Chapters Tears streaked down a single path on her cheek and soaked the cyan pillow upon which Scootaloo rested her head. It’s a good thing she didn’t wear mascara; it would have made her crying all the more visible. She didn’t cry often, as you’d expect from someone like her. She was tough. Sticks and stones could not hurt her as much as words could physically, but an army of her peers led by Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon ambushed her with weapons of a much greater strength. And all because of Apple Bloom. Damn her. Damn the honesty she held in her genes. Damn the whole world in fact. As if the teasing wasn’t enough, she had to come home, a place that shouldn’t be regarded with a word of such warmth. It was Hell, and she was one of its mere prisoners, wrongfully convicted to a lifetime of damnation and torture. No matter where she went, she only found a fire burning up what little good there was. It seemed the world had no use for her, and so she decided to do the world a favor and dispose of herself.
Pulling her head from the pillow, Scootaloo reached over to her nightstand and, with a single, furious yank, opened the drawer. Inside it was just a couple of extreme sports magazines, a Royal Air Force brochure, and small orange bottle. She grabbed the bottle and shook it. It rattled only slightly. Scootaloo popped off the cap and stuck an eye inside. Only three little white pills left. “Those won’t do anyway,” she thought. She sniffled before grabbing her phone from the nightstand and walking into the bathroom just a couple doors down the hall. The shuffling of her baggy cargo pants was the only sound other than the occasional sniff.
Scootaloo, leaning over the bright white porcelain sink, looked up and made eye contact with the broken mess in the mirror. She searched those sorrowful, grayish purple eyes for a reason not to do this. Needless to say, she couldn’t and opened the medicine cabinet. The cabinet was a mini-bar of typical household pharmaceuticals, a collection of cough syrups, antibiotics, and painkillers that were petty compared to the ones to which she had grown accustomed. Scootaloo’s eyes narrowed to one bottle in particular. It was similar to the one in her nightstand: prescription orange packaging, white childproof cap. But there was no label on this bottle. Although, she knew what it was. Her father had been a part of the experiment for a month now. Scootaloo didn’t bother closing the cabinet. She didn’t want the see herself again. Not now, not ever.
With one part of her intended concoction in her left hand and her cell in her right, Scootaloo walked to the kitchen, passing the living room and dining room on the way. The kitchen was still pretty new to her, bought and installed less than a month ago. Under the counter was a liquor cabinet that was usually unlocked. Scootaloo opened the big wooden door of a mask to reveal a safe-like container door with a deadbolt lock and handle. She grabbed the handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. “Shit,” she said aloud. But still, she pulled repeatedly, each one more aggressive than the last, and then stopped after getting nowhere.
“Fuck it,” Scootaloo said, talking to herself, “I’m sure if I take enough of ‘em, it’ll do the trick.”
She returned to the living room and threw herself onto the couch facing the front door. Scootaloo wanted to be the first thing those two sadists saw when they came home.
Looking at the bottle, Scootaloo began wondering how long it would take. With her usual candy of choice, it took about ten minutes. But this was different. Different bottle, different effect, different reason. So, she should get something out of the way first.
Scootaloo put the bottle in her lap, leaving behind just her phone. For six years, she had that phone, that hunk of junk. The screen was fractured, and the touch screen was so jacked-up that she didn’t need a set password since only she knew the chaotic pattern of the touch screen. The decor of the phone was the same color as her hair. She wanted a new one, had for about three years now. But the tight-fisted pigs she had for parents wouldn’t get her a new one, saying, “If it still works, than you can use it.” But, Scootaloo wasn’t doing this over a phone. She rotated the phone in her hands to its side and pushed forward to reveal the full keyboard underneath the screen. She typed, “Good-bye sweetie” and sent the message to Sweetie Belle.
Scootaloo thought this was the least she could do for who seemed like the only real friend in the world. She had known Sweetie much longer than she had known Apple Bloom. They were closer, too, and Sweetie was the only one who didn’t look down upon Scootaloo for what the orange-skinned girl had been doing for the past two months on a regular basis. And at least she didn’t let that little secret slip out to Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.
Scootaloo exchanged the phone for the bottle in her lap, and, with a push and a twist, opened the bottle. She counted as she poured out the pills into the palm of her hand. Four...five...six...that’s it. “Hm,” Scootaloo thought, “that should do it, I guess, since the dosage is one per day.” She tossed the bottle across the room and then tossed back her head with the handful of pills clamped over her mouth. They were tiny, and so she swallowed them with ease.
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! The phone in her lap began vibrating in alarm. Scootaloo looked at it to see that it was a text from Sweetie Belle:
“Where r u goin?”
Scootaloo hit reply and typed:
“Hell probably.”
After sending it, Scootaloo made herself comfortable on the couch since she was going to there a while.
Bzzzt! Bzzzt!
“What r u talkin about?”
Scootaloo typed:
“I’m sorry. I need 2 do this. Bye.”
Scootaloo popped off the back of her cell and took out the battery before tossing the phone and its removed parts under the couch.
Scootaloo started to feel extremely drowsy. Hoping that this was what she was waiting for, she lied down across the couch and closed her eyes so the black veil could take her silently and quickly. But not before a tear escaped her left eye and she muttered, “I’m sorry, Sweetie.”
The strong hand of the gusty spring wind slammed against the side of the house, rattling it. Scootaloo’s eyes popped open. And, in realizing what hadn’t happened, she cried even more. Was she such a failure that she couldn’t even do this one thing right? Those damn things must have been placeboes. It’s not like she had a…
That’s when she realized that she, or rather her father, did have one, tucked away somewhere his study.
Scootaloo got up from the couch, and her sneaker-covered feet walked her to her old man’s study. The room was only considered to be a study because that was what it was built as. But Scootaloo’s father, when they moved in, turned it into a home office where he could get plastered in peace, even though “peace” wasn’t something around when her father was drunk. And to make things worse, the thing for which she was looking was stashed away in here under no lock or key. Luckily, he has never gotten it out while he was in that state.
Scootaloo found it in the bottom drawer of the right set of cabinets in the room’s desk. It was stored in a large oak box that once contained some of those luxurious foreign cigars her father smoked. Oh, how she loathed those things. Scootaloo often wondered how her emotionally degrading, sociopath mother could deal with such a man, only to come to the same answer: they were perfect for each other—a match made in Hell.
Scootaloo pulled out the firearm. The weapon was meticulously clean. The hammer, the barrel, the handle—all of it looked brand new. She checked the pistol’s clip and made sure that the safety was off (because it doesn’t take a Twilight to work a gun) before returning to her place on the couch.
This was it. These seconds were going to be the final moments in her life. She sat there, with the pistol in her hands, staring at it. Not many things raced through her head. The first was of how perfect this method was. The grey matter and red blood from the aftermath of pulling the trigger would soak into the carpet fibers and stain the surrounding white walls, leaving a near-permanent reminder of the self-inflicted fate that would befall her.
Then, her mind thought of Sweetie Belle and how she was really the only victim here. She would lose not only one of her two best friends but also the closer of the two.
But Scootaloo felt this was something that was going to happen, either by her or her parents’ hands.
Scootaloo began sobbing again as she turned the gun in her hands to herself. She shoved the barrel into her mouth, her tongue running over the hole and tasting the cold steel. Scootaloo pulled back the hammer and readied her thumbs on the trigger. She closed her eyes as another wave of tears ran from them. One…two…
“Scootaloo!” a high-pitched voice cracked as its owner barged through the front door.
Scootaloo opened her eyes to see Sweetie Belle rushing to her with hands reaching out for the gun. Scootaloo pulled it back from her, but Sweetie still caught it. For a split-second, they each struggled for control over the gun until they heard an ear-shattering “BANG!” A faint stream of smoke poured from the barrel. Both girls looked at the gun and the hole in the wall to Scootaloo’s left.
While her friend was distracted, Sweetie Belle finally pried the weapon from her friend’s hands with a single strong tug.
“Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle said with a voice that trembled with fear and growled with anger, “what the hell were you doing?”
“What do you think I was doing? I was trying to kill myself.”
Sweetie’s heart sank, her fear being confirmed. “But, why?”
“Oh, come on,” Scootaloo sniffled, “you heard what Diamond said. I’m nothing but a pill-popping burnout.”
“Are you really going to listen to what Diamond said?” Sweetie Belle stood up, still holding the pistol, and offered the unoccupied hand to Scootaloo, who reluctantly took it. She was then caught off-guard by Sweetie Belle throwing her arms around her. Even though she couldn’t see it, Scootaloo knew Sweetie Belle was crying. Scootaloo returned the hug.
“I don’t want anything to ever happen to you,” Sweetie Belle cried, proving Scootaloo right. Sweetie Belle buried her face into Scootaloo’s shoulder and said something, but it was muffled by Scoot’s shoulder. Scootaloo heard it clearly though.
That, combined with Sweetie Belle’s wailing, pushed Scootaloo over that line again, causing tears to resurface in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Sweetie Belle pulled away from Scootaloo. “What, Diamond’s and Silver’s bullying? We’ve dealt with that for years.”
“Yeah, I could deal with them; it’s just that everybody else was joining in, ya know? Not to mention what Apple Bloom did, and—”
Scootaloo stopped, because only she knew what else that’s been beating her down mentally and physically over the years. She had never told another living soul about it.
Sweetie Belle took notice in the abrupt ending. “And what?”
“Just never mind,” Scootaloo said with a dash of agitation.
“But, Scootaloo—”
“What?!” The sadness in the room began to harden into bitterness.
“Tell me!” Sweetie Belle begged.
“What?! You want to know? Fine!” Scootaloo yelled. Her head cocked slightly to the left, and she slouched a bit. “Do you know why I sometimes wear long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts in weather too warm for it?”
Sweetie Belle shrugged.
“Well, it’s because of this.”
Scootaloo’s right hand grabbed the rolled-up sleeve on her left elbow and pushed. Dotting her upper arm, there were three large, circular burns, about the size of the traditional imported cigar.
Sweetie Belle gasped and then squeaked out, “Oh, my gosh! What the hell happened?”
The sadness and tears returned to Scootaloo. “My father happened. Apparently, he likes to do stuff like this to me when he gets drunk.” She rolled up the other sleeve to reveal cuts, parallel to one another. Sweetie Belle jumped a little at the sight and covered her gaping mouth with her free hand. “These I got,” she began as her voice descended into a pool of depression, “when he bought a new bottle of whiskey, which he celebrated by drinking it all and cutting me.”
Sweetie Belle removed the hand from over her mouth. “Does your mother know?”
Again, Sweetie Belle hugged Scootaloo.
“You don’t. You don’t deserve it.” Sweetie Belle pulled back from Scootaloo. “Why don’t you stay with my parents, my sister, and me tonight?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“You just tried to kill yourself; you’re obviously not fine,” Sweetie Belle said with a deadpan expression, which was then swapped for one of comfort and reassurance. “Please stay with us. And tomorrow, we can tell social services about your parents.”
Scootaloo opened her mouth to object, but she was immediately stopped by Sweetie Belle.
“Scoots, they have tortured you with, with whatever it is that they do. They deserve the same now, okay?”
Scootaloo vaguely acceded by shrugging her shoulders.
“Let’s go get you some clothes for the night,” Sweetie said, tossing the pistol over to the couch. Sweetie grabbed Scootaloo’s hand and led her to her room.
Just when the two reached Scootaloo’s room, Scootaloo stopped, jerking Sweetie Belle back. Sweetie gave her a confused look. This time, it was Scootaloo who initiated the hug, crying.
“Thank you, Sweetie Belle,” she said as she wept, “I’m so sorry I took you for granted.”
Sweetie Belle, with her arms already requiting the embrace, began rubbing her right hand on Scootaloo’s right shoulder blade. “It’s okay,” she reassured.
“And Sweetie Belle?”
“Yes?”
Scootaloo hiccupped. “I love you, too.”
Chapter One: An Indigo Night
With a quick flip of her finger, Scootaloo turned on the light in the guest bedroom, showering the room in a pale yellow light. She stood there, examining it as she always did when she received the blessing of staying a night at the residence. It was a pretty dry room with a full-sized bed sitting lengthways against the wall across the door. A short oak dresser with three handle-less drawers stood beside the door, akin to a guard in wooden armor, the scars of age chipping away at the chocolate paint covering it. An old, small television on a small wooden stand was alongside the wall parallel to the bed’s headboard. The blue carpet added to the plainness of the room, and not a single thing hung from the walls. But it was a guest bedroom, and such simplicity was necessary for visitors to feel comfortable here. The stillness of the room unnerved the girl a bit, though.
Scootaloo dropped the shoulder strap of the ruby red duffel bag slung over her right shoulder into her hand and lightly flung the bag onto the bed. On her other shoulder was her backpack for school—black, simple, and practical. She walked to the bed, sat the backpack at the foot of it, and yanked on the duffel’s zipper. It unzipped a few inches until it stuck, resisting Scootaloo’s pull. Frustrated, she grabbed both rows of the teeth on the unzipped side of the mechanism and pulled the teeth apart, working the mechanism and quietly cursing it as she went. Eventually, she got the damnable silver thing to the other side. Scootaloo tossed open the flap, still stewing in the irritation of the zipper, and looked down. She had pretty much everything she’d need for a few days: clothes, toiletries, that kind of stuff. She sighed loudly as she began unpacking and, keeping her thoughts occupied, reminisced a little while doing so.
Today was certainly an eventful and emotional day, to say the least; every second of it she could recall with perfect clarity. Now, she wanted nothing more than to forget it all, but that wasn’t going to be possible. Every time Scootaloo closed her eyes, she could almost feel the pistol in her mouth; and the taste of its steel mouth seemed to linger on her tongue. Surely, she will have some nightmares to face tonight and perhaps for the rest of her life.
After Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle had gathered some clothes for the former’s stay, Sweetie Belle took the liberty of placing the gun back into Scootaloo’s father’s desk herself. She still didn’t trust Scootaloo with it, and for good reason. They tidied up what little mess there was and disguised the hole in the wall with a framed photograph. Scoots’ parents wouldn’t notice it; her father’s vision would be too hazy and her mother was never a detail-orientated person. They would even fail to notice Scootaloo’s absence. After that, they left, and not a word was spoken on the walk to Sweetie Belle’s house.
The only pieces of clothing left on the bed were a solid grey shirt tank top and a pair of plaid sweatpants. They weren’t forgotten; they were left behind on purpose.
Scootaloo tossed the bag, now empty, to the floor at the foot of the bed. She took the remaining outfit and supplies and placed it on the dresser. From where she was, she could hear a quartet of voices…
* * *
“Sweetie Belle, I really wished you would’ve told us sooner that Scootaloo was staying a few days,” Sweetie Belle’s mother gently scolded. She, Sweetie Belle, Rarity, and the sisters’ father were all in the kitchen. Sweetie’s mother was finishing the dishes, and her father was peeling and slicing potatoes with small parry knife before dropping the pieces into a pot of water on the stove. Rarity was lounging at the table with her phone in her hands and a bite of an apple in her mouth. Sweetie Belle was leaning against the refrigerator.
“I’m sorry, it was kinda spur of the moment,” Sweetie Belle defended.
“Do her parents know she’s here?” her mother asked.
“They were the ones that suggested she stay here, actually,” Sweetie lied. There was a short pause, silence filled with water running from the tap, potatoes splashing into the pot of water, and keys being rapidly pressed. “Mom, how would someone report child abuse?”
Everyone dropped what they were doing—literally for the plate Sweetie’s mother was holding over the sink and Rarity’s phone—and looked at Sweetie Belle.
“W-Why?” her mother asked in a swirl of concern and confusion.
Sweetie Belle, trying to play it cool like Scootaloo would, shrugged and answered, “Just something that was said during my child development class.”
“Oh,” Sweetie’s mother said, still unnerved but overall satisfied, “uh, you would go to the police.”
“Why wouldn’t you go to social services?”
“Because child abuse, in this country, is a felony offense and should be reported to the police,” her mother explained, “They will contact social services.”
Suddenly, a vibrating sensation was felt by Sweetie Belle’s leg coming from her phone in her pants pocket. Using her small forefinger and thumb, she dug into the pocket, pulling out the phone, and saw that it was a text from her sister. Sweetie gave her sister a quizzical glance before reading it:
U don’t have a child development class. What’s up?
Sweetie typed:
Can’t tell, at least not right now.
A few seconds later, Rarity must’ve gotten the message because she gave Sweetie a look similar to the one she received from Sweetie a minute ago. She sent:
Does it have something 2 do with scoots?
Can’t tell.
The back-and-forth prodding and rejecting went on for another five minutes before their father suggested, “If you girls want to talk in private, why don’t you go one of your rooms?”
The girls exchanged bewildered glances before both of them proceeded to Rarity’s room. After they left, their father sighed and said, “Damn texting,” eliciting a giggle from the one by the sink.
Rarity led the way to her room, from the kitchen and through the living room and hallway, closing the door behind Sweetie Belle. Rarity’s room, as anyone who knew her would expect, was extravagant and excessive, to say the least. Pictures of her friends were scattered around the room, some framed and some not, in a pattern that Rarity herself thought was glamorous; and a furry and plush set of purple bedspreads lay on her bed, the corners neatly tucked under the mattress. The bed was positioned in the center of the wall across from the door. A desk next to Rarity’s closet adorned the wall to the right, and two small bookshelves were pressed against the left wall.
Sweetie Belle took a seat on Rarity’s bed. It squeaked as the springs compressed under her weight. Rarity turned around from the door and looked her sister in the eye. “Sweetie Belle, what’s going on?”
“I told you, I can’t tell you.” Sweetie’s returning glare made her words all the more solid.
“Does it have something to do with Scootaloo?”
“I...can’t...tell you!”
“And why not?!” Rarity was getting as annoyed as Sweetie Belle already was.
“Because it doesn’t concern you!” Sweetie Belle yelled. She stood up, went to the door, and grabbed the doorknob before adding, “You may be surprised to hear this, but nothing everything concerns you.” And with the truth said, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her and leaving Rarity to exasperatedly stomp and growl.
* * *
Scootaloo had always been a curious girl, for nearly her whole life, in fact. For the sake of knowledge! That was always her excuse, and she used it often. At school, she’d get a warning or a mere detention for snooping, but pulling a stunt like that at home would get her face reacquainted with the back of her father’s hand. Luckily, she wasn’t home; so when she saw Rarity and Sweetie Belle head into the former’s room, Scootaloo’s curiosity compelled her to see—or rather eavesdrop on—what they were doing.
The guest bedroom was to one end of a long hallway. Looking from Scootaloo’s temporary quarters, there were three doors on the left wall and two on the right, all before the hall was split between a forward path that, after a right turn, led to the living room; and a left turn that was to the master bedroom. Rarity and Sweetie Belle had entered the room the farthest on the right.
They didn’t seem to see her; and when the door shut, Scootaloo took her steps, quick yet careful so her forest green cargo pants wouldn’t shuffle that much. Her stride was wide, and she reached the door in a second.
Pressing her ear against the door, she could hear their voices. They were muffled but still audible enough to make out some of the words.
“…something to…Scootaloo…”
“I…can’t…tell you!” Sweetie Belle was obviously angry and what little patience she had was spent dealing with her sister. Honestly, Scootaloo didn’t know how Sweetie belle could put up with her sister. Then a dark thought entered Scootaloo’s head—if Rarity was her sister, she would have pulled the same stunt as the one earlier that day, and she would have gotten results.
Scootaloo continued listening in on the sisters, that is until someone—probably Sweetie Belle—grabbed the doorknob. Scootaloo heard it rattle on her side of the furtively listened door.
“Oh, shit,” she said under her breath as she jumped back in a panic. Scootaloo looked behind her and saw a door, an escape. She rushed through the door, but not before slamming her left knee into the trimming of the doorway. An all-too-familiar crippling pain shot throughout her leg, sending her to the ground. Scootaloo was now partially kneeling in the room, using her only good knee for support; and she closed the door with her right hand.
“Fuck!” she exhaled in a raspy voice as she shifted to a sitting position. Of course, she had to bang that knee! The past couple of days had been well for it. It didn’t really hurt as much as it had after the accident a couple months before. In fact, the day before, her bad knee was the only thing of hers that didn’t hurt; that is, until she sought comfort in some little white friends of hers. The pain was so horrible, and she wished she had those little friends with her.
After a good five minutes of heavy breathing, Scootaloo finally decided to try to stand. The pain was not going to pass, and her weight on the knee seemed to make the pain worse. Her mind decided not to dwell on the pain, and that was when she realized where she was—a bathroom. Much like most of the house, it too was themed to the color of a shining bright white, like Sweetie Belle, Sweetie’s sister, and Magnum, Sweetie’s father. The floor design was made of large snowy white diamonds with much smaller, jet black diamonds on every vertex. Directly ahead was the bath and shower, taking up its entire wall. The deep purple shower curtain hung to the left side. On the part of the left wall that wasn’t already occupied by the shower were the sink and the toilet. The toilet was as simple as they come, a detail—or a lack thereof—that was rare in this family and was surprising when it was found. The sink, however, was quite decorative, adorned with a chrome faucet and pearl handles. Two toothbrushes—one of which Scootaloo swore had looked like Sweetie Belle—rested in a cup, along with two different types of toothpaste, on the sink. A dark purple towel and a fuchsia towel hang from a rack across from the head.
Scootaloo felt the muscles in and around her knee. She could feel the blood pulsating in her knee. Standing definitely did not help. Actually, the weight of her body made the torture worse, to the point where she could cry and utter just about every profane word she knew (and she knew a lot of them). But she can’t just stay in there all night, and she definitely can’t crawl while favoring her knee like a cat with a paw that was recently stepped on. That thought made her frown worsen. With a slight stumble, she turned around to the door, opened it, and hopped out.
* * *
Sweetie Belle slammed shut her bedroom door, and the force dismantled a framed photo of her, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo that she had hung on the wall and sent it to the floor behind the small wooden desk where it shattered. But Sweetie Belle didn’t acknowledge it; she just clenched her fists, dove face-first onto the bed pushed into the corner, and screamed into a pillow.
Aargh! Her sister! Sweetie Belle hated how her sister was always pushing whenever it came to something that could be considered ‘juicy.’ But this, this didn’t concern her, so why did she care? Just one more year and she would be gone, leaving Sweetie Belle alone, figuratively speaking.
Just then, Sweetie Belle heard someone outside and the unusual slow tempo of what sounded like footsteps. She pulled her head back from the pillow.
“What the...?” Sweetie Belle uttered, intrigued. The ‘footsteps’ were heavy and loud, even on the carpet. Thump...thump...thump, right by her door. Getting up and pulling her door open, she looked to the right and saw nothing. Then she looked to the left, where she saw Scootaloo hopping on her right leg to the guest bedroom.
“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle cried. Scootaloo stopped and looked behind her, using the wall and her hand for support.
Sweetie Belle ran to Scootaloo and wrapped her right arm around Scoots’ back. She became a crutch for Scootaloo when Scootaloo laid her arm on Sweetie’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Sweetie.”
“What happened?” Sweetie asked as helped Scootaloo to the bedroom.
“I went to the bathroom and banged my bad knee into the doorway,” Scootaloo replied as they entered the guest room. They went to the bed, and Sweetie Belle vigilantly deposited Scootaloo onto the bed with Scootaloo’s legs stretching out to the floor. Of her own inclination and curiosity, Scootaloo reached down and rolled up her cargo pants past the knee. Sweetie Belle gasped through her gritted teeth. Scootaloo’s knee, originally orange in color, had swollen into a blackish-blue bruise directly on the knee and a reddish-orange color around it.
“On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?” Sweetie Belle asked.
Scootaloo replied, with a deadpan face, “Fuck-teen.” She then smirked. Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes, but the simultaneous smile on her face told another story.
“Is there something we can put on it?”
“Scootaloo took a deep, calming breath before answering.” Yeah, that muscle-rub stuff. You know, that stuff that feels hot and cold at the same time.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sweetie Belle stood up, trying to think if they have something like that. And without a clue or word to say, she left.
Scootaloo was now alone with her thoughts and pain. She tried to make herself comfortable by lying on the bed, but her torso was longer than the width of the bed. When she tried lying down, her head hit the wall the bed was pushed against, forcing her neck into a ninety-degree bend and her chin into her collarbone. It didn’t take long for her to decide that she would rather walk with her bad knee than lie like that.
There was the sound of someone running down the hall. Sweetie Belle. The sound faded for a minute; and then it returned, growing louder and closer before Sweetie Belle emerged through the door, holding a jar and washable muscle wraps in her hands and a single safety pin in her mouth.
She dropped it all at Scootaloo’s foot. “My mother told me to use a muscle wrap. It should help the swelling.”
Sweetie Belle didn’t wait for a response or instructions. She went to work, slathering the knee with ‘muscle-rub stuff.’ Scootaloo hissed in pain when Sweetie’s hand first touched it, and Sweetie Belle was beyond apologetic. Sweetie Belle then wrapped the knee and pinned. Scootaloo was impressed by how Sweetie Belle had taken charge, seeing how usually Sweetie would panic in this sort of situation. She was then taken completely off-guard when she felt Sweetie’s hand on her thigh. Sweetie had grabbed the rolled-up legging and began unfurling it. Scootaloo felt the hot, sharp sensation of blood rushing to just beneath the skin in her face.
When Sweetie Belle was done, she looked up to the girl she had just aided and noted the girl’s now-scarlet face.
“Yeah, it’s kinda hot in here, isn’t it?” Sweetie said. She looked up at the ceiling and its still fans. Sweetie reached up, her toes elevating her slightly, and yanked on one of the chains that hung from the ceiling fan. The fan began to spin, gaining speed quickly.
“That’s better.”
Sweetie was now in a much more cheerful mood, upbeat and pleasant, the Sweetie Belle that Scootaloo had come to know and—
“Hey, Scootaloo, how’s the leg?”
Sweetie’s question pulled Scootaloo from her cloud of thoughts to the cold earth of reality. She realized that her leg was much better than before. It still hurt, but an attempt to stand revealed that the knee was well enough for it to do its duty.
For the first time since they arrived home, Sweetie Belle smiled. It was a toothy grin that was as white as she was, prompting Scootaloo to get lost a bit in those pearly whites while she grinned herself.
* * *
An hour later, the proverbial dinner bell rang. It was a melody for which the hungry beat of everyone’s stomach was aching as they all gathered to the dinner table in the dining room adjoining the living room. Five plates were set, the fifth for Scootaloo. Everyone took their seats, and dinner was finally being served.
Five minutes of everyone asking someone to pass this or to put that back followed. Everyone had filled their plates with pieces of fried chicken and mountains of mashed potatoes garnished with a flow of savory, steamy gravy made from flour, grease from the chicken, and milk. The gravy streamed into the Great Sea of Sweet Peas that resided next to it. The gorgeous sight and smell of it all made Scootaloo give them and their cooks a salivary salute.
“Scootaloo, dear, do you have enough?” Sweetie Belle’s mother asked.
Scootaloo was caught off-guard by the warmth in her voice.
“Uh, yeah, Pearl. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, dear. It’s good that you could stay with us,” Pearl said earnestly.
