The alarm didn’t go off, you think groggily as you eyeball the blue digital numbers on your iPod alarm clock. If it had, you would have woken up to Sugarcube Corner, an indie band that you had recently been introduced you to. But it's almost an hour beyond your normal wake-up time, and you realize with a groan that you never hit the "alarm on" switch before collapsing onto your mattress the night before, worn out from a late night of writing. You rub your eyes and yawn.
"The alarm didn’t go off!" you yell and sit up, the reality of the situation crashing over you in a wave of adrenaline. A string of curse words flows from your mouth as you leap from the bed, tangling yourself in the sheets, and crash to the floor. There's no time for a shower, you realize in frustration as you untangle yourself from the death grip of the bed sheets. There isn't even time to make coffee, and you curse anew as you pull your jeans up and fumble with the button. No shower and no coffee means you're going to be grumpy and miserable.
You remember that you have some Pop Tarts stashed in the corner cupboard, part of a care package your parents had sent a while back. Somehow you manage to throw your coat on and grab the food at the same time, and then you fly out the door and down the stairs. Usually you take the elevator, but it moves too slowly and there's no time to wait for it or its sluggish doors.
Walking to campus typically takes you about ten minutes. You've never jogged there, so you're hoping you shave at least a few minutes off of the commute time by stepping up the pace. The air is cold and the sky is dark with cloud cover, and you can feel the barometric pressure squeezing your head like it’s a lemon. It'll go nicely with the caffeine withdrawal headache you're sure to get later, you think with a grimace.
Eight minutes later you reach the building where your creative writing class is held in, huffing and puffing. Only two minutes faster than when you walk? You really need to get into better shape. Composing yourself as well as you can, you make your way down the hall and into the classroom. With a glance around the room you see that everyone has paired off. Great. Of all days to show up late you picked the one when a new project is assigned.
You find your professor and apologize. "It happens," she says. "Just don't let it happen twice." You nod and give her your word, then ask about what you missed. "We're experimenting with co-writing. Today we're pairing off and brainstorming, then you'll have a week to work together to write a short story using whatever techniques work best for you as a pair."
"So who am I paired up with?" you ask, looking around, seeing everyone else already in pairs.
"The other person who was late today. Ah, here she is."
Your heart simultaneously leaps and drops. It's the girl you've been watching since day one, the one that sits not far from you, near the window. You're happy because you've had a faraway crush on her, one of those "it'll never happen, but I can dream" crushes. At the same time you've always been able to tell that she's not into creative writing. In fact, she comes off as rather stand-offish. Being assigned a group project with her might not be the best thing in the world.
As you stood there thinking all of that, the professor was explaining to her what the assignment is, and then gestures at you. You manage a small smile, but the girl’s expression remains aloof and you can't read her emotions at all.
The two of you make your way to a pair of desks that have remained empty, and you turn them to face each other. Out of the corner of your eyes you look at her, noticing that, as always, she is rather overdressed for an undergrad student. Her black and purple dress is trendy-looking, but you can't say you've ever seen anything like it before. Of course, you're a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, but as a writer you're observant and somewhat aware of the fashion trends that go on around you. As you sit down you watch for the shimmer of purple in her carefully-styled, jet-black hair that appears in certain lighting. It almost matches the shade of purple eye shadow that she uses on a regular basis. She catches you staring at her and frowns. "Is something wrong?"
"Uh, no. Well, yeah actually," you say and clear your throat. "I don't know your name." The professor never did roll call and the girl has never spoken up in class before. Until now she was just a pretty face sitting nearby.
"Rarity," she says, and gives you a look that dares you to ask her about it. You decide not to take that dare. "Well, let's get this over with."
For the rest of the period you list off a dozen or so ideas for a short story, all of which she writes down. She doesn't contribute, though. She doesn't even look at you. When you're silently thinking of the next idea she's doodling in the margins of her notebook. By the end of the period your caffeine withdrawal headache has grown into monster rampaging in your skull, and the frustration you feel towards the girl across from you gets the best of you. "Well, I'm glad one of us is working towards a good grade on this," you say, slouching in your chair and folding your arms across your chest.
Rarity stops her doodling and looks up, fixing you with an icy glare. "Let me make one thing clear, darling," she says the word as if to make it rhyme with jerk, "I don't care about a 'good' grade. I just need a passing grade from this class. So if you want anything better than that, it's on your shoulders."
"That's a wonderful attitude," you respond, your anger flaring up. You don't get perturbed easily, but with your morning routine having been disrupted, the lack of coffee, and now this girl, it's hard to keep yourself in check. "So you don't care about anyone except yourself, then, is that it?"
Rarity's blue eyes look away for a moment and then return, appearing somewhat softer. "I'll do what I need to do to participate. But I'm not interested in learning anything from this assignment or getting a good grade on it."
You study her for a moment and realize that it's probably the best you'll get out of her. With a sigh, you nod. "Fine. I'll see you on Monday." She doesn't respond at all as you leave, and you just shake your head as you exit the classroom.
