Love is in Bloom

by PoniesForever

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Applejack, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Second Person, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Other, Romance
Length: 146037

Anon Orange visits his cousins, the Apples, and bonds with them.

Anon Orange, coming from a pretty awful life in the city, is forced to visit his extended family in some backwoods town. Never having met them before, he's pretty uncomfortable with the notion. His arrival isn't too happy, but pretty soon he finds himself fitting in, especially with his youngest cousin, Apple Bloom. They go on adventures, sometimes with others and sometimes not, and Anon's heart begins to heal from past wounds.

Published 2016-10-31 01:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-31 01:00:01 UTC

Tuesday

“Anon! Hey Anon!” Your awesome dream is ripped from you in those two words. You were a super cool, famous author with vibrant brown hair, a dazzling smile, and at least a dozen chicks wanting your sweet, sweet bod. But instead of giving it to them, all you can do is struggle to sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. There’s a strange pressure on your legs, keeping you from moving them. Opening your eyes, a blurry shape forms before you. Apple Bloom. Of course. Leaning in closer, she tries again to get your attention:

“Anooooooooo-“ Your hand covers her mouth, informing her that yes, I heard you the first time. “Anon,” comes the garbled reply from her covered mouth.

“What?” you say, trying to be short, but being unable to deliver upon seeing her excited face.

“Anon, wanna go on an adventure?” You tilt your head, not sure if you heard her right.

“An adventure?”

“Yeah, an adventure! Me and my friends are gonna see if we can find our cutie-marks today!” She’s still not making any sense, you think to yourself, not sure whether you ought to blame her youthful silliness or your being half-asleep. You shift your legs, just enough to make her uncomfortable, and she wobbles off. Her radiant face returns to you after securing her balance, an answer still eagerly anticipated. But this was morning, and you were not an early riser. Turning your body away from her, you swivel your legs out from under the covers and perch on your bed. Shit. You’ve got a pair of boxes just filled to burst with morning wood. And judging by the look of the opening in the front, bursting was imminent. You lurch forward, hoping Bloom doesn’t have to be subjected to this. Keeping your front facing away from her, you turn back to look at her. She’s dropped her inquisitive look, and seems to be focused on something lower. The back side of your boxers, it would appear. You were wearing those gundam shorts she marveled at a bit ago, so maybe she was just looking at that. You kindly ask her to “Leave so I can put on some pants!” to which she breaks her staring contest, and hesitantly walks over to the door. She doesn’t quite leave, instead hanging around. Thinking she’s gone, you turn towards the door and pick up the pants from yesterday, lying there on the floor. It’s only when the door closes not a few moments later that you realize you just showed off a very visible half-mast. Luckily, no one is here to see your cheeks burst into flame.

Your horrified look, filled with worry over who might be told and how much trouble you get in, is not witnessed. You grimace, then pull your pants all the way up. Well, whatever happens, happens. You pull down a clean shirt, some socks, and march out the door, ready for any doom that might present itself. Trudging down the stairs, your body still drunk on sleep, you enter the kitchen. Bright light seems to pile on every surface, the multiple windows eager to present the morning sun. You shield your eyes and take a minute to get used to it. The sound of clinking dishes grabs your notice first, followed by the bright glows of red and yellow hair, belonging to the Apple girls. On the table is a pile of pancakes and bacon, with all the necessary sides. By the looks of the little pile, much of it has already been eaten, though it is more than sufficient for your appetite.

You wish the Apple girls a good morning as you fill a plate. Applejack turns and offers you a bright smile and returns the greeting. Bloom keeps washing dishes. A sinking feeling fills your stomach, but you push it to the side. Nothing you can do, you think. Nothing you can do. Practically a motto for you at this point. You sit at the table, silently eating the delicious breakfast, when a Bloom returns. Her face perfectly matches the one which woke you up, unchanged by the sight she could not have missed. Her question returns, as though no other questions or concerns needed consideration:

“So do you wanna hang out with us?” After this, you figure you ought to stay on her good side. If that meant hanging out with a bunch of hyperactive freshmen… . Eh, you could do it. Whatever she wanted was gonna be the name of the game today.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good!”

“Yay!” she shouts, a small leap of joy sending her bouncing upwards “I just know we’re gonna get our Cutie Marks today!” Wait a minute. You thought you’d misheard the first time

“What’s a Cutie Mark?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Something akin to shock and horror cover her face

“Can’t say I do.” You don’t entirely follow what happens next, but it has to do with a specific skill or your purpose in life or whatever, something you find out after you try it and you guess a little picture that you make, which you then gotta put everywhere? It isn’t particularly clear. Apple Bloom points at AJ’s tri-apple hair clip, and tells you how she’s got that symbol everywhere. You do seem to recall seeing that symbol a lot around her
You nod and tell her that you’ll

“… help you out today.”

“Well, not just me, silly,” she laughs, poking your head. “It’s all three of us.” You hear a door slam open, and two high-pitched voices scream in unison:

“THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS!!!” As the pretty girl jumped up and rushed to the door in excitement, you breathed a heavy sigh. It was gonna be a long day. Three girls filter in through the door, big smiles on all their faces. First if, of course, your cousin Apple Bloom, wearing her trademark red bow and the sweetest smile. She’s got these tight little shorts on and a light green camisole to match her bow, matching the hot July weather. In the middle is a girl with pink and purple striped hair, filled with curls, and a big blue pair of overalls covering a white and pink striped shirt. Her skin is straight white, like a darn marshmallow, and she’s got these luminescent green eyes. She’s wearing a smile to match Bloom’s. Completing the weird-haired trio is this purple haired chick, cut real short. She’s got purple eyes to match, and a sort of defiant half-sneer, the sort of expression that asks the world to give her all she’s got . Still, you can tell she’s happy too, just by the bounce she’s got in her step. She’s wearing a light brown shirt with green pants, and a small red backpack. Oh, and there was one more thing. They all had little blue badges, with a caped yellow figure poorly sewn on top of it.

They stand before you, proudly sticking their meagre chests out. All three of them hold a little smirk, staring off into the mid-distance while looking like a posing superhero squad. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t cute. After a moment, the purple-haired one steps forward, landing squarely inside your personal space bubble. She thrusts her chin forward, staring you directly in the eye:

“I’m Scootaloo!” she boasts, as if she were presenting a priceless treasure owned by her exclusively.

“I’m guessing you’re the Anon that Apple Bloom won’t shut up about?” You start to nod, before you see Apple Bloom’s cheeks turn as red as her bow. Broken, unsuppressed chuckles tumble from your mouth when Bloom looks at the ground, her arms sticking to her sides, ending in fists.

“Ah did not talk about him that much!” she answers Scootaloo petulantly. The white-skinned one tilts her head inquisitively and widens her already large eyes and informs Bloom in the voice of pure innocence:

“But he’s all you talked about for the past day.” Scootaloo snorts, and gives her assent:

”You sure were. Really blew up my phones with this guy.” She looks you up and down with the eye of an antique dealer. . You even sure her mouth compress and a small “hmmm” escape during her elongated appraisal. Distinctly uncomfortable, you look to the side and see the unnamed third eying you with a similar lack of shame. Her eyes are focused on you, her eyes boring into yours before they lower slowly, covering your mouth, chest, and… geez, she’s really giving you the eye down there. You cough loudly, hoping to interrupt the girls in their tactless staring. You fail. Turning your gaze to your Bloom, you tilt your head and raise your hands in a what-the-hell stance. She returns by throwing her hands up and shaking her head, apologetic and helpless at the same time.

“Well, let’s go!” comes the tomboyish voice of Scootaloo, who promptly turns and heads door-wards.

“Wait a second!” you start, halting the three girls. “You didn’t say who you were.” You point at the third, wide-eyed girl.

“Oh!” she stammers, before telling you “I’m Sweetie Bell. Rarity’s sister.” Apple Bloom elbows her, and loudly whispers

“He don’t know your sister, he just got here.” Sweetie looks surprised, then… relieved? Before you can ask her who her sister is, you’ve got Apple Bloom tugging at your arm and Scootaloo pushing your back, both moving you towards the door.

“Come on, get a move-on,” says the pusher. You’d be annoyed if she wasn’t so damn cute. You feel a distinct lack of shame in you titling of Scoots, happy to find a girl to think cute who doesn’t share your genes. Sweetie’s pretty cute too, you demure to yourself. By this time, she’s got your other arm, pulling you along with Bloom. You feel like you’re being railroaded into something by their insistence on you moving without having given any indication of not wanting to go. Not that you really wanted to go; these girls were cute and all, but they were also freshmen girls. Still, you wanted to make sure Bloom didn’t say anything. The door arrives, and you find yourself pushed through, into the bright outdoors. As you march along streams and grassy knolls and so forth, Scootaloo begins tell you about the day ahead

“So, we’re here to figure out what we’re gonna do with our lives,” she says without a trace of unhappiness at her cluelessness. You wished you could join her in that. “And so we do everything we can to find that little spark you get you when you do something you know you have to do. Which brings us to today.” She stops in her tracks, and turns to face you.

“There’s three things we can do today: roller-skating, nail-painting, or skateboarding.” One of these doesn’t feel like it belongs. . Confusedly, you ask her if nail-painting is something you do for a living. She scoffs “That among other things. Maybe we’re supposed to be manicurists. Maybe you are.” You don’t try to disguise your horror at the idea of spending an afternoon painting nails and getting your own painted goodness knows what color.

“Why don’t we pass on that one,” you tell her. She breathes out a sigh of relief you didn’t know she was holding. “Good,” she breathes, before explaining the other options.

“Now, I know a really cool place to skateboard, but we can only roller skate at the arena. It’s kids-skate-free day, so there’s gonna be a lot of little kids there.” Again, horror graces your face, leading her to assume your choice of skateboarding. “Skateboarding it is,” she cries triumphantly, pumping her fist in the air. The other girls look at her with suspicion and you do realize there was a hint of deviousness in her explanations. As you’re led further, you think on it, and realize that she pretty obviously framed the options so skateboarding would be picked. It doesn’t bother you, however. She was pretty clearly a tomboy, and neither nail-painting nor spending the day with kids could be expected to lie within her preferences. A cute girl wanting to skateboard wasn’t so bad, you think to yourself.

. You lead the troupe, walking directly in front of everyone as the lot of you walk off the trail and into a thicker part of the nearby forest. Dense leaves brush against you, and the two other girls are clinging to your back, keeping safe from the obstructive branches. Once the trees and foliage begin to thin out, they move up and in, almost clinging to your sides. You can notice their close proximity to you, enjoying the grip of delicate hands of pretty girls on the sleeve of your flannel. They huddle close to you, like scared girlfriends in haunted houses. You savor the feeling, then try to cease immediately when you remember that one of these beautiful girls is your cousin. You would have succeeded, if Bloom hadn’t been whacked by a branch Scoots had accidently pulled forward, causing her to bury herself deep in your shirt with a hurt squeak. Scootaloo draws your attention from the girls by stopping at a ridge.. She turns back, sporting an impish smirk.. As you step out next to her, you see the deep incline of the hill beneath you, riddled with trees and rocks. Oh no. Scoots gives you a wicked grin, and points to an area down the slope

“That’s where we’re gonna go” You can do this. You’re a big cool guy. Not to mention there’s three cute girls watching. You look from side to side, both Sweetie and Bloom looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. Looking to see if you’re manly enough. The two girls holding onto your arms convinces you to go through with it. Not that Scoots wasn’t deeply involved in this as well. Her defiant smile can’t be resisted: you can’t resist the challenge. But you don’t have be stupid just because you’re stupid. You step forward, leaving the two girls behind you. Matching her cocky smirk, you ask her

“Why don’t you show me how it’s done? It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a skateboard.” A small sliver of fear flashes across her face, breaking the façade for only a moment.

“Sure,” she replies, her show of confidence almost convincing you entirely. She places the skateboard on the ground, her tiny shoe resting on top of it. The wind blows softly, rustling her hair as she gazes downwards, planning her descent. Then, without a word, she kicks the ground and brings that foot onto the board. The two other girls gasp, and grab onto your arms once more. You hardly notice the painful squeezing in your own absorption in Scootaloo’s descent. She flies down the hill, gaining speed. She dodges a tree, then another by swiveling her hips to swerve around them. The hill, grassy as ever, doesn’t serve to accelerate her too quickly, slowing down as the decline evens out, she skids to a stop, hopping off the board as it lightly bumps into a nearby tree. The three of you exhale, having held your breath since the start.

You start forward, going down to meet her. The two girls at your side, remembering your purpose down here, sprint ahead. But the hill was bumpier than it appeared, and both have respective difficulties. Sweetie Belle falls, her knee hitting the ground. She brings herself up afterward, dusting herself off, and whining about the dirt stains. Apple Bloom may have been fine if she were looking where she was going. But her eyes were on Sweetie, and she trips on a rock in her path. Apple Bloom’s tumble is worse, falling into a nearby tree

“Apple Bloom!” you shout automatically, your whole body tensing up. You run after her immediately, terrified for her. Leaping over rocks and vines, you barely keep yourself up as you make your way to her. Arriving at her, you collect her into her arms, your scared eyes meeting hers “Are you ok? Are you ok?” you ask more times than you need to. She looks at you, a small bruise on her face

“Yeah, Anon, I’m fine,” she answers with a small smile “I’ve had worse. Regularly.” Your eyes move down to her light cloth shirt, which now sported a gaping hole in the center. Enough to see a frilly bra underneath it. It isn’t clear how long you were looking, but it was definitely longer than you should’ve. Following your own eye, she realizes what you’re looking at.

“Eep!” she cries, covering her shirt with both hands, a blush filling her cheeks. You step back, your own face burning up. You mumble an apology and excuse yourself while Sweetie Belle arrives on the scene. Scootaloo had been jogging up the hill, but you flash her a thumbs up, letting her know her friend is okay. She looks concerned, then keeps on coming. She arrives to the panicking Apple Bloom insisting that the lot of you go home immediately. Sweetie Bell agrees, and begins looking around

“Which way is the fastest way home?” Scootaloo looks down the hill, then gives you the impish grin from before

“Down the hill’s the fastest way. So you can still show us how cool you are.” Man, what the hell.

“Don’t you think that’s a little unnecessary, given the circumstances?”

“What circumstances? Her shirt got torn, and we have to get home. This doesn’t impede that.” At this, she takes a step towards you, her foot landing solidly between your own. Her face tilts up, inches from yours “Unless you’re too much of a wimp.” There’s something else in her voice, something other than the bitchiness on the outside. Not that you can fully notice it; the girl whose chest is nearly pressed against yours, her minty breath too clear for comfort, is kind of distracting you. You take a step back, muster your confidence, and try to match her cockiness

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it.” You turn over to the other girls, who had been staring at you. Bloom’s got her hand clutching her shirt, and has gotten up. Both pairs of eyes move from you to Scoots and back, mouths barely ajar. You look back to Scoots, who’s still looking at you with those devilish eyes that you’ve been seeing all night. With a sigh, you give up on figuring out what exactly these girls are doing, and start down the hill, towards the lone skateboard. Scoots had made it to a flat clearing, but the hill wasn’t finished yet. The second portion looked even longer, with more trees and rocks than you appreciated. But you were Anon, and you were going full man-mode. The soft feet of your watchers behind you, you step confidently onto the skateboard. You went skiing a long time ago, and you knew that the longer you looked downhill, the less likely you were to actually go.