“Well, it’s good that Sweetie Belle invited me to stay with you—OW!” Scootaloo felt a sharp, pinching pain on her right side. She looked to see Sweetie Belle with a stern, disapproving look.
“Wait, Sweetie Belle invited you?” Pearl asked, her demeanor changing for the worse.
“Um, no?”
Pearl sighed, giving the bridge of her nose a taut pinch. “Sweetie Belle, why did you lie earlier? You know you could’ve just let me know that you had invited Scootaloo ahead of time.”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo glanced at each other quickly, trying not to make it obvious.
But it was.
Pearl dropped her fork onto her plate and rubbed her eyes with her carnation pink hands. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
There was a silence until Sweetie Belle looked to Scootaloo. Scootaloo’s furrowed brow asked, “What?” to which Sweetie Belle audibly answered with a frown, “It’s not my place to tell them.”
Scootaloo let out a breath before rolling up her sleeves and revealing the burns and cuts. A trio of gasps and squeals— unpleasant ones, of course—echoed in the dining room. Pearl’s expression reminded Scootaloo of Sweetie’s earlier reaction that day: gaping mouth politely covered with her hand, a batter made from disbelief, horror, and sympathy being mixed speechlessly in her head, only to be baked into her words and actions that would follow.
“Scootaloo, honey, pardon my language, but what the fuck happened?!”
Scootaloo sighed softly, looking Pearl dead in the eye, and said with a shockingly calm voice, “My parents abuse me. My father prefers physical abuse...” her words almost seemed to be heavier than she had anticipated, as she had trouble vocalizing them aloud and took a pause between each word, “...while my mother prefers emotional abuse.”
“What does your mother do, exactly,” Rarity asked, her hand still over her mouth.
Scootaloo looked down at the untouched plate of food in front of her. “She would tell me that I deserved what my father would do to me. She’d tell me that I was a disappointment whenever I would bring home grades lower than an A’s. That kind of stuff.”
Scootaloo then made eye contact with Rarity, who looked away shamefully.
Pointing to Sweetie Belle, Pearl asked her daughter, “So earlier, when you asked about reporting child abuse, you were thinking...”
Sweetie Belle nodded sheepishly.
Pearl looked down at the napkin in her lap and adjusted it. She looked up from it before adding, “Well, whatever happens, you can definitely stay with us. And we’ll make sure you don’t go to any other home than our home.” She placed her right hand on her husband’s lap. “Right, honey?”
The man, who had been silently stroking his moustache, nodded with a kind grin.
The warmth of the familial tenderness in the room finally caught up to Scootaloo, who grinned and embraced it. Sweetie’s parents were like family—true family—to her, as they were always welcoming to her and had once told her that she would always be welcomed there. Scootaloo had never known to what extent they had meant when they said it, but now she knew.
By the truest meaning of the word, the place felt home.
Dinner continued without much conversation. Everyone felt sympathy for another or, in Scootaloo’s case, uncertain about her own future. But in the end, like a family, they all put away their plates, threw the leftovers into the fridge, and fed the cat.
* * *
Scootaloo, in the pajamas she had laid aside when unpacking, lay awake in her bed. It was eleven at night, and most of the house had gone to bed long ago. Only she and Sweetie Belle had remained, and they were discussing their plans for tomorrow. It was simple: go to the police, report the abuse, and try to file for emancipation. Of course Scootaloo would have to testify in what would probably be open court. She already did in twice in one day; what was once or twice more?
A lone, nocturnal car zipped by the house, it’s loud, unmuffled, rough sound a clear indicator of its status as a rusty piece of crap. It went along, like any chance of sleep for Scootaloo. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her father, a drunken mess, with a lit cigar; or she would smell or taste the metal of the pistol or feel its hole and the little stub of a sight, both shoved into her mouth. Her senses would pop her eyes open to reveal that she was fine.
Physically.
Scootaloo decided to make a bold move, being a ‘guest’ in her house. She couldn’t be alone right now. So she grabbed the pillow on the bed and left the room. Turning to the first door on the right, Scootaloo pounded on the door with her fist. Scoots hoped she wasn’t in bed already; and lo and behold, the doorknob turned within seconds of her rapping and swung open. The sight that followed the blank white of the door caused Scootaloo to choke a little on her tongue.
The shirt didn’t come close to Sweetie Belle’s knees and must have been an extra-large in men’s sizes. Its navy blue color stood out on her, and the lone shirt was all she wore—on top. Nothing but bare, white, cleanly shaven legs travelled to the floor; and the collar of the shirt hinted around the top of Sweetie’s cleavage. Underwear was left to Scootaloo’s imagination when it came to color, type, or overall existence.
Scootaloo blushed as she began stammering, “H-Hey, S-Sweetie Belle. Can I, uh, s-stay in here tonight?” Scootaloo closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shooing away all of her thoughts except for the important ones. She opened them to meet Sweetie Belle’s twinkling emerald-green eyes. “I’m having some troubles sleeping, and—”
“Sure!” Sweetie exclaimed, “Come on in!”
Scootaloo hesitated at first before entering. The only light in the room came from the pink-shaded lamp on Sweetie’s nightstand and the heart-shaped nightlight in an outlet on the wall. Sweetie Belle climbed in and pulled the covers over her feet and legs. She then moved her pillow and herself to one side of the bed.
Scootaloo just tossed her pillow onto the floor and lay down on the floor. The carpet was a hard bed, certainly no patch of heaven; but when she closed her eyes; her visions were more peaceful, even if they were dirty.
“Are you just going to sleep on the floor?” Scootaloo heard Sweetie Belle ask. Scootaloo opened her eyes to see Sweetie, kneeling on her bed and looking at her.
Scootaloo slowly answered, “Yeah?”
Sweetie first frowned and then gave a good-willed smile.
“Come on,” she said, her head gesturing to the bed, her beautiful curly hair bouncing along with the motion, “get in bed.”
Again, Scootaloo hesitated; but Sweetie’s inviting smile reassured her that nothing bad was going to happen.
Scootaloo grabbed her pillow and climbed in bed, placing the pillow on Sweetie Belle’s full-sized mattress. Scootaloo flipped off the lamp, leaving the heart-shaped nightlight alone to illuminate the pathway for any late-night wanderers. Both girls were lying on their sides, facing the wall. Scootaloo had the urge to put an arm around Sweetie Belle, but she fought it. Thankfully, the sweet song of sleep comforted her and came quickly. The last thing Scootaloo recalled of that night was the exotic smell of pineapples coming Sweetie Belle’s hair.
Chapter Two: The Boys in Blue
Scootaloo stirred a little bit in bed, her internal alarm clock waking her. She rolled over to the position she fell asleep in and threw an arm over an imaginary Sweetie Belle; but when her hand hit the mattress, she opened her eyes to see that she was alone in the bed and the room. She yawned, rolled over onto her back, and stretched her arms and legs in bed. She then tried to rub the sleepiness away from her eyes before dragging herself out of bed; and once she was back on her feet, Scootaloo stretched again in a small spotlight of sunshine from the window. She glanced at the clock, which read about nine-thirty in the morning. Thankfully, it was Saturday.
Scootaloo took a couple steps before noticing something she hadn’t when she first awoke. There was a missing agony in her left knee, and she knew the potency of the muscle rub would have already left. Scootaloo rolled up her pants’ leg and unwrapped the linen hugging her knee. The bruise was still very visible (and still very ugly), but the pain and some of the swelling had subsided. The affected area was tender and only hurt when pressure was applied directly to the kneecap. She could now freely walk, run, crouch, or anything else that didn’t involve her pounding her knee into a hard object.
Scootaloo rolled down her pants’ leg and left the room to ready herself for the day. She found herself in a surprisingly pleasant mood. Her sleep was dreamless and therefore peaceful, and the problems of yesterday were exactly that and needed no more worry. But the actions and words of a certain curly-haired friend kept coming back. She saved her life and afterwards said a phrase Scootaloo thought no one would ever direct to her: “I love you.” And when Sweetie Belle said it, although uttered as a muffled sob into Scootaloo’s shoulder, Scootaloo knew that she felt the same.
But one thing nagged at Scootaloo: when she said it, did she mean it...like that? Or were her intentions more platonic? If she did intend to say it platonically, then why did she say it so softly? But then again, Sweetie Belle had always been a shy person; and she would have felt uncomfortable about it anyway.
Scootaloo shook away the rambling thoughts from her head. She decided not to let them get to her. Sweetie’s just a friend, she reassured herself. Scootaloo told herself that the events of yesterday were getting to her and blamed said events for turning her soft and mushy.
Once Scootaloo’s mind turned back to reality, she realized all she had done. She had showered, brushed her teeth, and dressed herself. She found her hands in the pockets of some slightly baggy, faded blue jeans and a solid grey tee shirt on her torso. The sleeves of the shirt came down to her elbow, hiding the signs of the battered girl she was. On her feet was a pair of crazy-colored socks, her trademark garment. These were rainbow-colored, with lateral stripes of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet squares with a single solid stripe dedicated to each of the six colors between them. Scootaloo tried not to look at them for long, since they often made her dizzy.
Scootaloo also noted her surroundings as the house’s guest bedroom, and she sitting on the bed. The bed hadn’t been touched since the previous night. The pillow was still missing (and remained on Sweetie Belle’s bed) and the blanket, tossed over. Scootaloo decided that it was best never to think about something while doing other things; that kind of blackout startled to her.
A small growl that came from her gut told her what she had to do, and she complied by heading to the kitchen.
* * *
Scootaloo only saw Sweetie Belle in the kitchen. There were no signs of Rarity, Magnum, or Pearl. Even the family cat seemed to be making herself scarce. Sweetie Belle was sitting at the kitchen table, polishing off a few leftover drumsticks from the previous night and washing it down with a glass of lemonade. As Scootaloo figured, Sweetie Belle must not have awoken much earlier than she did.
Scootaloo took one look at Sweetie Belle’s meal and shook her head. “You have the weirdest appetite ever, Sweetie Belle,” she said with half-hearted disgust as she walked over to the refrigerator.
Sweetie Belle, having just bitten off piece of skin from a drumstick, didn’t bother chewing and swallowing before replying. “Hey, food is food to me.” She paused to gulp down the skin. “Besides, you know I can’t cook, so I can’t really make myself a more tradition breakfast.”
With her head stuck in the fridge searching for a mid-morning meal, Scootaloo rolled her eyes at Sweetie Belle’s response. “So, where are your parents and your sister?”
“I don’t know about Rarity, but Mom left a note saying she and Dad had to attend to some business around town.”
Scootaloo looked back. “What kind of business?”
“Doesn’t say, just ‘business.’” Sweetie Belle replied with a shrug.
Scootaloo didn’t think much of the mystery of Pearl and Magnum’s ‘business.’ It was their business and not hers, she thought as she grabbed a carton of eggs from the top shelf. She placed them on the counter and began a quick search of the cupboards for cooking spray, a frying pan, and a spatula. Sweetie Belle, with a mouthful of reheated fried chicken, looked upon her friend curiously, slowly chewing absentmindedly. She watched as Scootaloo turned on a burner on the stove, causing blue butane flames to flare up quietly, and cracked open an egg with the edge of the stainless steel spatula. Scootaloo poured the contents out onto the spray-coated pan. In a small handful of minutes, they soon sizzled, and Scootaloo gently flipped them over.
Another two or three minutes later, Sweetie Belle found a plate of three fried eggs pushing away the plate of empty chicken bones in front of her. The pink eyes of the yolks stared her down; and Sweetie Belle quickly looked up at Scootaloo, who offered a fork to her. She was hesitant to take it, and Scootaloo saw it.
“Don’t worry,” Scootaloo reassured, “There’s not a whole lotta ways to screw up eggs.”
Sweetie Belle took the fork from Scootaloo and cut into the yolk. The golden yellow liquid oozed out as Sweetie Belle stabbed the severed piece with her fork and stuck it into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she hummed. The egg was quite appetizing, to her surprise. “This is actually pretty good. I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
“Of course I do,” Scootaloo said “You’ve had foods class with me for the past year—you should know I know how to cook.”
“Yeah, but we never learned anything beyond just baking things. We never learned how to make stuff like this,” Sweetie Belle reasoned, motioning to the partially eaten eggs.
“Well, I also had to make my own meals whenever my parents went out,” Scootaloo contended as she returned to cook her own breakfast.
A short silence befell between the two (an awkward one at that) as Sweetie Belle quietly ate the eggs in front of her and Scootaloo frowned and cooked her own. For the first time in the morning, Scootaloo remembered what had to happen that day, which soured her once-pleasant move. And she felt that it wasn’t going to be pretty or becalming.
“We still have to do that today, don’t we?” Scootaloo finally said, laying her first egg onto the plate beside the stove.
“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle sighed. She had to admit to herself that she didn’t really want it any more than Scootaloo did, but it had to happen. Scootaloo’s parents were monsters and had to be stopped for the sake of her best friend.
“I guess we’ll just go after breakfast,” Scootaloo stated, turning with a frown. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”
Sweetie Belle nodded in agreement. After a Sweetie Belle added with a small smile, “It’ll be okay. It always is.”
Scootaloo put the last egg of her breakfast on her plate just as Sweetie Belle finished the last egg on hers. Scootaloo turned off the stove and placed the pan and spatula into the sink. From a partial loaf in the cupboards, she grabbed a couple of slices of bread and laid them onto her plate.
And breakfast continued in silence.
* * *
It was a downpour outside, but it was luckily neither lightning nor thundering. It must have started before Sweetie Belle’s parents had left because the umbrella stand by the door still had only Sweetie Belle’s umbrella in it. Sweetie Belle grabbed it, a swirl of yellowish-green and lavender, and opened the door to leave.