* * *
Your weekend passes in a blur, much of the time spent on your laptop typing away at your current work-in-progress, interrupted now and again by homework. When you're awoken by your alarm clock on Monday you groan as you remember that your first class is creative writing and you'll have to deal with Rarity again. Not exactly the way you would have chosen to start the week.
You take some time to think about the situation while you're showering. Maybe you were going about the whole thing the wrong way on Friday. After all, the circumstances hadn't added up to a pleasant first meeting and you weren’t in the right state of mind to have been making good decisions. If you got to know her a bit better before you really started to work with her, you might be able to crack the ice. You realize with a bit of a self-deprecating smile that you're also thinking that because there's still a part of you that wants to get to know her better for other reasons.
After wolfing down some cereal, you pour your coffee into a travel mug and head out to the streets. The weather is no better than it was on Friday. It's that time of year where the sun plays a constant game of hide-and-seek, although no amount of seeking does any good. The wind cuts through your thick, military-green overcoat, and you shiver and take a sip of your coffee to warm up.
When you arrive at your classroom people are chatting and waiting for the professor to show up. Rarity is at her desk, once again doodling in her notebook. You hesitate and debate whether or not to go say hi. As if sensing your indecision, she looks up and catches sight of you. You smile and give her a wave, and she gives you a curt nod in response.
At that moment the professor walks in, so you take your seat. She explains that for the rest of the week you won't need to come to the classroom. "You can if you feel like it, but if some of you work better in different environments, go and work there. Maybe you'll learn from your partner a new place to get some writing done. If you need me to answer questions or if you need any help, I'll be here in the classroom."
With that the class pairs off and most of the pairs leave the room. You make your way over to Rarity, who takes a moment to finish doodling and looks up. For a moment you find yourself studying her deep-blue eyes; then you realize that you're just standing there. You look away and clear your throat before saying, "So… do you want to go someplace else?"
She shrugs rather noncommittally. "Do you have any place in mind?"
"There's a nice coffee shop up the street a bit. Zecora’s Brews."
Rarity gives you a smirk. "A coffee shop. How wonderfully cliché."
"I know, but I can always use a refill." You shake your travel mug, splashing what little remains around the inside. "And it's a nice place to write. They don’t play the music too loud, and it never gets overly crowded in there."
Rarity agrees and stands to put her coat on. Today she's wearing a black ankle-length skirt and a gray top with a purple shawl around her shoulders. As she puts on her thick purple pea coat, you notice she's wearing the earrings that she wears frequently – three dangling gemstones from each ear. Again she catches you looking at her and you blush. You have to stop doing that! Surprisingly, though, when you risk a glance back at her, she's smiling a bit.
The two of you make your way up the street in silence. Even if you wanted to talk, the wind would be stealing the words from your mouth and scattering them every which way. When you reach the coffee shop and open the door, the warmth is heavenly. So is the smell of the coffee. At this hour there aren't many people around, so there's no line.
"What do you want?" you ask Rarity.
It takes her a moment to realize that you're offering to buy her coffee and she replies, "Oh! Um, latte with skim milk." She pauses and then adds, "Thank you."
You walk up to the counter and the familiar barista with the poofy, dyed-pink hair smiles at you. "Hey, you! I don't usually see you come in here on Mondays! Just Tuesdays and Thursdays. Wait, it is Monday, isn’t it? It has to be, I have my Monday mix playing! Unless I’m playing my Monday mix and it’s really Tuesday!”
“It’s Monday, Pinkie. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, good. Well, it's always a pleasure to see you in here, no matter what day it is! Working on a new story? Want your usual? Zecora’s house blend?"
"Please. And a latte with skim milk."
"That's a new one," she says, ringing you up. She happens to glance over at Rarity, who's studying the African decorations hanging on the walls. "Ooo, I see." Pinkie winks at you and you blush, handing her your debit card. After swiping the card she takes your travel mug and fills it to the top. "The latte will be up in a moment," she says, handing you your mug. Then she lowers her voice and leans over the counter, "Good luck!"
"Um, thanks," you say, and she gives you a huge smile.
"How often do you come here?" Rarity asks as you find a table to sit at.
"Often enough that I'm one of the family," you answer. "I only live a block away."
The two of you sit in awkward silence until a voice pipes up saying, "Latte with skim milk!"
"Let me get it," you say, standing and heading to the counter. Again, Pinkie winks and grins at you as she hands you the cup. You notice that she’s drawn a big heart on the side with a red Sharpie.
"I can't help but notice that you're being awfully nice to me, today," Rarity says when you return, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyes. "You're not trying to butter me up to get me to put more effort into this silly project, are you?"
"No, no," you insist, and then pause. "Why, would that work?" She gives you an incredulous look and you grin, holding up your hands in defense. "Hey, can't blame me for wondering." You sip your piping hot coffee and continue. "No, I… well, I want to apologize for my behavior on Friday. I had a bad morning and I kind of took it out on you."
"Oh," Rarity responds, taken aback. "That's all right. I'm… sorry I aggravated you further." She takes a sip of her latte and her blue eyes get wider. "Oh my, this is really good!"