And so you scan quickly for the best path, kick off, and start down. The first thing you notice is that your shoes are not right for this. They aren’t slipping off, per se, but they do not have the grip you know you need. But you’re going faster and faster, and jumping off fails to be an option. You bend down, placing your right hand on the side of the board, trying to keep your center of gravity close to the board. You hold on tightly, and swerve to miss a tree rocketed towards you. Another tree looms in the near future, and you tilt slightly, swishing past that. Rocks and more trees appear, and you safely navigate them all. At this point, you’re making wide swerves, trying to balance out the vertical motion with some side-to-side motion, in order to prevent a constant acceleration. It seems to be working so far, with your maximum speed being slightly unimpressive, but probably keeping you from flying out of control. But one tree comes out where you need it to not, and you’re forced to disrupt your motion, swerving right earlier. It would have been fine, had you not ran into a rocky outcrop. The rumbling under your skateboard disrupts your concentrated efforts, and you find the board wobbling violently underneath you. A thick rock, jutting out at the bottom, touches your front right wheel, and that’s all it takes to send you flying. Only natural that you would fall too, given how it seems to be the norm for today. Your body, airborne for almost three beautiful, terrifying seconds, finally returns to its rightful place in a soft crunch.

Sticks break beneath you, a dust cloud arises from your landing area. Groaning in pain, you try to sit up, only for a shock of abdominal pain to implore your cessation. You acquiesce, folding into the fetal position while gritting your teeth. To top it off, the shrieks of high school girls pierce your ears in unison, and grow in size as the footsteps herald their you-ward sprint. The trio of girls arrive at your side, kneeling down. They place their hands on you, worried shrieks frenetically questioning your health. You suck in your breath, and roll over, your chest facing the sky and your legs half bent. Your right arm is trapped underneath your body, unable to be moved. You begin to say you’re fine, but a coursing pain compels you to quit. Unable to maintain the façade of being cool, you try to avoid being a huge wuss, choking the whines and moans threatening to exit your blood-speckled lips.

You raise a hand, inviting them to help you up. Apple Bloom grips it immediately, the other two fishing out your right arm with a little help from you. Arms pointed towards the hills in the distance, the three girls pull with all their might, standing you up on abused legs. A pained groaning forces its way out as your arms are positioned on freshman shoulders, heads of purple and pink touching your chest. You notice the caress of your left hand, alternatively squeezing it and rubbing it. Before you can consider the cause, you gasp as you put your weight on your protesting legs. Your weight comes back to the young girls, and you submit yourself to the cute crutches demanding you do so. And so it is for the rest of the journey down the hill and to the house: two concerned girls holding you up and glancing worriedly up at you, and the unseen third petting and squeezing your hand. Bloom foregoes her attendance of your hand as she leaps ahead to ready the house’s door. The previous spurts of agony now blunted, you wonder at the regret you feel at your lonely left hand. You’re led in, turned towards a tall stool, and helped onto it.

The kitchen counter before it provides sweet rest, and your legs dangle in the air, rejoicing at the absence of the Earth’s unkind touch. Your head is still somewhat blurry from the pain, but you hear something about treatments, and your escorts fly from you. Apple Bloom is the first to return, having only moved to the kitchen cabinet to retrieve some pills and a glass of water. You can see the worry in her face as she sits next to you, and turns your cut face towards her. She assumes your folded arms aren’t functional, and feeds you the pills, followed by pressing the edge of the glass of water to your lips and turning upwards. The water comes too quickly, and more than a little spills out of your mouth and onto your chin and hands. Making sure to swallow the pills first, you burst out laughing, followed by your anguished chest demanding that you stop.

You didn’t think her face could look any more fearful, but she manages to top it when she sees her feeding failure. Determined to help, she sets her face tight in determination, telling you and your attempt to push her glass away that no, no, she’s got this. Her deep concentration leads her to discover the blood smattered about your lips and jaw, the few open cuts having been ignored in favor of finding medicine. Sweetie Belle enters the room with some gauze, and is immediately instructed to get a wet rag. She obeys, handing them both to Scootaloo, who had just entered through the same door holding a bottle, presumably peroxide or alcohol. Apple Bloom grabs the rag out of Scoot’s hands, and begins delicately swabbing your lips. You look at her in confusion when you notice her staring at them, her movements becoming slower and robotic. The rag is slowly pushed out of the way, leaving her fingers tenderly brushing your lips. She licks her lips, and shakes her head, turning away from you, her fingers not stopping. Your lips part slightly, unbeknownst to you. Soft fingers moving about press into the new opening, the inner curve of your lips now being given the same magical treatment. You’re caught to in sensations, the caress capturing you completely. A small cough interrupts your reverie, and you notice an impatient-looking Scootaloo with another rag.

Sweetie Belle tugs at her collar in what looks like embarrassment, and Bloom’s hand flees from your lips. Taking a deep breath, you purse your lips and look towards Scoots. She looks annoyed at you, before stepping forward and taking your right arm without gentleness. You cry out in pain, bringing a somber look to her eyes before they grow hard again. As she begins cleaning your arm, she informs you that you shouldn’t have been skateboarding so stupidly, you idiot. You’d retort, but her scrubbing is less than rough, and you don’t want to incur further wrath. Apple Bloom begins washing off the dirt and blood on your other arm, though it is far less present there. Her eyes are directed down, the large red bow almost tickling your nose when you lean down to search for her face. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo reach your upper arms at the same time, and notice that the source of the blood comes from within the shirt, as well as the presence of dirt within such. They look at each other anxiously, then to your shirt, then back at each other. With a gentle prodding of Sweetie Belle, demanding that they take the darn shirt off already, they work with Anon to peel the soiled garment off him.

Sweetie Belle faints as the red smear gradually reveals itself, a couch thankfully beside her. Apple Bloom looks shocked, but stable, as does Scootaloo. They set to work, before realizing that their rags are too dirty to keep helping. Scoots claims the cleaning procedure to be impossible with the tools at hand, which Bloom reluctantly agrees. Scootaloo then perks up, a smile forcing itself across her face, while she fails to look innocent and nonchalant. She has an idea, and the two cousins lean forward.

“What if Anon just took a shower?”

"Yeah, I'll go get on that." You struggle over to the shower, helped by your cousin and her friend, when halfway through washing yourself-

“Anon, it’s dinner time!” Ugh. You are, just, not even interested in that right now. You answer her with a negative:

“I’m not hungry, can I skip out on this one?” She opens your door a bit, and leans her head in.

“Did you eat already or something?” You curse internally. You didn’t expect her to prod. Quickly, you try to come up with an answer to sate her:

“I’m just feeling kind of sick.” She nods, an ambiguous expression crossing her face. Then she looks at you with concern, and steps into your room, closing the door behind her. Stepping over to the trunk in front of your bed, then sitting down on it, she stares into you.

“Yeah, I heard you got into a bit of trouble today.” A look of horror flashes across your face before you return to a normal expression. Did she see? How much does she know? You blow air out through the side of your mouth, trying to play it cool:

“Yeah, I took a bit of a dive.” She laughs softly at this:

“I heard it was a bit worse than that.”

“I got a bit cut up here and there, but it wasn’t too bad. Even put –“You cut yourself off, realizing that you hadn’t gotten to put any peroxide on your cuts. She eyes you patiently, finally asking you “put what?”

“Peroxide. On my cuts,” you bluff, looking off to the side, then back to her, hoping she bought it. She maintains a neutral expression, not giving anything anyway, except for the fact that she was searching you. The only question was, what was she looking for? She continuous looking at you, the traces of concern growing more apparent. You look at her, then away, your focus flying around the room, continually returning to her, then escaping once more. Suddenly, she puts her hand on yours, drawing and anchoring your sight onto the touch.

“Anon, I heard what happened today.” Your hand tears itself away from her, your head snapping away, facing the wall opposite her This was it. Time to get kicked out of here. You were finally starting to relax, so naturally it was gonna be torn away from you. Of course, you think angrily to itself. Not like it could be any other way! Your hand reaches to your forehead, brushing your back, as you hiss:

“Fuck.” Another nervous brush, and you turn back to her, mouth pursed tightly, waiting for the executioner’s sentence. Instead, she’s looking at you curiously. You widen your eyes and open your hands in a “well, go on” gesture. She continues to look perplexed, looking off in thought, then returning to you:

“Anon, do you think I’m mad?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What would I be mad about?” You can’t help but scoff. You’ve been in enough trouble to know not to admit anything. Instead, you just look at her, raising your brows.

“Wait.” You look down, then around the room, trying to understand the lack of rejection. Then, back to her: “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad at you, Anon. Can’t figure out why you’d think I’d be.” You fall back onto the bed, still not grasping the situation at hand. This is way too positive to be real. You hear Applejack sigh, then feel her hand touch your shoulder. She says, in a very gentle voice: “Look, Anon, I can’t help but notice-“

“AYYYYYJAAAAAAYY! AAAAANOOOOOON!” comes the boom of a heavy, deep voice. Was that Big Mac? Can he actually speak that loudly? The interruption clearly irritates AJ, and she hops off the bed, opening the closed door, and shouts back

“JUST START WITHOUT US! WE’LL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!” With an exasperated sigh, she sits back down on your bed. She looks at you with that tender gaze, and opens her mouth to speak, when

“OOOKK!” AJ stares into for a minute, fuming. Then she presses to fingers to her forehead, breathing out deeply. Calmed down, she looks back to you.

“Anon, I can’t help but notice that you’re distancing yourself from the rest of us. And the more I think about it, the more I think that it ain’t because we just met.” You sit up and stare at her with a look of cautious suspicion, not knowing where this is going, but willing to indulge your pessimistic outlook. “I see you getting along with Apple Bloom just fine, and you’ve seemed pretty happy a couple of times, before you closed yourself off. I mean, stop me if I’m wrong, but I can’t help but think you’re trying to distance yourself from us.” You hold your hand up, stopping her.

“Why are you telling me this?” She smiles quietly to herself, then responds:

“I guess we haven’t been around each other much, but one thing you’ll find out as you get to know me better is this: I can’t help but be honest. I see a problem, and I can’t help Anyway, I don’t know how much of all that is true; like I said, we haven’t been around each other long. But if it is, I just want you to know that you belong here.” Your head, having been staring at the ground, whips up to her in surprise, almost shock. She nods her head, answering your unspoken question: “You’re kin to us, Anon. And we’d like to be the same to you.” You take on an almost helpless look, completely unprepared for this outpouring of care. Once more, your hand brushes your hair back, as you struggle for words to say. You have none. She continues holding your hand, patiently waiting for your reply. A thought comes into your mind:

“I thought you were mad at me or something?”

“What? When?”

“I dunno, you seemed kind of pissed when I swore, and when me and Apple Bloom were hanging out yesterday.” you add: “I guess you just seemed kind of cold?” Your answers and questions were coming out of your mouth the moment they came into your head. It probably wasn’t the most diplomatic approach, but you were kind of out of it right now. She scoffs, good-naturedly:

“In the first place, Anon, Ah’m not a big fan of swearing; most of us here aren’t. And Ah thought you were insulting our family, which is kind of a big deal to me. But Apple Bloom told me that it was all joking later, so it’s fine by me. And in the second place,” she turns her head up in thought, before finishing: “Ah was just trying to get a feel for you, ah guess. Ah certainly didn’t mean to be unwelcoming or nothing. Sorry if I came across as cold. Ah really didn’t mean to.” You think about it for a minute. Maybe you were being a little hasty in assuming she didn’t like you. Throughout her speeches, she’d been sneaking glances at the door, the turns becoming more frequent as time passed. Not enough to convince you she wanted to leave, though naturally the thought entered your mind, but enough to show you her concern for missing dinner. You feel a bit guilty about keeping her here, and attempt to make it right.

“Sorry, I made you miss dinner,” your timid voice croaks. She responds with an odd laugh, combining amusement with exasperation.

“Anon, why do you keep thinking Ah’m gonna be mad at you or something? Ah chose to be here; it ain’t like you forced me to do nothing.” After a moment, you ask

“You really mean that?” She turns a jovial smirk towards you,

“Honey, my friends call me Honest Applejack. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” Unsure of how to respond to her outreach, you gratefully squeeze her hand, trusting that to convey your feelings. Well, at least one of them. Your chest was filled with excitement, remnants of fear, a weary exhaustion, and gratefulness, the last being the only one you could identify out of the mess of emotions. She squeezed back. You had no idea what was going on with you, and why you were acting this way. You didn’t know if you wanted to know why. How could such a stressful two days still be so nice? In your confusion, you feel the pulling of your hand.

“Come on, Anon, let’s go eat.” A small part of you rebels at the invitation:

“Uh… is Apple Bloom there?” She frowns, then informs you.

“Nah, she should be up in her room by now.” Then, after a pause: “Are you afraid of seeing her or something?” You respond with an apologetic half-smile:

“I’m just worried things are gonna be awkward.”

“Anon, they’re only gonna be awkward if you make them.” Turning towards her little sister’s room, she gives the same exasperated chuckle as before: “Ah swear, that girl keeps her head in the clouds so much…” You feel somewhat better, though not entirely. Still, good enough to go downstairs, not overcome with social dread. You scoff at yourself, wondering how on earth you got to be such a huge wuss. Goodness knows you weren’t like this back at home, or at the various clubs you went to with your friends. Together, you and AJ enter the kitchen, occupied by a lone Granny Smith. She turns towards the both of you, a chastisement on her face.

“Now, since you two missed supper, yer gonna be cleaning up afterwards.” Eh.

“Sure, Granny, sounds good,” comes Applejack’s quiet answer, lacking a trace of surprise. Didn’t seem too bad to you.

“Yer plates are still out there, ‘long with the food.”

“Thanks Granny,” you say, forcing yourself to speak up. At this point, you’re pretty exhausted from everything that happened today. You wander into the dining room, taking in all the fresh smells of the food you barely look at. Muscle memory drops some food across your plate after you fall into your seat. AJ takes her place at the end of the table, diagonal to your seat, as close as can be without sitting at your side. You notice her face light up as she looks at the… steak? Oh wow, steak, how did you miss that? Your attention comes back to your plate, which you had filled with leftover stuffing and some weird pudding thing. With you being in AJ’s line of sight, you know you can’t get away with sneaking it back into the trays and replacing it with steak. Instead, you go for the audacity. You loudly whistle, while looking around you in a mockery of an attempt to look innocent and not suspicious. You hold up your plate and scrape the untouched contents back into the bowls, before picking up a big piece of steak and putting it onto your plate. Seeing AJ’s incredulous stare in your peripherals, you turn towards her, maintaining the overdone pretense of innocence, and say:

“Oh hey, Applejack. What’s up?” She starts to frown, but doesn’t quite make it before she bursts out laughing. Apparently, you’re in the clear. You can’t help but join her in laughter, if only because hers is so contagious. She stops laughing, and assumes a serious face, looking like she’s gonna scold you. Her impending word is interrupted by giggling, and this time she gives up.

