentum was an unstoppable force in this household.

“Ah, my little crusader.” Maestoso, shaking his head.

Cadence felt as though someone had poked her sharply in the eye. Shadows of the principal shot back into the breach.

“It might not be my job,” she said, firm as her mother, “but it’s my duty to help people find their best selves.”

“Ha! I thought you were going easy on all that testing-and-grading nonsense!”

“No, I mean their best selves.” Cadence remembered she was at home, safe among loved ones. She relaxed. Her fist had clenched itself; she flattened her palm, traced a soothing clef in the woodwork invisibly as though about to start composing a masterpiece. “You might say it’s another kind of love, Dad.”

Tutti wrapped an arm tight across Cadence’s shoulders.

Maestoso nodded, whilst around him the voices of love rose to a crescendo. “Ah me. I am not so sure as you, my little crusader. But! I shall say this: if I am wrong, then I will be very happy – and proud – to know that you were right.”

La Compassione Regna Trionfante

The next day, Cadence began in a wonderful mood. It wouldn’t last long: it was just the stock and ammunition she needed to get through another twenty-four hours. Like any seasoned veteran, she knew she’d end the day with a lot less. One day, she’d run out.

On her walk to school, she dropped by the training field. Coach Shining Armor was there early, along with his teammates. This time, he didn’t seem so keen on bellowing.

“So,” he said with breezy if loud nonchalance, “let’s try for the Thunderstreet Trident Technique, and see how it goes. Cherry Fizzy, you’re on left wing…”

Several seconds of tactics followed. Then he stood back and watched.

Cadence briefly considered sneaking up and covering his eyes again, but she figured the straightforward approach would be better today.

“Switching it up today?” she said.

He didn’t even react; they’d met so often he could recite her weekly schedule from memory. “Just something different. Most of the guys didn’t look too hot coming in, so this is a little warmup to get the blood pumping. Nothing strenuous.”

Slyly, Cadence looked sidelong at him. “Aw, that’s too bad. I like you when you’re… strenuous.”

Shining was getting much better at not turning red as a lobster; instead, he shrugged in a gruff, manly way. “It’s just common sense. They’re only human. And a good coach knows how to work with his team.”

He earned a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Although that said, Caramel’s still getting distracted and Noteworthy insists on a three-by-three tackle feint instead of the more conventional two-way.”

“I’ll… take your word for that.”

“Looking forward to another day at Crystal Prep?”

“It’s early morning, so… yes.”

For the first time in a long time, Shining Armor took her by both shoulders and rewarded her with 100% of his gaze. The last time he’d done that, he’d come within inches of proposing. Not very romantic in the middle of a ballgame, when she’d been holding popcorn.

“You’re going to make Crystal Prep into the greatest school yet,” he said seriously. “I believe in you.”

“Shining!” Giggling, Cadence brushed him off as gently as she could. “I haven’t even fixed the budgeting problems. One step at a time, OK?” After a while of watching Caramel try to run and text at the same time, she added, “But thank you for the vote of confidence. It’s been a while since I heard anything like that.”

“Then it’s only fair you get a double dose, isn’t it?” He grinned. “You’re going to make Crystal Prep –”

“Stop that!” She slapped his arm, but playfully.

Someone coughed behind them. They turned.

“Spearhead!” Shining’s relief popped like a balloon. “Great to see you, buddy! Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about yesterday –”

Yet Spearhead raised a hand as a shield. “It’s OK, bro.”

“No, it’s not OK. I want to say sorry for –”

“It really is OK, bro. If anything, yesterday was a providentialization I needed.” Cadence and Shining’s lips moved whilst they tried to decipher this one. Then Spearhead clapped them both on the shoulders. “I got an epiphany, man! There I was, humilificationed and over-disgraced –”

“Look, I know I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on –”

“– when it pre-occurred to me: Spearhead, I said – it was like the voice of divinity, man – you don’t need the wrong man’s life right now. Your muse a-calls, and what she needs, I deliverates.”

Then he held up – between forefinger and thumb – a ring.

Cadence squealed so loudly the rest of the team looked around in panic. “Spearhead, that’s wonderful news!”

“So I’m ascending to family-mandom,” said Spearhead as solemnly as if he were reading from a holy book, “and that’s when I figure-outed I really wanted to follow my true calling: speedrun art.”

