Always Worth Living

With a sober face of disappointment, Cheerilee beckoned Scootaloo to follow her with a single purple finger from her right hand, sticking forth from the long sleeve of her pantsuits’ coal-black jacket, while her other hand rested sternly on her hip; and a groan let itself out of Scootaloo as she dragged herself to oblige. Scootaloo knew what she was in for, having experienced it so many times before. When Cheerilee turned to lead her, Scootaloo offered an apologetic glance in Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle’s direction, both of whom had gotten up and were once rushing to where she and Diamond were fighting, and then directed a repulsive glare to Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon as the former was being helped up by the latter.

Scootaloo followed Cheerilee, her shoulders slouching in exhaustion; the path she walking was one Scootaloo had trekked too persistently, around to the front and into the building, up to the second floor, and into the school’s office. Cheerilee kept on the stark expression as if it were an irremovable mask, her feet taking rigid steps as her heels clacked her presence throughout the halls. The office she led Scootaloo to was incredibly small, fitting in with the rest of the rooms in the school, and was divided into two separate rooms. The room with the front desk was easily the larger of them, approximately the combined bulk of the principal’s personal office and the student counselor’s office, yet it still was somehow smaller than any other classroom. Only a couple chairs and a table filled the small area before the front desk, but half a dozen file cabinets and a pair of copy machines were behind the tall counter. A small aroma of black coffee lived in the air, possibly due to the regularity of its being here. Only two doors aside from the entrance were in the room: one leading to the principal’s office and one to the counselor’s office.

The secretary was out to lunch; therefore, Cheerilee and Scootaloo were alone when they walked into the room. Cheerilee escorted Scootaloo to her office door and held it open for Scootaloo before she followed her in, closing the door behind her. Cheerilee’s office was much more compact than it probably should be. A couple of file cabinets were pressed against the wall behind the large, ornate, mahogany desk. Two chairs were positioned in front of the desk, the left of which Scootaloo took a seat in without an invitation. When their privacy was secured, Cheerilee relaxed visibly; stern and tough-fisted was not something she liked to be.

She let out a loud exhausted sigh and rubbed her eyes, still standing by the door. She allowed herself a moment to wonder why she didn’t just stay a kindergarten teacher before turning her attention back to the girl in her custody. “Scootaloo, what am I going to do with you?”

“Sorry, Miss Cheerilee,” Scootaloo muttered automatically.

Cheerilee pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing that this time was about to go just as it always had—but maybe she can change that….

“Fifteen,” she stated simply.

Scootaloo blinked and turned around in her seat. “What?”

Cheerilee let the hand drop from her face, as she looked Scootaloo in the eyes. “That’s how many times you’ve already fought physically with Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon since the sixth grade. Fifteen times, seven of which were this year.” She moved to her desk, sitting in the plushly cushioned swivel chair. “And I’ll be blunt about this: if you get in a fight once more for the rest of your high school career here at this school, I’ll be forced to expel you…permanently.”

Scootaloo furrowed her brow as a façade of disbelief washed over her. “What?! That seems extreme, especially since those two started it, calling Apple Bloom a ‘dumb hick’ and Sweetie Belle a…” her voice trailed off, giving a second-long pause before she viciously growled out, “…a slut.”

“I can assure you they will definitely get a strict lecture over it,” Cheerilee stated. Scootaloo mentally rolled her eyes. Cheerilee always said that, but it never did anything.

“As for your punishment,” Cheerilee continued, pulling opening the top right drawer in her desk, “it’ll be the usual: a referral to your parents and a single-day suspension.” She pulled out a small notepad with Scootaloo’s parents’ phone number scribbled on it and waved her hand at Scootaloo. “You may go.”

Scootaloo groaned, unintentionally loud and outward as it was supposed to be to herself. “Actually, Miss Cheerilee, you’ll have to contact Sweetie’s parents,” she stated, hoping that it didn’t go any further than that even though she knew it would, as it always would.

Cheerilee’s hand stopped resting on the handle of the phone on her desk, her expression confused and slightly intrigued. “Why?”

Scootaloo winced, “You’ll have to ask Pearl or Coach Magnum about that. I don’t really feel comfortable talking about it right now.”

Cheerilee’s expression softened as a jolt of blind sympathy filled her heart. She silently nodded, just as the bell ending lunch rang. Without a word, Scootaloo stood up from her seat and headed out, with Cheerilee following behind.

