Extra, Extra!

Print's head bobbed as he flitted in and out of consciousness. He caught snippets of what Mr. Packet was droning on about, but nothing stuck. He leaned farther and farther forward, periodically pushing himself up again in an attempt to stay awake, but Packet was his kryptonite. The old stallion, with his craning neck and bald head, looked like a turtle, and moved just as slow.

"Hay Cart's ontological proof signified for many proof that there was a higher being beyond those who moved the heavens," he droned, averaging one word every two seconds.

Some of the class had given up on paying attention; the grade was based on your ability to argue a philosophical position, so listening to Mr. Packet slow-play them wasn't worth it for many. Print's head rocked in a slow-motion headbang of fatigue, finally crashing down on the desk, waking him up immediately. He jerked upright in his desk, a strange noise coming unbidden from his mouth:

"WuzzzzAH!" he yelped. Mr. Packet narrowed his eyes at him slowly.

"Mr. Inkwell," the old turtle of a pony said. Print blinked a few times, taking a moment to realize where he was.

"Wuuuh?" he replied groggily.

"Explain to me the principle behind existentialism," he drawled at Print, hoping to catch him off guard.

"The senses are inherently untrustworthy, and thus our sensory experience is unempirical, so we can't truly be sure we exist," Print said, groggily and robotically reciting what he could remember from the textbook verbatim, more from muscle memory than actual knowledge. Old Packet blinked slowly in surprise, then went right back to teaching. Print went right back to sleep.

Second period was calculus, another one of Print's banes.

"Sirty-fawwr seegmeh fihifty-weh," said Mrs. Ju-Xi, the maths teacher from Neighjing, writing thirty-four sigma fifty-one up on the board. Print had a hard enough time following the math, but her accent made him sure he wasn't going to do better than a C in the class.

"See?" she said, "Eeesoseemple!"

The class stifled a titter (her accent was a common source of entertainment) but did the work she handed out anyway. After puzzling through most of it, and deciding to save the rest for homework, hoping (against all odds) that Mango would be able to help, Print caught a few minutes of precious sleep. His brother was no laggard, but he wasn't a brilliant student, either.

In the hallway between second and third period, Print felt a hoof on his shoulder. He turned, and amidst the roiling masses, he saw a familiar pink Pegasus filly named Shooting Star.

"Hi, Print," she said, moving a bit closer now that he noticed her.

"Oh, uh, hi, Star," Print said, not sure how to respond. It had been a while since they'd talked. They'd been very close in middle school, but he'd gone into the Fast Times when he was a freshman, and she'd gone into cheer.

"How's it going?" she prompted, feigning casual small talk.

"Uhh, good, I guess," Print said, still not sure how to handle her. "How about you?"

"I have little problem," she said with just a hint of a pout. "And I think you might be able to help!"

"Okay!" Print chimed.

"So... You know how Prom is this Saturday?" Shooting Star asked, looking at the ground and casually rubbing her foreleg.

"Yeah… Did you need a date?" Print asked.

"Oh my gosh, yes!" she said excitedly, all but jumping up. Print was taken aback, but happy he could help her nonetheless. He wracked his brain for colts he knew that would want to take her. Emmett and Ee-sang were... not quite cheerleader date material, or at least Print expected she’d think so.

"Ummm, I don't think Mango has a date yet?" he said. Mango would chomp at the bit to take her to the dance, so Print made sure to offer him first.

"M-mango?" she sputtered. Print almost laughed at her utter disbelief, but regained his composure quickly.

"Or Kai," he said, before she could get too offended.

"Kai?!" she said, more shocked than before. "He's..."

"A douchebag?" Print offered. Kai really was a sardonic jerk, given to sour moods, but really fun once you got to know him.

"Yeah. And he's going with Crystal Blur," she said, sounding bitter for some reason.

"Hmm," Print mused, bringing a hoof to his pursed lips. He didn't really know any other colts well enough to be of much help; besides, Shooting Star was a cheerleader, meaning she could have her pick of almost anyone in school, even the fillies, if she liked.

"It's not them I meant to ask about, Print," she said, looking into his eyes. "It's you."

"M-me?" Print repeated, shocked.

"Yes, you," Star affirmed, nodding.

"Y-You know that I'm a..." Print said, trailing off in the cacophony of the hall.

