Nearly a fortnight passed along as had any other of the common days, riding the spring winds that never seemed to end, since that particular Friday when a couple of things came to light; the tides of change in Scootaloo’s life seemed to recede into a sea of prospect. School became as mundane as it always had been; the bullying from Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon settled to the usual arrogant roar; and a final warning with the promise of expulsion hung over Scootaloo’s head and compelled her mouth to bleed from biting her words.

And it was on the third Friday Scootaloo spent in the commonly miscalled “Belle residence,” while Rarity, Pearl, and Magnum were in Camelot for a day and a half, when something truly capricious happened.

* * *

“Scootaloo,” Pearl called down the hallway, her hand clenching the handle of a delft blue suitcase at her side. The only response came as a faint sound of a screeching guitar coming from the girls’ bedroom. She sighed and rolled her eyes before briskly walking down the hallway, the treble screech growing upon approach.

With a single hand, Pearl pushed open the bedroom door, revealing a rather spacious area mostly taken up by two full beds and a variety of other furniture. The closets had been installed just yesterday, and the condition of the bedroom was two-toned. One side, with an unquestionable feminine touch, was well-made, well-kept, and spotless with floral print bedspreads and pillow cases garnishing the bed; the opposing side sat with a tomboyish charm held within the clusters of dirty shirts and scattered junk sitting like flat, decorative dolls on the floor. An orange teenage girl in a white tank top and navy blue sweatpants sat atop her bed, completely engulfed in the world created by the sports magazine in her hands and the deafening music in her ears. Scootaloo, as it seemed, didn’t perceive the woman standing in the doorway—she didn’t raise her head from the magazine, nor did she remove the earbuds.

Pearl gave a knock on the door and cleared her throat, but Scootaloo still didn’t see or hear her. Looking to the dresser beside the door, Pearl picked up a multi-colored cube and gently tossed it at the girl, impacting against Scootaloo’s bare foot. Scootaloo started at the contact, looking up to see Pearl standing in the doorway, and pulled the buds from her ears with a sheepish look and a simple apology.

“It’s fine,” Pearl said with a dismissive wave, lifting up the suitcase in her hand. “Magnum, Rarity, and I are going now; the train for Camelot leaves in about half an hour.” She gave a glance toward Sweetie’s bed, neatly made and flawless with floral print blankets and pillow cases. “Too bad Sweetie Belle isn’t here to see us off.” She regarded Scootaloo with a lifted brow. “Where is she anyways?”

Scootaloo’s mouth gave a slight twitch. “I, uh, don’t know. She said she was going to Apple Bloom’s for something.”

Pearl gave a dubious “Hm,” and beckoned Scootaloo out of the room with a finger, leading her down the hallway and into the living room.

“There’s pizza in the freezer for you and Sweetie Belle, as usual,” Pearl said, gesturing to the kitchen as she walked to her purse lying on its side on the couch. She fished out her wallet and handed Scootaloo a note marked with the number fifty. “Here’s a fifty for emergencies, and you and Sweetie Belle should have our numbers in case something happens—”

The front door suddenly swung open, revealing the golden glow of the setting sun, and Sweetie Belle, clothed in a red-and-white-striped tee and a pair of denim shorts rolled up to the middle of her thighs, flew through the door with a jog. Closing the door behind her, Sweetie Belle offered a hangdog smile.

“Hey, Mom,” Sweetie said.

“Sweetie Belle, so good of you to join us,” said Pearl, “Where have you been?”

“Oh, Scootaloo didn’t tell you? I was helping Apple Bloom with her algebra homework.”

“She told me you were at the Apple’s but not what for,” Pearl replied, turning back to Scootaloo.

Scootaloo gave a shrug. “What? I forgot!” she said with defensive tone.

Pearl gave another hesitant hum as she slung her purse over her shoulder and said, “Oh well, no harm done, I guess.” She walked over and embraced Sweetie Belle with her free arm. “I love you, honey. I better get going before your father gets impatient.”

Two loud bursts of a car horn came from the driveway, and a low, throaty sigh resounded from Pearl in reply.

“I’ll see you girls later,” she said before disappearing through the front door.