Not much to her surprise, Scootaloo found Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom waiting for her by the office door, with Sweetie Belle holding Scootaloo’s backpack. They had always been there whenever Scootaloo was caught fighting Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, usually with matching worried expressions.

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom glanced back to Miss Cheerilee, who gave them an approving smile, wordlessly commending them for their loyalty. The two turned back to Scootaloo, who took her pack when Sweetie Belle offered it to her.

“So, what’s your punishment?” Sweetie Belle asked as the three walked to the stairs leading up to their lockers. “Is it the usual?”

Scootaloo nodded slightly. “A referral to my parents and a single day suspension.”

Sweetie Belle pursed her lips, “How’s that going to poss—” Sweetie Belle stopped mid-question when Scootaloo glared at her. Immediately, she understood: Scootaloo didn’t want Apple Bloom to know what happened to her parents, despite she already went behind Scootaloo’s back and told her anyways.

Sweetie Belle nodded to Scootaloo, hoping Apple Bloom wouldn’t say anything. And she didn’t; she just flashed a concerned look at Sweetie Belle for not finishing her thought but shook it off as the three went to their respective fourth period hours.

* * *

Cheerilee watched the girls walk up the stairs and out of her sight, and the comforting smile that she always bore dropped into a solemn frown as she turned and headed back into her office. Once there, she shut the door and locked it behind herself. Weary, self-disappointing steps carried her to her desk; and her hand was set on opening the bottom left drawer of her desk. She first pulled out a small, crystalline glass, gleaming spotlessly in the early afternoon sun that shone through the window, which was followed by a large glass bottle of brandy. She unscrewed the cap, took a short sniff, and poured a conservative amount, filling only half of the glass.

After replacing the bottle to its hiding place, she took glass in hand and sipped a drink. It was wrong, sure; but Cheerilee often needed a sip or two of something to help her deal with these kids. It was never necessary when she worked as a kindergarten teacher—the kids were precious and adorable, if naïve. Cheerilee often wondered how she even got this job, or why she even applied for it in the first place. Maybe they didn’t have any other applicants….

But Cheerilee wasn’t lamenting over the alcohol or how she acquired the job. She hated what she had to do with Scootaloo, but the head of the district’s school board and the school’s top donor (whom they relied heavily on since the government grants tended to favor the city schools with thousands and thousands of students) was putting some pressure on her. He apparently didn’t appreciate his daughter coming home with bruises or a bloody nose every other day.

And talking to Filthy about his daughter’s behavior never worked. He would just say that he’d talk to her about it, but it on no account did anything. Of course, Diamond and Silver were a little too clever, constantly doing it when they were alone; and all Cheerilee knew was from the mouths of the duo’s targets. And such lack of hard evidence was why she had followed Diamond and Silver to the back of the school, to witness their bullying. But it seemed she was too late, catching Scootaloo beating on Diamond Tiara instead.

Cheerilee sighed to herself. It wasn’t that Diamond didn’t deserve it—she probably did, more so than what Scootaloo had dished out—and she knew Scootaloo wouldn’t start trouble until provoked. But now, she has her last chance, before Cheerilee’s boss makes her expel Scootaloo permanently.

With one final gulp, Cheerilee downed the rest of the brandy, setting the glass down and placing her forehead into her hands. Some of Scootaloo’s words echoed in her head, “…That seems extreme…”

“Oh, Scootaloo, if you only knew the half of it,” Cheerilee mumbled to herself. She placed the glass back into the company of the bottle of brandy, closing the drawer with her foot, and picked up the phone to call Magnum over at the gym.

* * *

A sarcastic comment about how it was just another day in paradise entered Scootaloo’s mind as she took the short trip directly to the home economics classroom, a few mere feet from the classroom that accommodated her and Apple Bloom’s geography class. She hated that class, every single second of it. The subject was stupid, the teacher was stupid, everything was just stupid.

But it didn’t matter much, because it was now fifth period, the last class of the day. Plus, ‘Foods I’ was one of her favorites.

Scootaloo was the first to step into the classroom, aside from the teacher, of course. It was a large classroom, lengthy and taking up almost all of one wall of the first floor. Its size was comparable only to the science lab on the third floor, which was the only classroom to reign larger than the home economics room. The room was divided end-to-end in appearance; the right was made up of two rows stretched wooden top tables with chairs that supplied the seating for well over twenty students. Behind them was a countertop, extending from one end of the room to another, filled with sewing machines and mannequins of a female’s torso. Draped over a few were unfinished pieces of clothing.