“So, tell me about yourself,” comes a sudden order, causing you to grunt questioningly.

“Hmm?”

“Well, you just got here, we’ve only heard a couple stories about you and your side of the family –cept my trip to them all those years ago- and I’ve been too busy to really hang out with you. Be a real shame if you were to go without us ever having a real chance to talk.” You think of reminding her that there’s still like, four and a half days before you have to go, but stop yourself. Instead, you indulge her, telling stories of your life. That one guy who hits on you whenever he gets drunk; that time a hobo brandished a piece of glass, sending you and your girl speeding across town in terror, that time when you changed the homework assignments in the teacher’s notebook when there was a sub, more than halving the work your class had to do. She seems almost entranced by your life, the rebellion and danger so much greater than that in hers, which simultaneously scared and intrigued her. After you finish a story about some friends of yours stealing your principal’s tire (they didn’t have enough time to get the other three) she stops you, waving her hand in the air.

“Stop, stop.”

“What? I wasn’t even involved in that one. I mean, I was invited…”

“No, no, it’s not that.

“Ah mean, these stories are great, and Ah definitely wanna hear more, but I wanna know what your life’s like.”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you. Rough.”

“No, Ah mean like, what school do you go to? What’s your daily schedule like?” Her interest evident in her eyes, you have no problem telling her. So you detail the names of the places you frequent, and your schedule:

“I got school til 3, and I usually hang with friends for a couple hours. Then it’s home and homework, video games, and bed. Pretty boring, really.”

“You ever do anything with your parents?” she asks, the question almost feeling rehearsed.

“Uh, not really, why?”

“Well, Ah stayed with them for about a week, not too many years ago. Think you were off on vacation or something.” What? You don’t remember hearing about this. You tilt your head, and tell her so.

“Your parents never told you?” she picks at her food, “Or did you forget? Ah guess it wasn’t that big a deal.” Quickly, you cover:

“No, AJ, I definitely would have remembered something like this. I mean, they did mention some visitor while I was gone, but… wait, that was you?”

“Summer, 2012?”

“Yeah! I mean, I think so…” You pull for the memory, but all you have is a vague idea of it. Her visage grows slightly downcast, and she tells you

“Ya know, you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m not gonna be hurt if you don’t remember.”

“No, it’s not that! I just…” you pause, before deciding to finish the admission, “my parents and I don’t really talk. Like, ever?” Her expression quickly turns to shock and pity:

“Really?”

“Yeah… like, they’re around, I guess. But they stay in their rooms, I stay in mine. They’ve got their own stuff going on, and they don’t really want me… interfering, I guess. Not that I don’t feel the same way,” you add sharply. “We just do our own thing, and really only talk when I need a signature, or they need a family picture or whatever.” Her hand is drawn over to yours once more, but this time you aren’t really interested in the connection. It’s fine. There’s not a problem here. In fact, since there isn’t a problem, you might as well change the subject.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” you offer, insistence clear in your voice. She seems hesitant, still holding that concern you don’t need. “We’ve been talking about me the whole time, why not you? Tell me about what your life is like,” you ask, authentically interested. A choked grimace streaks across her face, followed by a moment of disappointment and defeat and then she moves on. She tells you all about her life here at the farm, and you listen eagerly, fascinated by a life so alien to you, and happy to get off the subject of your parents. She’s got a monstrous amount of chores in addition to school, but somehow finishes both, ending up with a working farm and pretty decent grades. You find yourself admiring the girl before you; after all, you doubt you’d be able to do all that. There’s a theme, almost a chorus, within her stories: she’s always supporting people.

Getting her sister out of trouble, helping people communicate with the socially stunted Big Mac, assisting Granny with her daily life, and that’s not counting what she does for her friends.

“Geez,” you mutter, unaware of saying it aloud.

“What?” she asks innocently, the mountain on her shoulders apparently beyond her notice.

“Just seems like you do a lot for everybody around you,” You hint at the weight, trying to find out exactly how aware she is of it.

“Ah just give people a hand, now and then,” she responds, with the conviction of a drug addict saying he can quit any time, and probably the same reasons. You wonder what would happen if she were to face the truth. You make a mental note of asking the other Apples what’s going on here, maybe get more perspectives, or get them to help her out more. Because, my goodness, the stories keep on coming. Long finished with dinner, AJ halts in yet another tale of a friend needing bailing out.

“Land sakes, it’s already dark out! Come on, Anon, we better start working these dishes.” The two of you get up, and set yourself to the work with unparalleled speed. AJ naturally works quickly, and you really don’t want to make her shoulder one more load, via a trash helper, so you match her the best you can. In just twenty five minutes, the food’s in Tupperware, the dishes cleaned or in the running dishwasher, and your hands dried, right as Bloom hops into the room announcing prayers. She glances at you and flushes a bit, but you’re too caught up in your dishwashing mindset to note it or the source.

“Sure thing,” you say to her, smiling. I’ll be up in a minute.” She looks up, noticing your casual demeanor, and smiles hopefully. She turns and hops of the stairs, looking back at your distracted face, grinning, then running up the stairs gleefully.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be weird,” comes a AJ’s voice.

“Why would it b-” Memory returns mid-sentence, worry consuming your expression.

“Come on, relax,” the soothing girl instructs you, before reminding you that Bloom would forget about this as soon as you did.

“Yeah, that was pretty awful though. Not sure I can just forget about it like that, though.”

“You know what ah mean. Quit acting like it’s a big deal, and you two’ll be close as peas in a pod,” She takes on a thoughtful look and touches her finger to her lip, “Wait, was that the expression?” You chuckle, not correcting her, and start to head up the stairs. No reason not to accept her help here. You’ll take her advice, just play it cool.

“She really likes you, ya know,” AJ says as she walks next to you, and ah can tell you like her too.” You smile in the dark hallway, and say, right before entering the bedroom:

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

You join them in their prayers this time, somewhat remembering the words. You grin at Bloomers when she looks at you with a question on her face, and she returns the favor, warming your heart. After prayers, she leaps onto your back like last night, albeit with much more energy. Her bare heels grasp your waist, and she raises her right fist high into the air:

“Ride, my steed! Ride!” comes the squeaky voice above you. Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing? You grip her legs, making sure she’s steady, then leap up, causing her to yelp in surprise. You tilt your head back, and quietly shout:

“MEEAUUAAAUGH”, realizing halfway through that you have no clue what a horse sounds like. The girl bursts out laughing at your goblin-like shriek-grunt, and points to the doorway, bellowing

“My low was your fall! My high is this ride! Ride, Anon! Riiiiide!” And with that, you barrel out of the room, leaving three jaws wide open. Sprinting to some unknown place in the house, then another, you look innocently at her, and inform her of your predicament.

“Ok, I think I got lost.” She laughs again, her body convulsing upon your upper back. She directs you back, and you tell her

“I got the same high-low as yours.” She crushes your neck in a mighty hug. “Ack. Bloom. Neck.”

“Aw, sorry Anon. Ah forgot how strong I was, bein’ a maghty knight an all.” You giggle, before entering her room, and tossing her onto her bed. You tuck her in, the biggest smile on her face. “Goodnight, my mighty steed,” comes the exuberant girl, no trace of sleepiness on her face.

“G’night, my brave knight,” you whisper, before silently exiting the room and entering yours, lost in sleep before you can even begin your nightly brooding.

Wednesday

Your morning arrives on the sound of faint voices. Two female voices, by the sound of it. That’s really about as far as you can identify them for the moment. You’re a tad busy luxuriating in the warm apple-covers to fully focus. The voices grow in loudness, still garbled, but becoming recognizable. The lack of pauses and creaking tell you that the Apple sisters are speaking in the hallway outside your room. It actually sounds a bit tense, now that you really listen. A low grumble burrows its way through your chest; you’d rather be sleeping. The only method of escape is the pillow, and you cover your head in it, just like in the movies. Unfortunately, it’s pretty darn uncomfortable, and barely blocking out any sound, so you trash the plan. Covering your head in the blankets, you hope curling up in the cozy cocoon will distract you. It actually succeeds for a moment, before the door slams open.

“Fine!”

“Where are you goin’? That ain’t your room!” Your door slams in response, and a particularly audible sighs apparates just behind it. Guess Apple Bloom forget where she lived, you think to yourself with a chuckle. Your mirthful comfort is then wrenched away by the collapsing of a young girl on your bead. Her arms splay outward, the right falling over your stomach. She sighs deeply, then does this cute little cry that kinda sounds like “gah!” Your bed invaded, you pull the covers down and scoot back to sit up against the bedpost. You’re careful to keep her arm off of your critical zone while you do so.

“What’s going on, Bloom?” you mutter, honestly having tried not to sound testy, but the interruption to your sleep putting too large a damper on you. She throws her head back onto the bed, looking at you through the tops of eyes:

“’Parently AJ don’t want me goin on no more adventures with you after what happened yesterday.” Another anguished harrumph, and she crosses her arms. “And after Scootaloo got all those fireworks…”

“Wait, what?” Her eyes drift lazily back to you:

“Oh, nothing. Ain’t like it’s gonna happen anymore.” You silently thank AJ for saving you from what was certain to be your doom, and bring your hand over to her forehead. Softly brushing her hair to the side, you tell her

“It’ll be alright, Bloom. I’m sure we’ll find something else to do.”

“I think ah’d like that,” she moans sleepily, pushing her face into your caressing hand. You move down a bit, and turn away from her, the heavy desire for sleep barely overcoming your desire to stroke your cousin’s cheek. A pouty hmph begs you to reconsider, but now you’re all curled up on your side; ‘sorry, love, but my course is set’, you think to yourself. But then you find her arms covering you as she sidles up to your back. Drawing close, she rests her head on your back, and sighs contentedly. You think about moving, or pushing her off or something, but you’re still on the train to sleeptown. And when you’re as tired as you are, there just aren’t any stops. You drift off to sleep again, comfortable in the embrace of your Apple Bloom. Three loud knocks jerk you awake, at some later time.

“Hey, Anon!” Sounds like AJ. You answer her groggily,

“sup?”

“Yuh got Bloom in there?” You turn towards the angel snoring softly on your bed.

“Sure looks like it.” The littlest Apple’s eyes blink awake, and she yawns loudly. Her eyes clench tightly, and her hands ball into fists as she raises them above her head, in something similar to victory pose. You notice those teeny tiny little shorts she’s got on, crawling way up her thighs. And… hold on a minute, where did she get your WSU T-shirt? Before you can continue your inquest, half-lidded eyes grab your attention, and the following smile leaves you breathless. It’s sweet and small, like her, but most importantly, it’s for you. You walk up to your bed and sit beside her, her eyes following you all the way.

“Tell her to get up soon! We’re going to the pool in a bit!” Those precious eyes look towards the door, then back up at you. You fall into those great amber pools, and tell her in a quiet voice, almost a whisper:

“You gotta get up soon, sweetheart. We’re going to the pool in a bit.” Her white teeth shine as she pulls back soft lips in a smile, your subtle mockery of her sister not going unnoticed. ”Alright, we’ll be out in a moment!” You sidle up closer to her, stroking her hair once more, while her gaze continues to hold onto you. You audibly sigh in happiness, a smile finishing it off, her expression meeting yours. Remembering your last cuddle-session, you recall the last girl to hold you closely. You have an idea, remembering a little bit of fun you had during that day. You lean in close, very close to her face, just enough to make her smile fade into an expression of bated expectation. Moving still closer, you veer off to the side of her face, lips almost touching her earlobe.

“Hey, Apple Bloom?” your breathy voice comes.

“W-what?”

“Gimme my shirt back.” A pause separates your gleeful teasing and being pushed off the bed. You laugh as you hit the ground, successfully getting her. She sticks out her tongue at you, then thoughtfully looks up. You see Scoots’ wicked grin again, this time covering your angel’s face. Oh boy.

“Want your shirt back, huh?” Your confidence shows its absence in your hesitant affirmation.

“Fine then. Here y’go” And with one quick motion, she strips off the shirt and tosses it at you. Ok, that’s a pretty tiny bra. She laughs at your horrified expression and rose-red cheeks. You toss your shirt back to her, pleading that she put it back on as she bounces up and down your bed, laughing. You turn toward her, asking again in a more seriously tone.

“Please.” She sees that her joke has gone a little too far, and pulls your shirt down over herself again.

“Sorry,” she says quietly.

“It’s alright,” you assure her, tousling her hair, trying to be lighthearted about the whole thing. She smiles gratefully, and heads out of your room. With a deep sigh, you sit down on your bed. Ok, maybe don’t tease your probably crushing cousin. You like Apple Bloom; a whole lot. But that’s not a road you’re planning on going down. You shake your head to the side, trying to get the whole of you in agreement. I don’t know, there was just something about her. This kind of spark, or light that filled you up. But the strange thing was, it wasn’t implicitly sexual. There was definitely some attraction you were feeling, but it wasn’t the rule. You stumbled for the words to express just what was going on. They just weren’t there. The only certainty you had was that you loved Bloom, and that your love was more than desire. You hop off your bed and root through your drawers, ready for a change of subject. All this introspection and stuff was nice, but only for a little while. You were still a guy; that stuff gets old, and when it does, it does. You find your swimshorts and head out the door, holding them over your shoulder. You hop down the stairs, and find yourself at the land of pancakes and waffles. You could get used to this. The three elder Apples are there, and you take a seat next to AJ. She looks at you, her face radiant as usual.

“Ah hope Apple Bloom didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Eh, not really.

“She just kinda fell asleep on my bed, and I was never really awake until you knocked.” She purses her lips, her focus leaving you for half a moment:

“Wonder why she didn’t just come out?” Your expression follows suit, and you nod your head at the conundrum. Coming up with two explanations, you tell her:

“I think I know why.” More than two eager eyes are on you now, having stayed since the mention of sleeping on your bed. “She probably stayed because she didn’t want to admit defeat.” The family all nods their heads, obviously familiar with Bloom’s headstrong demeanor.

“But there is another reason, that definitely oughtn’t be overlooked: She very well may have stayed, because she found herself in the room of THE COOLEST COUSIN IN THE WORLD!” At the final clause, you stand up, stick your chest out and point your thumb at yourself. Big Mac appears untouched by your flourish, but you’ve got the ladies in the room giggling. And in the end, the ladies are really the ones you perform for anyway. You sit down to Applejack saying:

“Well, that’s definitely a possibility.” Apple Bloom comes down the stairs soon after, and sits to your side. The four of you gobble up what remains of that glorious breakfast, and discuss the day’s plans. There’s a community swimming pool over in Applejack’s friend’s neighborhood -apparently her name is Twilight?- and the three young’un’s –Granny’s words, not yours- are gonna meet her down there in about an hour. Sounds good to you.