And there stood two girls, side-by-side, immobile, listening to the sound of a car starting up, being thrown into reverse, and pulling out of the residence’s driveway. The rumble of the vehicle’s engine quickly faded off into the distance down the small town street until nothing remained but the covered songs of a mockingbird. Once they knew they were in the clear, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness, they finally left,” Scootaloo said, plopping down onto the couch alongside Sweetie Belle.

“I know. I didn’t think Mom was going to believe me when I said I went to help Apple Bloom.”

“Speaking of which, is it all set?”

Sweetie Belle gave a nod. “Applejack will be dropping her off in about in two hours, after they get done with chores. She’ll have the cider in her bag.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m going to take a shower,” said Scootaloo as she got up from the couch. She walked a mere three steps toward the hallway before Sweetie Belle spoke up.

“There’s one more thing, though, and I don’t know if you’re going to like it or not.”

Scootaloo stopped, spun on the heel of her bare foot, and made a scrunched brow. “What?”

Sweetie Belle rose from the couch, her eyes gazing upon the tan horizontal stripes of the garnished wooden floor.

“Well, you know how we’ve been having lunch with Featherweight and his friends ever since Apple Bloom told us she and Featherweight were dating?”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who kept inviting them to join us,” Scootaloo stated, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. “What about it?”

“Well, Apple Bloom wants Featherweight to come tonight, and so…”

“What?! I thought tonight was supposed be about us!”

“I know, I know, but come on, Scootaloo. This is the first relationship either of them has ever had,” Sweetie reasoned, taking a few steps near Scootaloo. “They’re in that phase where they always want to be by each other, choosing each other over their friends. They won’t be like that for very long, and sooner than you think we’ll be able to have our old girls’ night again.”

“So what, we’re just going to be by ourselves while they get mushy in the corner?”

Sweetie Belle smirked. “Oh, we won’t be alone…”

Scootaloo pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ooooh, Rumble and Pipsqueak are coming, too, aren’t they?”

“Scootaloo, they’re not that bad.”

“Rumble’s okay, but Pipsqueak can be really creepy sometimes,” Scootaloo said, wincing a bit at a few inappropriate jokes the latter had made.

“Scootaloo, I’m sure you can tolerate them for one night, right?”

“I suppose so,” replied Scootaloo halfheartedly as she strode toward the hallway once more.

Sweetie Belle, with a concerned frown, looked with her bright eyes all over Scootaloo. A few pieces of the past and of Scootaloo’s choices didn’t make sense in her head, especially those concerning her drunken father. “Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle called out, earning a sigh from Scootaloo as she spun around once more.

“Yes?”

“How many times have the three of us done this?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“What? Have a sleepover with some ‘borrowed’ hard cider? Probably three or four times or so. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that your father was, as you said, an angry drunk—”

“Sweetie Belle, don’t go there,” Scootaloo warned.

“Well, if my father was a drunk, I would be heavily deterred to drink any kind of alcohol. So, why aren’t you?”

Scootaloo lowered her head for a second, raised it to meet Sweetie’s solemn stare, and gave her lips a quick lick.

“Because, Sweetie Belle, my father is naturally an angry person with no sense of self-control; the alcohol only enhances those into something monstrous. I, at least, have some willpower to only drink so much.” Scootaloo took a step forward, slightly bearing her teeth at the mere thought of her father. “The alcohol didn’t make my father a bastard—he was born one.” Scootaloo turned on her heel again, leaving a guilt-ridden Sweetie Belle behind.

“Sorry, Scoots,” Sweetie Belle whimpered.

“It’s fine, Sweetie Belle. Just don’t mention him again, please,” Scootaloo said with a level tone as she continued her way into the hallway.

* * *

The two hours preceding Apple Bloom’s arrival was a simple little heartbeat, quick and insignificant unless one was sitting still, listening to the movement of the blood, the ticks of a clock’s second hand. Tensions between Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo dissolved within those seconds, and each reverted into her usual self. A quick dinner of cooked frozen pizza and soda pop served to expend thirty tocks of a minute hand.

At six, the door bell rang.

Scootaloo rose from the couch, impassive about having to peel her eyes from a horrendous program, peeked through the peephole, and opened the door wide while gliding beside it out of the way.

Apple Bloom stood on the welcome mat, bag slung over her shoulder, dressed in a lively spring green tee shirt and dark denims. Scootaloo’s eyes traced along the bright yellow rubber waders ascending Apple Bloom’s jean-covered shins.