Both girls were clad in a sweatshirt each. Springtime rain often made the air a little too cool for comfort both during and after the rainfall. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stepped out onto the dry asylum of the front porch. The wind was a forceful gale, much like the day before, and nearly tore off Sweetie Belle’s arm when she opened the umbrella.
There was a silence between the two during their little walk, filled with the constant pitter-patter of rain on the fabric of the umbrella. Occasionally, one of them would point out a simple observation as they walked. “Oh, look: the Cakes look like they’re adding onto the shop...” or “I think Rumble’s brother is teaching him how to drive.” Anything just to keep any strangeness from the long periods of silence, but each attempt never moved passed the initiating sentence.
They found that the sweatshirts and the close proximity to each other under the one umbrella proved to be warm enough, especially for Scootaloo. They would occasionally knock elbows or rub shoulders; Scootaloo appreciated the small doses of contact, despite how she felt about that sort of thing in general. And she noticed that Sweetie Belle didn’t say anything about stopping it or regarding the contact all together.
The police force in Ponyville, as with the rest of Equestria, was merely a branch of the Royal Guard. Both of them required the same basic training (and in some cases even shared the training); but while the main branches of the Royal Guard required stiffer regulations and more rigid training, the Royal Police, as they were called professionally, needed more ‘classes.’ Cadets were taught the laws regarding warrants, arrests, and rights and were taught proper police procedures—the Royal Police was less militarized than the Guard, required less physical and combative training, but demanded more bookwork.
Ponyville’s Royal Police Department station was located on the town square, conveniently placed across from the courthouse. Not a lot of the town’s mainstream businesses were on the square, surprisingly enough. Sugarcube Corner was clear across town, and the Golden Oak Library was not far from it. On the square were a couple of local utility offices, the tavern owned by Berry Punch, a craft shop, Daisy’s herb shop, and a local bank. Of course, they were the ones getting business. The rest of Ponyville’s town square was just a bunch of near-condemned buildings, empty display windows, and signs of failed businesses.
The station was a simple one-story building with a basement that held the few jail cells. There wasn’t much detail to it either, just the Equestrian Flag that could be seen through one of the two large glass windows. The bricks of the building were old and weathered, and the front door was a rotten piece of wood that creaked at every opening.
Sweetie Belle closed the umbrella once she and Scootaloo were under the awnings that jotted out from the buildings. They offered little protection against the wind, naturally, but did keep the two girls dry. Once they reached the station, Sweetie Belle opened the door for Scootaloo, who sighed before heading in, and patted Scootaloo’s back before following her inside.
Both girls had never stepped inside a police station before, and they always imagined that they were like the ones on television. Both were quite surprised when they arrived to find no prostitutes wearing more make-up then clothing, no drug addicts itching for a fix. All they found was a quiet little lobby with a few chairs, a front desk, and an officer behind it. The officer was quite young, possibly fresh out of the academy. His goldenrod skin was blemish-free, and his chocolate-colored hair was cut into a flattop style. The latter made him look even younger and more like a rookie than the lack of commendations on his uniform. He glanced up to see the girls before returning to his paperwork.
Scootaloo took a few uneasy steps before she was pushed softly by Sweetie Belle, who followed the gentle shove with a faitheful smile and a reassuring nod when Scootaloo looked her way. Scootaloo sighed and approached the officer behind the desk.
“Um…hi,” Scootaloo began with a small wave. She was nervous and unsure as to what to do or which words to use. She began to wonder why she hadn’t prepared her words beforehand. But she then saw that the officer was intrigued and looking at her, so she continued. “I, uh, would like to report child abuse.”
The words ‘child abuse’ made the officer’s brow jump. “Oh, um, okay,” he said as he glanced to the space at his side. He then got up from his seat and walked into the back room. Scootaloo glanced back at Sweetie Belle, and the two shared a bemused expression that Sweetie Belle complemented with a shrug.
The officer behind the desk was gone only for a few seconds before returning with a rough-looking man much older than himself. He looked about forty, and a bushy moustache adorned his lip all the while making up for the loss of hair on his head. His peachy skin bore a few freckles, as well as a few wrinkles. His uniform, in contrast to the young officer’s, was well decorated with commending pins.
“Hi, I’m Officer Morning Sun,” the elder man greeted with a kind grin under his moustache, but his expression spoiled as he continued. “Officer Summer here said you’d like to report some child abuse?”
Scootaloo looked at Sweetie Belle behind her. Sweetie Belle nodded wordlessly, and Scootaloo sighed and turned back to the officer. “Yeah.”
Officer Morning Sun held open a gate next to the desk and gestured to Sweetie Belle. “Well, if you and your friend would like to come back here, I would like to talk about it.”
Without even a moment’s thought, Scootaloo walked through the gate with Sweetie Belle at her heels. Officer Morning Sun led the girls into the back room, which was a collection of officer’s desk, about twenty in all. Including the doorway they just entered through, there were about half a dozen doorways, most of them leading to who-knows-where (at least to Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo). The walls were stone bricks painted a bright white color, and the ceiling held several fluorescent lights.
Officer Morning Sun commanded the girls to stay put for a moment. They watched as he approached another officer sitting at his desk. The officer was also quite young, compared to his superior standing over him. He had snowy white skin, not unlike Sweetie Belle, and a smoky grey comb-over. After talking with Officer Morning Sun, the officer got from his seat, put away some paper into his desk, and followed Officer Morning Sun over to the girls.
“Ladies, meet Officer Winter Breeze,” Officer Morning Sun introduced while motioning to his accompanying officer, who gave a shy wave. “He will be talking to you,” he pointed at Sweetie Belle, “Miss, uh…”
“Sweetie Belle,” Sweetie Belle offered.
“Yes, and I will be talking to you, Miss…”
“Scootaloo.”
“Right, and don’t worry, each of you will be in those two interview room over there next to each other.” Officer Morning Sun pointed to two doors on the right side of the room. He then tentatively placed a hand on Scootaloo’s back, but didn’t remove it when she didn’t flinch; and he and Officer Winter Breeze began escorting the two girls to their respective rooms. But before they entered their respective rooms, Sweetie Belle reached out and grabbed Scootaloo, bringing her into a tight embrace.
“Good luck, Scoots,” she whispered before letting go.
* * *
The interview room Scootaloo was led into was ordinary, by some sort of standard that even she did not know. It just felt plain, like those interrogation rooms on television shows. That thought creeped her, but she dismissed it because of the lack of a one-way window. In the middle of the room was an oak wood table with matching chairs. Two-way windows looked out onto the rainy world and inside to the offices, and the other two walls were made of the same blinding white bricks as the rest of the building. That was it—just empty walls around empty chairs and an empty table.
“Please, have a seat,” Officer Morning Sun said as he led Scootaloo inside. He closed the shutters on the window toward the offices and turned back the girl in his company. She had taken the seat facing the right wall of the room, and she stared at her lap and the hands in them.
“Want anything to drink? Some water or a soda, maybe?”
Scootaloo shook her head without looking from her lap.
Officer Morning Sun walked from the door to his seat across from Scootaloo. “So, can you tell me who’s been hurting you?” he asked as he took his seat.
Scootaloo looked up at him in a mixture of surprise and interest. Before she could say anything, he stopped her.
“I’ve seen quite a few abused girls when I worked in Manehattan, all of them acting like you are: not very talkative, nervous, maybe even a little scared. It’s sad, really, how I can just look and tell.” Morning Sun cut himself off, shook the solemnity away, and looked deep into her purple eyes. “I also imagine you want to get this done as soon as possible, right?”
His question was answered with a nod.
“So, can you tell who’s been hurting you, Scootaloo?”
Scootaloo gulped not for fear, but to clear out the saliva that had accumulated in her mouth.
“My parents,” she answered simply.
“How, or where?”
Scootaloo pushed up the sleeves on her shirt, exposing the evidence. Officer Morning Sun leaned forward to examine her arms. On her left upper arm, there were three large circular cigar burns; and on her right, a few vertical, shallow cuts ran parallel to one another. The burns were just starting heal, but the cuts had been healing for some time.
The officer didn’t move a single muscle, wrinkle, or freckle in his face; but the angry, yet sad look in his eyes that came with these cases said it all: someone needed to burn for what happened to this poor, poor girl.
Still keeping his composure, he asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Not a whole lot to say. My father gets drunk and beats me, cuts me, burns me,” Scootaloo replied. “But he mostly makes sure that he does it where no one can see the bruises.” Tears welled up a little in her eyes, but she was quick to wipe them away with her sleeve.
“Does you mother know?”
Scootaloo looked away. “Yeah, but she doesn’t do anything except say that I needed it.” She let out an exhausted sigh and laid her head on her arms.
Officer Morning Sun attempted to comfort the girl by putting a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you anymore. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Thanks,” Scootaloo mumbled from her arms.
“Do you have any place to stay for a while?”
Scootaloo lifted her head from her arms and nodded. “Yeah, Sweetie Belle and her family offered to let me stay with them.”
“Your friend? Well, that’s really nice of her and her family. You two must really be close.”
Scootaloo allowed a small smile to grow on her face. “Oh, you have no idea. She and I have been friends since pre-school. She is literally my best friend.” Then, the smile dropped to a frown. “And my only one,” she muttered.
The officer furrowed a brow at that last remark. Surely, she couldn’t be serious; but after a bit of scrutiny of her posture, he realized that she was. He decided against asking more about it; his job was to deal with the abusers, not her personal life. Besides, from the way Scootaloo talked just now, she was with good company when with Sweetie Belle.
Officer Morning Sun cleared his throat. “Do you mind if we take a few pictures of your arms for evidence?”
Scootaloo shook her head. “No, go ahead.”
The officer nodded before getting up and heading for the door, but he stopped when he gripped the doorknob. He turned back to Scootaloo, who was back to fiddling with her hands in her lap. Poor girl, he thought. He always had a soft spot for the neglected girls that were dealt a bad hand by Fate; and as with every similar case before Scootaloo, he wanted those responsible. And he wanted them today.
* * *
“Please, sit down, if you’d like,” the snowy-white Officer Winter Breeze told Sweetie Belle (still holding her umbrella) as he followed her into the interview room. His voice was awkward—shy, too. Sweetie Belle thought of him to be like Fluttershy, or rather a male Fluttershy that wasn’t afraid to carry a gun.
Sweetie Belle took the seat facing the left wall, which was shared with the room that Officer Morning Sun escorted Scootaloo into. The room was a complete mirror image of its neighboring room, and Sweetie Belle didn’t care much for the emptiness of the space. Everything was just too simple, too plain. The walls could use a few cans of a more colorful paint, and a few shelves and furnishings could make the place more comfortable. Sweetie Belle stopped herself there, realizing that she was starting to sound like her sister—a thought that resulted in a shudder.
“Are you cold?” her accompanying officer asked, “I saw you shiver a little bit.”
“Oh, I’m okay. I just had a really disturbing thought.”
Officer Winter Breeze took the remaining seat in the room, across from Sweetie Belle. “So, what do you know of her friend’s, erm, problem?”
Sweetie Belle furrowed a brow, not fully understanding what he was talking about. She had an idea, but she didn’t want to mistake it.
Officer Winter Breeze, on the other hand, didn’t really want to say the correct word. He still had a hard time trying to believe that something like this would take place in a small town such as Ponyville. It always seemed so…perfect.
“Of your friend’s abuse,” the officer corrected himself.
Sweetie Belle tucked her hands underneath her arms. “Not much, just whatever she told me. She said her father likes to do stuff to her when he’s drunk.”
“What kind of stuff?” The officer’s stomach churned at the possible answers to his own question.
“I don’t know. Scootaloo showed me some cuts and cigar burns on her arms. That’s all I really know of.”
The officer pondered what his next question should be, leaving a short stillness between them. But he just as quickly found one.
“What do you know of her father?”
Sweetie Belle thought about it a little. “Not much, really. I’ve never met him. I don’t know where he works. Hell, I don’t even know what his name is. All I know is that he’s apparently a regular at Berry Punch’s tavern.”
“What about her mother?”
Sweetie Belle sighed. “I’ve never met her, either. In fact, I’ve really only been to her house a couple of times; and her parents were gone whenever I was there. We mostly go to my or a mutual friend’s house when we hang out.”
Although Sweetie Belle’s lack of information about her friend’s case saddened Winter Breeze, he came across another question, a more personal one, to ask Sweetie Belle.
“So, you and your friend, how long have you both been friends?”
Sweetie Belle’s mood lightened up. “For as long as I can remember.”
Officer Winter Breeze leaned forward. “What can you tell me about her?”
Sweetie Belle found Winter’s sudden interest in Scootaloo strange, but she dismissed it being some sort of thirst for knowledge that came with a job where one spends half of one’s time asking questions and the other half making assumptions.
“Scootaloo’s…a really complicated girl. She’s unpredictable, mainly because she’s spontaneous and rash. She’s an athlete—a good one, too—and she wants to be just like Rainbow Dash. I’m assuming you know whom Rainbow Dash is if you’ve read the high school sports section of the paper any time in the last three years.” The officer nodded, and Sweetie Belle continued. “She’s surprisingly not very tolerant of pain. She loves pasta, her favorite being spaghetti. She—”
Sweetie Belle was cut off by the door to the interview room opening, allowing the rugged Officer Morning Sun to step in.
“Winter Breeze, I need you a moment,” he said. And like that, Winter Breeze was whisked away, leaving Sweetie Belle all by her lonesome.
* * *
Muddy Water took another swig of his beer before getting up from the desk in his study to tend to that insufferable knocking at his door. His wife was in the kitchen, cooking, and refused to answer it based on the argument, “Why do I have to do everything?”