“That sound good to you?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” But it didn’t sound good to Apple Bloom.

“Can’t ah invite my friends?” Given an affirmation, she brought up her phone and made the requests. And so you, Big Mac, and Bloomers all lounge about on the couch, waiting for the time to come around and friends to respond. AJ was in what young Bloomers referred to as her crazy-planning-mode, for which Big Mac gave his trademark

“Eeyup.” What she was actually planning was unclear, though that may have been your lack of investigation of such as much as it may have been needless planning. A buzzing phone informed the owner of the squeakiest voice around that only Scootaloo could come, which was translated to you through said medium. And with that fifteen extra minutes of picking her up, the timeslots were filled. You raced your cousin to the family van, sighed as the two elder siblings took FOREVEEEEER –Bloom’s emphasis, not yours- and you were off.

You stare blankly out the back window, at the dirt road slowly leaving you. The signs fly past, occasionally accompanied by a lone farmhouse. Then, after one particularly long stretch of muted brown, houses erupt from the sides of the window like beavers from their houses. Thick clusters of houses fill the windows, the conditions of each deteriorating further from those they replace. Chipped paint, then faded, then bleached and cracked; clear lawns, uncut lawns, then lawns filled with debris. To your horror, it is at what appears to be the crux of this broken portion of the city that the fading streets are halted. You’re a sitting duck, in the heart of dilapidation. Thankfully, a shouting girl signals the arrival of the package, and you’re soon sitting next to an orange-skinned imp, once more watching the wasteland leave. You turn from it, not wanting to think about those conditions, and face the beaming girl next to you. Wait… was she staring at you this whole time? Her eyes are fixed firmly on you, blinking thrown to the wind.

“Uh… hey Scoots.” Barely missing a beat, she looks up at you, giving you a smirk you’d find on a 90’s skateboarder.

“Sup?”

“Oh, y’know. Getting ready for a pool adventure. Hoping not to get injured on this one.” Bloom looks back from the front seat, frowning at the reference. Scoots actually takes on a somber expression, and meekly apologizes. Definitely not the kind of thing you’d expect from her. But the dissonance corrects itself momentarily, and she’s back to her chipper, punky self. Is punky even a word? She’s wearing a big, baggy hoody, and you can’t actually see any pants down there, so you’re gonna assume she’s in her suit underneath. On her head is a bandanna, and now… oh boy. She pulls out an eyepatch and grips it tightly.

“Bloom,” she says in a low, resonant voice. Bloom turns back and meets Scoots’ serious look. She shakes her head slowly, and returns her view to the front. Scoots nods her head with the grim acceptance of a soldier, and tucks the eyepatch back into her pocket. Looks like whatever piratey business they were up to was pushed back.

“What?” comes the tomboyish voice, with the petulant rebelliousness of a grade-schooler in trouble, when she finds you staring at her.

“Nothing,” you respond, not realizing you’d been staring at her. She turns to the side, looking out the window. The van takes a hard right, and she falls into you while you fall into the window. Yeah, she definitely got the better deal there. You rub your hurt head, and as the pain fades, you notice a pressure against your side that wasn’t there before. Scootaloo’s right up against you, apparently having forgot to recover after the slide. You scoot a bit to the right, and she continues to sink into you, before jolting up, then back to her original position. No, a little further from you than before.

The van jerks to a stop, bringing your thoughts of Scootaloo to the same conclusion. You hop out of the van, and stretch your limbs, before grabbing your bag of clothes and heading off. Well, trying to head off. All but one small piece of your shirt starts forward, the stationary portion yanking you back. Turning around, you find that Scoots grabbed the back of your shirt.

“Wait up a second.”

“Uh, ok.” Big Mac lumbers over to the lawn chair-folding-lounging thing and lounges, the sun fully on him. AJ passes out bags, and leads the way to the gates, propped open by a waving Twilight.

“We’ll be there in a sec!” Bloom shouts to AJ, who nods her head and disappears into a conversion with Twilight. You turn to her in confusion. She looks you deep in the eye, and pulls a tiny little pirate hat out of her bag. There’s even a little stretchy black thing to put under your chin, to keep it on your head.

“Alright Anon, we’re down a member. So we need you to complete the Cutie Mark Pirates.” Scoots nods, more serious than you’d ever seen here. HELL FUCKING YES, you think.

“Um… Are you sure?” you say.

“Hell, uh, I mean, heck yeah!” Scoots shouts, altering her words when she sees Bloom’s look. “You’re tall, your clothes are already pretty ragged-

“Hey!”

“And you’re super rad! So you gotta do this!”

“Agreed!” your cousin agrees, both girls now looking up at you expectantly. You try really hard not to look super hyped to be a pirate. You succeed, managing to look somewhat suspicious and hesitant, murmuring a soft
“fine.” A grin breaks out as you pull it over your head, and accept the spare eyepatch brought by Scoots.

“Yeah, you know you love it,” comes the suddenly sultry voice of Scoots.

“So what if I do? Pirates as super friggin’ rad.” Apple Bloom brandishes a small plastic sword, pointing it towards the pool.

“And so are we! The CUTIE!” Scoots follows, the call clearly meant to have three-parts:

“MARK!” Not missing a beat, you take a step forward, and bellow with every inch of breath:

“PIIIIIIRRRRAAAAAAAAAATES!” Yeah, you’re a cool dude. You follow Bloomers as she leads the charge… in no particular direction. She runs towards her sister, who recoils in horror at the furious charge, Twilight laughing the whole time. Then you change directions, and chase a seagull. Then it’s to her sister again, a mighty AVAST MATEY on her lips, followed by a YE BE WALKING THE PLANK from Scoots. AJ laughs as she’s cornered by the three of you, the two true members having a fake-wooden swords, and you having to make do with crossing your arms to look badass.

“Scoots!” comes Bloomer’s stage whisper.

“What?” comes the response, of the same volume.

“We forgot to get Anon his sword!”

“Well, whatta we do now?” AJ lends you a perplexed expression, which you immediately return.

“Well, we better go get it!” Then, back to her loud cry, “TO THE ARMORY!” and the three of you take off towards the van. In a moment, you’re better armed, and AJ’s back with Twilight, albeit continually glancing at the trio. “Back to AJ,” says Apple Bloom, but you interrupt the suspiciously normal pace by leaping up on the chain link fence and shouting:

“AVAST, YE LANLUBBAR!” You hoist your arm over the fence and point the tip of your cutlass at AJ, who looks absolutely shocked”HEAVE TO, AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!” You ignore her and her purple friend’s now blushing faces, forgetting the double meaning, and leap back down.

You rejoin your crew, and pursue the eldest Apple once more. Round the pool you go, with Scoots dropping off, hoping to flank her. You do the same, but AJ’s eyes stay on you. She turns to and fro from you and Bloom, giggling at the pursuit, and then stops The white-faced realization tells you what she’s thinking: where’s the third? The girl in question erupts from behind a beached whale’s chair, grabbing her. You and Bloom set upon her at once, but you only place a hand on her back. The full bodied hugs coming from the two other girls might be a bit weird, coming from you. You gently push her towards the diving board, the two hugging girls sidling along with her; her movements are pretty heavily restricted, but at least she ain’t escaping. Isn’t. Geez, the little Apple’s already rubbing off on you. You notice the beaming face of Twilight’s friend, overjoyed to see her friend being marched to her doom. You right-face, now looking directly at her, and point your sword at her

“YARRRR!” . Man, your throat’s starting to hurt from this. . Twilight yelps with terror, then covers herself in Applejack’s towel, completely hidden. . You turn back to Applejack, who’s now at the diving board. . Little eeps and ows at the poking plastic swords send her onto it, after which she executes a perfect cannonball. “Awesome!” Bloom says, forgetting her piratsona and leaps up onto the board. She takes off, bouncing mightily before being flung into the air and mimicking the glorious splash of her elder sister. You try to warn her, but it’s too late. Your little cousin, wrapped in a T-shirt and overalls, surfaces from the deeps, gulping in a great snatch of air. Realizing her sartorial predicament, she cries out:

“Consarnit!”

All four members of your party laugh out loud, the wet hair covering the girl’s face making her pout all the more hilarious. You turn back to Scoots, and she smiles, nodding her head. You both grab your clothing bags and head towards the lockers. You step into yours, and notice Scoots not quit leaving the entryway, almost peeking around the corner at you. Her eyes notice yours, and she scrambles away like a frightened rabbit. Geez. You sigh with forced exasperation. Truthfully, you didn’t mind the interest, but something was telling you that you shouldn’t enjoy it. You peel off your clothes in an empty stall, and slip into your rad trunks. Stepping out before the mirror, you grimace at your unimpressive body. You weren’t fat or weirdly tall or anything; you weren’t repellant. But you didn’t really have muscles –well, you did under good lighting and while flexing-, nor were you particularly tan. It really could have been anyone standing in that mirror before you. If anything, it helped you disappear in the crowds, and being unidentified was particularly helpful whenever you made trouble. Sighing, you stepped out of the bathrooms and into the sun. Bloom was nowhere to be seen, and AJ and Twilight were sitting on some towels talking to each other. Might as well go introduce yourself. Probably made a real good impression with that pirate thing. You walk over there and sit down by the both of them.

“Hey.” The purple haired girl looked up at you with a delighted, up-turned crescent.

“Hello Mr. Anon. I’m Twilight.” She holds out her hand, looking as if she were thrilled to meet you. You reach out and mirror the greeting, her hand shaking yours like a can of spray paint. “I’m thrilled to meet you. Applejack’s been telling me stories about you.”

“Good ones, I hope?” A whimsical chuckle brings the tender voice of your second favorite cousin to the conversation:

“’Course they are. You haven’t given me any bad ones.” You make a solemn face, placing your left hand on your heart and right hand in the air, as if swearing a pledge.

“I shall endeavor not to,” you say in the most posh of voices. AJ chuckles, and looks over to her friend:

“I think we should have invited Rarity over. She’d love him.” Twilight shares her laughter and sentiment. The name rings within your head, sounding somewhat familiar. You’d heard it here… Oh, right!

“That’s Sweetie’s older sister, right? She mentioned her yesterday.”

“That’s right. But I think she’s busy with Sweetie today, though I can’t for the life of me remember what.” The previous wish returns to you, and you decide to pursue it, only partially as a means to catch a compliment.

“So, why would she love me? I haven’t really done anything.” AJ turns to you

“Sugarcube, you could do anything, and so long as you use that posh accent, she’d love ya.” Twilight pushes her in defence of the absent friend. “Alright, Alright, that was a tad mean. But you’re from the city, and that’s what she’s in love with, ‘long with everything in it. Ergo, she’ll love you.” Twilight chimes in:

“And from these stories AJ is telling me, you sound like you know the city.” You remember the stories you told AJ last night about your life in the city. You do have some pretty good stories, you think to yourself, before Twilight’s voice returns: “And she’s definitely one for a bad boy.”

“Wh-what?” Who told her you were a bad boy? Who told anybody that?

Applejack joins in Twilight’s mischievous grin: “Not gonna lie, Anon, you’re really rockin’ that pirate hat and eyepatch.” Ah. “Speakin’ a which, can you stand up a sec?”

“Uh, sure?” You stand up, wondering what she wants, while she rears back and shoves you into the pool behind you. You suck in a puff of air right before you go under, feeling the coolness of the pool. However, the pleasant embrace is somewhat marred by the panic of its surprise. You yell and flail your arms, finding yourself far more horizontal than you had expected to be at this point. Swimming back to the top and wiping the hair from your eyes, you ask her

“What the heck was that for!?”

“For stabbin’ me with that plastic sword, ya jerk!”

“I was a pirate! That’s what pirates do!”

“An’ I’m a girl that pushes pirates in the pool! Go on and guess what I do!” You pout and climb out, sitting down on the towel near AJ. “Aw, come on, yer getting my towel soaked.” You stick your tongue out, and fall onto her lap. The wet slap of your skin on her previously dry lap is louder than you predicted, and the girl yelps, trying to push you off. Behind you, you can hear the sounds of two young girls just yukking it up. You get up off the flailing girl to see the convulsing forms of two girls.

Your interest expands as you take in the sight. Two girls, one light-skinned and one noticeably darker, stand up to their waists in community water. Bloom’s got herself in a bright red two piece, the vibrant color flickering in the rippling waves. The bottom is submerged, surfaces, then is submerged again, the waves in the pool pushing up and down her fair skin. She’s got a chest, not a big one, but noticeable enough, that fits perfectly on her small proportions. You suppose you knew that already, but this time you weren’t tearing yourself away from the sight. The darker girl, her skin close to orange, is beside Bloom, wet purple hair framing her glowing face. Her swimsuit matches the size of Bloom’s, showing off an amount of skin you definitely aren’t complaining about. Her chest is a little smaller than Bloom’s, but again, it fits her small body, and lends you a fair share of tantalization. The purple material almost looks ruffled, holding an odd-looking texture, as compared to the simplicity of Bloom’s. After cocking you head in fascination at Scoot’s chest, you pull your focus away, with some difficulty. Boobs? I wasn’t looking at nobody’s boobs! That’s slander, Mr. Jameson! Freed from her hypnotic chest, you’re ensnared with her tummy, and the slim arms that frame it. And once more, you rip your view away from her. You turn towards the older girls sitting beside you, and notice their respective suits.

Now geared towards girls, your sight settles immediately on that of your cousin and her friend, pulling in like a ship in the grasp of the leviathan. A orange one-piece, long and sleek like a creamsicle, wraps AJ’s body. The type of suit isn’t your favorite, but the body encompassed is too curvy to be brought low in your eyes: the faint muscles in her arms and stomach, present enough to look fit without grotesque, awaken you to a beauty you’d never noticed before: the /fit/ girl. She lounges back, the curves of her body accentuated in the soft motion, made all the more visible by the wetness you brought to her. Twilight’s pale skin bursts forth from her own purple two-piece, a far deeper hue than Scoots’. She’s got a bit of chub to her, but like the muscles of AJ, it isn’t enough to spoil. The slight curve of her stomach flows seamlessly into the curves of her larger breasts, which declare themselves the winner among your party. Her skin is almost vampiric in its glow, concerns of burning causing you worry and her to adopt a towel-shield against the belligerent sun. It might be a rough day, you think to yourself trying to keep your eyes off the beauties surrounding you, the two younger ones having joined the circle. It’s going to be a rough day, you think to yourself, as the loveliest of Apples sits down on your side and rests her head in your lap. She faces up, grinning widely at you, whose head perfectly shields her from the glaring sunlight. You sigh, as is your prerogative, and surrender to the enjoyment of the day. No use worrying on pool day.