Cadence didn’t squeal at this, but she kept smiling. “Oh. Yes. And you do such… uh…”

She glanced to Shining for support.

“Fascinating hues!” he supplied hastily. “It’ll be a blow to lose you. Sure I can’t persuade you to come back?”

Spearhead drew himself up to his full height, enjoying the long view of his future. “Where the wind blows, kindred spirit…. Where the wind blows…”

He strode out.

Shining turned to Cadence. “What does that mean?”

“I think it means you’ll need a new player. And…” she added, tittering, “…I think I just won a bet.”

Hours later, she was still smiling in her office. Quite a feat, considering the height of her in-tray. And considering who she’d just summoned.

The door shook. Once, twice, thrice.

“Come in,” she said.

The presence poured into the room, flooded over the light, sagged into the visitor’s chair like a dragon upon a hoard. From Peak Sombra, the mountain-of-a-man peered down at her.

To her own surprise, Cadence wasn’t even nervous. Warm, fuzzy feelings still flowed through her like liquid chocolate.

“Ah, Mister Sombra,” she said cheerfully. “I have some good news for you.”

He didn’t stir. He just loomed.

“Since yesterday, I’ve been thinking about your proposal… but not in the way you think. You’re always very committed to looking after the school, yet you’re always so quiet and intense. I’m sure a lot of people are intimidated by that, and I can understand some quite nasty stories might follow.”

Still, he didn’t stir. Still, he just loomed.

“Maybe you don’t mind,” said Cadence, briefly wishing she could read minds. “Maybe you do. But you’ve been working here a long time – under Cinch. I’ve figured it all out. The mystery of the missing mugs, I mean. And I also think it’s about time someone said it.”

The janitor’s eyes narrowed.

And Cadence reached down and pulled out something shiny, which she placed on the table.

His gasp was like a thundercloud stirring. There on the table, faceted and bright and magnificent as a trophy…

“It’s yours,” she said, buffing it theatrically. “I bought it on the way to work. It’s recognition for all your years of hard work and dedication. Let me be the first to say you’ve long since earned it.”

Lovingly, as if in a daze, the janitor picked it up and turned it this way and that. He even paused when he noticed the engraving. His name.

“CRYSTAL MUG…”

“But,” said Cadence warningly – he shot her a sharp look – “I will need the other mugs returned to their rightful places. We’ll say no more about that. But perhaps we could have some sort of yearly reward for janitorial excellence? A trophy? I’m always open for suggestions.”

Mister Sombra regarded her with his usual stoicism.

Then he said, “I WILL CONSIDER THIS…”

He didn’t exactly say “thank you”, but perhaps behind those walls he was just overcome with emotion. Cadence hadn’t been expecting a 180, and she wasn’t going to demand one. She just felt better as his strong presence gradually swept out of the room like the retreating clouds of an awestruck storm.

For now, she went back to drafting financial requests.

The door was still open. After a while, she became aware of some muttering beyond it. One of the voices managed to mutter in a drone, so that was definitely Sugarcoat. It wasn’t hard to guess the rest.

Nonetheless, Cadence pretended to be engrossed in wrangling some financialese into her draft until someone knocked. She looked up. It was Sour Sweet. There was also Lemon Zest’s unmown grass of green hair poking out from the side: she wasn’t completely successful at hiding herself.

Sour Sweet rubbed her arms as if to warm herself up. “Erm… Principal?”

It was as if Cadence were still the dean. “Yes, Sour Sweet?”

“Can we talk?”

Cadence nodded and gestured to the guest chair opposite. She resisted the urge to smile; it might send the wrong message.

Sour Sweet hesitated. It had been a long time.

“I think I understand,” began Cadence, by way of encouragement. “Please, take a seat.”

And Sour Sweet did, hesitantly. Her gaze forced itself to meet Cadence’s, even though the rest of her face wanted nothing to do with it. She seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible.

“It’s about… Twilight,” she confessed.

Cadence heard some of the whispers from beyond the door. Sounded like four voices.

She read the signs: Sour Sweet had suddenly shut down. This was simply unfamiliar territory for her nowadays. It hadn’t always been so.

“I think it’s very brave of you to come forward,” said Cadence gently, and with delight she found the old words coming back like long-lost friends. “And I want you to know that regardless, I’m still on your side, Sour Sweet.”

For a moment, Sour Sweet looked shocked and angry, but then her face carefully shut down again.