“Expecting rain, A.B.?” Scootaloo remarked with a laugh.

Apple Bloom leaned forward a bit, inspecting her attire with curiously lifted brows until the bright yellow of the boots shined like the sun in her eyes. She gave a wiggle of her toes.

“Oh, the boots? My shoes got muddy earlier and these are all I have to wear,” replied Apple Bloom before giving Scootaloo a small glare. “Is that a problem?”

Scootaloo waved her hands defensively. “No, no, no problem.” Her eyes darted toward the bag on Apple Bloom’s shoulder. “You got the stuff?”

Apple Bloom nodded as she walked inside, putting her bag on the couch. It took only two seconds of digging before her hands emerged from the bag and presented two six-packs of a bottled, golden drink held firmly within their grip, the Apple’s brand presented boldly and proudly in block lettering on the cardboard casing.

“All we have to do is wait for Featherweight and the others to arrive,” Apple Bloom said. “They should be here in a few minutes.” She set the cider on the coffee table and placed her hands on her hips, her little mouth twisting slightly into a teeny frown. “Speakin’ of which, Sweetie Belle tells me that you’re none too thrilled about having Featherweight, Rumble, and Pipsqueak over for a little while.”

“I don’t have anything against them. I just thought that tonight was going to be between the three of us. They’re always at lunch with us, and we always hang around them. How would you like it if Sweetie Belle and I crashed one of your dates with Featherweight?”

“That’s not the same thing, though,” Apple Bloom reasoned, before adding with an artful smile, “unless tonight was supposed to be a date between you and Sweetie Belle.”

The hue of Scootaloo’s skin changed to a slight scarlet color, and a heat worthy of a thousand hot coals rushed to her cheeks and forehead. “N–No, it isn’t,” she replied, her brow was beginning to glisten softly in the living room’s lamp light.

“Then Ah guess it’s settled,” Apple Bloom said with some finality. There was a short pause before she said, “So, Sweetie Belle tells me you’ve been staying here for the past couple of weeks. How come?” Inwardly, Apple Bloom prayed that she was at least trusted enough to be told the truth from Scootaloo, even if she already knew.

“Some…issues came up and I couldn’t stay there anymore,” Scootaloo said she walked toward the hallway. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Apple Bloom gave a disappointed sigh as Scootaloo called down the hall to alert Sweetie Belle of Apple Bloom’s arrival. Within seconds, the bare-footed girl with pink and lavender hair emerged from the girls’ bedroom and the hallway, a wide, bright smile touching cheek and cheek. Scootaloo took a step back from Sweetie’s path just as the white blur rushed past to embrace Apple Bloom. Scootaloo shook her head.

“So, when are the guys getting here?” Sweetie Belle asked upon breaking from Apple Bloom.

“They’ll be here in a few.”

The door bell rang, and a small voice with a foreign accent could be heard through the door.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Apple Bloom commented as she jogged to the door.

“Not to mention Rumble and Featherweight,” Scootaloo remarked to herself.

Apple Bloom threw the door open, revealing three teenage boys, all roughly the same age, standing in a line before the door. Featherweight stood on the right; in the middle was a chunky little guy, white with brown spots, who towered only a handful of inches over Featherweight or Apple Bloom; and on the left was a young man, with well-toned light grey skin and dark blue windswept hair, holding onto a six pack of a plum-colored drink in glass bottles.

“Hey, guys, come on in,” said Apple Bloom before she seized Featherweight’s hand, kissing him on the cheek, and pulled him inside. The others followed behind.

Scootaloo had made herself comfortable on the couch, offering only a nod to the boys as they entered, while Sweetie Belle bustled around in the kitchen, trying to make popcorn. In times past, the evening always started with a movie, or several, and followed with some half-drunken board games before bed in the early morning.

But now, with the boys’ respective parents and the city’s curfew demanding they be home before the night becomes Saturday morning, they could only fit so much before the boys would have to leave.

Rumble set the bottles in his hand onto the table. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to bring something, so….”