You bend over, facing down at the cute girl in your lap, still blissfully staring up with half-lidded eyes. Your hands, free from any order, move to the top of her head and begin stroking her thick hair, auburn in your shadow. It parts between your fingers, flowing through like sand. You run into several tangles, at which point you stop and gently brush and pull until they come apart. She closes her eyes and takes your loving fingers sifting through the crimson sea. Leaving your hands to their autopilot, you turn up to the girls around you. AJ and Twi were discussing some weird friend of theirs, Discord or something, who AJ seems to disapprove of. Scootaloo, however, is staring solidly at you and Bloom, the intense look pretty unwelcome. But you feel accommodating, and you don’t want anybody being unhappy today, especially not your fellow CMC. Even if you’re only a tertiary member, you still have a duty, don’t you? You push Bloom a little to your right, down for her, which she takes as a signal to move there. She adjusts herself so her head no falls on your right thigh, leaving your lap half-empty. You look up to the now curious-faced Scoots and pat your left thigh. She looks at you, resistance showing in her face and eagerness everywhere but. You raise your eyebrows, your face reading “you coming or what?” and she blows a forced sigh to her left, before crawling towards you. She carefully lies down, mirroring Bloom. The wet hair on your inner thigh makes you jump, startling both girls. Seeing no problems, they lie back down, two heads now resting before you.

This time you intentionally put your hands to work, one on each girl in symmetrical movements. First, you place your hands on each outer cheek, tracing circles around it, widening it to include the ear, circling that, then making figure eights involving circles of the ear and the cheek. In a combination of brushing and caressing, you trace the edges of their ear, moving the hair away and thereby opening the ear to the light. You continue tracing the motion, your hands touching the outer parts of the ear during your soft, loving circles. Keeping the curving theme to your motions, you bring your palms to their foreheads, brushing them outwards, rotating your hands as you do it. At the part of their foreheads closest to you, the pinkie side of your hand is touching them, and you roll it as you bring it the the part furthest from you, going from your palm to the thumb-side, then back again. Your fingers move down, disappearing into their hair as you brush it, then returning at the end of the cycle. With the proximity of their heads to your chest, you aren’t given much room to work on the cheek closest to such, but you settle for the basic windshield wiper motion across them with your fingers. Your light touch presses down enough to be felt, but not harder than you need to feel the soft bump of a close-by cheek bone. Finishing there, you pull your hands apart, moving to their jawline, and trace it back to the outer ear. Instead of moving back to the original formula, you move even further out, down to their necks. You trace these from front to back, your hands touching their necks and the bottom of their jaws in a back-and-forth motion. Not wanting to spend too much time on their necks, your hands return to their original position and begin repeating themselves. Somewhere along the line, both heads, as if aware of the symmetry involved, swiveling slightly towards your chest, cutting off your caressing on that side of their face, but opening up more of the other side to stroke. Once you’ve gone through the whole twice, you set your hands on auto-pilot, combining muscle memory and a small amount of deviation to change direction or area, so as to keep the experience from becoming predictable or monotonous. You take their soft coos and quiet moans as a sign of success, and look up to the older girls.

They’re both staring at your dexterous hands, and the complicated performance before them. Twilight gapes, then meets your inquisitive eyes:

“How do you do that?” You’re somewhat aware of your ability, but not of its shock-value. You shrug, and say:

“Practice.” The girls turn to look at each other, then back at you, expecting you to go on. “Um… there was this girl I used to date. She lied on my lap a lot, I guess?" You scratch the back of your head, not really thrilled to bring up those memories. “Anyway, I started off brushing her hair, and that got old, so I brushed her forehead, and then I just kept going. She never complained, and kept laying in my lap, so it just kinda became a thing.” Twilight bites her lip, and sputters out:

“I see. You’ll- You’ll definitely have to demonstrate on me sometime. F-For science.” AJ is silent. Scoots and Bloom are staring up at you, when the latter’s cute little voice breaks the stillness:

“So what happened to her?” You heavy heart, already on the verge, sinks into your stomach.

“We, uh… We broke up.” You turn to the side, grimacing. Sensing that you didn’t want to talk about this, AJ changes the conversation, asking you to share some more stories about your home. You’re in the middle of trying to bring up some memories while staving away the ones involving her, when your attention is stolen. Both girls have brought one hand each to your cheeks, cupping it while softly staring at you. Concerned looks hold their pretty faces, the unhappy expressions setting inside you a burning urge to cheer them up. You recognize the silly recursiveness, but shrug it off: you don’t want to see these girls hurt, even if it’s out of empathy for you. Quickly, you dredge up the most outrageous stories from home, and begin to spin tales. Your thief friend, your stupid but hilarious posse, your less painful exes stretch are brought into the air. You paint a fascinating mural in the minds of the captured girls in front of you, the work of storytelling helping to push the girl from your mind. Looking at your audience, you notice that only Scootaloo fails to be captivated by your troubles; she’s still giving you that concerned look from before. Despite the other girls laughing at the antics of your pencil-lobbing anarchist friend, you feel a little like you’ve failed. You finish with a grand gesture:

“And the whole cake came down on the teacher!” to the cheers of every girl but Scoots, who merely chuckles.

“Ok, yeah, Rarity would definitely love you,” giggles Twilight. You smile at her, slightly cheered up, though the pitying expression of Scoots is still throwing you off a bit.

“Glad to hear it,” you respond with a mostly genuine smile. You pat the heads of the younger girls and shift your legs, indicating your desire to get up. They’re a bit sore from them sitting on you, and your body stutters while trying to get up. You stretch out, a groan coming from you.

“You okay there, sugarcube?” comes Applejack’s kind concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Legs are still a bit worn, and keeping them in one position for that long got them a bit sore.” You turn towards the pool, and jump in, wanting to rid yourself of the hot rays on your drying skin, as well as the mysterious of the purple-haired girl. The cool water brings you in, holding you in a chilling embrace. You bring out your arms and legs, feeling the undulating blue on each limb. You tilt your head back blissfully, embracing that particular freedom only water can bring. Pushing with your arms, you send yourself back to the side of the pool, and check the area in front of you. A clear path offers its invitation, and you accept, contracting your feet against the wall and pushing off. You rocket through the water, your arms thrusting out to carve the waves, keeping up your momentum. You turn your body to the right and left as you raise each hand to cut into the water and push it back. In no time at all, you’ve found the other end, reaching out and grabbing it with your left hand. The heat of the grainy stone breaks through the watery chill upon your hand. You spin yourself around and repeat the process, going for more speed this time. You make it and spin around, this time pressing your back against the smooth underwater tile. Pushing yourself up a bit, your raise your arms and lie them on the stone border, elbows on the tile and hands hanging down into the water. You try to remove a bit of the water in your ears with your pinkie, and fail to comprehend the shout of a familiar, squeaking voice. Two tiny bodies fly into the sky to your right, sinking quickly in the blue sky into the water below. Thunderous, foamy waves erupt from their points of entry, your arm not raised in time to protect your face from the incoming splash. You wipe your face off and see two heads floating towards you, both cloaked in hair. Suddenly they rise, arms straight forward in a zombie-like shamble. From beneath their wet helmets, you hear them moan:

“Anoooooon…” Oh no! You let loose a manly shriek, and dive beneath the water, making a speedy underwater exit. Rising up on the far side of the pool, you peel back the damp curtain of hair and turn back. They’ve continued their pursuit, now slowly doggy-pedaling towards you. They’ve opened little slices of their hair, which you assume they can see out of. You start walking away, fighting against the resistance of the water. You’re slightly slower than them, as you can tell by them gaining on you. They continue to moan, pressing their advantage; you respond with the appropriate screaming. Scoots, ducks under water, then launches upward towards you. You barely sidestep her dive, but now Bloom’s even closer! You start hopping away, hoping the ridiculous maneuver will bring you more speed. It does, and you gain a bit of distance on your two pursuers. But then:

“Anooooooooon…”

a spooky voice groans from behind you. Applejack stands before you, her grasping hands inches away from you.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahh!” you shout, this time for real. Where did she even come from? You try to pull off the very rare and very difficult hyperleft acrobatic spinning deflective leap. You fail, and fall in the water. The farmer girl sets upon you, soon joined by four smaller hands clinging to you. “Nooooo…” you gasp, dramatically thrusting one hand into the air, “this can’t be the end… I’m… too hot…” A red-haired zombie giggles while clutching your torso. The purple-haired zombie climbs onto your shoulders and snarls in a particularly villainous voice:

”Oh, but this isn’t the end, Anon. This is merely the beginning! Of your UNDEATH! WA HA HA HA HA!” To finish her evil cackle, she chomps on your shoulder. You find yourself once more screaming, not expecting anyone’s teeth to come into contact with you today. Your partly surprised, partly pained scream concludes in bubbles as you sink beneath the water, the sudden submersion causing Scoots to release you. Recalling the non-participating party, you rise slowly out of the water, moaning with them. You stick your arms forward, and your new zombie pals joining you. Then, directing your arms Twilight-ward, the four of your lurch forward, this time moaning her name. The laughter on her fades evaporates the instant she finds herself a player, rather than a spectator. You clamber out of the pool, a cry for brains oozing from your slack lips. She freaks and runs, earning her a reprimand from the life-guard, in his one moment of waking. She nods her head and apologizes, her shame distracting her from the very real zombie threat. It’s only when your arms circle her that she remembers her predicament, and by then she’s wrapped up in a zombie cocoon.

“no no no no please don’t turn me into a zombie,” she giggles nervously, as three of your party turn her into a zombie. You decide to refrain from biting her, as you often keep yourself from biting people who were practically strangers, and also cute girls. They burst out laughing, and you join them, before directing them to the hot tub portion of the pool. It’s pretty big, and square, measuring about 8ft by 8ft. They sink into the hot water, groaning in appreciation of the hot clutch. Giving them a minute, you introduce them to your favorite childhood game: Mummy in the Graveyard. One person in the mummy, and they have to close their eyes and they have to catch somebody, who would then become a mummy. They start in the center, and can move everywhere. And everybody has to keep at least one arm and one leg in the hot tub; if they leave, they’re the mummy.

“Why’s their a mummy in a graveyard?” Bloom chirps.

“Yeah, that sounds dumb. It should be a crypt,” Scoots chirps.

“Shut up,” you say.

“It sounds pretty easy to catch someone though,” comments AJ.

“Well, if somebody’s splashing around, yeah. But if you’re quiet, and curl up, or if people group up, if can get pretty hard. But you’re right, games don’t last too long, although I like that. Makes it less of a pain if you’re the mummy, and there’s more rotation, so everyone can get a chance.”

They all agree that it sounds awesome and that you are awesome for suggesting it. Well, that’s what you choose to hear. It may have just been that first one. Anyway, you immediately nominate Twilight, as she was the most recent to be caught. Everyone agrees but her, who turns to her disloyal friends, stammering

“What? Wait!” But it’s too late; she’s standing in the middle, and the rest of you line the walls.

“Alright, close your eyes and count to ten.” She does so, and the four of you start swirling around her, not wanting to be caught in the position last seen. Bloom splashes her way over to a silently protesting AJ, thinking to stick with her. Twilight turns toward the noise, and you’re behind her. Excellent. >Suddenly, she spins around and leaps towards you. What??? Such advanced tactics! You manage to scoot backwards, making no more noise than she does with her leap. Her fingers come within inches of you, but no contact. Yessss. But you’re not out yet. Quickly, you start scooting to the side when-

”Awww, Anon got got!” your cute cousin squeals, clapping her hands in delight. Instinctively, you defend yourself.

No, she didn’t!” But after the first word, Twilight once more darts in the direction of your voice, her soft hand colliding with your shoulder. She opens her eyes with joy, asking

”Does that count?” No! Uh. Darn it.

“Yeah, yeah, it counts. But you’re not supposed to help the mummy!” you add, glaring at Bloom.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” She shouts, only meaning the second sentence. You set yourself up in the middle, close your eyes, and count to 10. Alright, game on. You stay in the middle, listening for the sounds of motion. A quiet splash to your left sounds you dashing, hands dexterously flailing. You touch nothing, but hear a low giggle to your left. You continue your hunt, feinting right then bolting left. Ha! You open your eyes to see your right hand threatening to cover AJ’s left breast. You pull it back post-haste, blushing along with her.

“Well, guess Ah’m up then.” She walks to the center, and begins counting. Quickly, you move to the spot where you started. After all, it was the perfect spot. To your right, a sneaky Scootaloo appears, and climbs onto you. Her legs and arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, her head on your shoulder, looking towards the center. She whispers to you:

“Ok, you’re the pro here. You gotta protect me.” Twilight hits zero, and starts moving forward, waving her hands around. You briefly consider pushing Scoots to the front of you and offering her as a sacrifice. Nah, that’d be kind of mean. JUST KIDDING HERE WE GO. You hoist her up, arms crossed over her stomach, and shout loudly:

“Mummy, I offer you this virgin sacrifice! Let your hunger be sated!” Scoots, meanwhile is caught between trying to punch your head and escape. She throws you off balance, falling off you. You’re wide open. Twilight lunges forward, grabbing you and bringing you both down into the water. You get up, the Apple sister pointing and laughing at you. Scoots sticks her tongue out at you and jeers:

“It’s your own fault, you jerk!” You chuckle self-deprecatingly, and agree with her. Standing in the middle, you close your eyes, and count to ten. The world is black before you, a white frenzy of static crossing through the darkness. You tune into your sense of hearing, trying to ignore the splashing of the handful of other pool-guests. Swishing to your right. You jump there, both hands flailing wildly. Nothing. You pull back, and stand where you are for a second. You aren’t searching this time. If you stay on one side of the pool for a bit, they should group up near the opposite end. You count to three in your mind, then twirl around like a murderous ballerina, and tear through the water to the other side. Before you get there, you make a swift leap to your 2’o’clock. After all, they would be trying to escape, and this is about where they’d be. You stretch your arms, trying to cover as much space as possible and… Bingo. A happy yelp tells you that you’d grabbed Bloom before your eyes do. She hops over to the middle and starts the initiation ritual. You turn towards the close-by Scootaloo and chant, just loud enough for her to hear,:

“Sac-ri-fice. Sac-ri-fice. Sac-ri-fice!” She shakes her fist at you somehow managing to glare while looking like she’s about to burst into laughter.

“10!” Immediately she starts roaming. Beginner tactics. That said, she is nearing you, and her outstretched arms are getting pretty close. You bend back, almost getting smacked by her searching swipes. Scootaloo dodges the arms by ducking under the water, making a small splash. Bloom immediately heads in that direction, while Scoots tries to swim away. But Bloom’s knee collides with her arm, as she joyously informs the lot of you, opening her eyes. Scoots curses under her breath, then sulks over to the middle. Halfway through her count, you see her grin, short spurts of giggling interspersing with the spoken numbers. You frown and furrow your brow, hoping these motions will help you discover the mystery. They do not, and you’re left out of the know. Scoots finishes the count, and immediately begins a new tactic. She rushes to a corner, and spreads her arms out, perpendicular to her torso. She bends over the water and begins making lines across the pool, covering the top of it. Not an inch is missed as she quickly flies across the water, nearing you and the four others, who are now on the opposite side. The only thing you can think of is to hide underwater or try to dart across the place she leaves, into the zone already covered. The risks of the second implore you to choose the first, and you accept them, crawling into a corner and preparing to go under. But at that moment, AJ pulls herself to the wall, looking like she’s about to throw herself to the other side. You don’t bother telling her of the dangers, definitely ok with her losing. Her legs extend, and she’s out behind Scoots, then in the safe zone, without a sound. Twilight brightens, and prepares herself to do the same. Waiting for the right moment, she throws herself forward, straight into Scoots legs. Guess her timing wasn’t as good as AJ’s. The two girls go down, and you and Bloom laugh heartily at the bungled maneuver.