“I know it’s been trying,” continued Cadence. “You worked hard to become one of Cinch’s top students, but there was always someone better. Always someone with the higher grades. Someone whose life seemed luckier than yours: loving parents, a brother to help her, and an easy path to success. Someone a bit too 'goody-goody' sometimes, maybe…”

Sunny Flare muttered darkly beyond the doorway, followed by a shush from one of the others.

“…though I think even you missed one detail. Twilight didn’t have any friends. You’ve made plenty of your own. Sometimes, it’s good to remember other people aren’t as perfect as they look.”

Cadence winced; she’d had enough talks with Twilight too. It was amazing, she thought, what went on behind people’s masks. If only they talked to each other…

Nervously, Sour Sweet raised a shaking hand; her voice wobbled as though about to duck for cover. “What if I said all those things I did were… just jokes?”

Just jokes. Cadence had heard that one before. A plethora of responses burned in her throat, but she had to extinguish them because each one required Sour Sweet to still be a pain in the backside. Not like this…

Sour Sweet’s hand fell back to her lap.

One outraged response jumped out of Cadence’s throat and into her mind: Really? So when your mom once said on parents’ day she’d have preferred a Twilight over a Sour Sweet, would it have been better if she’d been joking?

To Cadence’s surprise, Sour Sweet sniffed and wiped her own eyes with an arm. It took her a while to compose herself, and Cadence saw no future in rushing her.

“Can I…” Sour Sweet swallowed the lump in her throat; she hadn’t done that in years either. “Can I… have some help this time?”

Cadence glanced up at the doorway to where Lemon’s hairs still poked out.

“No, no, I meant…” But what Sour Sweet meant seemed beyond her. Once again, she shut down.

Then the penny dropped.

“I’d be delighted,” said Cadence. Time for that smile, she felt. “When would you like? After school today?”

From the doorway came Indigo Zap’s “YEEEEEEEES!” and a sky-punch; Sunny had to drag her back out of sight.

Cadence pretended not to notice. “I’ve got time after school. Is that OK?”

Another beautiful sunset, another end to a long day…

Despite Sour Sweet’s nerves – she was pulling at and stroking her own ponytail as though considering strangling herself with it – Cadence felt the gentle burning of the clouds warming her soul. Times like this, she wished she could burst into an aria, pay tribute to nature. Maybe one day, opera would be an option again…

She put a gentle hand on Sour Sweet’s shoulder. “Here’s a trick that might help.”

And she placed a hand on her chest, breathed in, and let out the breath and her worries with a single decisive sweep.

Sour Sweet nodded. Copied her, somewhat shakily.

They stood outside Canterlot High, near the podium of what had once been their statue until the Friendship Games happened. Students trickled out. Every time the front doors burst open, Sour Sweet gave a jolt.

“It’ll be fine,” whispered Cadence.

“Oh, sure,” said Sour Sweet out of sheer nerves. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s only been years and years of constant torment…”

Beside her, Sunny reached down and squeezed her hand. Sour Sweet waited for her own shaking to stop before yanking her hand out so she could prove she didn’t really need it. The other Shadowbolts gathered around in silent interest.

Then, the doors opened. Familiar faces came out: Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy, then the quiet confidence of Sunset Shimmer, and finally smiling against all expectation and history…

Twilight Sparkle.

Sour Sweet gulped. “OK… H-here I go…”

“You got this, Sour Sweet!” shouted Indigo after her.

“WOOO!” shouted Lemon.

Cadence watched as Sour Sweet approached the knot of friends like a soldier about to be executed – no, more like a lover about to make the confession of a lifetime. The Shadowbolts had thought of themselves as fighters for too long…

“She’s very lucky to have friends like you,” said Cadence.

“Yes,” droned Sugarcoat.

They all watched. Twilight’s friends chatted and skipped and shrugged and laughed and generally seemed a world away from Sour Sweet. Then Twilight looked up – her smile fled briefly – before its generosity returned in full force. Sour Sweet stopped and flinched as though a fist had been raised against her. Then Twilight’s friends noticed. Their expressions were more… conflicted.

Cadence crossed her fingers and bit her lip.

Eventually, Sunset coolly waved the others off… probably making an excuse… and Twilight and Sour Sweet were alone. Twilight looked like she’d found an old friend; Sour Sweet looked like she wanted to go find one at high speed.