Scootaloo sat up and grabbed one of the bottles from the pack. “What the heck is it?” she asked as her hand spun the bottle around, showing its label face up. The brand’s name, “Pissé,” was written in bold, elaborate calligraphy that shimmered gold against the pale yellow background. In its lower right corner, the label noted the drink raspberry-flavored, and artificially so.

Rumble shrugged. “It’s just some fruity stuff my mom had in the house. She won’t miss it.” He reached over, pulling a bottle out, twisted the cap off, and took a quick swig. “It’s good, though.”

Scootaloo gave a wave of her hand. “No, thanks,” she said, a stray left hand reaching for a bottle of cider, “I prefer the taste of apples.”

“So doesn’t Featherweight, apparently,” Pipsqueak remarked as he fell onto the cushion beside Scootaloo.

Scootaloo fought back the urge to waste some of the good cider with a spit take and smile at one of Pipsqueak’s jokes. She looked around to see that Apple Bloom and Featherweight had gone into the kitchen to see Sweetie Belle, leaving her alone with Pipsqueak and Rumble. Silently, she wished they were at least within earshot of Pipsqueak’s remark, just to see the looks on their faces.

“So, what’s the plan, Scoots?” asked Rumble, plopping down on the other side of Scootaloo. Scootaloo stood up as soon as his pants touched the cushion.

Walking over to a large wooden cabinet beside the television, Scootaloo replied, “What the three of us usually do.”

“Pillow fights in our underwear?” Pipsqueak guessed with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “I’m game.”

“No, you perv. We’re going to watch movies.” Scootaloo opened up the cabinet’s doors, revealing a vast collection of movies, mostly on disc with the occasional tape in the midst of them. There were hundreds of them, creating an abstract portrait of colorful cover art. She turned back to see the guys’ surprised expressions. “Sweetie’s mother collects movies,” she explained shortly. She turned back to the movies, bending over slightly. “How about a Daring Do movie marathon, minus the fourth part—unless you guys want to watch Daring Do get raped.”

Both gave hearty shakes of their heads when Scootaloo looked to them for an answer, and Scootaloo fished out the three movies and set them by the television.

A few minutes later, Sweetie Belle emerged from the kitchen (which now reeked of blackened popcorn) bearing two large bowls of heavily buttered popcorn. She greeted the boys with light hugs, though Pipsqueak held on for a bit longer than Rumble. Everyone took his or her seat, with Apple Bloom and Featherweight sharing the recliner, as Scootaloo popped in the movie. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were trapped in the middle of the couch between two boys, with Rumble on the other side of Scootaloo and Pipsqueak on the other side of Sweetie Belle.

Things were quite ordinary during the first movie, aside from Featherweight running his fingers along Apple Bloom’s ticklish sides. Everyone ate, drank, and kept to himself or herself.

But it was in the midst the second movie when things started getting…adventurous.

During Daring Do’s witnessing of the sacrifice underneath the palace, Pipsqueak, as cliché as it was, slyly put his arm across Sweetie Belle’s shoulders. It only stayed there a second, however, since Sweetie Belle relieved her shoulders of it instantly, placing the wayward arm back in Pipsqueak’s lap and patting it twice in the hopes that it would remain there. Pipsqueak and Rumble exchanged looks of surprise and self-pity.

A movie later, Rumble made the mistake of doing the same to Scootaloo, whose response was a bit less gentle than Sweetie’s. Once she felt his arm touch her, her hand darted back, grabbed his hand, and twisted it suddenly, causing Rumble to cough out a strained “Gah!” Rumble immediately retracted his arm of his own will, praying that she wasn’t going to rip it out and beat him to death with it.

The rest of the movie played on; nothing else happened.

“Ugh, can you believe those two?” Scootaloo grumbled when she and Sweetie Belle retreated into the kitchen, carrying the bowls emptied of popcorn. Though it was an excuse as thin as lace, Scootaloo just needed a minute away from boys.

“Don’t worry, Scootaloo,” replied Sweetie Belle, tossing away the unpopped kernels into the trash. “They made their moves, and they lost. They won’t bother us again tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Scootaloo suddenly scrunched up her brow as a question passed through her mind. “How come you didn’t go along Pipsqueak’s move?” she asked as her eyes followed Sweetie Belle from the wastebasket to the sink.