"That's why I keep coming back," you say, taking another sip. "They roast their own beans and everything. The tea is supposed to be amazing, too, but I don’t drink tea all that much. They'd probably have more customers if it wasn't for that stupid Starbucks down the road." A look crosses Rarity's face and you smirk. "You go to that Starbucks, don't you?"
"Maybe," she says, staring you down. "So what if I do?"
You decide not to go on your usual rant about Starbucks and instead launch into what you've been mulling over about all morning. "I was thinking - if you're okay with it, that is - maybe before we get into the thick of this project we should get to know each other a little better."
"What for?"
"Well, in the real world, writers who work on a book together usually know each other, or are at least familiar with each other's work. I think it would help us out a lot if we were able to know where the other person is coming from. And," you add with a bit of a blush, deciding that honesty might be appropriate, "I'd like to get to know you a little better."
Rarity looks at you with that aloof expression that masks whatever she's thinking, and then switches to her trademark half-smile. "Okay, darling. I'm up for it."
"All right then," you reply with a smile that's probably a bit bigger than you intended. "I have to know right off the bat, though – what kind of a name is Rarity?"
The girl sighs and sets down her latte, then crosses her arms. "My parents were hippies and they always loved those crazy names that hippies give to their children. They decided to name me Rarity because they had hopes that I'd be rare amongst the ordinary people."
"And do you have the same hopes?"
"I'd guess I'd be lying if I said no," she says, absently brushing her long hair back behind an ear. "I have this dream of…" she looks at you with a plea not to laugh at her and continues, "Of being a famous fashion designer."
"So is that what you doodle in your notebooks?" She nods. "And I guess that explains why you're always dressed so nicely."
The half-smile returns to her face. "You look at how I'm dressed?"
"Well, I… it's hard not to notice," you stammer, looking down at the table. "You don't look like the other girls do. You look…" Oh God, are you really going to say it? "Elegant."
Apparently it was the right thing to say because Rarity's half-smile turns into a full one and her eyes sparkle a bit. "Thank you," she says in a soft voice. "I actually make a lot of what I wear, so it means a lot to me." Then the half-smile returns and she leans forward, arms resting on the table. "So what else do you notice about me?"
Well, you think, you're in this deep already… "I notice that you wear those earrings a lot."
"These?" She reaches up touches the dangling gems. "I guess I do. They're my favorite pair."
"And I always notice how nice your hair looks, and how there's a slight shimmer of purple in it when you turn your head just so. And I notice how your eyes look like the color of a lake when there’s a clear sky."
Rarity laughs. "You are a writer, aren't you? But thank you." She sips her latte, studying you. "I suppose I should stop fishing for compliments and get to know you a little better."
"Well," you grin and try to do your best Ray Liotta impression, "As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a writer." Rarity just stares at you, raising an eyebrow. "You know, Goodfellas?" She shakes her head and you clear your throat embarrassedly. "Anyway. I've been writing stories for a long time. Then I got a job at my local library before I graduated high school. I got to know the assistant supervisor pretty well. A bit of a bookworm, and really OCD about the way the library was organized, but really nice. She was the one who convinced me to go to school for my writing."
Rarity starts fiddling with her coffee cup. "So… getting a good grade on this project is pretty important to you then?"
"Yes and no," you say as you shrug. "I'd be happy just doing the best we can and learning from the experience. But a good grade would certainly be a bonus."
She bites her lower lip, an action that you find adorable. After a moment she says, "All right, if this is important to you then I don't want to be responsible for messing it up. I'll help you out the best I can. But," she says, cutting off a thank-you from you, "I have to warn you that I'm not the best writer in the world."
"If I was do you think I'd be at school learning how to do it?" you say with a grin. She returns it.
"You want a refill?" Pinkie appears next to you, gesturing at your travel mug. You're about to turn down the offer when she says, "On the house. You come in here often enough I think we can give you some for the road." Not one to turn down anything free, you hand your travel mug to Pinkie, who then turns to Rarity. "How about you? Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm fine, darling. Thank you."
"'Darling'… I like that!" Pinkie giggles, then heads back to the counter.
"Where did the whole ‘darling’ thing come from, anyway?" you ask with an eyebrow raised.
Rarity just shakes her head. "I think I must have heard it in an old movie when I was younger and it just stuck. I try to make a conscious effort not to say it, but it's become a part of me."
"It's cute," you say, enjoying watching a blush wash over her fair cheeks.
"Here you go, handsome," Pinkie says, handing you your travel mug. "He is handsome, isn't he?" she says to Rarity, giving her an obvious wink. "He's like a big teddy bear. Must be hard not to reach right out and squeeze him." The blush on Rarity's face deepens and you can feel your own face growing warm. Having left her mark, Pinkie walks away with a bounce in her step, humming a song.
"She's, uh, quite a character," Rarity says when she finds her voice.
"I think she drinks as much coffee as she makes," you respond.