The rest of the games follow in a similar fashion, dumb mistakes and skillful searches bringing quick rotations to the early rounds. As the number of games elevates, the games start to take longer, skill developing in the players. But after a while, you tire of it, and count yourself out. Hopping over the pool, you do some laps back and forth, just enjoying the feeling of your arms cutting through the waves. You touch a wall, flip over, and immediately spring yourself the opposite direction, repeating this process til you’re good and tired. At some point, the girls joined you, swimming alongside you. They bump into you here and there, especially Scoots, who apologizes and doesn’t quit. Tuckered out, you crawl out and onto the towel you brought. The sun’s heat feels incredible on your chilled body, quickly bringing you to a heavenly roast. You press your damp ear to the towel over the pavement, and tune into the thumping of the pool’s members. Heavy ones arrive, and the splattering sound of chlorine raindrops tells you of a nearby companion. You open your eyes slowly, as befits your languid state, and find Twilight lying down on the towel next to you. She stretches out, laying on her side and facing you. Your chest is facedown, but you’ve turned your head to look at her.

“Hello Anon.”

“Hey Twi” you mumble. She props her head up on her hand, her elbow stretched out to the side. She just stares at you for a while, a little smile on her face the whole time. You don’t really mind, on account of her being cute and you being half asleep due to the warm sun on your body. She breaks the silence hesitantly, blurting out:

“You know, I used to live in the city too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Canterlot, up in the Northeast.”

“I’ve heard of it…” you pause, an experience on the edge of memory. “Think I went to a ball there or something. Some fancy shindig.” Twilight lights up at this, clasping her hands together.

“The Grand Galloping Gala! It’s the most extraordinary event in the city!”

“Yeah, I think that was it. There were a lot of horse sculptures, now that I remember.” A thought pops into her mind.

“When did you go?”

“Oh, like, five years ago. I was in eight grade, so… yeah, five years ago. 2011.” She looks up, placing two fingers over her mouth as she thinks. A frown flows over her mouth and she drops her hand.

“That was one of the ones I missed. Shame, it would have been fun meeting you.”

“Eh. I had to wear a suit.” You meet her eyes, a serious expression on your face: “I don’t do suits well.” She disagrees:

“Oh, I think’d you’d look great in a suit! You’ve definitely got the form… if not the posture.”

“Hey, my posture rules!” She grimaces, turning her head to the side.

“Ehhhhh… Anyway, you should look me up next time you go. I always try to bring my friends, and it’s always loads of fun!”

“So AJ?”

“Yeah! And Rarity, and some other friends you and I’ve met. Oh, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders as well, as long as they promise to behave.” You chuckle, thinking of the trouble they would have gotten into their first time. You start wondering what Scootaloo looks like in a dress, but pull yourself out once her form blurs and transforms into Bloom.

“That sounds cool. If I end up going again, I’ll call you up.” The two of you exchange numbers, and she lies down, mirroring your position.

“So, what made you leave the city?” Her basking interrupted, she didn’t catch what you said:

“Hmm?”

“You said you were from there. I’m guessing you’re here. What made you move?”

“Oh, I’m studying here. It’s kinda like studying abroad, but not in a different country or anything.”

“I dunno, this place feels like a different country from the city.” She laughs, a cute little titter landing upon your ears.

“Yeah, it sure feels that way sometimes!”

“So wait, where are your parents? Did they move down here with you, or are you like, staying with a friend? Or renting?”

“Actually, my parent shave a summer home here, and I live there with my little brother.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s that big old mansion on the edge of town.” You saw that monster on the ride over from the orchard. The thing’s practically a castle, and all shiny, like it was made of crystal or something. The realization jerks you up, surprise covering you:

“That’s you?” She seems used to the reaction, and quietly smiles to herself, gracefully allowing you to pass through your shock.

“Yup.”

“But how-?”

“My parents have a lot of money, and a lot of trust.” You grimace at the mention of rich parents, wishing you could smile when you spoke of your own pair. Scoffing, you mutter

“Lucky.” You looks at you, interest peaked.

“Aren’t your parents rich? Applejack’s told me about them.”

“It isn’t that. It’s just… You know, I’d fucking kill to have my own place, away from them. Instead, I have to live in the same house, while they act as if I’m elsewhere, except when they need me for dumb shit like family pictures.”
“Instead, I have to live in the same house, while they act as if I’m elsewhere, except when they need me for dumb shit like family pictures or posing for charity dinners.” She looks taken aback, surprised at the sudden vitriol. You hadn’t meant to spill so much. You turn to her, a mix of embarrassment and fear Your voice trying to sound comedic, you ask her

“Any chance you can just forget I said all that?” But she just looks at you sadly, and asks you in a light voice:

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” you respond quickly, hoping to stem the tide of emotion that claws at your voice, desperately seeking to be freed. “Can we just forget this?

She looks at you forlornly, tender eyes cast down at you. You shift, uncomfortably. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want anyone’s. With a mumble promising being back soon, you stand up and dive into the pool. Immediately you find the wall and push off, furiously pushing yourself through the water. You hit the wall, turn, and push off. Anything to get away from that conversation. You hit the wall, turn, and push off. Anything to get away from your parents. You hit the wall, turn, and push off. The motions are coming slower now, the anger burning off with every iteration. Still, your intent remains unchanged. You hit the wall, turn, and push off. Motion offers you the only exit, the escape you need. Hit, turn, push. An escape from thought is the only pursuit you can endure, the images of your parents pursuing you down the length of the pool. Hit, turn, push. Along with those monstrous ghosts, the rage held onto all these years rides hot on your trail, demanding release. Hit, turn, push. More and more iterations wears down your muscles, the physical pain finally drawing attention away from the mental pain. Hit, turn… Turn again.

Your arms rise and fall onto the border, with your head sinking into them. You can feel the hot pavement sucking the coolness from your sopping arms. Heavy, quick breaths blow hot onto your arms, drying them off ever so slightly. You turn your weary head to the homebase. Twilight deep in conversation with Applejack, both of them staring intently at you. They turn away at your gaze, and you rest your head on your crossed arms once again. How could a body feel this devoid of energy? A note of shame at the realization of your openness with Twilight emerges. Geez, you meet a pretty girl, and not ten minutes passes before you freak out about your parents. What is wrong with you? You bury your head into your damp skin, a slight groan of defeat passing into it. Yeah, you screwed up here. The real question was why, however. You weren’t normally like this. Yeah, the spells of anger were there, but you could always swallow them, no problem. Playing it cool, “nah, it don’t bother me much,’ was never too hard for you. After all, you had a practiced hand. Maybe it was something about this place? These people? Your introspection is broken by a sudden pain in your stomach. Hunger pangs, ignored in favor of having fun with cute girls, had been drawn out by your exhaustion. They devastated your stomach like desperate punches, or the unspoken knowledge that your girlfriend was about to break up with you. It hurt. You climb out of the pool, clenching your teeth as the hurt multiplies. You hadn’t eaten since the morning, and now it was like, 2’oclock, you think in surprise, spotting the clock on the wall. You stumble over to AJ and Twilight, their conversation slowing as you approach.

“Hey, so do we have any food?”

AJ nods, “yeah, we brought lunches in the van. Was waitin’ til somebody said something.”

“I’m saying something,” you casually inform her, holding your poor gut. She smiles, a nervous laugh on her soft pink lips.

“Well, let’s go get it then.” She reaches her hands out to you, a plea to help her up. You grab her hands, wondering at their smoothness as you pull her up. You’d expected her hands to be much more calloused and dry; they weren’t the baby-smooth skin of some of your city-friends, but they were up there. A small feeling of remorse adds itself to the pain in your stomach when her hands drop out of yours. As the two of you leave the gates, she asks you

“Hey, do you wanna talk?”

“Uh… not really? Should I want to?” You play it off, pretending innocence. She stops and looks you dead in the eye.

“Look Anon, I’m not kidding. If there’s something going on, I want to help. If you don’t want me to help, then I won’t. But you can’t keep ignoring your problems. That doesn’t make them go away.” A frown crosses your face, feeling the pit in your stomach deepen with every word. You should just tell her to back off. She may be blunt, but she’ll yield to that, you bet. You return the stiff look she’s giving you and open your mouth. But nothing comes out. Those green eyes, soft and concerned, seem to pierce you to your core. But you aren’t completely against it. So many of your friends back home are facile, ready to abandon you at the first sign of actual need. To be honest, you weren’t too different. You lied all the time, even when you didn’t need to. And had you ever been there when somebody needed you? You tried to think of a time, but you couldn’t. Meanwhile, AJ kept staring into you, and your heart just kept sinking. Do you talk to her? Can you? But then a duo of tiny girls come stomping out the gates, latching onto your sides.

“Oooooh, is it time to eat?” comes the bright faced Scootaloo.

“Ah sure hope so, Ah’m absolutely famished!” a drama-prone Apple drawls, pretending to faint. You catch her in your arms, smiling. Escape! You’d been torn in two by an unbearable situation, and Bloom had come to your rescue. Ignoring AJ’s resigned face, you laugh and hoist Bloom up into a bridal carry. You’d never loved her more than you did now. AJ sighs and goes back to the car, pulling out a big picnic basket-looking thing. You help her lug it out to your towel-base, and she begins passing out the contents. Big Mac moseys over, sitting beside AJ and Twilight, not hesitating to reach out and take his own share from the basket itself.

Big ham sandwiches, apples, donuts, and way too many apple juiceboxes make their way through your hands as you help distribute the cornucopia. Bloom sits next to you, and keeps close to your side while the lot of you chow down. Exactly where you want her to be, you think to yourself. In a joy induced by food and Bloom, you catch AJ’s eye, and tell her you’ll talk to her later, giving her a confirming head nod when she cocks head, unsure if you mean what she thinks. You don’t realize what you’ve promised until the words have escaped your mouth, and by then, it’s too late. She’s almost beaming at you, and you don’t want to let an Apple down. Bloom’s looked up at you, confused at your mysterious communications. Her big eyes and puffy lips are just too cute, you think. You rustle her hair and smile benevolently at the beautiful little girl beside you. She sniffs and turns away, pretending not to enjoy the tousling. After the meal is finished, you lie down on the towel, a storm of emotions swirling within your chest: anger, fear, sadness, hope, and love all dancing together. Combined with the amount of food imbibed, it concludes in one turbulent stomach. You close your eyes, the light of the sun turning the typical blackness to a dim red, which softly carries you into an unexpected slumber.

Sometime later, you awake to sounds of laughter and splashing. You blink a few times, clearing your eyes of the hazy sleep still present. You see a handful of pool strangers in the pool, as well as Scoots, AJ, Twi, and Big Mac all playing your game in the hot tub. You smile, partly due to the pleasant, lingering hold of sleep in the warmth and the feeling that you’ve had a good game to share. Concern crossing the soft contentment when you notice the missing member, and scan the pool for her. Where’s Bloom? As you tilt your head to the other side, a vision in red and tan greets you. Bloom sits beside you, her back diagonal to the ground, supported by two arms pointed downwards, with forearms resting on the towel beneath her, propping her up. Her legs, longer than you remember, and far more sightly, are bent, her knees pointing into the arm, and calves a reflection of their position. She’s looking up at something, lost in thought, when you croak out a happy:

“Hey.” She looks at you, her face growing happier when her gaze alights on your relaxed form. She’s so pretty, you think.

“Hey Anon,” she whispers back, a tightness in her mouth alerting you to a measure of unhappiness in her. You frown, wondering what she’s holding back.

“Something wrong?” you say, straightening yourself up a bit and moving to eye level. She looks off into space for a minute, then turns to you.

“Are you okay?” A small amount of confusion holds you, but you feel as if you know what’s coming. You hope you don’t.

“What do you mean? It’s pool day, I’m doing awesome.” She frowns, looking at you with the same directness that her older sister had.

“Ah heard AJ and Twi talking about you, saying you were having some problems. It sounded real serious. I just… I don’t know. I want yuh to be okay, Anon.” Her eyes look so sad as she explains, more than you can bear. You sit up straight and move in close.

“I’m not gonna lie, Bloomers. I do have some rough stuff going on. I haven’t thought about it too much, and I don’t really want to.” She looks even sadder at the confirmation, but you keep going. You put your hand on her shoulder, and stare into her eyes. “But I’m a tough guy. So don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” You pause. “You know, I didn’t think I would, but so far, this vacation has been so amazing. I thought it was gonna suck, but I’m having the time of my life. I feel better than I have in a very long time. And you know what?”

“What?” she squeaks.

“A good chunk of that is because of you.” You smile as you see her light up. “Bloom, you’ve been so rad, and I can’t believe we’ve never spoken before today. And we still got three and a half more days to be together.” You lean back, falling on your back. “So let’s just enjoy it, ok?” She looks down at you, beaming. Then she joins you, lying down real close to you, her hand on yours. You lace your fingers with her, meeting her sweet gaze. Squeezing her hand three times three times, assure he r “I’ll be ok, Bloom,” and let go. She jumps on you, giving you a strong horizontal hug, before sliding back down to a point beside you. Suddenly, you realize how little you know about this girl that you’ve come to love so dearly, and set yourself to making it right.

“Bloom, what grade are you in?” From there, she begins to tell you all about herself: her teacher, Mrs. Cheerliee –who did not date Big Mac, to her disappointment-, the many adventure of the CMC, the two bullies –Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon-, and a great many more facts of her life. Towards the end, you feel like you know her well, a satisfying feeling.

In any event, you’re happy to take the spotlight off of you and place it onto your dear, sweet, precious cousin. The tumult within you softens. Somewhere along the line, you’ve closed your eyes, content with only the sound of her voice. The tales spun before you are so numerous and silly that you wonder if you haven’t fallen asleep and had dreams carry her voice onward. Big Mac pretending to be a sister, running from a more unpleasant cousin, proving a wanted criminal innocent, and so on. You barely notice when the stories stop, a short question interrupting one adventure:

“Anon?” Oh no. You pull yourself up, struggling to keep your eyes open and yawn hidden.

“I’m up. I’m here.” You inform her, offering a tired smile in apology. She purses her lips and gives you a piercing stare:

“You fell asleep, didn’t ya.”