"Yes, Print, I know you're gay; so does everyone," she said gently. "But that's why I wanted to ask you."

"B-because of that?" Print stammered, still confused.

"Well... I wouldn't expect you to understand, Print, but you have to hear me out, okay? I want to make you happy." she said. "What's your next class?" she asked as a side note.

"H-homeroom," Print said nervously.

"You can skip that to talk, right?"

"I guess so. I-"

"Good, follow me!" Star said, whisking him through the halls towards the auditorium.

The auditorium was huge, designed to seat nearly a thousand earth ponies and unicorns, and there was balcony seating for pegasi. Print followed her to the sound room in the nook by the projectors, all the way in the back, near the exit. The room was small, dark, and cramped, but at least they were alone.

"So..." Print started. "So it… helps that I'm gay?"

"You have to understand, Print, being popular is all about appearances. The more gay friends a filly has... it's almost like a sign of prestige," she said, unhappy with the idea.

All at once, Print felt disgusted. He knew she had changed since they were best friends in middle school, but her blatantly talking about using him was a total betrayal in his eyes. The fact that she wasn't even trying to hide it stung all the more.

"Why?" Print spat.

"I have no idea," she admitted, hoping to console him. "I think it's because we want your approval."

"You haven't said three words to me since we were freshman, and now you want me to be... An accessory?" he fumed, livid at her brazen request.

"Calm down, Print," she said, honestly not meaning to offend him. "That's just what's in it for me. Taking a colt-cuddler to prom is the holy grail, but I'm sure you've noticed I never exploited our friendship before this, right?" she said.

"I suppose you haven't," Print conceded, sitting back onto the sound technician's chair and crossing his forelegs. "... yet. Why not?"

"Because I care," she said. "I protected you, in fact. There were other fillies who wanted to snatch you up, but I wouldn't let them."

"Th-there were?" Print said, his surprise overcoming his annoyance.

"Print Inkwell? Chief editor of the Fast Times? Best Young Journalist award finalist two years running? Video game lover and Mazes and Monsters dork? Print, you're what the girls like to call a 'pet nerd'. The fact that you're a 'cuddler only makes you cuter to them," Star said, her face completely serious. "And the way you dress..." Her visage melted into bliss.

Print flushed, not sure if he was being made fun of, but somewhat grudgingly appreciative that someone noticed his deliberate style of dress. "And why didn't you keep me as a..."

"Pet nerd? Don't get me wrong, I like adorkable, but I just couldn't bear to do all your geek stuff, no offense. Besides, I crave a strong stallion first and foremost," she said, her wings flaring a tiny bit before she remembered herself.

"I know what you mean," Print sighed wistfully, calming down a bit. "Okay, I'm listening; what's in it for me?"

"Well, by being seen with me, you would be a part of our group of friends," she stated matter-of-factly.

"And why is that a good thing? I have friends, you know."

"Yeah, an alpha bitch, a junkie, a foreigner, and a griffon who thinks he lives in a comic book?" she said sarcastically.

"Yes, an alpha bitch, a junkie, a foreigner, and a griffon," Print spat defensively. "Who doesn't think he lives in a comic book... he just... reacts to things differently than most people. What about my brother, huh? Say something about him," Print said, flipping his mane for effect, his voice oozing venom.

"Mango Smoothie? He's... he's different," she said blinking and scrunching. "Look, I'm sorry if I insulted your friends; clearly that was the wrong way to go about this. What I meant to tell you is that you don't know any other coltcuddlers."

Print opened his mouth to retort, but bit his lip instead. She had a point; he didn't know any other gay colts his age, mostly because they all hung out with the popular fillies. Or, because the popular fillies kept them close.

"Fair," he said, measuring the word out carefully. He was still furious, but maintained a facade of calm in the face of her blatant elitism.

"So... this is your in! This is how you meet someone!" she squealed excitedly, as if it was her problem that she'd solved. Print ignored her, chewing it over.

On the one hoof, she clearly wanted to use him as a social tool for her own benefit. On the other hoof, this did represent his way to meet the few coltcuddlers at Canterlot High. At the crux of the issue was the harsh reality that he couldn't take another colt to the prom even if he did know someone who wanted to. It was against the rules, even though fillies could take fillies if they wanted.