The two of you continue to chit-chat a bit, sharing this and that about your lives. You find yourself finally enjoying her company, the awkwardness and tension from your initial meeting having been dissolved. It even seems that Rarity is warming up to you somewhat. Eventually, though, she says, "I have to go. I have a design workshop in fifteen minutes."
"Oh jeez, you're right," you say, looking at the clock on the wall. "Class ended ten minutes ago. I have to get to Ancient Literature." Rarity raises a well-tended eyebrow. "It's a lot more fun than it sounds."
"I would hope so."
As she goes to put on her coat, you feel a burst of chivalry. "Here, let me," you say and hold the coat up for her.
"Thank you, darling," she says, giving you a sincere smile. As the two of you leave, you hear Pinkie humming "Here Comes the Bride" and you give her a look. It only encourages her to hum louder, so you hustle out the door and into the cold air.
* * *
On Wednesday you and Rarity meet at the coffee shop. After paying for both coffees again, and after receiving a number of playful taunts from Pinkie, the two of you sit at the same table you were at on Monday.
"I actually gave the project some thought," Rarity says, surprising you. "Maybe we should write a short story based on our own interactions since Friday. Perhaps embellish it a bit to give it some flair."
"That's actually not such a bad idea," you muse, running your thumb over the rim of your travel mug. "They say to write what you know, after all."
The two of you begin working on an outline, detailing the chronology of events since Friday. You both throw in some extra details here and there, like good writers, and pretty soon you have what looks to be a great starting place for a story. When you've listed all the details up to the current moment, you look up at Rarity and ask, "So… do we make up an ending?"
"Well, we're not done with the project yet, darling," she shrugs, taking a sip of her latte. "Maybe we save the ending for last." You laugh despite yourself and Rarity realizes what she said. She gives you an embarrassed half-smile and says, "You know what I mean."
"So how do you want to write this?" you ask. "Round robin? Or should one of us take a pass at it and then the other looks it over and adds to it?"
"The latter," Rarity says. "I'd feel better if you handled the bulk of the writing. Not that I want you to do all the work, but I'm sure you'd structure it better. I can put some flourishes on it when all is said and done."
"Kind of like adding the fine details onto a dress?"
"I rather like that analogy," Rarity smiles.
There isn't much time left in the period, but you pull out your laptop and start typing away, sharing with Rarity the main bits of what you're typing. She nods and agrees, or shakes her head at the parts she doesn't think will work, and you continue tapping away at the keyboard. At the same time, she starts doodling in her notebook again, and you try to get a good look. She notices you and holds up the notebook for you to see.
"Wow," you say, looking at the figure drawing with the flowing dress. "You did that just now?"
She nods. "When I have an idea I have to get it on paper right away."
"You must have ideas all the time with the amount you doodle. I'm the same way with story ideas and dialogue."
The two of you share a smile, and you find yourself happy to be at a point of common ground with the beautiful girl. As you go back to typing, your eyes continuously flick back to Rarity, and you start to wonder exactly what's going to happen when the project is over. Will you still talk to each other? Or will things go back to the way they were? As you both agreed on earlier, the ending hasn't happened, so anything is possible.
* * *
On Friday when you arrive at the coffee shop Rarity is standing outside. She has a worried look on her face and you ask her what's wrong. "I'm way behind on my design portfolio," she says. "I was kind of hoping you'd be okay with me skipping out on today's session."
"But it's due on Monday," you point out.
"I know, but do you really need me?"
"Well, yeah, I kind of do." She gives you a questioning look. "Professor Lee is familiar with my writing style. I've gone to her outside of class to have her look over my stuff. I need your input on this story so that she doesn't think I did it all. Remember, it's a combined grade – even if she thinks I did well, if she thinks you didn't do much it'll bring the grade down."
Rarity sighs and slumps against the building, her black hair blowing in front of her face in the rising wind. Your stomach twists. You don't want to prevent her from working on what's important to her after she tried to help you out.
"What if we get together tonight instead?" you offer. "Provided you're able to finish up what you need to finish."
"That would work," she says, her face lighting up a bit. "Should we meet here?"
"They have open mic nights on Fridays. It won’t be very good for concentrating. You're welcome to stop by my place. I'll just keep working on the story until you get there." She studies you for a moment, and you realize she's trying to determine your intentions. You raise a hand with three fingers up. "No funny business, Boy Scout's honor."
There's a hesitation and then she gives you her half-smile. "All right, darling, I'll trust you."
You tell her where you live and give her your cell phone number in case she needs to call you, and then she heads towards campus. You're trying to decide whether or not sit in the coffee shop and work or to just go home for the time being when a customer opens the door to exit and the aroma of fresh coffee hits you. You look at your half-full travel mug and decide it's time for a warm-up.
* * *
Bzzzzzzzt. The sound of door buzzer breaks you from your trance in front of the computer screen and you glance at the clock to see that it's almost eight. You managed to get a good chunk of work done, so you start up the printer and race to unlock the security door to the apartment building. A few moments pass by and there's a knock at your door.