“No! I was awake! Just… you know, resting.” You repeat to her as many stories as you remember, half of them misremembered or cobbled together with other stories. She seems somewhat satisfied, but still pushes you with playful scorn:

“Ah guess you were listening. Kind of.” She glances up at the clock, then back at you. Her lips push out and her eyes widen, a pleading look wrapping you around her finger. “Hey, we only got a little while left; ya wanna jump off the diving board with me?” How can you say no? She walks up on the board and turns to you, who waits patiently on the ground. “Well, come on now.”

“Wait, both of us?”

“Of course, silly. How’m I ever gonna make the biggest splash if I don’t have my trusty Anon with me?” Hesitantly, you climb up with her, making sure the lifeguard isn’t looking. Still sleeping. Your little cousin raises her arms and motions for you to pick her up. You do so, and take a flying leap off. The girl embraces you on the way down, shouting as you descend. KA-FOOM! The two of you sink down, you curled leg tapping the smooth membrane of the bottom. You hold her for a minute, cradling her, then kick off, launching the two of you upwards. You arrive at the top with a laughing Bloom, who slips out of your grip and paddles away. Not a second later, a might splash hits your face, accompanied by high-pitched

“Gotcha!” A deep chuckle responds, followed by a challenging

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Using your mighty man hands, you send a might wave her way, which she turns away from. A splash war begins, both of you moving back and forth, splashing constantly at each other. She turns around and kicks her legs at you, sending way more water than you expected. You reach out and try to grab the frenzied legs, immediately regretting your decision as your hands suffer her belligerent wrath. She turns back to you, looking to see if you’re hurt. You take advantage of this opportunity to deliver a few gallons to her surprised face. And so you continue for the next fifteen minutes, before the heavy accent of AJ beckons you to the showers. Bloom and you perfectly synchronize your pouts, but the feat fails to impress AJ, who reiterates her call.

Bloom swims over to the ladder on the edge, which is a golden opportunity to wrap your arm around her thin waist and yank her back. You wrap your arm around her thin waist and yank her back. You grab ahold of the ladder, and turn around, sending a victorious laugh her way.

“Ah ha ha!” You take one step up, and feel the full force of Apple Bloom collide with your back, arms wrapped around you and feet on the wall. She extends her feet, trying to pry you off, but you hold on. Realizing she can’t hold up against your huge man muscles, she wraps her legs around you too, forcing you to carry her up. Each step is like mountain biking uphill in the snow for a mile, but you manage to bring the both of you to the concrete and stand up. She doesn’t get off.

“Come on Bloom, we gotta get going.” She returns a close-mouthed

“Uh-uh!” and shakes her head, squeezing you tighter. You shake her around a bit, but she stays firm.

“Alright then, we can just go shower together!” you say, and start towards the boys’ shower. She immediately hops off with a cry.

“Ah! No way!” You laugh and head into the boys’ room, unaware of the residual staring of Bloom and Scoots, who’d begun looking at you the second she heard mention of rides into the boys’ room. You shower, dry off, put on your normal clothes, and exit. You walk over to the van, where AJ and Big Mac stand waiting. Small talk ensues, and you find Twilight has already left, apparently needing to get back to some studying. After more than a little while, the two younger girls exit the girls’ shower, whispering heatedly to another. Cahoots, you think to yourself. They look up to you, blush, then immediately return to their suspicious conversation. Definitely cahoots. The five of you pile into the van, and you’re off. The cahoots soon end, and you’re wrapped in happy reminiscing of the trip behind you.

“That was awesome! We definitely have to do that again, Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo excitedly remarks, the notion of your lack of inclusion for the next ride setting a heavy feeling in your gut.

“Yeah, definitely! Lets go to the swimmin’ hole next time!” She turns to you “You gotta come see it, Anon! It’s sooo cool, and really warm, even at night!” She leans closer, whispering in your ear. “You know what that means, right?” You look at her, a lot confused, and a little nervous:

“No…?” She gets even closer, and says, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Skinny-dippin’” You blush furiously and move away, the little girl bursting into laughter at your bashfulness. Oh, laughter? She must be kidding. Yeah, definitely kidding, you nervously think to yourself, never having done that or even thought about it. Meanwhile, AJ’s voice wafts in from the driver’s seat:

“Yeah, we’ll definitely do that tomorrow or the day after. Glad we went to Twi’s pool, though.”

“Yeah,” Scoots responds, “That way we had the hot tub, and I could kick Anon’s butt!”

“You did not kick my butt!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Alright, settle down you two. Scoots, we’re here.” You look outside, the swell countryside suddenly replaced with post-apocalyptic levels of disarray. Trash cans knocked over, with the refuse of the turned over containers lining huge swaths of the sidewalk. Scoots hops over you, to the tune of Bloom shouting

“I’ll call you about the swimmin’ hole! Think you can get a ride?”

A short, affirming shout comes from the mess of purple hair, and your cousin’s bff leaps out into the hoarder’s wet dream. She dodges broken down trucks, mountains of dry wood, and who knows what else before she runs in a door. Her house is barely visible due to her yard holding the accumulation of several garage sales worth of junk. AJ puts the petal to the metal, and the van screeches out of the destitute neighborhood. Your disgust fades along with the picture of that sordid suburb in the back window, and you turn your attention to Bloom. In no time at all, your conversation with her ferries you home, and you hop out of the van and into your room.

You drop yourself onto your bed, and pick up your Gameboy. One half hour of pure pokemon mastery later, a soft knock on your door and a creak brings AJ into your room, heralding dinner. You sit down, join them in prayer, and enjoy another feast before you, your mind half-off with the gaming and emotional turbulence. A headache in the middle of dinner halts your enjoyment of the playful voice of Bloom telling of the day’s events. You ask if you can be excused, you aren’t feeling well, and receive concern and affirmation. Once more laying down on your bed, you think to sleep, but can’t. Your mind is tired, weary from the fun and pain of today’s events and recollections, but your body’s wide awake. And so you sit there, tired but awake, trying to pass the time. Another stint of time passes you by, and the same knock indicates an older Apple girl at your door.

You call out for her to enter, but all she does is peek her head in. She leans into your room just a bit, her hand gripping the door, and says to you in a quiet voice:

“Wanna go for a walk?” This is it. Your stomach heaves, the subdued rumbling of your rest now just a memory. Everything you’ve been avoiding for years could be lurking just outside of the door she grips. They probably are, in fact. Terrors, black and nauseating, ready to climb into your throat and paralyze your body with agony and hate, stoof behind the smiling girl. The smile on her face offered hope, but you could not determinate its strength, especially in the context of those horrors that awaited you, maudlin grips open and waiting for you to enter. A small part of you knows you must be over-reacting, the fears of introspection being another form of the youthful fear of the dark, applied to older persons. But just as s person in pain still feels it when they tell themselves it is mere neuronal signals, you still feel the fear when you tell yourself its nothing and you’re over-reacting. It doesn’t leave, no matter how silly you find yourself. You wonder if you even could get off the bed, if you could stand up to your childhood and all the harm it held and holds still. And you know you can’t. Nothing in the world could make you say yes, hop off the bed, and step out that door. But though you are so fearfully held by the terror of the unknown, you still wish to be free. And what’s more, you’re in possession of a knowledge that can make the impossible possible: the knowledge that perception is everything. You shove your fears to the side, clearing your mind of everything, only a dull, myopic consciousness left in your brain. And with that trick, the exit has become a simple exit, not the first step in overcoming your monsters. Under the clever plan of your now mostly deactivated mind, you say yes, hop off the bed, and step out the door. And by the time your mind awakens to your position, you’re already on the pavement, speaking casually with AJ. A shock of fear sweeps over you at the realization, but as with most fears, they rarely work when you’re set against them; now that you were here and in the swing of things, their paralyzing sting had become a mere nuisance, a buzzing in your belly.

You felt alive, energetic as you moved down the street, a beautiful farm girl at your side. But you had been brought here for a reason, and your cousin doesn’t wait two houses before she slows and asks you to open up. You take a few steps, and sit down on a big green transformer on her neighbor’s lawn. Breathing in deeply, you sigh, the weight of the world pushing your breath out.

“I- I’m not sure how to start, exactly. Uh…” You hadn’t really thought that the impending conversation would require words. You stare out into space, mind completely blank, ruining the sweet, dramatic tragedy of the confession. Real life never really did follow the movies, you think. The Apple girl, now sitting beside you, comes to a swift rescue:

“Tell me about your parents.” The word is a match to you, and you’ve got a whole stack of tinder that you finally let burn. Heat rising in your chest, you open your mouth and erupt in fury:

“My parents! Oh fuck, my fucking parents!” You look uward and laugh bitterly. “Man, where to fucking start with them! I mean, first, we’ve got my ridiculous fucking mom, the queen of parties. Always partying or planning for the next one, like a fucking high school girl!” You turn towards AJ with an apologetic look, clarifying your meaning. “I mean, like, you know how girls get when prom comes around. Nothing wrong with that, unless, you know, YOU’RE FORTY-SEVEN and doing it, I don’t know, EVERY FUCKING WEEK! Never mind the kid! Never mind the family, or the home! I fucking swear, that fucking stupid fucking bitch loves her friend’s kids more than me!” At AJ’s skeptical glance, you grin, having the proof: “Oh, don’t think so? Okay, she didn’t remember my seventeenth birthday. She remembered the birthdays –even the graduations!- of her best friend!” You push yourself up, not happy to be sitting. “Let’s go. I wanna be walking.” She does so, a mostly neutral, partly pitying expression staying on her face.

“Oh, and then there’s my dad. He-“

“Anoooooooooooooooooooooon!” The loud voice of Apple Bloom comes tearing through your rant. The shock of the interruption is evident on both of your faces as you witness Bloom rocket towards you. Her wide grin is visible even three houses away, an absurdity in the context of your virulent condemnations. She slows down as she arrives at you, but not too slow to leap into your arms, which automatically rise at the sight of her leap. Carrying her like a bride, you’re torn by the interrupted fury and overwhelming care for the love in your arms. AJ, however, is not so ambivalent.

“Apple Bloom we were in the middle of something,” she says sternly. Apple Bloom’s face falls as she turns from you to the other:

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it that thing you and Twilight were talking about?”

“It’s not your concern, Apple Bloom,” comes AJ’s terse response. She’s clearly running out of patience, and although you don’t share her feelings, you understand them. She’s just trying to help you out, you think with a smile. But isn’t Apple Bloom too? You feel your heart leap at the thought of sharing this moment with Bloom, of being supported by her. With that, you intervene:

“It’s ok, Applejack.” You turn away from her shocked look and into Bloom’s. “I was talking about my parents. It’s something I’m kind of raw about, but if you want to stay, I’d definitely be alright with it.” Once more to AJ: “I’ll try not to swear so much.” Rather than give the buoyant, joyful reply you expected from her, Apple Bloom holds a tender gaze.

“Ah would.” You nod to AJ, confirming your choice, which she respects. And once more you begin your tirade, but this time differently. With the sweet, younger cousin still in your arms, you don’t want to come on too strong. Your words come out smoother, less venomous than before. But rather than being fake, or suppressed, your feelings feel more real than they did before. They lacked the fire and hatred, but remained passionate. This time, it felt healthier, cleaner, as if you were working out a problem instead of pouring out impotent fury.

“My dad wasn’t ever there. He was always on business trips, or at the office. Even when he was at home, he had an office there. Of course, I wasn’t ever allowed in there; got punished quite a few times sneaking in.” Apple Bloom hops out of your arms and onto the ground. You aren’t long without her needed touch, however: she immediately grabs your hand and laces her fingers with yours, holding you tightly. You smile down at her, a sad thankful given to assure her you’re happy with that, and in hopes that her delicate hand won’t leave yours.

On and on the three of you walk, while you pour out stories of your negligent parents. An orange sun descends into the glowing houses beneath it, like a letter sliding into an envelope. One story house sit in a row, an arrangement of children eagerly listening to the gesticulating boy who walks by them. The air is full and wafting, the clean freshness of a summer evening blowing stagnant heat off the bodies of the three sufferers. Trees replace houses, and the soft light of the sun flickers through them, a heavy glow still illuminating the world. Streets and Blocks bear witness to the rotten parenting of Anon Orange, to birthdays forgotten and family events as cold as corpses. A handful of fists, a backhand when a mother’s kiss was needed, and a tree filled with presents that did not make up for either fill the heady air. A lonely soccer game and a lonelier wait afterward, a dragging through a mall when little feet couldn’t keep up, and an ice cream that did not stop a little boy’s crying. But most of all, was the stillness. A house that he lived in, swallowed by a stillness that did not relent. Hollow air, devoid of childish glee and parental pride, that did not dissipate when filled with Dashboard Confessional and Bright Eyes. And finally, closing up, the giving up of a teenage boy faced with perfect evidence that he was alone. A playground with swings beckoned, and Anon’s heavy feet carried him there without his knowledge. Sitting down, he felt a surge of grief, like nothing he’d had in years, well up. Immediately, he stifled it, grimacing at the resistance it continued to put up. Three soft squeezes of his hand, and the grasping of his other by AJ brought his gaze up. Both girls were looking at him with such care, more than his parents had given, and only after a couple days. This was the final crack in the dam, and Anon began to cry. He put his hands on his head and bent over, great sobs sending his body quivering. Both girls immediately hugged him tight, the shudders of the boy now echoing through them. To his surprise, he found their eyes wet as well, his misery not faced alone.

Together the three of them sat the, each girl on a leg of Anons, hugging him from both sides. They cried quietly, the great tremors subsiding for an exhaustion, though Anon somehow felt more alive than he had for a very long time. He felt clean, finally free of an enormous weight he had not known he carried. It had been added to, little by little, over the years, and he had never truly seen the crushing weight until now, when it lay at his feet like a discarded shell. Wet, red eyes looked up to the girls beside him, and a blessed smile crossed his face. And in a hoarse voice, he whispered:

“Thank you.” Both girls raise their wet eyes to you, and smile reassuringly.

“We’re here for you,” AJ promises, while Apple Bloom just stares at you, a tragedy-stricken face. You leans into you and wraps you in a week hug. Sensing that she’s having some issue of her own, you return the embrace, squeezing her tightly. You take one of your hands and begin softly brushing her hair as the little girl erupts in tears, weeping into your shirt. Unsure if this is because of your stories, you look to AJ for answers. She bears the same tragic expression as her sister, and is now focused that sobbing girl in your arms. Looking back to you, she says in a quiet, almost resigned voice:

“We get it. Sort of. Our parents…” She stops and closes her eyes. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, she takes a few deep breaths, clearly trying to keep herself from following in her sister’s footsteps. Somewhat composed, she meets your eyes: “Our parents died 8 years back.” She sniffles, then continues: “Granny took over, but there wasn’t much she could do. I still have to leave the house sometimes, just to break free of the silence in it. There used to be so much laughter, y’know; but now…” She trails off, not finishing the thought. Your heart breaks for the Apples, but the only thing you can do is hold Apple Bloom tighter.

“I-I didn’t know.” A bitter chuckle softly falls from Applejack’s lips.