Sweetie Belle shrugged at the question as she washed the bowls in the sink. “He’s not really my type,” she explained over the soft hiss of the tap water, “He’s a good friend, but he would make a lousy boyfriend. What about you, huh?” Sweetie Belle turned around to meet Scootaloo’s eyes with a subtle glimmer in her own. “I’m surprised you didn’t go after Rumble. You both have more than just a few things in common.”

The mere hinting of a relationship with Rumble caused Scootaloo’s face to be deformed by disdain and her throat to release a disgusted grunt. “Same problem here,” she said, mentally adding another reason.

Sweetie Belle returned to washing the bowls. “Well, it’s good to know I’m not the only one in this group romantically disinterested.”

The statement was a hot blade in Scootaloo’s chest, and her face fell with a crescendo of despair. In that moment, she wanted to shout out her frustration, flood the kitchen in tears, and sweep Sweetie Belle off her feet and take her by the lips, all at the same time. But none of it happened—the air was silent save for the low hiss of the tap; the kitchen and Scootaloo’s cheeks remained dry; and Sweetie Belle’s feet stayed planted to the floor. Scootaloo tightened her fists and shoved back any emotions that would reveal her to be what she really was—a woman in love—so that when Sweetie Belle turned around she was able to smile and shrug as if something wasn’t eating at her heart.

Once the bowls were clean and put away, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, only to find that two of their guests, Rumble and Pipsqueak, were missing from the couch. But, that wasn’t the shocking part of it all. In the boys’ place were Featherweight and Apple Bloom, making out quite fiercely, if sloppily. Scootaloo looked to Sweetie Belle, who was flushed slightly from witnessing such an intimate act, and gave her a look that but screamed, “This is why we don’t invite boys!”

Then there was a “Psst!” and the girls, Apple Bloom excluded, looked to see Pipsqueak hiding in the hallway. He beckoned them over with a hand.

“What the hell are you doing hiding out in the hallway?” Scootaloo asked when she and Sweetie Belle approached them.

“We thought it was best to give those two some privacy.” Scootaloo just stared at him, waiting for a real answer. “And by ‘we,’ I mean Rumble,” Pipsqueak added with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, how did they start?”

“I don’t know. One moment Featherweight was talking, and then the next Apple Bloom’s mouth was in the way.”

“Where’s Rumble?”

From the bathroom down the hall, the sound of a toilet flushing rendered a response from Pipsqueak unnecessary. However, he still gave one.

“He’s taking care of business.”

“Thank you, Pip,” Scootaloo answered wryly and turned to Sweetie Belle. She was staring wide-eyed at the couple on the couch, the rose-colored blush spreading to her forehead and ears. It took two snaps of Scootaloo’s fingers to draw Sweetie Belle’s attention to the conversation at hand.

“Something wrong, Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo asked.

“No…well, maybe one teensy thing—they’re not going to…do it on the couch, are they?”

Scootaloo and Pipsqueak traded glances and gave different answers.

“No,” Scootaloo answered.

“Maybe,” Pipsqueak replied.

Sweetie Belle’s eyes grew twice as large in fear, and Scootaloo jabbed Pipsqueak in the ribs with her elbow as Rumble came up to the group smelling of citrus hand soap.

“They still going at it?” were the first words out of his mouth.

“Yep, and now it’s worried that they’re going all the way, thanks to Chubby here,” Scootaloo replied with an accusing thumb pointing to Pipsqueak.

Rumble dismissed the absurd idea with a wave of his hand. “Nah, Featherweight’s not really the kind to pressure anyone into sex; they won’t do it unless she’s the one to initiate.”

The heavens replied with two simultaneous moans, each muffled by a mouth and a tongue, and a sound that resembled something like a snapping of a bra strap. The only smile of the group was beaming from Pipsqueak’s face, while Sweetie’s face wore a mask of apprehension. Rumble and Scootaloo had tired frowns across their mouths.

“Sweetie Belle, how much cider has Apple Bloom had?” Scootaloo asked.

“Well,” Sweetie Belle started, swallowing a lump in her throat, “Pip, Rumble, and Featherweight each had two of their drink, you had one, I had two, and there were four left in the last pack. Which means….” Sweetie Belle didn’t finish her verbal calculation and her eyes doubled in size once more as the left eye developed a tick.