You open it to see Rarity, her hair wind-strewn and her fair skin reddened by the wind. "It's getting worse out there," she breathes, stepping into the apartment and taking off a thick purple hat. As she slips out of her coat and hands it to you she looks around. "It's a lot cleaner than I expected from a guy living on his own."
"You should have seen it before I got home from my classes," you admit with a sheepish grin as she takes a seat on your couch. "Can I get you something to drink?" Rarity shakes her head, but you grab a beer for yourself as well as the printed pages. "Here, this is what we've got so far."
Rarity reads through the first page and then asks for a pen. You grab a red pen from your extensive collection and hand it to her. She makes a few marks and then looks up with a puzzled expression. "Excuse me, darling, but what exactly are we listening to?"
"Oh!" you say, a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, I left my iPod going. This is Sugarcube Corner."
"It's… interesting. Very happy. But a bit distracting. Do you have any classical? That's what I usually work to." You shake your head. "How about some jazz?"
"The closest I have is The Great and Powerful Trixie. It's a bit modern, but you might like it." You change up the playlist on your iPod and soon Trixie's sultry voice is filling the apartment.
Rarity listens for a moment and waggles her head noncommittally. "It'll do."
An hour passes by. Now and again Rarity asks for your opinion on something and then dives back into the work. You’re sitting at your table fiddling around your on laptop and don't notice when Rarity sneaks up behind you and drops the story onto the tabletop. "It's all yours now, darling. What are you doing?"
"Oh, it's Gemstones. You've never played it?" She shakes her head. "I'm really addicted to it. It's kind of like Tetris." You close out of the program and set the computer aside, picking up the story pages. There's a large amount of red covering them. "Guess I got my work cut out for me this weekend."
"You don't have to take every single suggestion if you don't want to. I know you still have to finish up the ending before Monday." She stretches and glances out the window. "Oh my!"
"What?" You look out the window and see what prompted the reaction. There's a veritable blizzard going on outside. You approach the window and look down into the street. The plows haven't shown up yet, and there are no cars or even pedestrians on the street. "Wow. That really came out of nowhere."
"That is not going to be fun to walk home in," Rarity says with a sigh.
"You can't walk home in that!" you exclaim. "I'd feel awful. You're more than welcome to stay the night here." Rarity gives you a look and you quickly add, "I already promised no funny stuff. You can even have my bed. I'll sleep out here on the couch."
"I guess it probably is a bit silly to try to walk through all that with a skirt on."
"I wouldn’t. Why don't we throw a movie on and I'll get us something to drink. We might as well make a night of it."
"I'm not much of a drinker, and I don't like beer," Rarity says, glancing at the bottle on the table.
"How about wine?"
She gives you a half-smile. "Okay, you have me there."
"Red or white?"
Her eyebrows rise. "I even get a choice?"
You laugh. "My parents are big wine enthusiasts, so they're always sending me bottles from new places. I don't drink it that often, so I have a pretty big collection. I should probably throw a party or something one of these days. What do you like?"
"White."
"Sweet or dry?"
"Now you're just spoiling me. Sweet, please."
You head into the kitchen and start rifling through your wine cupboard, finding an Australian muscato. You pop it into the freezer to chill it and head back into the living room. Rarity is browsing your movie collection.
“You've got quite an eclectic collection here." She stops and pulls one out, glancing back at you with a smirk. "You own Before Sunrise?"
"I know, not the manliest movie to own, but I like the concept of two strangers bonding so deeply over such a short time and…" you trail off, realizing what you just said. You cough and quickly add, "Plus I really like Ethan Hawke. Ever see Gattaca?" Rarity just maintains her smirk and you finally turn away, blushing.
"Any suggestions?" she says, still glancing at the titles.
"What are you in the mood for?"
"How about something funny, but not crude funny."
"Ever see State and Main?"
"No, I've never even heard of it."
"Not surprising. It's a pretty unknown movie, but it's brilliant."
"Here it is. Oh good, there are people in it that I know." You assume she's talking about Sarah Jessica Parker and Alec Baldwin, the two biggest names in the movie.
"I'll set it up. Just waiting for the wine to chill a bit more."
As you get the movie set up for play, Rarity continues to roam about your small living room. "You're a fan of dragons I see." She's found your shelves of dragon statuettes and figurines.
"Yeah, I've been obsessed with them since I was kid. My first story I ever wrote was actually about being a dragon."
"That's funny," Rarity says, turning her head towards you. "I once wrote a story about being a pony."
"Really?"
"Well, a unicorn to be exact. A unicorn who owned her own clothing boutique. Only since I was so young I spelled it B-O-O-T-E-E-K."
You laugh as you hit play on the remote. "Go ahead and sit down, I'll grab your wine." When you reemerge from the kitchen with the bottle and a glass, Rarity has made herself comfortable on one end of the couch. You sit on the other side and can't help but take a moment to stare at her. Your interaction with her started off so poorly, and now you find yourself wanting to get close enough to her to put your arm around her. But you chicken out and stay on your end of the couch, sipping another beer.