Muddy sat the bottle down on his desk and walked toward the living room, passing his only daughter’s room on the way. He hadn’t seen her since the morning of the day before when she went to school and didn’t notice her absence until that morning. He and his wife just assumed that she was staying with a friend for a day or two. They didn’t care, really. They were just thankful that she was out of her hair for however long.
With the sound of dinner sizzling in the kitchen in the background, Muddy Water opened the door. Behind it was not an expected sight: four large officers in the Royal Police, all in uniform, were standing on his porch. In the front of them was a firm-looking man with peach-colored skin. All Muddy could do was stammer out a single word.
“Y-Yes?”
“Are you Mr. Muddy Water?” the peach-colored man asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Officer Morning Sun, and this,” he held up a folded piece of paper, “is a warrant for your arrest. Would you kindly turn around and place your hands behind your back,?”
“Arrested?! On what charges?!” Muddy Water demanded as the officers made their way into the man’s house.
“Physical assault and battery of a minor,” Morning Sun answered simply. Two of his fellow officers approached Muddy Water, turned him around themselves, and began placing the handcuffs on him.
Having heard the commotion from the kitchen, Sunny Day came out and saw her husband being led out of the house in cuffs. But before she could do or say anything, Officer Morning Sun noticed her and moved toward her.
“Mrs. Sunny Day, I presume.”
“Uh, yeah,” Sunny said quietly.
“Would you kindly turn around and put your hands behind your back,?”
Sunny’s heart skipped a beat. “W-What for?”
Officer Morning Sun forcefully spun Sunny Day around until her back was facing him. “You’re under arrest for the abuse and neglect of a minor,” he said as he slipped his pair of handcuffs onto Sunny’s wrists. She immediately began offering her objections to the charges while the fourth officer took her and escorted her out. Officer Morning Sun went to the kitchen, took the dinner of hamburgers off the stove, and placed it in the sink before following his men outside.
* * *
Having been instructed to stay by Officer Morning Sun, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle were being entertained by the young officer they were introduced to earlier and had interviewed Sweetie Belle. Morning Sun didn’t give a reason as to why he wanted the girls to stay, and neither of the girls asked why.
At the moment, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle had their attention on Winter Breeze’s story. He was quite the verbal storyteller, using his hands and mouth to add special effects. Not only that, Winter seemed less diffident as he was earlier. He was telling stories of his days in the academy, currently in the midst of a tale (one that many would find inappropriate telling to a couple of freshman girls, even though they seemed to be cool with that sort of thing) of how before the Chief Instructor was supposed to give a speech, one of his fellow cadets had hired a ‘girl’ (though Scootaloo and Sweetie understood what he meant) to hide under the podium as a little surprise.
“But here’s the kicker,” Winter Breeze said, leaning forward across his desk to closer himself to the girls sitting on the other side, “Our Chief Instructor was crippled from the waist down.”
Scootaloo had the misfortune of drinking her cup of water, and her nose quickly became a squirt gun that sprayed her lap and her seat. Winter Breeze and Sweetie Belle proved to be too weak not to break down into gut-wrenching, side-holding laughter while Scootaloo coughed and choked on water and giggles. Winter Breeze, after a minute, managed to regain his self-control and retrieved some paper towels for Scootaloo.
As Scootaloo was cleaning herself, she and Sweetie Belle could hear the front door to the station open and close; and within seconds, Morning Sun came through the door. He took a few glances around prior to spotting them by Winter Breeze’s desk and walked over, the irritaitng squelching of his boots along the floor escorting his steps.
“Good, you girls are still here,” Morning Sun said, choosing not to comment on the fact that Scootaloo was trying to dry her damp lap with a bundle of paper towels.
“You told us to, remember?” Scootaloo said without even looking up from rubbing her lap.
“Ah yes, well, I just want to say that we—”
Morning Sun was cut off by some exceptionally loud grunts that came from the lobby of the station; and in walked Scootaloo’s father in cuffs, escorted by two officers. He looked around as the officers ushered him through the room, and then he finally saw her. Scootaloo saw that red-eyed, scowling expression that she knew so well. Too well, in fact.
The man glowered and resisted the pull of the officers as best he could. “You little FUCKING BITCH!” he roared, lunging at her. Scootaloo flinched and took a step back; but the officers held fast, keeping the man a distance from her.
Morning Sun marched up to the officers holding Muddy Water. “I thought I ordered you to wait outside until I get you.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” one of the officers spluttered, “I just thought—”
“Is this the thanks I get for taking care of your little ass?!” Muddy Water howled, interrupting the officer’s train of thought.
Morning Sun’s attention shifted from the officer to the man in his custody. He violently grabbed the collar of Muddy’s shirt and pulled him close. “The only person you’ve taken care of is yourself,” Morning sneered. He released the man’s shirt before saying to his subordinates, “Now, get him out of my sight.” The officers quickly took Muddy Water, now mumbling profanities in the direction of his only daughter, through one of the doors on the wall opposite to the front.
Morning Sun sighed and turned around to see Scootaloo. She was lightly sobbing and being held and consoled by Sweetie Belle. Sweetie Belle tenderly rubbed Scootaloo’s right arm while whispering the usual “It’s okay” to her. Morning somewhat grinned at the girl comforting her friend before making his way to them.
“As I was saying, we, uh, arrested your parents,” Morning Sun needlessly continued.
Scootaloo wiped her eyes with her arm. “Yeah, I can see that,” she sniffled. “Where’s my mother?”
“Another officer is holding her outside. I was hoping I get you two to go out the back way to prevent any more incidents,” the officer answered, half-asking for them to go through the back door that led out into the alleyway behind the station.
Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle didn’t waste a moment, nodding in their mutual approval. Morning Sun mimicked their nod and signaled them to follow him through the other door that stood opposite to the front of the station house and out to the cold, damp air. The rain had stopped an hour ago, and several puddles nearly submerged the alleyway. The sky remained the gloomy grey it had been all-day and forecasted the probability of more rain to come.
“Well, girls, I’m afraid this is where we part ways. Oh, and Scootaloo,” Morning Sun reached into a pocket in the interior of his coat and pulled out a small card that he handed to Scootaloo, “here’s my card. If you need help or just want to talk, feel free to call me.”
Scootaloo took the card and gave it a quick study. “Thanks,” she said simply before thinking of a question she needed to ask. “Oh, since I’m not going to be living at my house, is it okay if I get some stuff from there before you guys turn it into a closed-off crime scene?”
Morning Sun playfully rolled his eyes, something the man didn’t do much of nowadays. “Yeah, sure.”
Scootaloo gave the officer a nod before she and Sweetie Belle, still with an arm around her, took a right on the alleyway that led them to a street that ran off the square.
* * *
It was late in the afternoon when Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle arrived home. They had quickly stopped by Scootaloo’s house to pick up a few more things for her stay (and fetch Scootaloo’s phone from its resting place under the couch) until they could get Magnum to help them hull the rest of Scootaloo’s room to her new home.
And fortunately, for the girls, they arrived before dinner; and having ingested nothing but a couple of cups of water (half a cup of which Scootaloo expelled through her nose) since breakfast, the nagging growls of their bellies made it impossible to walk, or so it seemed. And while the smells of the kitchen drove their stomachs mad with desire, they comforted the girls with the thought that the same aching would soon be relieved.
Scootaloo was the first to plop down at the kitchen table. Sweetie Belle had headed back to her room, offering to take Scootaloo’s bag to the guest room on her way. Pearl was the only other one in the kitchen and was alternating her stirring between a pot of cooked spaghetti and a saucepan of steamy tomato sauce. She noticed Scootaloo coming in and stopped stirring the food; she rushed over and wrapped her arms around Scootaloo.
“I’m sorry what happened today,” Pearl said as she squeezed Scootaloo, “Sweetie told me about it on your way home.”
“It’s okay, Pearl. What’s for dinner?”
Pearl pulled back and gave a wily wink. “Spaghetti and meatballs. Sweetie Belle told me it’s your favorite. After the day you’ve had, I felt that there should be at least something about today you could enjoy.” Pearl returned to the food on the stove before adding, “Oh, and that stack of papers on the table is for you to fill out.” She pointed to a stapled bundle of about ten sheets of paper next to Scootaloo on the table. Scootaloo grabbed it and gave it an once-over. It was an application, that much was obvious; but it lacked a decent title to give any clue as to what for.
“What’s it for?” Scootaloo asked, flipping through the pages.
“It’s your emancipation application,” Pearl answered, giggling a little at the rhyme, “Magnum and I talked to a lawyer who’s going to help you through the process. But first, we had to pick up an application from the courthouse.”
“Is that the ‘business’ that you talked about in the note you left for Sweetie Belle and me?” Scootaloo asked, lifting a brow out of habit.
“Well, some of it. We also had to do some grocery shopping, and Magnum wanted to pick up some stuff from the furniture store.”
Scootaloo looked over the application again. It didn’t seem that bad, since most of the questions were a little repetitive (actually, the application asked for her gender three different times throughout the form).
She was so concentrated on the form that she didn’t even perceive Sweetie Belle standing behind her; and Scootaloo jumped when Sweetie Belle asked, “What’s that for?”
“Geez, Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo sighed thickly, “Don’t do that!”
“I’m sorry,” Sweetie Belle offered. “I thought you saw me…but seriously, what’s that for?”
“It’s my application for emancipation. Your mom got it for me today.”
“Oh,” Sweetie Belle said, as she took a seat beside Scootaloo at the table. Just as she did, the phone in her pocket vibrated; and she reached down and pulled it out. It was a text, and the screen displayed:
Can ya bring scoots to the park tomorrow mornin? I wanna apologize and she wont answer me back. 5:12PM Sat, Apr 12 From: Apple Bloom
Sweetie Belle gave a short glance in Scootaloo’s direction. Scootaloo was paying her no mind, still studying the application. Sweetie Belle nodded to herself in reassurance that this was indeed a good idea and hit ‘Reply.’
“Yeah, I will. I wont tell her though, she wont go if she knows youll be there. Shes still pretty pissed about friday ,” Sweetie Belle typed before hitting ‘Send’ and flashing a smile to Scootaloo.
Chapter Three: Azure Aplogies
“Sweetie Belle, where are taking me?” Scootaloo asked as her friend dragged her across the sidewalk adjacent to the freshly paved road. In front of her was the thief of her hand and the respective body attached to it, holding a tight grip.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Sweetie Belle replied.
It was Sunday, with an emphasis on ‘sun.’ The muddy mess of the day prior had passed, and the warm sun and peaceful breeze seemed to promise some good for the day. Scootaloo wanted to stay in, hoping that television or something could make her feel a little less uneasy and sick. It had been approximately forty-eight hours since she last indulged in her little white friends. She was beginning to feel the nauseating effects of withdrawal, and it sure was going to take its sweet time leaving. But then she was awoken by a pink-and-purple-haired girl urging her to get up and get dressed. No sooner did she get her shoes on, Scootaloo was being pulled down the street like a little red wagon.
Scootaloo’s only thought this whole time was of Sweetie Belle’s intentions and destination.
“Sweetie Belle, why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”
“Because it’s a surprise.”
Scootaloo considered this not to be good. Either Sweetie Belle genuinely had a surprise, or it was something Scootaloo was not going to like. The latter would explain why Sweetie Belle was dragging her around.
Scootaloo continued her musings as the two walked down the street. After crossing the street a couple of times, the girls found themselves just a few blocks from the high school, approaching a vast playground. It was mostly an open field with a bunch of standard playground equipment—swings, slides, jungle gym—in a small area in the western area of the park. Next to them were some sand volleyball courts. To the east were a couple of soccer goals. Sweetie Belle pulled Scootaloo over the square wooden boards that separated the park from the sidewalk and toward the swings. In the distance, Scootaloo saw a girl already on a swing, carelessly and gently swinging back and forth. She had faded yellow skin and hair the color of a delicious red apple decorated with a carnation-pink bow.
Scootaloo’s eyes widened at the mere sight of the girl on the swing. Yep, something Scootaloo was not going to like. For once during this trip, Scootaloo actually began resisting Sweetie Belle’s pull as she dug her feet into the ground, stopping her and Sweetie Belle.
“No! I’m not going!” Scootaloo declared.
Sweetie Belle pulled with all of her might, ending in a stalemate with Scootaloo.
“Come on, Scootaloo. She’s really sorry!” Sweetie Belle cried, her arm feeling like a rope in a tug-of-war challenge.
“Sweetie Belle, I have nothing to say to her!”
Sweetie Belle, with a grim facade, looked at Scootaloo and made eye contact. “Scootaloo, if you don’t come and talk with her, I will kick you in your bad knee.”
Scootaloo sighed heavily, “Fine! Whatever.” She let her body loosen up so she could be dragged.
As Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo approached her, Apple Bloom stood up from the swing but didn’t say anything. Scootaloo stopped a few feet from Apple Bloom, and not once did she move her eyes from Apple Bloom nor did she remove the unpleasant scowl from her mouth. Sweetie Belle cautiously let go of Scootaloo’s hand, ready to give chase if it would be needed. But it wasn’t.
The three stood in silence for the first few minutes, an awful, awkward silence. Apple Bloom played with her hands in her lap, chewing over what words to use with her contrition. Scootaloo just stood there, with her arms crossed and eyes glaring as she awaited whatever lying filth would spew out of Apple Bloom’s mouth. Sweetie Belle stood off to the side of them, hoping that the two could eventually put this mess behind them and return to being friends once more.
