“All right, everyone, we have a lot to do tomorrow. 9 AM tomorrow morning, and late arrivals will not be tolerated,” instructed Spitfire, glaring teasingly at Soarin with the last phrase.
The Wonderbolts disbanded for the afternoon, and Spitfire went back to her suite.
Reaching the oak wood door to her office, she pushed it open, revealing stacks of papers lying everywhere as if they were supposed to clean themselves. Spitfire’s eyes locked on a resume from three months back. She sighed and waded through the other objects scattered on the hard linoleum floor until, with a more pronounced exhale, flumped down into her comfortable blue recliner.
Not a second later, a knock on the door startled her. She sat bolt upright and loudly said, “Come in.”
The door creaked slightly on its hinges as the opening door exposed the usual bright and chipper face of Misty Fly.
“Well, look who it is. I was wondering when you’d finally come to sign your official contract.” A smile lit up Spitfire’s tired face.
“Ah – I…” Misty Fly looked like she was about to say something, stuttered a moment, then burst into tears, crumpling on the carpet.
“…Misty?” Spitfire tilted her head to one side as she rose from her chair. “What’s the matter?”
Misty Fly continued to sob into a stack of three-month old papers. Spitfire came to the conclusion that they weren’t important anyway and sat down in front of the cream-colored mare.
There was silence except for the continuous sobbing. Spitfire sat awkwardly in the center of the room and tried to focus on happy things. Never before had a Wonderbolt – much less anyone – burst into tears about something in her office.
Misty finally stopped shuddering and raised her head. Her neon blue mane seemed darker than Spitfire remembered it being.
“I…” Misty stared at the ground. “I can’t finish your contract.”
The captain of the Wonderbolts was taken aback.
“Why – why not?”
Misty didn’t speak for a moment. Then she lifted her head until she was almost nose-to-nose with Spitfire. Their eyes locked. “Um, well…you see…” A fresh tear spilled out, tracing its way down her long muzzle until it dropped on a certain piece of paper. Misty looked down again, but this time to see if she had spoiled anything important, and noticed that the very paper with her most recent teardrop on it was her incomplete Wonderbolts contract.
The cream-colored mare shuddered once, and Spitfire could see that she was fighting a miniature war inside of herself, to break down or not to break down.
Their eyes met again. “My…my parents,” Misty finished.
Spitfire raised an eyebrow. “What about them? Are they preventing you somehow from joining?”
“…no. But – I mean…they y-yelled at m-m-me for it,” Misty replied hesitantly.
“Oh…couldn’t you retaliate?” Spitfire asked.
“I really, honestly felt like I couldn’t. They were screaming at me for my ‘stupid fantasies’,” explained Misty, growing ever more indignant. “Joining the Wonderbolts has been my lifelong dream, and…and they don’t even support me on it!”
Misty Fly was shouting.
Shouting.
The mare was known for her introverted personality. A stream of emotions such as what had come out of her in the past minutes had never made it past the tip of her tongue.
“They don’t support my lifelong dream, Spitfire! Can you believe that for one second!?” Misty Fly, still shouting, was turning red in the face from her sudden transformation to an angry mare. “That’s what my parents are like –!”
“And it should never be that way. Ever,” finished Spitfire, cutting her off so her ears could rest easy.
Suddenly, a memory came rushing back. It felt like something hard and metallic had hit Spitfire in the face, and the relative expression came to the yellow mare’s face.
Misty Fly was breathing heavily after so much shouting, but had calmed down enough to recognize the expression on her dream captain’s face. “Spitfire…are you all right?”
The filly was poised at the foot of the stairs, ready to jump and fly the rest of the way up when she recognized her mother’s voice. Curious, she perked up and made her way over to a concealed spot behind the kitchen wall. She could hear every word.
"Honey,” her mother began, only to be cut off by her husband.
“Do you know how incredibly stupid that filly is? Thinking she’s the very model of the modern, fearless Wonderbolt?”
“She’s actually a very bright student –!”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Spitfire’s father said through gritted teeth; or so it sounded. “I’m talking about her dumb fantasies about joining the Wonderbolts, of all groups! She’d never stand a chance!”
“Don’t say that to her face, honey. I’m warning you.”
“I think it’s about time she’s faced the cold, hard reality that she would never succeed in an environment where she’s exerting every aspect of her physical strength, every day! Not only that, but working with other ponies; I mean, her social skills are at level zero right now, correct?”
“That’s enough out of you –!”
“But it’s true! You can’t take me seriously now; after all, she’s only seven years old, but trust me. If she sets hoof in a place like that, we’ll never hear the end of it!”
“And why do you care about a thing like that? Our very own daughter can do whatever she wants with her life, whether you come to terms with it or not!” Spitfire’s mother’s breath was labored. She was clearly exhausted but had had enough.
“I care because I support my daughter –!”
“Well then, for Celestia’s sake, act like it!” With that, Spitfire’s mother stomped into the next room, right past Spitfire herself without a second glance, and up the stairs.
Spitfire was holding back sob upon sob, but she squared her shoulders and sat on the hard wood floor for the rest of the night, not daring to go up to her bedroom.
“…Spitfire? Are you there?” Misty Fly’s voice came from far away to Spitfire, until she shook her head violently. Reality came back into focus and she widened her eyes as she realized a neon blue mane was trailing into her eyes, accompanied by a very worried expression from her future fellow Wonderbolt.
“I’m terribly sorry, Misty. I – I guess I kinda zoned out there,” said Spitfire, blushing.
“You were going to say something, weren’t you?” Misty Fly asked.
“Yes, in fact I was. Er, well…I went through what you’re going through right now, when I was younger.”
“You?”
“Believe it or not.”
Misty Fly’s expression was priceless, but now was not the time to laugh. “You, the captain of the bucking Wonderbolts, were criticized for what you wanted to do with life.”
“Well, yes. My social skills were pretty much zero. Heck, I didn’t even know how to fly back then,” admitted Spitfire. “But I sure proved them wrong ten years later. At age seventeen, I auditioned and got in without a second thought from the captain at the time.”
Misty Fly’s expression was now one of admiration and surprise. “I could never have expected that, Spitfire. I guess…I guess I feel a lot better now.”
“Glad to hear it.”
A pause that seemed to stretch a year or so took residence in the room.
The peacefulness was broken by the door being blown open by none other than Soarin. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Spitfire’s rebuke.
“Soarin, how many times do I have to tell you to bucking knock before you come in?”
The blue stallion blushed sheepishly, and then noticed Misty Fly on the floor. “Hey there, Misty.”
“Oh, um…hi.” Misty was never very good with greetings, as was displayed to Soarin by her brief salutation.
Soarin directed his attention to his captain. “I was just about to bring you an update on new cadets, but the only one was about Misty Fly, and I guess you already heard.”
Spitfire tilted her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Both heads in the room turned towards the yellow mare in the center of the room.
“Misty Fly’s an official member now, don’t you get it?”
It took a moment, but then both ponies’ faces registered recognition.
Soarin smiled and said, “Congratulations, Cadet Misty Fly.”
The mare in question was practically shining with elation. “Are you serious?”
Spitfire nodded. “You’ve been accepted.”
No sooner had the words left Spitfire’s mouth than Misty Fly had wrapped her forelegs around her captain’s neck. “Thank you so much!”
Spitfire glanced at Soarin, whose questioning expression read, Back to normal, I see?
She nodded and grinned. She’s an odd little mare, but she’s extraordinarily tough.
Never achieving your dreams? That’s the only impossibility in life.