Cadence hoped, hoped, hoped…

Sour Sweet began gesturing, wildly flailing, talking to the air next to Twilight, occasionally stopping or pinching her own nose or hitting herself as she fluffed a point. Her speech went on for a while.

“She’s really bad at this,” droned Sugarcoat.

“Well,” said Cadence, “sometimes it’s good enough to show you’re making the effort at all.” She winced as Twilight’s smile turned to twisted confusion. “Even if… the result isn’t… that good.”

Sour Sweet seemed to tire of beating about the bush, because she stamped and growled at the sky before facing Twilight, who uncertainly took a step back. That caught Sour Sweet, who waved her hands placatingly, hugged herself, and took a deep breath.

“Good stage presence, though,” commented Sunny.

They watched as Sour Sweet said something. Cadence could read the lips from here.

I’m… sorry.

Sour Sweet coughed and extended an arm ramrod straight, and Cadence realized some of her mother’s influence had stuck to her like dirt: the poor girl was trying a business-like handshake.

There was a frightened pause.

Relief swept through Cadence as, with a spring, Twilight tackled Sour Sweet in what turned out to be a very Pinkie-Pie-level hug. Sour Sweet had raised her arms in self-defence, and now didn’t seem to know what to do with them.

“She did it! She did it!” hissed Lemon excitedly. The Shadowbolts let out nervous giggles.

They broke apart: Sour Sweet coughed and straightened up. A few more words were shared, with smiles – even if only of relief – and they waved and parted.

Twilight looked up and noticed Cadence watching her.

Cadence beamed and waved back as Twilight’s friends closed in again, much more cheerfully this time. Cadence also caught Sunset’s eye, just for a moment. And in that moment, Cadence felt another weight slough off wonderfully. The scales of the universe, for now, felt as though they were tilting in the right direction.

As soon as Sour Sweet was back in hearing range, the Shadowbolts swarmed around her. Indigo slapped her on the back so hard she staggered, whilst Lemon danced a little jig around her. Sugarcoat and Sunny contrived to look as unruffled and cool as a hurried “Not bad at all…” would allow.

Cadence placed a reassuring hand on Sour Sweet’s shoulder. “How does it feel?”

Sour Sweet screwed up her face. “Weird. But… nice.”

“Let’s do this again sometime!” yelled Indigo.

At this, Cadence decided to steer things due Sensible. “Not so fast. Let’s just take this one day at a time, OK?”

Sour Sweet wiped her brow.

Alongside and around her, the Shadowbolts followed Cadence on the long walk away from Canterlot High, away from the excited chatter of Twilight’s new friends, and away from Twilight’s last-minute “call me” sign – which caught Cadence off-guard for a moment, but which she nodded at gracefully on her way past. Twilight was certainly picking up a lot from her new friends.

“So are we, like, back to normal now, or is this a new normal?” said Lemon.

As if Cadence hadn’t been caught out enough today… “I’m sorry?”

“Well, that was neat and all, but then we go back to normal, right? Only a better normal?”

Cadence tried this out a few times in her head until it clicked into something. “You know, Lemon, that’s actually very wise.”

Sunny sidled up to Cadence, pouting innocently. “So… I heard you and her brother were…”

Despite herself, Cadence felt the young blush rushing to her face eagerly. “Not just yet.”

Nonetheless, the other Shadowbolts were aflutter at the unspoken words.

“Rock on, Principal!”

“Congratulations.”

“YEEAAHHH! WEDDING BELLS A-RINGIN’!”

“Seems a logical match.”

“Thanks,” said Cadence. “Although I hear Jet Set and Upper Crust are an item now too?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” said Sunny, launching into a long gossip session which completely succeeded at steering talk away from Cadence and Shining Armor.

Among the girls, the nervous face of a younger Sour Sweet peered back from years gone by. “So… what happens next?”

Cadence’s mind paused.

What could happen next? She’d go home and spread the good news, and then she’d wake up and come back and find the scales, while slightly lighter, still heavily lopsided. There was still all the paperwork and doubts and leaking funds in the Cinch-shaped hole she was trying to fill. There was still the fact that Sour Sweet had a… particular family to go back to. And there was probably going to be a lot of fuss for the upcoming wedding, and old friends’ address books to find, and other stuff she hadn’t remembered yet…

She tried the breathing trick again. It didn’t solve everything. But she looked at the sunset, and suddenly the harsh and distant fire became a reflection in calm waters.