"Print?" she said, made unsure by his silence, unaware that his wheels were turning.

"If I'm such a big deal, and the fillies want me," he asked flatly, "why don't I go with somepony who knows royalty, or has better social standing than you?"

"Two reasons," Shooting Star said quickly, clearly pleased with herself for having prepared for the question. "First: we have a history. You can't just waltz up to, say, a Princess, and ask to dance. You need to have an in. There are fillies that would love to go with you, but since you don't know them well, they can't."

"So why haven't the fillies I do know asked me yet?" he asked.

"Again, two reasons. First, they might have another colt, or a filly, or whatever. The other ones... they think that you're out of their league," she said, stressing how important it was.

Print wasn't sure how to feel. It felt strange to be an object of desire, but it was from the wrong ponies, and for the wrong reasons. He felt all at once better and worse about himself.

"The second reason you should go with me: there's a new student transferring in shortly after the prom. Our age, our grade," she said.

"So?" he asked.

"So... one of my girlfriends knows the family, and says he's a gr- er, coltcuddler!" she beamed. "I'll introduce you to him before anypony else even knows his name."

Print chewed it over for a moment.

"What makes you think he'd like me?"

"She said she has a feeling about you two," she said sweetly.

Print stayed silent, still turning the idea over in his head. He didn't really have much to lose; he didn't expect any of the fillies he knew would be offended because they didn't go as friends. Besides, he didn't even know any colts to go with, even if he could. He hated how political and stratified everything was. If this was what the real world was like in Canterlot, he'd have to move to the country.

"Alright," he conceded. Shooting Star threw her hooves around his neck, tackle-hugging him.

"Thanks Print! I'm going to make sure you have a good time, you'll see," she said excitedly.

"Yeah, I guess there's no reason this shouldn't be fun," Print laughed nervously. "Besides, we can hang out more after this, right? I miss all the fun we used to have."

"Why not?" Star said. "I miss 'us' too. I'll admit that has a lot to do with why I asked."

"Really?" Print asked, not sure if she was buttering him up.

"Well, it's sort of embarrassing, Print... But, when we were in middle school, I had that really big crush on you."

"Y-you did?" Print asked, shocked.

"You didn't know?" she asked, equally shocked.

"No way!" Print said, thinking she was joking. "Get out of town!"

"No, I'm serious!" she said, indignant. "I thought you knew, and were just being...?"

"Tsundere?" he offered, stifling a chuckle.

"Tsundere," she said, trying it out on her tongue. "I thought you didn't like me back, for the longest time. Then you came out, and it all seemed so obvious... For a while I was mad at you; I felt like you led me on."

"S-sorry," Print said meekly, not sure if he should feel bad or not.

"But then I just got sad that I'd never be able to be with you," she said, turning away. "I thought about why I had a crush on you, and realized it was because you were just like me."

"Oh, Star, I'm so sorry," Print said, starting to hurt for her.

"But I got over it. I had to forget you. That's why we stopped being best friends..." She turned back to him. "I'm sorry I was such a selfish bitch," she said, looking at his pained expression.

"I... I know what you went through," Print said carefully. "I had a crush on a colt once. He was tall, handsome... perfect... and straight."

Shooting Star hugged her old friend, her eyes watering a little.

"It sucks doesn't it?" she whispered.

"It does," Print said, putting a hoof over her back, gently stroking her wing. She pulled back, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

"You know, going to Prom with you has been a dream of mine for a really long time," she said.

"I'm glad we made it happen," Print said, feeling much better about the whole affair. Everything made so much more sense now. She hadn't strayed because she didn't like him; she strayed because she loved him. "You know," he murmured, mockingly suggestive. "If you had asked me to date when we were younger..."

"I wanted you to ask me!" she exclaimed, giving him a gentle punch on the shoulder.

"I'm the same way; I'm n-not the kind of colt to, um, take the first step," he laughed, uncomfortable with the idea.

"Well," she said curtly, shooing him out of the sound room, back towards the exit, "I'm glad I was."

"What, a colt?" he mocked, sauntering to the exit.

"Go to class," she said darkly.

"Oh, how I've missed this," he giggled to her as he slipped out into the parking lot. He trotted back to the main building just in time for the third period bell.