It takes her a bit to get into the movie, but about thirty minutes and second glass of wine later she's tittering at the banter and the jokes. The second glass of wine disappears faster than the first and then next thing you know you see that she's gone through most of the bottle. Her titters become giggles which then become laughter, and you start laughing at how much she's laughing.
At some point close to the end of the movie you feel her eyes on you. You look over and catch her watching you, but she looks away quickly. You can't tell if she blushes or not because her face is flushed from the alcohol. Either way, the moment makes you smile.
By the end of the movie the bottle is dry, and Rarity is a different person. There's a permanent smile on her face and she's a lot more talkative. "I wanna keep this buzz going, darling," she says.
"Your wish is my command," you say. You find another bottle of sweet wine, a semi-dry Riesling, and bring it into the living room. The TV is stuck on the title menu for the movie and you ask if she wants another one on.
"No, let's talk. I really liked talking with you on Monday. I want to do that again."
Surprised, but happy to oblige, you pour your guest another glass and set the bottle down, then sit next to her on the couch. The alcohol you've ingested gives you a bit more courage to be closer. "So what do you want to talk about?"
"How about your girlfriend? You never told me about her."
"My what?"
Rarity points, rather unsteadily, to a picture on top of a small bookshelf. It's a photo of you and a tanned girl with blonde hair and a cowboy hat. The two of you have your arms around each other's shoulders. You start laughing. "What's so funny?" Rarity demands.
"If you knew her, you'd know why it's so funny," you say when you catch your breath. "That's A.J. She's my best friend. We grew up together. Her family owns an apple orchard. I used to work there during the fall on weekends."
"And you've never had romantic feelings for her?"
"Never! She's like a sister. And a bit too tomboyish for my taste. She was more like 'one of the guys' than a girl."
"So what kind of a girl is your taste?" she asks, sipping her wine and giving you a sidelong glance.
You look at her for a moment and then respond with a small smile, "I think you know the answer to that."
In an uncharacteristic show she giggles into her wine glass. "You know," she says, "I was intrigued with you from the start."
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't think much of you at first because of the way you dressed. You're always in jeans and t-shirts. But when you'd speak up in class I realized you were really smart. I guess I always thought smart people were supposed to look smart."
"So I look dumb?"
"No! Well… maybe a little. I don't know, it's the wine talking," she giggles again. You're not offended, but you give her a playful little pout. "Oh, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, darling." She sets the glass down and leans over, wrapping her arms around you. Her actions are a bit unsteady, though, and she falls right into you, knocking you down onto your back, your head hitting the arm of the couch. "I didn't mean to hurt your head, either," she giggles.
You can't reply. You're too busy looking up into her blue eyes and feeling the wisps of her black hair against your face. Beyond the scent of alcohol you can detect her perfume, something flowery and feminine. When she realizes you're staring, her expression becomes serious and she leans down slowly, pressing her lips against yours. You reach up and touch her cheek with your hand, and she presses against you harder.
No funny business…
Against every male instinct in your body you gently push Rarity away and she asks, "What's the matter?"
"I don't make a habit of taking advantage of girls when they've been drinking."
"What if I want you to?"
You shake your head, and Rarity pouts, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "I'll go change the sheets on my bed for you," you say, looking for an excuse to get out of the room and calm yourself down. Your head is swimming with emotions, and you find yourself thankful that you didn't have more beer than you did.
When you finish making up the bed you walk into the living room to see that Rarity has already fallen asleep on the couch. If you weren't a skinny weakling you'd just pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. Instead, you tear off the sheets that you just put on the bed and cover her up with those, gently tucking a pillow under her head as well. You turn to walk away and stop, turning back to the sleeping beauty on your couch. You lean over and kiss her softly on the cheek, and she stirs ever-so-slightly. "Sweet dreams, my little pony," you whisper in her ear.
* * *
The following morning you wake up way too early and way too groggy. Automatically, you get up and stumble into the bathroom, only to be woken further by a shriek. There's a half-naked girl in your bathroom, freshly showered and holding one of your towels over her.
"Oh jeez, I'm sorry," you say, slamming the door shut.
That's right, you have company.
While you're waiting to gain access to your bathroom, you decide to start cooking breakfast. You always make sure you've got eggs, bacon, and orange juice for the weekends, so you have the bacon sizzling in the pan when Rarity emerges, a towel wrapped around her wet head. "Sorry about that," you say again. "I'm really not with it in the morning."
"It's all right," she says, although it sounds more like a croak.
"How do you want your eggs?" you ask, and she dismisses the question with a wave of her hand. "Trust me, it'll help. The protein will make you feel better faster."
"Scrambled."
"And drink some of that juice. You'll need the vitamin C."
After you serve up her breakfast you drop two ibuprofen capsules next to her plate. She looks up at you with red eyes and asks, "You do this often, darling?"
Chuckling, you shake your head. "No, my freshman year I was at a party and I heard these frat guys talking about hangover cures. Kind of stuck with me."
After finally making your way to and from the bathroom, you sit down at the table with your guest and you both eat in silence, unwilling to talk about the elephant in the room. When Rarity finishes you jump up and take her plate to the sink, rinsing it off. Then you grab her emptied juice glass, rinse it out, and fill it with water, handing it back to her. She pops the pain pills and drinks the water slowly, not making eye contact.