“Well,” she said, breathless with excitement, “now it’s on to the next challenge!”

Sour Sweet grimaced. “You mean there’s more?”

Cadence knew what she was thinking. “Oh, you can always take it slowly if you like. Ask Twilight’s friends if they want to meet up sometime. And you’ll always have help whenever you ask.”

“Tch, right.” Sour Sweet looked away before the blush betrayed her. Even now, her fear resisted.

“What I find,” said Cadence, grinning at the imagined wink in the sky, “is that the best things in life are always worth the challenge…”

Troppi Problemi

Principal Cadence’s first act in office – or so it felt to her – was to sit down and peer at the sullen scalp of Sour Sweet, sitting opposite. It was an act that was becoming drearily familiar.

Today was… what, the sixteenth, seventeenth time this had happened? Still the same sit-down-and-peer routine, still the same sullen scalp, still the same Sour Sweet.

Cadence shuffled her papers, then realized this looked too formal and stopped at once. Whatever happened, she was NOT going to be Cinch version 2.0.

“Sour Sweet,” she said in what she hoped was a gently authoritative voice, “I think we need to talk.”

“Oh yes, Principal Cadence, absolutely!” cooed Sour Sweet. She added sotto voce, “Because I didn’t think I was here for games.”

Not for the first time, Cadence wondered if Sour Sweet was being difficult, or if multiple personality disorder was a real thing. She’d studied psychology and counselling long ago, and some details faded away like dying echoes.

While she considered her next move, Cadence’s mouth knew the drill: “You’ve been sent here because Professor Lovejoy reports you’ve been disrupting her classes. I understand you…” Cadence glanced at the report on the desk, mentally edited out the stronger language, and continued, “…snooped through her desk at recess, and then loudly talked in her class about her… private difficulties…”

“They’re not private now,” muttered Sour Sweet, but not quietly enough.

“That’s not the point, Sour Sweet –”

“Anyway, who brings a personal diary to school?”

“Sour Sweet,” demanded Cadence, who long ago had herself suggested the “frustration diary” idea to Lovejoy, “the point is that you shouldn’t be acting like this. Violating people’s privacy, talking back in class, deliberately being uncooperative: Principal Cinch may have ignored some behaviours, but that’s not how I intend to run Crystal Prep Academy.”

In secret, Cadence cursed Cinch and didn’t hold back on the language. Back when achievement had excused anything, Cinch had treated bullying among students as little more than a nuisance. Losers were just the necessary price to pay for winners. At the same time, though, bullying had never been used against tutors: Cinch had hired only the best, which in her respect-obsessed world meant any student trying to be difficult to authority would soon find themselves in humiliating detentions and remedial classes, whether they needed them or not. A slight against tutors was a slight against Cinch.

Now? Cadence had done her best as the dean to pat sobbing backs and soothe frightened faces, but as the principal, the hammer had to come down. She didn’t believe in losers and winners. Life wasn’t some kind of abstract points-scoring game.

Some of the tutors had stayed. Others had given notice as soon as the reliable Cinch had been replaced by a complete unknown. Sour Sweet had taken home the wrong message: she knew a slight against tutors was a slight against Cadence.

After a sullen silence, Cadence tried to think nicer thoughts. “Look, I know the adjustment period has been… trying, and things are so radically different now. Don’t think you’re the only student I’ve talked to about this. But it seems to me you’re acting out more than usual, and I wondered if there was a reason why?”

Sour Sweet sat up straight, folded her arms, and regarded Cadence much as an opposing general regards an enemy that forgot to bring any weapons.

“Oh, nooo,” said Sour Sweet, fluttering her eyelashes, “I like suddenly going from one of the best students to one of the worst. It’s no skin off my nose, Principal. Don’t feel you have to mind me.”

If I ever have children… Cadence thought grimly. Aloud, she said, “Is everything all right at home? I remember in your freshman year –”

“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours!”

Too late, Cadence lost her patience. “What is my business is your behaviour at school, and that ends now. Five days of detention, starting today.”

Sour Sweet spluttered. “What? You can’t do that. I’ve got archery, horse-riding –”

“As principal of this school, I’m within my right to give you detention whenever I feel it’s necessary.”