The left side of the classroom was an open space, made to look like the kitchen of a house, with a total of six cooking stations consisting of a stove, a sink, a counter, and cupboards filled with ingredients and cookware. At the very end of the line of stations was a large, double-door, stainless steel refrigerator. And separating the two areas of the classroom was another long countertop, though not as long as the one against the back wall. It held a couple of sinks of its own, but it was mainly piled with papers and folders, messy but possibly organized chaos.

The first thing Scootaloo instantly noted was the teacher. She was sitting on a tall stool at the countertop in the middle of the room, stuffing stacks of papers into yellow folders and slamming the folders down upon others in a stack. She was fairly tall, a few inches over Scootaloo, and was aged into her late twenties. Her frame was slender, thin arms leading to thinner fingers, lean legs to narrow feet. She was casually dressed in a dandelion-colored short-sleeved shirt, which showed up eminently against her pale yellow skin. The tail of the shirt was neatly tucked into a mint green cotton skirt that reached down three-quarters of the way to her knees. A pair of flats was slipped onto her feet without a sock in sight. Her hair, two-toned with the colors of bubblegum pink and blue raspberry, was a curly bunch that hung down to her shoulder blades and dangled indolently above her dark teal eyes. And every time she moved her left hand, the glimmer of a gold wedding band twinkled in the light.

Mrs. Sweetdrops gave a cordial smile to Scootaloo, despite herself. Sewing class was not her specialty, and she hated teaching it. But alas, it was a part of her job; if she wanted to keep it, she had to suck it up and power forward.

But that didn’t matter now. It was fifth period, and foods class, her personal favorite class to teach, was about to start.

Mrs. Sweetdrops looked up to see Scootaloo had taken her usual seat in the second row, far to her left. A few other students arrived, taking their seats and conversing with one another. Snips and Snails, the only other two freshmen in the class other than Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, were at the front right corner of the tables, chatting nonstop. Flitter would annoy her sister, who was attempting to balance a wooden pencil on her nose, by flicking the pencil with her finger, causing it to lose balance; and Cloudchaser would retaliate by untying the fuchsia bow in Flitter’s hair and letting it drop to the floor.

Over the next several minutes, the rest of the class managed to find their way to Sweetdrops’ classroom. Sweetie Belle was one of the last ones to arrive, with the books and papers in her arms held unusually chaotic. Sweetie Belle stomped over to her seat beside Scootaloo, jadedly tossed her arms’ contents onto the table, and sat down while burying her face into her arms. Scootaloo looked over to her with concern, noisily popping a piece of gum she had found in her bag.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, “You don’t usually get to class this late.”

Sweetie Belle lifted her head to face Scootaloo and sighed, “Yeah, I just met Silver Spoon by my locker and she de-booked me.”

“You should’ve punched her in the face like I would’ve,” Scootaloo commented casually.

“Yeah, I don’t think that would’ve worked out too well with my parents.” Sweetie Belle paused, just as a question snapped into her head. “Speaking of which, what did you tell Cheerilee when she said she was going to call your parents?”

Scootaloo shrugged with a frown. “Just told her to call your parents instead. She asked me why, and I told her to ask your parents about it.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes turned soft. “Still don’t want to talk about it, huh?”

Scootaloo’s eyes drifted from Sweetie Belle’s to the table in front of her. “I just wanna get it all behind me.”

“Alright, class,” Sweetdrops shouted over the uproar on the class, silencing them with a few sharp pops of the teacher cracking her knuckles. A few students, including Sweetie Belle, cringed at the noise while Sweetdrops continued, “We are going to try something a little harder today, so why don’t you go ahead and get set up at your stations.”

Needing no further instruction, everyone strolled over to the kitchen area of the room. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo took their usual station, right beside the refrigerator. From the cupboards, Sweetie Belle fished out the aprons, uniformly beige and recently washed, evident by the fresh scent of lilacs practically radiating from them, and handed one to Scootaloo. Meanwhile, Mrs. Sweetdrops walked around the class, passing out recipe cards to each group, ending with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. Scootaloo had to do a double take on the card to make sure she had read it right and her dyslexia hadn’t kicked in.