“Scootaloo,” Apple Bloom said tentatively, trying to get some response out of Scootaloo. Her only response was a flaring of her nostrils. Apple Bloom continued, “Scoots, Ah’m really sorry—”
“For what? Telling my secret or completely ruining what little good that was in my life?” Scootaloo snapped.
Apple Bloom kicked at the ground nervously, “Both, Ah guess.”
“You guess?! You GUESS?!” Scootaloo shouted. she leveled an index finger in Apple Bloom’s direction and narrowed her eyes, “You are pathetic!”
“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle intervened with a voice that would put a scolding mother’s to shame.
“What? She’s the one that apparently doesn’t know why she’s sorry!”
Apple Bloom stepped toward Scootaloo, “Scootaloo...”
“No!” Scootaloo backpedaled when Apple Bloom began approaching her, “You stay away from me!”
“But Scootaloo....” Apple Bloom tried another step forward, and Scootaloo took another step back.
“No, YOU! I trusted you, and you fucked me over! And what’s worse is that you told the two bitches that could ruin me.” Scootaloo hurriedly turned around and started to walk away. Sweetie Belle reached for her shoulder, but Scootaloo smacked it away. “No, Sweetie Belle, you can kick me in the knee all you want later, but I will not stay here. I told you that I have nothing to say.” Scootaloo looked at Apple Bloom before adding, “Nothing good, at least.” Without another word, Scootaloo ran off, leaving the two by themselves.
Apple Bloom fell down to the ground in tears. She buried her face into her knees and hugged her legs bent in front of her.
Sympathetic as always, Sweetie Belle crouched down beside her. She placed a hand on Apple Bloom’s back and gently rubbed.
“It’s okay, Apple Bloom,” Sweetie Belle reassured.
Apple Bloom sniffled. “No, no, it’s not. One of my best friends hates me, and she won’t even accept my apology.”
“She’ll come around, trust me.”
For a moment, Sweetie Belle thought about giving chase to Scootaloo; but she decided against it and thought of a better option instead.
“Apple Bloom, there’s something you should know that happened Friday...”
* * *
Down the road just a few blocks was the small town’s small high school, a simple three-story building that was the learning center for almost two-hundred students spread across the four grades. It was nothing special, sure; but a certain rainbow-haired girl took all of the girl teams to nationals. That was certainly something she, the school, and the town were proud of.
On the soccer fields, which were open to the public as long as school or practice wasn’t in session, was the aforementioned rainbow-haired girl. Behind the school were the sports fields; and separating the geeks and the athletes were a green field, a sidewalk connecting the school and the fields, and a large oak tree that matched the school in both height and majesty. All of Rainbow Dash’s friends had prior commitments for that day: Pinkie Pie had a bake sale to work, Fluttershy was volunteering at the animal shelter again, Rarity and Applejack were working their respective jobs, and as always, Twilight had boarded herself in her room to study; thus leaving Rainbow Dash to entertain herself. It wasn’t difficult to do so though; all she needed was a ball. And she had one (several, in fact) that she was using to play Keep Away with the earth.
Her concentration was broken by some obscenities directed at Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom and a loud, exasperated grunt, all in a familiar voice, causing Rainbow Dash’s foot to miss the ball completely. She looked to the picnic tables sitting in the shadow of the school to see Scootaloo sit down at one, her face buried into her forearms. It was a sight to which Rainbow Dash cocked a brow.
Rainbow Dash picked up her ball, tucked it under her arm, and walked over to the bench on which Scootaloo sat until she was just a few feet behind her.
“Hey, squirt,” Rainbow Dash said in an unusually gentle voice. She could tell something was wrong—anyone could tell that.
Scootaloo sighed heavily without raising her head from her forearms. “Hey, Rainbow Dash.”
Rainbow Dash took a seat beside Scootaloo, leaning her back against the table. “What’s the matter, kid?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was muffled by the wood of the table and the flesh of the forearms. She hadn’t bothered to lift up her head.
“Uh, you were cussing out Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom; that hardly seems like nothing to me.”
“I’m fine, Rainbow Dash,” Scootaloo declared, though she still did not raise her head from the table.
“Really?” Rainbow Dash’s voice and wrinkled brow portrayed her doubt. Scootaloo finally moved her head, turning it Rainbow Dash. “‘Cause my little sister doesn’t normally seem this angry or gloomy.” Rainbow Dash turned herself around in her seat, sliding her legs under the table.
“Are you sure you want to talk to someone like me? I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip about me.”
“Okay, first, you know I don’t follow gossip in this school—that Rarity’s job.” That little jab elicited a small grin on Scootaloo’s face. “Second,” Rainbow Dash continued, “if I did follow the gossip—which I don’t—I wouldn’t have heard of it. One thing I learned about gossip by being friends with Rarity is that, that sorta stuff tends to trickle from the upperclassmen to the lowerclassmen, not vice versa. And third, I don’t care what other people say. I know and trust you...” Rainbow Dash then put an arm on Scootaloo’s shoulders, “...and I wouldn’t call you my little sister if I didn’t. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
Scootaloo lifted up her arms, placed her face onto the palms of her hands, and rubbed her eyes.
“Apple Bloom told a couple of people a secret of mine, and then they blabbed it around the school.”
“And Sweetie Belle?”
“Sweetie Belle wants me to make nice with her.”
“Is Apple Bloom sorry?”
“She says she is.”
Scootaloo looked away shamefully. “It kinda meant something to me.” The incidents that transpired Friday was something she wanted to avoid remembering or discussing, especially with Rainbow Dash. The night previous was a sleepless one for her, since every time she closed her eyes she could feel the muzzle of her father’s pistol slide across her tongue, the taste of the cold steel lingering on it. And she always awoke with a bang.
“How so?”
“I-I don’t want to talk about it, Rainbow Dash.”
Rainbow Dash noticed the displeasure on Scootaloo’s face as the latter kept refusing to tell the tale. She thought she’d just let it go this time.
“Okay, so it’s big?” Rainbow Dash thought aloud.
Scootaloo confirmed this with a nod.
“Okay, but I hardly believe that it’s something that should ruin such a good friendship.” Rainbow Dash readjusted herself to where she was sitting perpendicular to the bench and her entire body facing Scootaloo and placed her ball in front of her pelvis. “Look, I’ve been in your position before; and I’ve forgiven people when they were sorry.”
“But this is different, Rainbow Dash.”
Rainbow Dash shook her head. “If you’re thinking that yours is much worse, don’t. You remember when Rarity accidentally heard...something and told someone that I slept with the entire football team last year?”
Scootaloo nodded.
“Well, after that started going around, I was devastated. I tried to not let it bother me. But people are cruel, and they just wouldn’t stop calling me names. You know how it goes. After a while, I began to take all that I could and kinda stated having some strange thoughts—dark thoughts.”
Scootaloo’s eyes widened, shocked by what Rainbow Dash had said; and she was speechless to see Rainbow Dash in such a vulnerable state. Rainbow Dash had always had a bravado about her that made her seem untouchable, invincible. But this was certainly not the case. Bullying was torture; and as with torture, everyone has a limit, even Rainbow Dash.
Rainbow Dash took a deep breath and continued. “But Rarity apologized, I forgave her and soon everyone else found someone else to bother. However, when I forgave Rarity, I told her that it didn’t mean that I trusted her again; she’d have to earn that.” She stood up from the bench on the picnic table and tucked her ball back under her arm. “I think you should tell the same to Apple Bloom.” Rainbow Dash offered a cyan fist to Scootaloo, who smirked before bumping it with her own orange fist.
Rainbow Dash started walking away, but she stopped when a question she hadn’t asked popped into her head. She was almost afraid of asking it, thinking Scootaloo might become irate with her if she did; but she just had to ask.
“Scootaloo?” Rainbow Dash turned around to see Scootaloo starting to get up from the bench as well. Scootaloo stopped and looked at Rainbow Dash.
“Yeah?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly was your secret?”
Scootaloo opened her mouth to decline answering, but she stopped and thought about it. Nearly the entire freshman class knew, and Rainbow Dash could ask any of them if she wanted to know badly enough. It would be best if she heard it from Scootaloo, so all the facts were in place and not contaminated by the mouths of others.
Scootaloo kicked at the ground before asking, “Do you remember my knee injury during practice a couple months ago?”
“Well, the doctor gave me some painkillers, and I kinda got hooked.” Scootaloo looked down in preparation of the tongue-lashing she would get from Rainbow Dash.
But there was none, only a question.
“Are you still hooked?”
Scootaloo focused her eyes back to Rainbow Dash, who had a stern look on her face. Scootaloo held up two fingers from her right hand. “Two days sober.”
The corner of Rainbow’s mouth twitched in an attempt to smile, but she held it back. Scootaloo wasn’t out of the woods yet, and two days sobriety was hardly applause-worthy.
“Well, keep up the good work.” Rainbow Dash turned around and started for the soccer fields once more before stopping and adding, “I don’t wanna lose you like I did Gilda.”
As she walked, Rainbow Dash sighed to herself at the thought of her former friend—emphasis on ‘former.’ Gilda had dropped out of Cloudsdale High a year and a half ago. The two kept in touch when Rainbow Dash and her parents moved to Ponyville back in the fourth grade. But then Gilda became hooked on something, and the two hadn’t talked since their last chat. Some words were said, most of them slurred by Gilda; and like that, Rainbow Dash was down a friend. But she did not care. She had plenty of close friends, good friends, which were right there in Ponyville for her. It still hurts, though, when one loses such a close, well-connecting friend.
Rainbow Dash was now under the large oak tree and in its shade. She sat down and relaxed in the grass before looking over to the picnic table she was just at and saw no sight of Scootaloo.
Good, Rainbow Dash thought, maybe that poor girl can regain some normality in her life.
Whatever normality she could.
* * *
For about thirty minutes, Sweetie Belle had been telling Apple Bloom of the horrors of Scootaloo’s life and her attempt that happened the Friday prior. Much like anyone else that heard the sorrowful story and depressing details, Apple Bloom felt like crap, as one should. She saw it as all her fault why Scootaloo had tried to do it, but Sweetie Belle told her that this would have happened eventually.
“I’m just glad that I was able to stop it,” Sweetie Belle added. She and Apple Bloom each were sitting in side-by-side swings. Sweetie Belle fiddled with her hands in her lap while Apple Bloom, gripping the chains from which the swing hung, swung back and forth, pushed gently by Mother Earth’s vernal winds. She looked solemnly at the wood-chippings-covered ground, trying to digest all of the information she was just force-fed; and now it was giving her indigestion.
Sweetie Belle knew what she done but feared no consequences. She knew that Scootaloo cared for her too much to let her go, and she knew that Scootaloo would do anything and give everything to prevent the loss. And the way knew this was because she felt the same way about her.
The two girls didn’t really have anything to say to each other, leaving an awkward silence between them. Sweetie Belle looked up and saw Scootaloo walking back to the swings.
“Uh-oh,” she uttered. Apple Bloom looked to Sweetie Belle with furrowed brow and then looked to see what Sweetie Belle was looking at. Without a single rational thought, only emotion, she bolted for Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle sat for a moment to see how this was going to pan out—and see if her interposition would be needed.
Scootaloo stopped at the sight of Apple Bloom running to her. She barely had time to consider what actions to take before she was taken into what felt like an embrace by a very, very large bear. With Apple Bloom’s short stature, her head only reached up to Scootaloo’s collarbone, her ear pressing just above Scootaloo’s heart. Apple Bloom probably still felt Scootaloo breathing because she squeezed tighter, and Scootaloo could feel the vertebrae in her spine breaking.
“Scootaloo,” Apple Bloom cried, quite literally in this case, “Ah’m so sorry Ah did what Ah did. You’re one of my best in the whole world, and Ah don’t wanna ever lose you for no reason.”
Scootaloo was completely flabbergasted at this; and, after remembering what Rainbow Dash had said once more, she put her arms around Apple Bloom. She was still enraged by Apple Bloom’s actions the week before, but she somehow didn’t feel the same about Apple Bloom anymore.
Scootaloo tried to think of something to say, but she could only whisper a small phrase. “It’s...okay, Apple Bloom. I…I forgive you.”
At these words, Apple Bloom smiled and hugged Scootaloo a bit tighter before releasing her.
“So, we’re good?”
“Not quite,” Scootaloo answered.
Apple Bloom looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Scootaloo sighed and gently pushed her away. “Look, I’m willing to forgive you. However, I’m not sure if I can trust you or not. So I’m not going to until you’ve…proven yourself, okay?”
Apple Bloom, despite a solemn gleam in her eyes, went back to squeezing Scootaloo. “Okay.”
Over by the swings, Sweetie Belle watched the two and was both surprised and glad what had occurred. She was almost certain that there would be some hair pulling on Scootaloo’s part, and she would have to intervene. Sweetie Belle began wondering what happened to change Scootaloo’s mind. The two were talking—and that’s all she wanted—but Scootaloo didn’t change her mind very often. Sweetie Belle looked again and smiled at the two in the distance, hoping that things can go back to normal.
Well, as normal as it could get.
* * *
The three stayed in the park a bit longer before Apple Bloom had to help her older brother and sister with the fields and some of the other chores. Not a word was spoken about Sweetie Belle telling Apple Bloom about Friday, and Sweetie Belle was glad that it wasn’t. She knew it would pop up eventually, but that would be Future Sweetie Belle’s problem.
Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle just decided to go home after Apple Bloom left. It was getting late, and dinner would be ready soon.
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo walked most of the trip in silence; that is, until they were walking on the sidewalk leading to Sweetie Belle’s house. It was a warm, decent day for April. The light breeze from earlier had died down, and a couple cumulus clouds drifted by. The freshly mowed lawn of the houses still looked happy from the rain the day before. The sun was just beginning to set as Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were just about to get home, only a few houses away from it.