“Yeah? How about I don’t show up for it?”

“Then I’ll be forced to call your parents and explain what’s been going on. Unless you’d rather tell them…?”

Sour Sweet gaped at her; the frightened freshman year flashed across her face. It was a cruel move. Even Cadence was shocked at herself. But she’d gone through this petty pouting-and-sniping routine one time too many. She’d never meet anyone so difficult.

“That’s all for now,” said Cadence, shuffling papers. “Dismissed.”

After Sour Sweet paused for as offensively long as possible and slammed the door as loudly as she dared, Cadence put down the papers and tried to wash the strain off her face with both hands.

Seventeen days without having to give out a detention. Seventeen! And they’d been doing so well…

Crystal Prep Academy hadn’t always been the best. Way back, Canterlot High School had dominated the league tables, and Everton had always been one step ahead. But Crystal Prep had been stable, high quality, and unlike CHS – which had slipped a long time ago – or like Everton – which had a reputation for being snobby, expensive, and pampering – Crystal Prep had remained the place to be for the most ambitious and talented students. From all backgrounds.

Many thanks were owed to Principal Cinch. She’d never exactly been liked – no one would have invited her to a party, and she wouldn’t have gone anyway – but parents and tutors alike had given her something she’d valued more: respect. “Cinch” became a byword for tough-but-fair treatment, for academic quality available to those willing to work hard, for influence and a fast track to the higher institutions.

Shining Armor had loved the place. His family weren’t exactly poor slouches themselves – his father had graduated from Crystal Prep and gone on to become a living mathematical legend – so Shining had run through the academic obstacle course with barely a stumble. His team had gone on to lead Crystal Prep to one of their most spectacular wins at the Friendship Games. He too had become a legend.

But Cadence had never fully been sold on it.

Everyone talked about the high marks and excellent students. Behind closed doors, she saw the price. She saw the students slowly descend to insanity.

Pulling their own hair. Eating till they made themselves sick (or refusing to eat at all). Breaking down in classes. Fighting over the slightest insult. Dropping out in panic. The terror in their eyes, the heavy breathing, the screams, the way some collapsed inward like broken machines or burst out like caged animals… That was the Crystal Prep that Cadence always saw.

It had taken effort to see it. Showing weakness at Crystal Prep was like showing a bleeding leg to sharks.

She’d survived her own early years there largely through patience. Her classmates always remarked on how calm she seemed, even on exam days. It had taken Cadence a long time to work out why that was so strange.

Then she’d studied counselling, took on babysitting work to fund a university course, finally became a counsellor when Cinch couldn’t ignore the issue completely and was ordered by the superintendent to hire one, worked her way up to deanhood…

And now she was in a position of control.

Principal Cinch had done the unthinkable: shortly after the last Friendship Games, she’d retired.

No one outside the school knew why. Stress, perhaps, or just feeling she’d served her time. Perhaps the lack of a definite victory had made her feel she was getting too old?

Cadence privately hoped it was because Cinch had suddenly grown a conscience and simply didn’t feel up to the task of reversing all the damage she’d done. It wasn’t much of a hope: in her experience, Cinch never changed her mind about anything.

As for feeling up to the task, well… there, Cadence could sympathize.

Principal Cadence looked up from her paperwork when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she said.

The door creaked open. A heavy weight thumped over the thick carpet. The mass of muscles sat down. In Cadence’s imagination, the shadow blocked out all light.

Ah. The janitor.

Despite her own brain screaming at her not to, Cadence looked up.

Hesitated.

“Ah, I know why you’re here,” she said, bright as a falling chandelier. “It’s about that new proposal you submitted, isn’t it?”

Silence.

“For the new cleaning fluid,” continued Cadence. “And the next-generation… mop. And crystal bucket.”

The figure opposite grunted.

“I… see…” Cadence coughed and fidgeted in her seat: she’d long since thrown out Cinch’s throne-like monstrosity, but suddenly she found herself wishing she had a more impressive chair to sit on. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t… accede to your request…”

In some inexplicable way, the room darkened further. The sunlight cutting through the blinds simply died from radiation poisoning.

“I’m afraid it’s not… within budget, right now… with one thing and another…” She gave up. “You understand, right?”

The figure regarded her. Not just the face: somehow, the whole gigantic body oozed essence of scowl, as though Cadence’s mere existence was a tedious fly to be swatted.