"I've missed you too," Shooting Star said in a small voice, only after she was sure he'd left.

Fourth period was history with Mr. Stronghoof. Print tried to pay attention as he rambled on about the war between the Griffon Kingdom and the Garuda tribes hundreds of years ago, but his head was in another place and another time. Star had been in love with him. As he sat, turning over memories in his head, it all made so much sense. The way she acted around him, the way she used to spurn the colts who asked her to middle school dances... Print realized that she went to Prom alone every year because she had been waiting for him to ask her.

Print drifted to his fifth period class, biology, without tearing his mind from how blind he'd been. His hooves carried him without thought to Calvin Cycle's lab, his body lackadaisically ricocheting off the roiling masses of ponies in the halls. Why hadn't he seen it? He knew he was never interested in a relationship with her, but could he have loved her back? As a sister? As a friend? Her body didn't entice him, but she was only pony he had ever truly known before Mango. Maybe it could have been that Star's parents adopted him rather than the Smoothies. He had no regrets, but his head still swam with what might have been, and what his inexperience might have cost Star.

A mumbled greeting to Mr. Cycle, and class was under way. Ordinarily he would be paying attention to the molecular processes and complex chain reactions up on the projector, but even when he'd run out of thoughts relevant to Star, he replayed them over and over, cursing himself.

"Print?" Mr. Cycle called.

"Hm?" Print said, snapping back to reality.

"Class is over," he said softly. Print looked around him; all the other ponies were shuffling out of the lab, lugging their backpacks behind them. Even the unicorns carried their books, since magic was forbidden in the halls.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Print mumbled, shouldering his bag and rising.

"Is... everything okay?" the biology teacher asked.

"Oh, yeah," Print said nonchalantly.

"Getting enough sleep?" he asked knowingly.

"Not really... Can I have a sleep deprivation curve?" Print joked nervously.

"Print," Mr. Cycle said sternly, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Print said holding up his hooves. "I've just been thinking about a new article," he lied.

"What about? I've never seen you get so wrapped up in an article you haven't pitched to me yet," he said skeptically.

"Umm, oh my, how do I phrase it," Print stammered, stalling for time. "It's going to be an exposé on..." he glanced around desperately, looking for anything to save him. "...socks...?" he said, catching sight of a molecule on the projector that looked strangely like a sock.

"On... socks...?" Mr. Cycle deadpanned. "Don't you think that's a little risqué?"

"Well... Not- not really..." Print gulped. "Not what I have in mind." Mr. Cycle looked him up and down skeptically.

"Does this have anything to do with... not that I'd discriminate, but... it doesn't have to do with the, erm, gay aspect of-"

"Nononono," Print hurriedly said. "It's more about the... erm, manufacture... and... history... of socks..." he finished weakly. Mr. Cycle looked at him as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

"And you were zoning out because..." a look of clarity swept over his face. Print wasn't sure what he was thinking, until he realized: Mr. Cycle thought he was having a clop daydream.

"Oh, no, nonononononono!" he sputtered. "I'm not like that; I was thinking about... cotton! And, um, nylon...?"

"Oooookay," Mr. Cycle chuckled. He trotted back up to his desk, a smug smile plastered on his muzzle.

"Really, it wasn't-"

"You're going to be late, Print," he said, smirking as he gestured towards the door. Print shouldered his bag and trudged out to the cafeteria, hot shame hanging over him. He couldn't backpedal now, nor could he convince Mr. Cycle that he wasn't having sexual fantasies in his class. He could only quit while he was behind, let his ego and reputation take the hit, and suffer as his sexuality was thrust into the open air. He hated it when other ponies thought of him as being sexual, in any way. He felt shame, embarrassment, and self-loathing as he went his way to lunch.

"So I said to him: 'Ten for that? You must be mad!'" Kai intoned. Mango nearly choked on his food, tears streaming from his face. The chubby brown pony continued, "So I talked him down to five bits, and he had to smoke me out, then and there."

"Aww, man," Mango wheezed. "That's bucking insane," he said, brushing his mane out of his face.

Print plopped down next to him, looking shaken, and for all the world like he'd seen the dead come back to life.

"You okay, man?" Mango said, putting a hoof on his brother's arm.

"Probably got raped in the bathroom," Kai quipped.

"I've had a heck of a day," Print said.