It was a simple kind of math that Scootaloo could do in her head, and she was quick to put her arm around Sweetie’s shoulder and lead her down the hall.

“Sweetie, how about you take Pipsqueak to our room while Rumble and I find something for us to do, okay?”

Sweetie Belle nodded numbly and walked like a ghost in the night to their room, with Pipsqueak and his smug smile following behind. Scootaloo made a note to punch him in the face if he tried anything on Sweetie Belle.

“What’s the matter with her?” Rumble asked once he and Scootaloo were alone.

Scootaloo started walking down the second area of the hallway, the path that led to the master bedroom. “Well, you know how us simply owning alcohol is kind of illegal?” Rumble nodded. “Getting in trouble with the cops for that would be the last of our worries if Sweetie’s mom found out we were drinking, not to mention what she would think when she finds a pair of underwear in the couch when she cleans.” Scootaloo stopped to open a closet door in the middle of the hallway. She pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling to bathe the closet in a dim orange light, revealing a cluster of boxes tossed about carelessly.

While tossing boxes aside and plowing a pathway through the chaos, Scootaloo continued, “Pearl is nice, but she is really protective of her daughters. If she found out there were boys here, we would be missing our asses and she would scour the earth for you. If you went to Indochina, she would be waiting in a bowl of rice, probably ready to pop a cap in your ass.”

Scootaloo turned around to see that Rumble’s body had stiffened as his eyes showed a bit of worry in them. “Why don’t we just stop them,” he suggested.

“You can try and stop Apple Bloom, if you don’t mind getting bit.”

Before Rumble could manage a response, Scootaloo shouted an “Ah-ha!” aloud as she dragged a colorful box that read “Apologies!” from underneath several other board game boxes, including one that read “Conglomerate.” Scootaloo shook the box vigorously, and a million little game pieces rattled in voiceless plea of “Play me!”

“It’s one of Sweetie Belle’s favorite games,” explained Scootaloo. “It might help knock her out of her stupor.”

With the game held above her head, she and Rumble went to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. It was quiet and peaceful, as Sweetie Belle and Pipsqueak were sitting across each other in the empty space between the beds, a bottle of cider cracked open for each; Scootaloo figured Pipsqueak and Rumble must have brought it with them when they left Apple Bloom and Featherweight alone. Scootaloo was mostly surprised that Pipsqueak had managed to behave himself, and Sweetie Belle’s distraught expression was slowly being washed away by the bottle of golden cider in her hand.

Her expression instantly brightened as her semi-blurred vision focused on the box in Scootaloo’s hand. “Oh, yeah, ‘Apologies!’“

“The guys still have a couple of hours before they need to go,” Scootaloo said as she took her seat beside Sweetie Belle, who was giddily clapping her hands, “and you looked like you needed some cheering up.”

Sweetie Belle took the box from Scootaloo and started setting up the game. Rumble sat beside Pipsqueak, who was on Sweetie Belle’s side of the room, with the girls across from them on Scootaloo’s side. They behaved, aside from the occasional dirty joke from Pipsqueak, and followed each of the girls’ requests to the letter. It made the three games over the following hour bearable, if sometimes silent and dry, especially for Sweetie Belle, who claimed victory in all three games.

Although she practically begged for a fourth game, the others, Scootaloo included, were tired of having their rears handed to them, and out-voted Sweetie Belle three-to-one in favor of never playing the game again, leaving nearly an hour left to kill with almost no ammunition to do so.

“How about ‘Spin the Bottle?’” suggested Pipsqueak as Sweetie Belle packed the game into its box and gave several strained groans when the pieces refused to be put away.

Scootaloo groaned, “Laaaaame!”

“Actually, I like it,” Sweetie Belle said, heaving a couple of grunts to help squeeze the game board into the packaging. “It’s…retro.”

Everyone looked to Rumble for input, who shrugged a vote of indifference.

“I guess we’ll play then,” Sweetie Belle said, putting aside the board game, and looked at Scootaloo. Scootaloo rolled her eyes, picked up her bottle of cider, with only a swig left, and chugged it all. She sat the empty bottle in the center of the circle formed by the four warm bodies.

“My bottle, my turn,” Scootaloo stated. And before anyone could object, her hand gave the bottle a twirl, letting the hands of Fate stop it wherever they wish.