Unable to stand the silence anymore, you say, "Listen, about last night-"
"I'd rather not talk about it," she says in a firm voice.
"Rarity, there's nothing to-"
"Please."
You don't want to just stand there and stare at her, so you start washing dishes. At some point you hear her get up and leave the room. When you finish, you walk into the living room to see her bundling up.
"Rarity, you can't go out there with wet hair!"
"I'm a big girl. I'll live."
"Look, this is ridiculous, we both-"
"Good luck with the ending to the story, darling," is the last thing she says before leaving your apartment. You stare at the door for nearly a full minute before lowering your head and letting out a long sigh. Your eyes catch sight of the story sitting on the coffee table. You pick it up and flip through the pages once more before tossing them into the trash can.
* * *
On Monday Rarity is not in class. In fact, she's conspicuously absent for a full week. She misses the group project grades being passed back. Yours is significantly lower than you had originally anticipated. The professor talks to you after class to find out what happened, but you can only shrug. There's no answer to give her, not one that she'd understand anyway.
When she does finally start coming back to class, Rarity arrives late and leaves right when class is dismissed, purposely avoiding you. She won't even look in your direction. After a while you give up trying to catch her, and can only watch her from afar with a sick feeling in your stomach.
One day towards the end of the semester you decide to skip your afternoon essay writing workshop. You just don't have much drive anymore and you need to get away from campus for a bit. You head to Zecora’s for some caffeine, with the intention of zoning out and playing Gemstones for a while. You're surprised to see a different barista behind the counter. Instead of pink hair you see short, rainbow-striped hair. The girl has various tattoos up her arms and is wearing a t-shirt that has the logo for something called "The Wonderbolts".
"Hey there. What can I get you?" she asks.
"Large house blend," you say, setting your travel mug on the counter. “Where's Pinkie?"
"She called in sick. I usually work the later shifts." She places your filled travel mug on the counter and takes your debit card.
"Who are the Wonderbolts?" you ask, pointing at her t-shirt. "A local band?"
"Roller derby team. They've got tryouts coming up in the spring. I've been practicing to get on the team."
"Never been to a roller derby match."
"You should. It's freakin' awesome."
"Maybe I'll wait until you make the team and then come watch one."
"You do that," she smiles and hands you back your card.
You avoid the table that you and Rarity sat at weeks ago, and you pop open your laptop. After about ten minutes of playing Gemstones, you sigh and close the top of your computer. You're just not into it. Instead you sit and stare at nothing.
“You don’t seem too interested in your coffee,” the rainbow-haired barista says, placing a steaming cup in front of you and sitting at your table. “Try this instead.”
“What is it?” you ask, eyeing the light-colored liquid.
“It’s a chamomile blend. Zecora swears that it helps with anxiety.”
You take a sip and find it rather pleasant. “That’s pretty good. How much is it?”
Rainbow-hair dismisses the question with wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Pinkie’s told me about you. She's got a picture of you on the wall in the break room with a bunch of other regulars. Says you’re a loyal customer. I got a thing for loyalty.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. So, is it girl trouble?”
You pause in bringing the cup back to your lips and ask, “How’d you know?”
"I've seen that look a number of times. What happened?"
"What, are you a therapist as well as a barista and a roller derby girl?"
"Close. I'm a bartender a few nights a week, which is just about the same, only my clients tend to have looser tongues and wallets."
You laugh, and then sigh. "We were just starting to get close. It took some work, but it was happening. Then… she did something she didn't mean to do."
"Too many drinks?"
"You are a bartender," you say with a smirk. "Anyway, yeah. Nothing bad happened, but the next day she refused to talk about it, and now she's avoiding me."
"Sounds to me like she was getting ready to make a move, but ended up doing it at the wrong time and now she's too embarrassed to deal with it."
You blink a few times. "You think so? I just figured she thought she made a mistake and didn't want to have anything else to do with me."
"I might not look girly, but we all tend to think similarly on some things,” the barista says, leaning closer. "She still wants to be with you. But now you have to make the move. Be aggressive. Go and get her."
"How?"
Rainbow-hair rolls her eyes. "I can't give you all the answers, dude. Some things you have to figure out on your own."
"Sorry, I guess you're right. Thanks for the advice. I like Pinkie and all, but I don't think she would have been as much help in this case."
"Just be thankful it wasn't the new girl," the barista says with a shake of her head. "She's cute, but a bit derpy. Dropping this and knocking over that, getting orders wrong. At least Pinkie can make the right drink for the right person."
The little bell at the counter rings and rainbow-hair stands. "I better see you at a roller derby match when I make the team. Otherwise I'm giving you cold coffee the next time I see you." The bell rings again and she yells, "I'm coming! It's not like I have wings that let me fly from one side of the room to the other!"