I am the principal, thought Cadence firmly, I am the one in control of the situation. I am perfectly calm.

“So… there you have it. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

To her alarm, the figure stirred; fortunately, it was only so he could stand up. His mane of black hair flowed about him like a lion bathed by infernal flames. He replaced his cap on his head with the ceremony of a king awarding himself the honour of a crown. Dark terror shrouded him like a myth.

He spoke: “I WILL APPEAL. AND I WILL HAVE MY… CRYSTAL BUCKET.”

Cadence reminded herself firmly that he was just a guy with a job, that he’d always been a valued member of staff. Something primal in her spinal cord tried to curl up and weep.

“Goodbye,” said Cadence, hoping he’d take the hint.

Grimacing with the effort, the janitor eased his bulk around and surged out of the office, sucking the door shut behind him with his passing. Or so it seemed to Cadence’s imagination.

Only then did she let out a breath and hurry to fetch her coat. She needed to step out the office for a bit, and not just because of the constant stress of budgetary appeals. For some reason, every time she spoke to Mister Sombra, she always felt that she’d just barely escaped with her soul.

Cadence’s walk took her away from the forbidding brick walls of Crystal Prep and some way into town. She preferred the feathery grass and Lombardy poplars – where the wind whistled through her curls as if helping her to fly away – over the stifling prison of the school. A good walk for five minutes was worth hours of suffocating in Cinch’s old office.

Besides, this was the quickest route to the training fields.

Up ahead, Coach Shining Armor blew his whistle and watched the football team get into formation.

“Come on, Cherry Fizzy!” he bellowed. “You gotta move faster than that! Noteworthy, to the left! No, my other left! Caramel, stop texting and get your head in the game! Let’s act like we wanna win some points, got it!?”

The football team were all big, burly men, most of them friends and former classmates. They sweated and grunted and didn’t argue back. Cheerfully, Cadence waited for the coach to finish playing Big Mean Drill Sergeant, then brushed down her lapels and sauntered over.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she said, covering Shining Armor’s eyes. Under her fingers, his face stretched into a grin.

“Depends,” he said gruffly. “Are you on the team, ma’am?”

“Sure. Pass me the ball. I’ll get a home run for you.”

“Baseball’s down the hall, sorry.”

She let go, and they exchanged laughs like gifts. Some of the team, noticing Cadence, took off their helmets or waved like schoolkids spotting their mother. Graciously, Cadence waved back.

“Eyes on the ball, Spearhead!” Shining Armor shouted. To Cadence, he whispered, “Everything going well at Crystal Prep?”

“About as usual.” Cadence watched the team form up, half playing against half. “Practice for the big game?”

“Yeah. The Buckminster Broncos are no joke – Cherry Fizzy, you’re too far out! Get back in your zone! – so I’m putting them through their paces.”

“Mom and Dad send their love,” said Cadence.

Shining Armor blushed. “Cadence, don’t get all mushy on me before touchdown.”

“They called me this morning to check if I was all right. They’re more than happy to have you over for dinner again. Dad’s promised not to sing any love songs this time.”

“It’s not the songs I object to. It’s the way he sings them. He could get arrested for that hip action.”

Cadence giggled behind her hand. “Humour him! It’s his favourite! He sang it to my mother before he proposed. He’s just… supportive, is all. My family’s like that. I’m sure I warned you before.”

Grunting as though conceding the point, Shining Armor adjusted his cap. “I like affectionate.”

They watched the scrum for a while. Then he shouted, “Spearhead! SPEARHEAD! Pass the ball already! Don’t try to go the whole way – I just said don’t –”

“Stressful?” Cadence rested her head against his neck. Like they were students again. Young, carefree…

Shining Armor massaged his forehead. “I can handle it. Ever since he met Lemony Gems, Spearhead’s mind hasn’t been in the game –”

And because some things never passed Cadence’s notice, she gave a small squeal. “Lemony Gems? Really?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“That’s wonderful! I always thought they were sweet on each other. Since when?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Since when have they been officially, you know…” Keenly, Cadence twined two fingers around each other.

“Couple of months now. You didn’t know?”

Sadly, Cadence shook her head, her scalp boring into Shining’s jawline by mistake. “Sorry. I haven’t been in touch with anyone for a long time.”

“Not since becoming principal, I guess?”