The bottle came to rest pointing at Sweetie Belle’s right foot.

"Okay, Sweetie Belle: truth, or dare?" Scootaloo asked.

Sweetie Belle pushed her mouth to the side. "Hmm…dare."

“Then, I dare you to put your entire fist into your mouth.” Scootaloo then leveled a stern, unprovoked finger and a grim glare in Pipsqueak’s direction. “Don’t you dare say anything!” she warned.

Pipsqueak held up his hands defensively as Sweetie Belle balled up her tiny white fist in front of her mouth and shoved her knuckles into her mouth. Inch by inch, the snowy-skinned fist disappeared into the small mouth, past the lips and over the gums. Two boys and a girl sat agape at the sight, one of whom was constantly making dirty jokes within his hormone-raging brain, until Sweetie Belle’s wrist met her lips. She gave a victorious hum and smiled the best she could before she retracted the fist and wiped it on tail of her shirt.

Sweetie Belle took her turn, giving the bottle a whirl with her dry hand. The bottle stopped at Pipsqueak.

“Truth or—”

“Truth,” Pipsqueak said instantly.

Sweetie Belle hummed in contemplation, and her fingers snapped when an idea popped inside her head. “How far have you made it with a girl?”

Pipsqueak opened his mouth, but Scootaloo stopped him with a wag of her finger. “Ah-ah, truth, remember?” she said, and Pipsqueak closed his mouth and scratched the back of his neck.

“At my old school, a girl kissed me on the cheek in the third grade,” he admitted and shrugged at everyone’s expressions of astonishment. He grabbed the bottle and spun it; it came to rest pointing to Scootaloo before anyone knew it. “Truth or dare, Scootaloo,” Pipsqueak said with an almost menacing voice.

Scootaloo sighed, knowing picking truth would only cause some kind of pain, and replied, “Screw it—dare.”

And then it showed itself—a wide, devious grin curled itself around Pipsqueak’s plump features, with canines shining in the light, portraying him as the stereotypical villain in every spy movie; the casting could only be improved by a black swiveling chair serving as his seat and an idle hand stroking a fat lap cat. His fingers drummed against one another.

“I dare you to make out with Sweetie Belle for a whole fifteen seconds.”

“Nice!” Rumble said with a grin and fist-bumped Pipsqueak.

Scootaloo’s heart found itself within her throat, and her brain froze over two decisions: promptly punch Pipsqueak in the face for the suggestion, or do it and enjoy, for it was likely never to happen again. Once her mind was done tripping over itself, it was decided that the latter would better for all involved. Scootaloo turned to see how Sweetie Belle was reacting to the dare.

Sweetie Belle’s face had grown to resemble something like a tomato, and her mouth hung ajar in disbelief. A surprised and embarrassed stare bore into Pipsqueak until she noticed Scootaloo turn to her. She met the gaze, gave off a cheap laugh, and uttered four words:

“It’s just a dare.”

Scootaloo nodded with a hint of solemnity. It was just a dare—a dare that meant nothing, other than that Pipsqueak was a walking tank of testosterone desperate to see two girls kiss each other. It wasn’t for love, it wasn’t for curiosity—it wasn’t even in a haze of drunken lust. It was nothing, and it should feel like nothing.

So why did it feel as though it was something?

Scootaloo looked over to Rumble, who held his phone’s timer ready to count down the fifteen seconds. She then faced Sweetie Belle, and they held each other by the arms and looked into each other’s eyes. Sweetie Belle’s face was still colored with humiliation; and Scootaloo realized something, not just about her, but about Sweetie as well.

This would be the first kiss for either of them.

Scootaloo inhaled a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing onward and taking Sweetie Belle by surprise and by the lips. Her eyes instinctively closed; the feel of Sweetie Belle’s lips against her own, the warmth of blood under skin, they became her sight. Her tongue prodded at her mouth, begging to be let out to find a mate. The shock in Scootaloo only intensified when she felt some reciprocation from Sweetie Belle, even if it was halfhearted. There was a spark, new and enticing, and Scootaloo knew that this was how it feels when it’s love. For those fifteen seconds, Scootaloo’s life was no longer a twisting chaos of crushing despair or seething anger—life was perfect.