“Scootaloo, what made you change your mind about Apple Bloom?” Sweetie Belle asked. For some reason, that question has been eating away at her, and it just helped to get some sort of an answer.
“Eh, it’s nothing.”
“Oh, really? You completely forgiving Apple Bloom when minutes before you couldn’t even be near her? That’s nothing?”
“Yes, yes, it is.”
Sweetie Belle narrowed her eyes at Scootaloo as the two stepped onto the porch. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said.
Scootaloo opened the front door to Sweetie Belle’s house. “Okay, I won’t,” she commented with a grin as the two stepped into the house.
Beside the door was a fairly large television, and across from it was the forest green three-seat couch flanked by a coffee table and a tan recliner. The middle spot of the couch was occupied by Sweetie Belle’s father.
Magnum, at the sight of the girls, hopped off his spot on the couch, a grin hidden behind his moustache.
“Ah! Girls, you’re home!” he exclaimed. He motioned for them to follow, “I have something to show you two!”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo merely looked at each other in interest and complied with the man’s wishes, following him into the hallway. He led them past the door to Rarity’s room and through the across from Sweetie Belle’s room, the third on the right. Magnum threw open the door and revealed a marvel to the two with a flip of the light switch.
The room was once an at-home athletic center for the macho, mustachioed man. It was large, the size of Rarity’s room, Sweetie Belle’s room, and the wall separating the two all put together; and it had housed an elliptical, a treadmill, a stationary bicycle, and a large rack of iron free-weights. They all had gotten hours and hours of use; hours that the man with the moustache had felt he had wasted. Muscles grow weak with time, but memories never die. It took a grey hair in the ol’ soup-strainer and two daughters reaching high school to realize what he had missed. He was no longer a player but instead, a coach. And a coach doesn’t need his muscles do his job. Whatever exercise he needed could be done at the high school gym while waiting for those numbskull meatheads.
The room basked in the electrical light, unveiling the novel changes that were made. Where the treadmill once stood against the left wall, Sweetie Belle’s bed; and against the wall opposite to it was another bed. That bed held Scootaloo’s bedspreads and a few pillows in cyan pillowcases. Three or four small expandable racks were holding Sweetie Belle’s clothes, and they were pressed against the wall in front of her bed. What seemed like her entire room—her desk, her shelves, and everything else—were in the room, pushed to one-side of the room, leaving the bed on the other side alone.
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo exchanged confused glances. Sweetie Belle turned to her father.
“Uh, Dad, um...what...uh...”
“You like?” Magnum exclaimed, slapping both Sweetie Belle’s and Scootaloo’s backs. “I don’t really need those exercise machines anymore so I put them down in the basement. And I thought this room might have some better use. I still have to put the closets together and install them into the walls. That may take a few days to do, but there’s no reason why you two can’t sleep in here tonight!”
Scootaloo’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at the large man. “Us two? As in...”
“Yep!” Magnum put a hand each on Scootaloo’s left and Sweetie Belle’s right shoulder. “You two are roommates!”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo slowly turned to each other with the toothiest grins each of them ever had.
Chapter Four: Blood Red Vision
“Scootaloo, Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle softly called as she gently poked her new roommate in the arm.
Having awoken at five o’clock that particular Monday morning, Sweetie Belle was fully washed and dressed in a free flowing, knee-length, bright green and rose dress and a white t-shirt with a large pink heart on it. Her roommate of about thirteen hours, however, was still clad in the combination of a grey tank top and navy blue sweatpants that made up her nightwear. And it was a quarter past six o’clock—time for her to be waking up.
“Scootaloo, Scootaloo,” Sweetie Belle called again, poking slightly harder. A smile started forming when Scootaloo stirred in the mess of comforter and blankets. But the smile dropped when Sweetie Belle realized that Scootaloo had only rolled over from her position of lying on her stomach to a position of lying on her back.
“No, Sweetie Belle, don’t put it there,” Scootaloo murmured in her sleep. Sweetie Belle gave her sleeping friend a quizzical, surprised expression, complete with a cocked brow and a blush in her cheeks, as her thoughts poured over the possibilities of what Scootaloo might be dreaming of. She couldn’t really think of any and decided to focus on how to wake Scootaloo. She then glanced to the side, her blush fading away, and returned her gaze to Scootaloo with a plan and a devilish grin.
Sweetie Belle leaned forward on the bed, nearing her face to Scootaloo’s right ear. She took a moment to inhale as much air as humanly possible before releasing it all at the top of her lungs and in her highest pitch.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
“AHH!” Scootaloo yelled before shortly thrashing out in surprise and rising up from her slumber. She looked to Sweetie Belle, who was attempting to contain her laughter, a battle Sweetie Belle was losing. Scootaloo narrowed her eyes at Sweetie Belle in a glare worth thirty-seven daggers.
“What the hell was that for?!”
“Hehe, sorry,” Sweetie Belle apologized with smile, “but it’s time to get up.”
Scootaloo rubbed her eyes. “Ya’know, I do have my phone set for six.”
The smile on Sweetie Belle’s face dropped. “Scootaloo, it’s, like, 6:15.” She glanced down at Scootaloo’s phone resting on a duffel bag. “You might want to check your phone.”
After finally rubbing some of the sleepiness from her eyes, Scootaloo reached down for her phone. She pushed to a few buttons to wake it from its slumber, but nothing happened. Scootaloo, thinking the phone might have just turned itself off, pressed and held the power button; but the screen remained dark and blank.
“Oh,” Scootaloo groaned, falling back into bed. “Thing must’ve died while I was asleep.”
Sweetie Belle raised a forefinger into the air and showed a grin on her face. “That’s why we charge our phones when we use them for alarms.”
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Great, you’re a dictionary AND a ‘Cell Phone for Dummies’ book,” she muttered before sighing and yelling, “But the closest outlet’s all the way over there!” She pointed to the outlet right beside the doorway across from her bed.
“I think there is an outlet in the corner on the other side of your bed,” Sweetie Belle said.
Scootaloo crawled across her bed to the large gap between it and the walls. Sure enough, there was a little white rectangle with two outlets in it.
“Fair enough,” Scootaloo mumbled. She went to her duffel bag and pulled out a wall charger, plugging each end into its corresponding place. Upon plugging the bulky end into the bottom end, the phone came to life, and the image of a battery with bars inside of it appeared on the screen. Scootaloo just tossed the phone onto her bed and went back to rubbing her eyes. Her head throbbed in a nearly unbearable headache, and she felt nauseous almost to the point where she felt she could throw up at any minute.
“Ugh, I do not feel good,” Scootaloo stated as she sat down on her bed.
Sweetie Belle walked over to Scootaloo, sat by her, and placed the back of her hand onto Scootaloo’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish,” she said as put her hand down. “It could be withdrawal.”
“That’s what I think, too. I kinda felt bad yesterday, but it wasn’t this bad. Maybe I should just stay home.”
Sweetie Belle gave Scootaloo an objecting look. “No, you’re going to school. You’re not really sick, and it’s really your fault you’re going through this.”
Scootaloo sighed crossly. “Fine! But I’m coming home if I start blowing chunks or something,” she asserted with a finger leveled at Sweetie Belle before getting up to fetch some clothing.
Sweetie Belle’s expression softened dramatically at the sight of Scootaloo’s reaction. “Scootaloo,” she began, turning to Scootaloo, who was digging through her duffel bag, “I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it,” Scootaloo grumbled, flicking away Sweetie Belle’s intended apology with her hand, “You're right. This is all my fault, so I might as well deal with it.” With a bundle of clothes tucked under her arm, Scootaloo stood up and headed for the door. She stopped, however, when her left wrist was suddenly seized by Sweetie Belle, who quickly got to her feet from the bed and embraced Scootaloo
“I said forget it, Sweetie Belle.” Scootaloo didn’t waste a moment before returning it, unceremoniously dropping her clothes to the floor to do so with both arms.
“I know, but I don’t like it when you get mad at me,” Sweetie Belle said with her cheek lying on Scootaloo’s shoulder, her standard resting place for her head when she hugged Scootaloo.
“I’m not mad, just not feeling well.” Scootaloo broke apart from Sweetie Belle, and the two held each other at arms’ length. “And I could never be mad at you.”
The surprised blush on Sweetie Belle’s face resurfaced, and it felt like it was expanding from her cheeks to her forehead. “Scootaloo, that’s probably one of the most…mushy things I’ve ever heard you say. Where did that come from?”
Scootaloo took a moment to think about it and shrugged when she came across no answer, or rather a reasonable one that didn’t spill her now-conscience affection to Sweetie Belle. “I don’t know. I think I just got caught up in the moment. But hey, it did cheer you up.”
The corner of Sweetie Belle’s mouth turned upwards slightly in a half smile. “That it did. Thanks for that,” she said before moving in for another squeeze. She only remained there for a moment after inhaling the air around her and Scootaloo through her nose and grimacing before stating, “You haven’t showered yet.”
Scootaloo chuckled, “You didn’t give me a chance to.”
Sweetie Belle quickly stepped back into their room, hands hidden from sight behind her back. “I’ll let you do that.”
Scootaloo only chuckled once more before picking up her clothes and walking to the bathroom to get ready for school.
* * *
Being a small high school in a small town, Ponyville High only employed a handful of teachers, focusing on the priority subjects such as math and English. However, this did not limit the array of classes offered to the students. Many classes were compressed into semester-length courses, while some were put upon the shoulders of other teachers that had little or nothing to do with their own subjects. The foreign languages teacher had to teach geography, a required subject. One teacher was teaching both business and computer classes; and another taught all the science classes except advanced freshman science, Introduction to Physical Science (a class completely dedicated to lab work that was often abbreviated to just ‘I.P.S.’ It was taught in the mornings by the junior high science teacher). The horticulture teacher doubled as an agriculture teacher, as did both of the physical education teachers, who taught either health or driver’s education. The only subjects that had multiple teachers were physical education, math, and English, which all had two teachers each.
The school also had a block schedule, where the classes of the students would be split between two alternating days with four classes each day. This helped prepare the high school students for the academic schedule of college. And the system worked like a finely tuned machine; no problems occurred, with the exception of dropouts and kids that just don’t care, but they were out of the school’s reach of resolve.
A tired, sullen, hunched Scootaloo dragged herself behind a happily humming Sweetie Belle as the sun managed to peek out from behind the many clouds littering the sky, shining on their backs as they headed west. Scootaloo dreaded each school day of her life, mainly because of two certain girls that played tormentor to her, Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and a few other victims that had the misfortune of catching their seemingly rapacious eyes. They weren’t always like that, trolling the school for embarrassing secrets and anything else that seemed to satisfy their sadistic hunger. One would disbelieve they were once actually decent human beings long ago, at a time when fairies were real and multiplication was the hardest thing ever. But once they hit their preteen years, their humanity vanished alongside innocence; and they targeted the group of girls since the beginning.
Of course, Scootaloo was never one for rolling over for them. Amongst her and her friends, she was the only one that didn’t share the pacific view of dealing with them. She came to blows with them frequently during junior high, earning more than her fair share of detentions, parental meetings, and suspensions, which in turn often led to her own beatings as punishment from her father. The little cycle led to Scootaloo coming up with her own theory about how the world works, ‘resistance only furthers misery.’
After about a fifteen-minute walk, the high school came into view just down the road. Several students had gathered in groups too varied to be cliques, either in front of the school or out in the student parking lot, and were now discussing with one another the events in life of the past few hours that they hadn’t bothered to text or post publicly. As for Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, they were their own group, with Apple Bloom the only one absent.
However, it seemed they were the ones absent when they arrived at their usual spot, a green iron bench out in front of their school, and saw Apple Bloom already there. Quite often, she would be the one to arrive last, since the Apples lived out of town and Apple Bloom regularly hitched a ride with her siblings to school and into town. But now she was there, sitting on the bench and hugging her knees, accompanied by a novel member to their little gang: Featherweight.
Featherweight was an odd soul, or at least that’s how most saw him. He was scrawny and short, and was claimed to be the second smallest in the school, beating Apple Bloom by an inch or two. His physique was a complete contrast from that of his brother, one of the physical education teachers at the school and the school’s health teacher. Academically, he was one of the best, giving Sweetie Belle a run for her money for valedictorian even now in their freshman year. He didn’t talk to many and preferred a life in the shadows, especially when Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were around. Mostly, he hung around Rumble and Pipsqueak; but lately, Scootaloo had noticed, he had been hanging around Apple Bloom whenever the two were alone.
Upon seeing Featherweight, Scootaloo scrunched her face in confusion as she and Sweetie Belle walked up the sidewalk running past the school and the benches. Apple Bloom saw them and smiled whilst giving a small wave.
“Hey, girls,” she greeted casually, as if the events of the past few days had never happened.
“Hey, Apple Bloom,” both Sweetie and Scootaloo replied, cheerily for Sweetie Belle but wearily for Scootaloo.
“Hey, Featherweight,” Sweetie Belle greeted after Apple Bloom’s salutation without delay.
Scootaloo, however, didn’t even spare him a look. Essentially, she was sour to anyone outside of the three of them and Rainbow Dash because she knew that they all knew of her addiction to those pills, courtesy of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. To her, every glance was a laugh at her expense, every greeting a mocking insult. She felt she could very well just be paranoid, but she should have the right after years of being in the center of ridicule so often.
“Hi, Sweetie Belle. Hi, Scootaloo,” Featherweight said shyly, “Don’t worry about me, I was just leaving.” He lifted himself up from the bench only an inch or two before Apple Bloom sat up and grabbed his shoulder to pull him down.