As if zapped by static, Cadence stood up straight and paced up and down beside him, rubbing her shoulders down and smoothing her sleeves. Never in her office, never in her school, but always out here.

“I never thought it’d be like this,” she blurted out, to her own surprise. “It’s like there was a lid on the place, and now someone’s wrenched it off. Everyone has a complaint, a request, a problem, a whatever. Shining, we might lose funding.”

“What?”

“Some of the sponsors say Cinch was the only one they trusted. Now she’s gone, they’re getting cold feet. If the school’s grades start slipping…”

“Wouldn’t the state support –?”

“Yes, but it’s nowhere near what we got from rich clients. I’m not joking: we might be looking at our first cutbacks in years.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Well…” Cadence slowed down. “It hasn’t gotten that bad yet. Just talks at the moment. But everyone’s looking to me, and so far, they say they haven’t seen anything encouraging.”

“SPEARHEAD, your left’s wide open! Your left! LEFT!” Shining blew his whistle, pointed furiously, ignored the distant grumbling, then turned softer eyes back to Cadence. “Listen, I’m here whenever you need to vent. Don’t worry too much about it, though. Big changes are always tricky. And from what I hear, a lot of students prefer you to Cinch. Just stick to your guns. You’ll get through.”

Cadence stopped, pressed a hand to her chest, and let her breath out. Her arm swung slowly outwards as though to banish all worry from her heart. Not all of it was so easily swept aside.

“How’s Twilight doing?” she asked.

There was a crack of muscles and skull in Shining’s face; his scowl was that intense. “Fine. I’m glad she’s well away from Cinch. CHS is a big improvement.”

“Is something wrong?” Something about the leaden way he spoke cut into Cadence like a sabre through a pillow.

Shining seemed to jerk himself awake. The crunched scowl was gone.

“It shouldn’t have taken me this long to see it,” he growled. “I always knew Cinch was pushing her, but blackmail…”

“You didn’t know,” said Cadence, stroking the locks around his ear. “No one knew. It was very brave of Twilight to tell us, and we should be thankful for that.”

“I trusted Cinch…”

“We all did!”

“…thought she had the right idea…”

“Shining, you’re grinding your teeth. Take a deep breath.”

He did so, though his arm action was much curter than hers. “Sorry. I mean, I’m glad you’re taking over. Just wish Twilight could have kept it going, you know? Dad had his heart set on both of us graduating.”

“She’s happier where she is.”

“I know, I know, and I’m happy… that she’s happy. But you have to wonder, you know?”

Cadence certainly did. She knew Shining was intensely proud of his victory in the Friendship Games. Only a few months back, he’d been grinning like a maniac at the idea of Twilight carrying the torch for him. Shining hadn’t protested Cinch’s methods until he’d found out what they really were –

A blast of the whistle shocked her back to the present.

“SPEARHEAD! You call that a pass!? Aim before you throw! See, you just gave the other side an easy win!”

To everyone’s shock, Spearhead threw off his helmet in one violent spasm and stormed off the pitch. Cadence and Shining glanced at each other. Then Shining ran forward.

“Hey,” he said, “you OK –?”

“OK?” Spearhead rounded on him. “OK!? I’ve had it up to here with your hegemonious attitude, bro! You’re extincting my musaic passion! I’m going elseplace, where there’s cool non-shoutastic vibes!”

All nearby brains crashed in confusion.

“Wha…?” said Shining.

“Oh, want it in prosaic!?” Spearhead leaned so close they could smell his aftershave. “I! QUIT!”

They watched him stamp away in silence. Cadence made a half-hearted attempt to grip his sleeve as he passed, but he turned a suddenly sad face at her, shook his head, and ducked out of sight.

Shining turned red. He was apparently trying to work out what Spearhead had just said.

Then he noticed the rest of the team. He could have been a speaker at a funeral.

He coughed awkwardly. “Er… take five, people?”

Even an emotionally ambushed footballer knows a free lunch when he hears one. Within seconds, the team had hurried off to the changing rooms, each giving Cadence an awkward “goodbye” on the way past.

Before Cadence could speak, Shining sighed and waved her down. “I know, I know,” he said. “I really blew it.”

Cadence’s right arm gave his broad shoulders a tight hug, but more out of obligation. Her left arm held her mouth to her lips. Even a long way from Cinch’s office, the school seemed to cling to them both like dirt.