“Mrs. Sweetdrops,” Scootaloo called after her teacher, who turned back at having her name called, “are we really going to make a double-layer cake and frosting from scratch?”

Mrs. Sweetdrops shook her head. “Just hold on, Scootaloo. I’ll explain everything in a minute.” She turned to the rest of the class and whistled for their attention. “Alright, class, I know what you’re thinking; and no, we’re not going to make a double-layer cake. I just like the recipe, but we’re just making a single-layer cake. However, you do have to make the frosting from scratch. Just calculate what you need from the recipe, and you’ll do fine.”

“Um, Mrs. Sweetdrops?” a nervous voice began. Everyone in the classroom looked to Snips, who had his pudgy little hand instinctively held in the air. “How are we supposed to figure out what we need?”

Mrs. Sweetdrops, against her better judgment, facepalmed. “Snips, you’re making one cake instead of two. That should be easy math,” she said before adding under her breath, “even for you.”

“Oooooh,” Snips muttered as realization struck him like a sack of bricks to the skull.

After a sigh and a silent curse, Sweetdrops waved her hand to class, “You can start now.”

And the baking started. With practiced teamwork, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle gathered the ingredients and cookware onto their counter, pulling everything but the eggs, milk, and butter from the cupboards. Sweetie Belle, following directions, measured out and put the butter and sugar together in a mixing bowl before it was taken into Scootaloo’s arms. Scootaloo began adding the four eggs, one at time, her stalwart muscles making quick work of beating the mixture in between each egg added. Sweetie Belle, meanwhile, was busy measuring each of the ingredients and handing them to Scootaloo to be mixed. Vanilla, flour, baking soda, they were all put into the blend at their own time. At one point, Scootaloo handed the mixing over to Sweetie Belle while she greased the pan, which was circular and aluminum, and prepped the oven. Batter went into pan, and pan, into oven.

Mixing the batter took but five minutes for Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, and the only mess they had to clean were the myriad pieces of the egg shells. They relaxed as they turned to their classmates, who were struggling somewhat, and found that they were the first to start baking. Unsurprisingly, Snips and Snails were the worst. Flour was spilled all over the floor and the boys themselves, and their station was covered with spilt batter and eggshells.

The girls turned their heads to the rest of the class. They could hear Flitter and Cloudchaser arguing over a measurement; a couple of sophomores named Blossomforth and Parasol were taking their time with the cake; and a couple of girls neither Sweetie Belle nor Scootaloo knew were gossiping between themselves while beating the batter.

A toothpick came out clean when stabbed into the cake after nearly half an hour of baking. As instructed, they transferred it to a wire rack and set in the refrigerator to cool before starting on the frosting. Sweetie Belle measured out the required cocoa and milk and poured them into a saucepan before bringing it to heat. Scootaloo stirred the mixture until it came to a boil, removed it, and put in the butter and vanilla Sweetie Belle had set aside for the frosting. Off to the side, Sweetie Belle marveled as Scootaloo expertly stirred together everything prior to reaching for the confectioner’s sugar and whisking it into the mix. She approached Scootaloo just as she stopped whisking.

Feeling somewhat adventurous and spontaneous, Scootaloo dipped her finger into the frosting and swiftly smeared it onto Sweetie Belle’s nose. Scootaloo watched nervously Sweetie froze as the warm, chocolate frosting touched her nose, Sweetie Belle’s eyes crossing in an attempt to see the frosting plastered on the tip of her nose. Her eyes then straightened and redirected themselves to Scootaloo.

And she giggled.

Scootaloo's heart stopped as the sound reached her ears; and she looked upon the sight with a wistful, loving smile. She had heard Sweetie Belle giggle and laugh a hundred times, but the gorgeous view made it much more different than it had been. Half of her chastised herself for being so damn mushy and cliché, while the other half didn't care; she just wanted to hear that sound again, and a million times more. Scootaloo watched as Sweetie Belle wiped off the frosting from her nose with a finger and put said finger in her mouth, emitting a soft “Mmm!” of her approval.

Sweetie Belle decided to return the favor, sliding a finger over the frosting-coated whisk and quickly dabbing a bit onto the tip of Scootaloo's nose. Scootaloo froze at the gesture, too, before tittering a little and mimicking what Sweetie Belle had done. At the taste, the grin plastered on her face grew.

It was one of the sweetest things she had ever tasted.