“No, ya weren’t,” Apple Bloom declared, “Sweetie and Scoots don’t mind if you’re here.” She turned her attention to Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, her eyes suggesting an agreement, “Right?”
“Sure!” Sweetie Belle agreed with a thick, sappy smile, “More the merrier!”
Scootaloo groaned, holding her stomach and hunching more than she had been. “Ugh, your infectious attitude is making me sicker.”
Sweetie Belle puffed out her bottom lip, giving Scootaloo an offended pout. “Why do you always have to be a grumpy gal?”
“I think I have the right, especially after the past three days I went through,” rebutted Scootaloo.
Sweetie Belle just sighed, “I guess so.”
Scootaloo reached into her right pants pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding her backpack slung over her left shoulder and pulled out her phone to check the clock. 8:01 a.m.—about nine minutes before the first bell of the day rang.
“Today’s a B day, right?” she asked almost with a grunt, placing her phone back into her pocket. The rest of the group concurred; and Scootaloo let out a full, incensed groan.
“That means we have a test in I.P.S. today,” she directed to Sweetie Belle, half-stating and half-asking. Sweetie nodded in agreement.
“But,” Sweetie Belle began, accenting it with a poke to Scootaloo’s upper arm, “what class do we have at the end of the day?”
Scootaloo’s expression promptly refreshed at the realization. For her, ‘B’ school days brought the tiresome classes of I.P.S., freshman English, and, as of the second semester they were already waist-deep in, geography. However, Fate seemed to reward Scootaloo for her troubles throughout the day by gifting her a class very few freshmen have the privilege of taking: first-year foods class, taught by Mrs. Sweetdrops (though, the class should’ve been called ‘first-year baking’, Scootaloo often thought, since they mostly made cookies, brownies, or cupcakes). And as a bonus to all the baked goods, having one of the best teachers in the school, and the fact that she was passing the class with a ninety-seven, Sweetie Belle was her cooking partner; and even though Sweetie was never really good at the cooking part of the class, she did provide good company—especially now.
“Okay, so it shouldn’t so bad today.”
The first bell rang, punctuating Scootaloo’s thought and the group’s time together, causing the masses to flock to the door. The four were amongst the last to get in, trudging up the stairs to the freshman lockers on the third floor. The lockers for each class were assigned alphabetically, meaning that Apple Bloom’s locker was all the way down the hall from Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle, who were separated by a single person, Silver Spoon.
Scootaloo, despite her usual messiness, had created a system that limited the amount of time she spent at her locker; she put all her textbooks for a school day in her backpack the school day before. Grabbing a fresh notebook when she needed it was all she ever had to do at her locker during the day.
And she needed one, but she froze in place when she saw Silver Spoon at her own locker. Deciding that it wasn’t worth it, Scootaloo quickly slipped through the crowd of people toward the lab at the other end of the third floor and breathed a sigh of relief when she made it without incident before walking in.
* * *
Roughly two hours later, the bell that ended third period rang. The I.P.S. test was hell and Scootaloo couldn’t believe that she was somehow able to finish it before the end of the first hour. As she absentmindedly hurried down the stairs, she mentally wondered how she even got into that class in the first place.
So far, school had been going well for her. No one bugged her about her habit; actually, no one aside from Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, and, for a brief moment during second period study hall, Featherweight had bothered to talk to her. Classes had just been released for lunch, a relief that Scootaloo took thankfully, as she quickened her steps into a jog outside and for the bench behind the school.
Students and teachers at Ponyville High were allowed half an hour for lunch, which was off-campus for most since the closest thing to a cafeteria the high school had was a small break room with a couple of vending machines. Some went home for lunch, some to the local diner or (mostly) Sugarcube Corner for their lunch specials; but a handful went against the grain and settled for one of the many picnic tables that were scattered across the campus. Students that were responsible enough found their way back to the school roughly five minutes before the bell, and those that were not typically didn’t bother coming in the first place.
Scootaloo was amongst those that didn’t literally go off-campus for lunch, along with her company of Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. The three of them always secured a lone picnic table that rested in the shadow of the school, which gave them their privacy—sometimes.
And as always on a B day, Scootaloo made it to the table first, backpack in hand. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom shared third period P.E. and the walk from the gym (which was in a second building on the grounds that also housed the agriculture classes, chorus and band, and the shop classes). The spot, situated in a nook the architecture of the school building created, was shaded by the towering school a handful of feet away from it and was accompanied by the rusty fire escape stairs that led from the third floor of the building. A couple of foot-long flower boxes sat on the ground, completely empty, and the table sat on a platform of tightly fit red bricks. Underneath the fire escape was a door to the first-floor hallway, but it was always locked for some reason.
Scootaloo took no time to dawdle before seating herself, taking a seat facing way she had come, around the right side of the building. The table was a little banged up and probably had a few years over Scootaloo, but it was nonetheless comfortable. It didn’t have a varnished finish to it, and the middle board was warped and bent upward. Still somehow, the bench was perfect for the three.
Scootaloo reached into her backpack, digging through loose papers and trash before finally pulling out the lunch bag given to her by Pearl. It was once Rarity’s from before her high school years, a gaudy, deep purple thing with the usual trio of icy blue diamonds embroidered by hand into the flap guarding the main pouch. Scootaloo rolled her eyes at the bag, silently hoping she would get her own lunch bag soon. Though, she’d have to admit that she was surprised this morning when Pearl already had a lunch made up and packed for her. Usually, she would have to make her own or, in the cases she had nearly overslept and simply didn’t have time, use what little money she had to buy one of those nauseating shit-heaps that were called a ‘school lunch’ that the high school brought from the elementary school.
Her stomach growled out an order for Scootaloo to start unpacking her lunch. Curiously, she shook the bag a little to get a hint of its contents, like a kid during the holidays. A couple of hefty items could be felt rattling inside, and Scootaloo put it down and pulled the zipper on the main flap. She tossed it open and revealed its treasure, to which she swiftly facepalmed. The two heavy things were an ice pack and a clear, hard plastic bottle of what was clearly lemonade that had crushed a bag of toasted cheese crackers into dust and squashed what was once an obviously delightful sandwich wrapped in a bag. Scootaloo looked dejectedly at the sandwich before grabbing it and popping open the deflated storage bag holding it. Despite its mashed state, it was still soft in her hands, the enticing smells of sweet grape jelly and creamy peanut butter wafting up from between the slices of white bread.
Scootaloo reached down with her mouth and bit off a piece of the sandwich right from the middle of the top. A satisfied hum rolled over her tongue alongside the mouthful, pleased at its quality; not too much peanut butter to dry her mouth and not too much grape jelly to overpower the peanut butter. It was a balance she herself had yet to master.
Scootaloo placed the sandwich on the bag and fished out the bottle of lemonade. After twisting the lid open, she took a curious sniff, recoiling at the strong, sour scent. But in spite of the aroma, she took a sip. The smell had lied; it was much, much sourer than it had depicted. Scootaloo pulled back, coughing and puckering her cheeks. But being the glutton for punishment that she was (not to mention her parchedness), Scootaloo returned to the lemonade with gusto, growing accustomed to its tang.
In the quietness of the spot, Scootaloo finally heard the two voices she had been expecting to arrive any minute. Within seconds, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom came from the same way Scootaloo did, rounding the corner. They had been conversing about something that happened during P.E. until Sweetie Belle saw Scootaloo and gave a small, if enthusiastic, wave of her free hand, causing the plastic, silvery pieces of cosmetic bracelets on her wrist to jingle boisterously.
“Hey, Scoots,” Sweetie Belle said, clearly still in her usual optimistic mood as she and Apple Bloom took their seats at the table, “How was English class?”
“Nightmarish,” Scootaloo replied flatly, “My mind and eyes feel like they’ve been tortured.” She held out up a finger. “First by electroshock,” Scootaloo held up another finger, “then by having salt shoved into a wound they didn’t even know they had.” Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom exchanged shocked glances as Scootaloo went back to eating her sandwich.
“That was…graphic,” Sweetie Belle observed.
“Not ta mention disturbin’,” Apple Bloom added.
Scootaloo just shrugged at their comments. “Hey, I’m a twisted soul with an apparent knack for mentally scarring descriptions. So, what were you guys talking about?”
“Nothin’!” Apple Bloom instantly blurted out, blushing profusely at the harmless question.
Sweetie Belle giggled and sarcastically said, “Sure it is.”
“Alright, alright, out with it,” Scootaloo demanded.
Sweetie Belle, despite Apple Bloom’s protests, leaned over the table and whispered into Scootaloo’s ear. Apple Bloom started fiddling with her lunch, the generous rosiness on her face growing in both size and intensity. As Sweetie Belle whispered into her ear, Scootaloo narrowed her eyes at Apple Bloom.
“You’re a perv,” Scootaloo commented when Sweetie Belle pulled away. “Did anyone else see her?” she asked Sweetie.
Sweetie Belle shook her head. “Nope, I’m the only one that caught her staring.”
A grin spread across Scootaloo’s face. “At least she wasn’t staring at his junk.”
Apple Bloom decided not to say anything and instead, buried her face into her hands.
“Who knows?” Sweetie Belle replied, “Maybe she was, and I didn’t catch her.”
Scootaloo turned to Apple Bloom, “Did you?”
Apple Bloom tried to shrink herself down to as small as she could.
Scootaloo’s eyes widened. “You did, didn’t you?”
“No!” Apple Bloom shouted before receding back down. “Ah didn’t look at…that.”
Scootaloo shook her head. After a second of thought, she studied Apple Bloom, shriveled up in her seat. Apple Bloom was still greatly flushed, fidgeting with her food, and was careful about making eye contact with neither Sweetie Belle nor Scootaloo. She was definitely embarrassed, but she didn’t seem angry or annoyed. “So, about Featherweight…you gonna ask him out?”
Apple Bloom didn’t respond.
“What’s the matter? Too afraid he’ll say no, or too traditional to be the one to ask him?”
“N-No, none o’ that.”
Scootaloo cocked an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”
Apple Bloom finally looked up to Scootaloo and showed the start of a small grin. “Ah already did, three weeks ago. He said yeah, and we’ve been goin’ out since.”
Surprise flashed itself across Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle’s faces. It was obvious they were both astonished and a little hurt that their friend hadn’t revealed this news to them sooner.
“And you’ve kept this a secret from us for almost three weeks?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Sorry,” Apple Bloom apologized shamefacedly, “but we just agreed not to tell anybody. He hasn’t even told Rumble or Pipsqueak yet.”
Sweetie Belle just smiled warmly and gave Apple Bloom a side-hug. “It’s okay—right, Scootaloo?”
Scootaloo waved her hand apathetically. “Meh,” she uttered before taking a large bite from her sandwich.
“’Sup, losers,” an obnoxiously high-pitched, whiny voice said. Scootaloo swallowed the bite, noticing the horror-struck looks on Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom’s faces. She turned her head to see two of the worst people on the planet approaching the side of the table from the left side of the school and the last two people she would want to see: Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.
The former tossed an orange bottle to Scootaloo, who caught it one-handedly and examined it. Of course, she knew exactly what it was, an empty medicine bottle, which sent her short fuse alight.
“Sorry, there couldn’t be anything in it,” Diamond said coldly, “but I thought you would at least appreciate sniffing it.”
Scootaloo tossed the bottle away. “What you do want, Diamond?”
Silver Spoon fielded the question, stepping up beside Diamond to the edge of the picnic table, “We just want to see how our favorite little burnout is doing.”
“Diamond, Silver, leave her alone,” Sweetie Belle warned, standing up from her seat.
“What?” Diamond Tiara asked in forged innocence, shrugging at Sweetie Belle’s words, “We’re not doing anything. Besides, she wants to be just like Rainbow Dash; and I heard she likes to party. It seems you’re on your way to becoming quite the junkie.”
“At least I’m not some bitchy little gold digger like my mother!” Scootaloo shot back.
Diamond Tiara smiled satisfactorily at the sound of the chord she had just struck while she walked around to Sweetie Belle’s and Apple Bloom’s side of the table and stood between them. “Well, if we’re all just going to end up like our family, then little ol’ ‘A.B.’ here,” Diamond roughly tugged on the bow in Apple Bloom’s hair, “is on the right track of becoming a dumb hick like the rest of her family.”
Apple Bloom scrunched up her face in disgust at Diamond Tiara’s comment, but she opted not to say anything.
“As for precious Sweetie Belle here,” Diamond looked at Scootaloo with a malevolent grin, gleams shining off her canines as it grew, “I’m sure she’ll end up being like her sister, a sophisticated little slut.”
“AAAARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Scootaloo roared as she swiftly climbed onto the picnic table and threw herself onto Diamond. Her patience had all but petered out, and she was determined to shut Diamond up—preferably with her fist.
Diamond Tiara held out her arms defensively to catch Scootaloo. They rolled a bit in the grass until Scootaloo properly secured Diamond Tiara underneath her. With her left hand gripping the collar of Diamond’s hot pink shirt, Scootaloo reared her right hand back, already balled tightly into a fist, and brought it down with full force.
SMACK!
Diamond’s head jerked to the side as Scootaloo’s fist struck her cheekbone and pain seared in her knuckles. Scootaloo retracted her fist to prepare another punch, unsatisfied with the simple red mark on Diamond Tiara’s pink cheek. No, she wanted blood.
She was just about to deliver another blow when an ear-bleeding whistle pierced through the air. Scootaloo looked up in fear to the figure, with dark pinkish-purple skin and two-toned pink hair, standing by the left side of the school, from where Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon had come, and scrambled to her feet. Once again, she had been caught fighting with Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon by Cheerilee—Principal Cheerilee.
Chapter Six: The Golden Drink
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.
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Chapter Five: A Little White Nose Topped with Frosting
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.