* * *
Glancing around at the crowd gathered in the auditorium, you feel slightly underdressed. You're not used to attending functions like this, so your wardrobe is pretty limited. At least you're wearing a tie, and you did get a haircut. Once the house lights go dark you realize nobody can see you anyway and you relax.
A thumping pop-song plays over the loudspeaker. The first handful of models comes out on the stage one at a time, showing off the design student's work. It's a bit plain in your opinion, nothing to look at, really. But then again, what do you know about fashion? The music fades and the models go backstage, and a number of people in the audience clap. Then the next handful starts to emerge to some kind of weird ambient music. The designs for this one are strange, with bits and pieces sticking out here and there, and one model hardly seems to be wearing anything at all. You're not quite sure how that's supposed to be fashion. Once again the music fades, the models disappear, and there's a bit less clapping this time around.
Finally, Rarity's designs are up. A classical song starts playing and the models emerge, and you recognize a few of the designs from the doodles that Rarity had showed to you. It blows your mind that she could create something so amazing from a simple doodle. The clothing is elegant and stylish, and sticks to Rarity's usual color palette of purples and blacks. There are flowing skirts, clinging tops, and a couple of outfits with wide-brimmed hats. Every piece is exquisitely crafted, showing off Rarity's eye for fine details. When the music fades and the models leave the stage, the applause is louder than the previous times, with you leading the charge.
You stop paying attention and zone out for the rest of showcase. Afterwards is a reception in the lobby, and you grab an hors d'ourve that's offered to you and scan the room. It's not hard to locate Rarity; she's the most graceful-looking person in the room, sporting a shiny purple evening gown that hugs her curves in a breathtaking way. She's talking to a girl wearing a pink dress that just about matches her more-strawberry-than-blonde hair. As you approach the girl takes notice of you and says something to Rarity before she leaves.
Rarity glances over and gets wide-eyed when she sees you. "Hey," you say simply.
"Hi," she replies, still in shock. "What are you doing here?"
You shrug. "I asked around in the design department and found out that you were in this showcase. You wanted to support me back when we were doing the co-writing project, so I figured I'd return the favor. Besides, I want to make sure that when you hit the big time I can say I was there at the beginning."
There's a moment of hesitation and a few emotions run across her face before she gives you a big smile and hugs you. "Thank you, darling," she whispers. When she lets go, she wipes one of her eyes. "You look nice. And you got a haircut."
"Yeah. Pinkie started calling me 'Spike' because of it.” Rarity gives a small laugh and the two of you become silent. Desperate to start some sort of conversation, you ask, “So who was that?" You point to the girl in the pink dress who is standing in a corner watching the proceedings.
"She's a photography student who came to take pictures of our designs. She's really shy, but quite a flutterbug."
"You mean 'shutterbug'."
"Oops, yes."
Silence falls over you and Rarity again until you finally decide to cut to the chase. "Can we… can we go somewhere quiet and talk?" For a moment you think that Rarity is going to refuse, so you grab her warm hand with your free hand and add, "Please?" It breaks her resolution and she nods, leading you to a quiet a hallway.
She surprises you by speaking first. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I just… I'm really embarrassed by what I did that night in your apartment. I… wanted our first kiss to be special."
"So you were planning on kissing me anyway?"
She looks at you with those blue eyes, eyes which are watery at this point, and nods. "I'm just glad that you're… that you're such a gentleman. I would have been so much more embarrassed if things had gone further."
Unsure of what to say, you just wrap your arms around her and hold her. The smell of her perfume and her shampoo, and the warmth of her body pressed against yours fills your senses. Time feels like it's stopped and you don't want it to start again. Eventually she pulls away, only she's smiling now.
"So, can I ask what you've been holding this entire time?" she asks and gestures at the manila envelope you've been carrying all night.
"Oh, right." You pull out a handful of papers that have been clipped together. "It's the story I turned in for our project."
She flips through it and then glances at you in confusion. "This isn't the story we were working on."
"No, it isn't. After you left my apartment that morning I decided I didn't want to write something just for a good grade. I wanted to write something meaningful, even if it was only meaningful to me."
"So what is it about?"
"It's about a dragon who falls in love with a unicorn who owns her own clothing boutique."
She blinks a few times and then grabs the sides of your face roughly, pulling you in for a kiss. The two of you stay that way even longer than you did for the hug. When you finally unlock your lips, you're both red-faced and smiling. "That was the kind of moment I wanted for our first kiss."
"I've already forgotten about the other one."
"I have to ask, though," she says, looking at the story you handed her. "What kind of a grade did we get on this?"
"Not a very good one."
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It'll balance out with my other grades. And I'm happier having written this."
Rarity rests the side of her head on your shoulder, and you kiss her forehead. "I can't wait to read it."
After a moment you ask, "Should we go back in?"
"I'm feeling happy at the moment. I’d rather do something fun."
"Pinkie invited me to a party she's throwing tonight. We could go there."
"I'm thinking of something else." She tugs on your tie suggestively.
"Then again, she's always throwing parties. We can go another time." You get a dazzling smile in return, and she slips her arm through yours.
"Spike," she murmurs as you head to the coat check. "I kind of like that."