While the frosting was still warm, Sweetie Belle retrieved the cake from the refrigerator for Scootaloo to frost. Gently, but quickly, Scootaloo spread the frosting evenly across the golden cake, first across the top, then along the sides. On cue, Mrs. Sweetdrops walked up to the pair, mutely offering a knife to Scootaloo to cut the cake. Scootaloo carved a fairly large wedge, placing the piece on a plate Sweetdrops had brought with her. Once upon her plate, Sweetdrops used her fork to cut a piece, if somewhat eagerly, and shove it into her mouth. A couple of hums came as she analytically swirled the piece in her mouth and over her tongue. After a few seconds, she swallowed her part and smacked her lips.

“A bit too much cocoa in the frosting,” Sweetdrops criticized, cutting off another bite before continuing, “but the texture of both the cake and frosting are perfect. Definitely an ‘A’ job.” She shoveled the bite into her mouth as she turned to the rest of the class, most of whom were waiting for their cake to bake. Mrs. Sweetdrops downed the bite in her mouth and returned her attention to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, who were brazenly using their fingers to clean the frosting off of the whisk.

“Go ahead and clean up, have a slice of your superb cake, and take slices of your cake to teachers and students as you wish. You have plenty of time.” Sweetdrops gestured up to the clock on the wall opposite to them showing that there was still another thirty minutes in class.

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle nodded, needing not to be told twice to dive into their cake. Each of them took a hearty piece, and Scootaloo divided the remainder of the cake into five equally sized pieces. While eating, they discussed to whom they should give the remaining slices. Apple Bloom and Sweetie’s father were the first two and most obvious of choices. One piece had to go to Mr. Grad, Ponyville High’s beloved bald A.P. math teacher, and another to Coach Plumb (almost entirely known simply as “Coach P.”), the school’s loud and energetic science teacher and coach of the boys’ basketball and football teams. That left one piece, and Sweetie Belle began pushing for it to be given to Featherweight.

“Come on, Scootaloo, think of it as a ‘welcome to the group’ kind of thing,” Sweetie Belle reasoned, waving her plastic fork around with her words before sinking it into her slice.

“What group?” Scootaloo questioned, “It’s always just been you, me, and Apple Bloom.”

“And now, it could be you, me, and Apple Bloom and Featherweight,” Sweetie Belle retorted.

Scootaloo sighed, “Fine, give him the last piece. Do you even know what class he has, though?”

Sweetie Belle pulled her mouth to the side. “No, but I can ask Apple Bloom when I take her piece to her.” She then flashed a smile to Scootaloo, and Scootaloo’s heart fluttered at sight whilst she returned it.

* * *

Fifth period was finally over; and while Sweetie Belle talked about some affairs regarding Student Council with Mrs. Sweetdrops, a sponsor of the year’s freshman class, Scootaloo went upstairs to her locker to get her A-day books. Those days were her easier ones, since the only things she needed were a set of gym clothes and her algebra textbook, which was large enough to bludgeon someone to death with a single blow.

Behind her, Scootaloo heard the squeaky sound of tennis-shoe-clad footsteps; and immediately, she twisted her head to see Rainbow Dash coming up the steps behind her. Rainbow had her usual, sports-themed attire on, with a sports duffel bag slung over her right shoulder. Her varsity jacket hung unzipped, its sleeves pushed up her past her elbow, revealing the usual white t-shirt with a triple-hued thunderbolt.

She walked up to the locker to the left of Scootaloo’s and leaned against coolly. “Hey, squirt, I came to see if everything went all right between you and Apple Bloom.”

“Everything’s okay now, Dash, thanks,” Scootaloo replied, looking up at Rainbow and faintly smiling.

Rainbow scratched the area above her head. “Also, Rarity told me something that I guess she thought I should know since you and I are so close.” Scootaloo froze, fearing that Rarity had told Rainbow Dash everything about her parents. A lump had found its way into her throat as Rainbow Dash continued, “She said that you were living with her and Sweetie Belle now. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo sighed, zipping up her backpack and throwing it over her shoulder as she rose. She knew where this conversation, like the one with Cheerilee, was going.

Rainbow raised a brow. “Any reason why? Problems with the ‘rents? Or—”

“Sorry, Dash, but it's not really something I want to be reminded of, let alone talk about,” Scootaloo curtly said, cutting Rainbow Dash off and looking her in the eye.