And then, with a few beeps from Rumble’s phone, the girls parted ways; paradise was lost.

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle simultaneously peered upon the boys. Rumble’s phone dangled in his limp hand, still sounding the alarm. Both stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed, and the world of senses must have returned to them when Rumble turned off the phone.

“Wow…” Pipsqueak mumbled.

“Yeah, what he said.”

Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle shied away from each other, turning around and facing the boys as they had before.

“You two were really getting into it,” Rumble observed. “I wish I had recorded it.”

“How about we get back to the game?” Scootaloo suggested.

The boys silently agreed, and Pipsqueak reached for the bottle. The rest of the night mostly went on without anything too notable. At fifteen minutes until midnight, the boys got up to fetch Featherweight (in whatever state he was in) and leave. It was then that it was revealed that nothing had happened between Apple Bloom and Featherweight, save for the former having her shirt removed. It seemed they had fell asleep (or passed out, as Scootaloo theorized) during their session. Feeling exhausted after the experiences each of them had, the girls went to bed right after the boys left.

But things were stirring in the night. Emotions, dreams, memories. They filled the house and heads, causing restless sleep among some.

* *

*

Sweetie Belle had a dream. She knew that much when her eyes fluttered open to sunlight pouring in from the window above her bed, but exact details of it remained elusive. She knew that there were emotions—maybe love? She wasn’t sure. It was an odd idea, since she had never dreamed about love before. Nightmares of woe and fear? Yes. Nocturnal blessings of happiness and laughter? Definitely. But love? Never.

Love, however, was the only thing that would explain the butterflies dancing in her stomach and the feeling of tortured bliss in her heart.

Sweetie Belle rolled over to see that she was alone in her and Scootaloo’s bedroom. Apple Bloom’s sleeping bag was missing from the cleared spot on the floor; and Scootaloo’s sheets and blankets were tossed about as if she had flailed in her sleep, fighting off another night terror. The emptied bottles of cider had disappeared, too, hopefully to a place where neither of her parents could find them.

Sweetie Belle dragged herself up, still dressed in her denim shorts and peppermint-striped tee. She had been so exhausted the previous night that she hadn’t bothered undressing. The events of the night before were misty, but the one unforgettable moment dangled before her mind’s eye in perfect clarity.

She had made out with Scootaloo on a dare.

Sweetie Belle’s body lifted up from the bed, and her feet carried her forward with purpose; she had to find Scootaloo. They needed to talk about last night. She didn’t know why, but a few words needed to be exchanged on the subject. It was just a dare, a stupid, ridiculous dare they shouldn’t have agreed to.

She found Scootaloo in the kitchen, making a late breakfast of omelets for herself and Apple Bloom. The clock above the microwave read just three minutes after eleven, and the smells of cooked eggs, fried bacon, and gooey cheese cued Sweetie Belle’s stomach to plead for it. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo had been talking when Sweetie Belle entered the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo greeted, quickly bring the attention of the room to Sweetie Belle. “You hungry? I can make you a bacon and cheese omelet, too, if you want.”

Sweetie Belle nodded, and Scootaloo fetched the eggs from the fridge. Sweetie Belle strode over to Apple Bloom and whispered in her ear, “Can you give me and Scootaloo some time alone?”

Without some much as raising a questioning brow, Apple Bloom stood up from her seat and walked into the living room. Sweetie Belle took the seat across from where Apple Bloom was sitting, leaning against the table.

“Scootaloo, can we talk about last night?”

“What about last night?”

Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “The dare.”

Scootaloo’s body undeniably stiffened at the stove. “Okay.” She turned around, the sounds of grease popping behind her. “I guess we could do that.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry I went with the idea of playing that game. If I had known that Pip was going to take it that far—”

She was cut off when Scootaloo held up her hand, silencing her. “There’s nothing you should apologize for or be worried about.”

“But, that was both of our first kisses—”

“It was just a kiss, Sweetie Belle. Despite why people do it, it means nothing,” Scootaloo explained, and Sweetie Belle caught a low, melancholy tone hidden within it.

It was just a kiss, it was just a dare.

Author's Note

Big shout-out to ajvasquezbrony28 for the idea of the big event in this chapter. Without it, this chapter would have just been a big, boring chunk of plot—and not the good kind.