Rainbow Dash gave Scootaloo a short nod before Scootaloo started for the stairs. “That’s okay, kid. It’s never good to talk about stuff like that, anyways,” she said before following Scootaloo.

* * *

The only thing Scootaloo dreaded about heading to her new home was Pearl and Magnum’s reactions to Cheerilee’s call. Certainly, she should have called them about her fight with Diamond Tiara and explained about this was her last chance. This was definitely going to be a first for them, since Sweetie Belle never got into any trouble and Scootaloo couldn’t imagine such kind of call being made concerning Rarity.

But Scootaloo didn’t let such worry show while she and Sweetie Belle walked home after school. She steeled herself for whatever may happen when they entered through the front door. A voice called out from the kitchen that made Scootaloo cringe mentally before Sweetie Belle even shut the door behind them.

“Girls, is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom, we’re home,” Sweetie replied.

“Scootaloo, dear, can you come into the kitchen? We need to talk.”

Scootaloo sighed; this was it. She hung her head, taking a deep breath before beginning the trip to the kitchen. But before she even got two steps away, Scootaloo felt a soft, warm hand grabbing her wrist and turned around to see Sweetie Belle smiling kindheartedly at her.

“Scootaloo,” was the only thing Sweetie Belle said before she enveloped Scootaloo in another tight hug. “Thanks for defending me and Apple Bloom against Diamond and Silver.”

Scootaloo wrapped her arms around Sweetie Belle, running the words “Yeah, I guess I defended Apple Bloom, too,” in her head. Sweetie Belle pulled away and offered to take Scootaloo’s backpack with her.

“Nah, I still have the leftovers of today’s lunch that needs to be thrown away. Just go ahead; I’ll catch up.”

Sweetie Belle nodded, adding a couple of gentle pats of Scootaloo’s shoulders to the gesture, before walking off to her and Scootaloo’s bedroom. Scootaloo watched her go, her eyes drifting slightly down Sweetie’s back before catching themselves, and headed into the kitchen to meet uncertain doom.

When Scootaloo walked into the kitchen, there was a scent of salsa, spicy but not overpowering, that hung in the air, perhaps the early signs of dinner being cooked. But what caught the most of Scootaloo’s attention was Pearl, sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea between her hands. There was no motherly smile that Scootaloo had come to know in past years. Instead, her mouth was turned downwards in a tight frown; and her eyes were trained on the girl in front of her.

Pearl held out a hand, pointing to the chair across from her. “Please, sit,” she said in a calm voice that, despite its tone, did not ease Scootaloo’s nerves. But Scootaloo obeyed, clenching her hand firmly onto the lone backpack strap on her shoulder as she used her other hand to pull the chair out from under the table. Pearl raised the cup of tea to her mouth, taking a small sip and lowering back to the table.

“I got a call from Miss Cheerilee earlier saying you were caught fighting Filthy Rich’s daughter and her friend.”

“Look, Pearl, I can explain,” Scootaloo stated.

“Oh, please do,” Pearl replied, a spine-chilling grin showing itself on her face. Scootaloo swallowed the lump in her throat that had a nasty habit of reappearing.

“Well, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were starting do that whole calling names thing. First to me, then they moved on to Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle.”

Pearl’s expression changed for the more unpleasant at the mention of her youngest being harassed, her frown intensifying as a small yet fierce fire filled her eyes. “What did they say about Sweetie Belle?”

“Diamond said that Sweetie would end up growing up to be, and I quote, ‘like her sister, a sophisticated little slut,’” Scootaloo answered, a little edgy at the allegorical steam shooting out of her ears. Then, in the blink of eye, Scootaloo witnessed the disconcerting transformation of Pearl’s expression as it turned alarmingly grim.

“Very well, then. Magnum and I will have a little talk with Mr. Filthy Rich and Mrs. Silver Platter about their daughters’ behavior.” Pearl gave a brusque nod. “Thank you, Scootaloo, you may go,” she said before pressing the cup of tea to her lips.

Without a word, but with a mental sigh of relief, Scootaloo stood up from her seat and walked out of the kitchen, thankful that the conversation was not only over, but also went better than any of the ones she had with her own parents. She noticed Pearl’s change in attitude when it was stated that Sweetie Belle was being bullied by Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon and mentally made a note do to anything that might upset Sweetie Belle.