“How could ya? We’ve been dealing with it for this long, we’ve got the hang of it, ah guess. Well, most of us do.” She looks off to the distance, homewards. ”Big Mac’s the only one who never figured how to deal with it. You shoulda seen him before… couldn’t keep that mouth shut.” Again, she laughs bitterly, an anguished smile on her face. ”Can’t really blame him though.” Meanwhile, Apple Bloom’s tears grow less numerous, and she looks up to you, cheeks wet and eyes red. Quietly, almost a whimper, she gasps:

“I miss them.” You pull her head into your chest, where she faces diagonally into you, her forehead partially pressed into you. Your left hand encircles her body, keeping it connected with your own, and your right hand attends to her hair and cheek. You brush the former and caress the latter, trying to keep your cool and collected style from before, but the desperate need to make her feel better causing you to move faster than you want to. Through your almost frenetic motions, you whisper to her that it’ll be okay, that you’re sorry, pulling up every condolences you’ve ever heard and praying that one of them will console her, if only a little bit. After a minute or two, you stop, and just hold her in your arms. Neither of you cries now, instead clinging to each other, hoping for some strength in the face of your absent parents.

You reach a hand out to AJ, knowing that she can’t be feeling well at this moment. She bites her lip, and waves your hand away. Instead, your grab her hand and pull her closer to you, wrapping your non-AB-holding-arm around her. Bloom does the same, and AJ soon returns the double hug. The three of you sit together in silence for a minute, the silence broken only by deep breaths and the occasional gasp from the overwhelming might of your miseries. However, here, with these two girls, you feel better, like you aren’t carrying all of your life by yourself. On the spur of the moment, you blurt out:

“I love you.” Both girls look up at you, curious at the target of your confession. ”Both of you. I love you guys.” A spark of happiness splinters the weight of the moment when the two girls smile faintly back at you.

“I love you too, Anon,” AJ’s benevolence washes over you, her reliable eye telling you she means it.

“I love you.” Bloom whispers, simple and kind, her amber eyes rapturing you.

“I wish I could’ve been there for you. I wish I could’ve met you before now.” A bit of uplifting laughter flies from your thin smile, “I feel like I missed out on you guys.” Somber smiles return the sentiment. ”But I’ll come back. And you can always call or text me, anytime you need me. Or even if you don’t need me. Just call or text me.” Bloom chuckles and falls into your shoulder, all tuckered out. AJ, however, turns serious, and looks off, a calculating eye aimed at the clouds. Noticing the fading light and recalling the not-short trip her, you stand up: “we better get going. AJ agrees with you, and the two Apples stand up and dust off their shorts. Bloom grabs your hand immediately and laces her fingers once more with yours. You extricate your fingers, instead pulling her close and placing your arm over her shoulder. She leans into you and attaches hers around your waist, appreciating the closeness. Noticing AJ being left out, you reach over and grab her hand, though not mingling your fingers. She looks towards you, broken out of her concentration. She smiles at you, squeezing your hand a bit, then lapsing back into whatever she was thinking. And together the three of you walk, a boy and a girl clung to each other and a second girl fastened to the boy by their hands. The trip home is silent, the coupled two happy in their connection to each other and the third girl, and the third girl piecing together a plan unknown to the others. A maroon sky covers their entrance into the house, barely escaping the tide of blueish darkness. You head to your room and collapse on the apple covered bed. A girl falls to the side of you, and you realize the group hadn’t been broken up completely. Your little cousin hadn’t the strength to draw herself away from your embrace, only capable of snuggling into you further. She now holds you in both arms, her sleepy head resting on your chest. And that was fine by you.

Bloom continues to rest beside you, looking like an angel. Sitting up, you move over to the side of the bed, pushing off the heavy coat of sleep. You turn towards her, enraptured by her beauty. Bringing your hand over to her cheek, softly brushing it. Her skin felt soft, and just a little dry. Her cheeks had a little bit of chub to them, puffing out just slightly, as cheeks do. A soft cooing graces your ears as she smiles, just a little. Your heavy eyelids wish to shut, but at the same time, you find it hard to part with the image of the sleeping Apple Bloom. Is it weird to want to cuddle her? Because the way she’s lying down, all curled up with that little smile, you’re fighting hard not to cuddle up next to her. The muffled voice of AJ interrupts your struggle:

“Anon, it’s time for prayers!”

“Coming!”

“Is Apple Bloom with you?”

“Yeah!”

“Bring her too!”

“Got it!” Stepping over to the Bloom side of the bed, her back turned towards you, you wedge your hands underneath her. She grunts at the uncomfortable feeling, her slumber unpleasantly interrupted.

“Wha-What’s goin’ on?” By now your arms are now underneath her, and you pick her up. She shifts in your arms, her amber jewels fluttering at you.

“Prayers.”

“Unf,” she grunts as she adjusts herself, now more properly cradled in your arms, “I wanna sleep.” She faces up now, your arms under dangling legs and supporting her shoulders.

“In a minute, princess.” She smiles at the new nickname, and you log the experience away in your memory. Gotta remember that one. Once she settles into your arms, you walk over to the door. Houston, we have a problem; no hands left to open the door. And your princess has her arms crosses while she dozes in your arms, the scene too precious to interrupt. Remembering your technique from a couple nights ago, you sit on the doorknob, sliding down, which causes it to turn. The door open slightly, and you open it the rest of the way with your foot. It might not be the most majestic way of opening doors, but hey, the door’s open. You walk down to the elder’s room and deposit the sweet girl on the floor between you and AJ. Feeling grateful for today, you’re more open to joining in the prayers. You can remember it this time, so you join in.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. This I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.” You spot approval on your great-aunt’s face, and nod in acceptance of it. Big Mac starts off the next ritual, stating his high as the pool and the low as the cramped van. Oh come on, you think, you had the front seat! Granny’s high was cooking dinner, and her low was cooking dinner. The serving part she enjoyed, but all the effort wasn’t too much fun for her, it turned out. Aj goes next:

“Well, my high was that walk I gotta take with my cousin and sister. There were some rough parts, but ah think we all came out a bit closer for it, and I’m real happy about that. As for my low… uh, can’t say that I have one.”

“Nuh-uh, you gotta have one,” says Apple Bloom, woken by the injustice of attempted rule-breaking. Applejack just gives her a dry look, asking her if

“you remember what yuh said two nights ago?” Apple Bloom looks thoughtful, her role as judge put aside for a minute.

“Uhh… no?”

“You said your high was Anon, and you didn’t have a low.”

“Oh. Uh. Well, Ah get special treatment,” she offers, placing a hand on a chest proudly thrust forward. It apparently works, drawing out a good-natured scoff:

“Well, ah guess my low was that Rarity couldn’t have come today. I think she woulda had a lot of fun meeting Anon.”

Apple Bloom’s turn: “I got the same high: ‘specially cause I got the princess treatment from Anon afterwards.” The family cocks their heads, including you. “Yuh know, like this.” She reaches for the sleeping dog in the corner, which you hadn’t noticed til now, and attempts to carry it like you did her. She fails, and it leaps out of her arms. Not one to accept failure, stubborn Apple Bloom chases after it, trying to pick it up. After a handful of failures, AJ tells her that we think we get the picture, and a sheepishly Apple Bloom returns to her original spot.

“Anyway, I don’t have a low. Cause Ah get to do that,” she stresses the “Ah,” and sticks her tongue out at AJ afterwards. You laugh at the mild petulance, then notice all eyes on you. Oh yeah. You needed one. Uh…

“Well, I don’t mean to sound repetitive, but I have to follow in my dear cousins’ footsteps. That walk was really something, and I don’t think words can really do it justice. But it was good, I can say that.” The two girls’ heads nod at the simple truth. “As for my low, it was riding through Scoots’ neighborhood.” Apple Bloom turns to you, gasping:

“What? Why? Do yuh not like her?”

“No no, I think she’s rad as heck. It’s just, you know, she lives in a straight up dump.”

“Eeyup.”

“She does not,” comes the squeaky reply.

“Bloom, that was a straight up wasteland! The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot was less of a wasteland than that!”

“I dunno what that is,” comes Bloom’s flat reply.

“Some trash poem. Anyway, you can’t dispute your visiting cousin’s High-Lows.” You turn to AJ for corroboration on your fresh rule: “That’s how it is, isn’t it?”

“Sorry sis, it’s rule number 15. You should really know that.” The double attacks from cousin and sister are too much for Apple Bloom to respond with anything besides a pouty huff.

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, Bloom. I can still give you the princess treatment.” You stretch your arms out in a peace offering. Turning her nose up in the air, she steps into your hands with a royal aloofness.

“Ok, but only because you insisted.” You don’t tell her that you didn’t insist, instead lifting her up like a good steed or knight would. You don’t tell her that you didn’t insist, instead lifting her up like a good steed or knight would. She can’t resist the warm allure of your arms, and is soon lazily reclining your arms. She stares at you with half-lidded eyes. You think she’s going to say something a couple times, but she just quietly looks at you. You reach her door, enter, and slowly lay her on her bed. She moves along with you as you pull the covers down and then over her, scooting off them and then stretching out. You appreciate the help, and show her with a little kiss on her forehead. You brush her cheek one more time, and tell her

“Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, my noble steed.” You chuckle at the reference to last night.

“See you tomorrow.” She just grins at you as you walk away and turn out the lights, not without taking one last glance at her before you do. Then you lie down on your bed, and play Pokémon until you fall asleep.

It was a good day.

Thursday

Partly through the night, a soft creak jostles you from your dream. Coated in the still present grip of dreams, you have a hard time making out what it is. A thin light reveals itself from your cracked door. Huh. The rest of your room is caked in darkness, looking like the inside of a coal pit. Your head still swimming with visions of shifty cats, epic dream quests, and some unknown place called Kadath, you slink over to the door and close it. The creak repeats itself, but barely registers on your dream-flooded mind, and you move quietly back to your bed. Submerging yourself in sleep once more, you fail to hear the muted breathing, swiping, and tiptoe footsteps. You do peek up when the creak and slit of light return, but when the creak once more repeats itself and kills the latter, your heavy head falls upon your pillow once more, and you think nothing of it.

It’s Thursday morning, and you’re swaddled in a cozy blackness. A thick blur coats your mind, engulfing you in a pleasant oblivion. A ray of infantile consciousness reaches out of the pit, trying to reach an awareness of yourself and circumstance. It doesn’t get far, and once more you’re sunk into that cottony haze of sleep. But instinct pushes forward, sending more attempts to reach reality. Each new attempt brings new shocks of light into your haze, disrupting it all the more. A nature just as deep and ancient as the need to wake pushes back, a bearish grunt expressed in revolt. But just as it is broken everyday, the will of this lumbering presence is thwarted, the pull of life dragging you into the light. Mmph. Muscles twitch to life, new blood flooding arteries and capillaries. Slowly, your mind awakens to your body, the pampering weight of the blankets above making your form known to you. You shake your head, grunting at the harshness of the motion that yanked you into consciousness. You wake to yourself; you’re Anon, and it’s some weekday. Wednesday, or maybe Thursday. You contort your body, changing positions like a dancer, but never recovering the dull peace you exited.

When the discomfort of lying without tiredness can be taken no more, you whip the covers off your body. The cruel talons of the (relatively) cold room dig into your skin, and you whip the covers right back on. You’d forgotten about your morning foe. You poke your thin arm, the most resilient to her wicked clutch, out of the bed and take hold of your shirt and pants. Retracting your arm, the wintry emissaries are soon thawed to the temperature of your beloved cocoon. Delicately, you put them on, trying to keep from disturbing the borders of your silk and cotton paradise, knowing the hateful cold will seep in like a plague at the first opening. Fully clothed, you steel yourself, then take the covers off once more. The chilly bite hurts far less than before. But it’s only a matter of time before your feet succumb to the frosty air, so you quickly garb them in some socks. After a minute, you realize that the room’s not actually that cold, and that you might be a huge pansy. Like all men, you hold onto the hope that you aren’t, and soldier on. Sitting on your bed, you wipe the physical remnants of sleep from your eyes. What time was it? The clock reads 7:30, a good half hour before the time you usually wake up. The familiar morning itch runs through your body, and you obey its command, straightening out your limbs and taking a deep yawn. The urge satisfied, you reflect on what to do next.

Apple Bloom, of course. She’d know what to do; maybe you could catch a quick game with her. Gotta see if she’s up first. You slip on the apple slippers laying at the door, and move out. The whole house is perfectly silent, like fresh, untarnished snow on a field. You cross the hall in tiptoe, not wanting to crack that delicate peace. You grip her doorknob and carefully turn it. The door squeaks when you open it, but not too much. Congratulating yourself on your excellent stealth, you approach her bed. You suck in your breath when you see the girl upon it.

She’s a vision. The phrase blinks across your mind, a chorus that, while fading to the background, remains present for the whole experience to come. She’s just… Wow. You try to think of words, but they just don’t come. She’s lying on her bed, perpendicular to you, with her arms raised above her head. One lies off the side, the forearm rising up and her hand flopped down, almost touching her head. Her other arm is jutting out, with the forearm returning, making an acute angle. Her delicate hand is spread open, resting on her forehead. For once, you see Bloom with her hair down (not counting the time when she was in the pool), and you realize how long it is. The bright red spectacle flows down over her shoulders, reaching, pooling somewhere around her mid-region. As usual, a bright smile covers her face, and her eyes are pressed closed. She radiates happiness, sheer joy perfectly described by her perfect face. One of her legs goes straight down, while the other is bent slightly, the knee barely crossing over the other. Her white socks are long, almost reaching to the knee, but that isn’t the article that captures your attention. Somehow, she got ahold of one of the dress shirts you brought down, and wears it with only the lowest two buttons buttoned. The top portions cover part of her chest, but leave her light cleavage and a good portion of the middle of her torso open. Looking down, you don’t see any underwear in the shadows beneath the low-hanging shirt, and it doesn’t go THAT far down. The sun has risen, bringing a golden light to further remind you of her angelic beauty. Her soft, tan skin almost glows in the kiss of the morning’s light. You notice something else, which causes you to blush and let out an unintentional “unf.” The ray of light revealed the thinness of your shirt, showing the lines and shapes of her thin body within it. You can perfectly trace the outline of her thin body, the curves of her breasts and hips, in the partially-transparent garb. She shifts at your quiet outburst, and you realize you haven’t been looking at her for a short time. You turn to leave, not wanting to be thought a creep if she wakes. You turn on your heel and take a step, the cruel world obliterating your stealth through a loud creak. You halt immediately, listening for any signs that she heard you.

“Mmmmmm. Mm? Anon?” Yep, she heard you. Your mind races, going through plans like fatties go through Cheetos. You hold onto the last thread of stealth, hoping you can make a secretive getaway. You keep on facing the door and take another step. Silence, from both floor and cousin. Okay, you can do this. You take another step, and the scene repeats itself. Creeeeaak.

“Anon?” This time her voice is clearer, devoid of the groggy tempo that held the first question. You turn around slowly, playing it cool. Hopefully she won’t notice the flaring hue of your flushed cheeks.

“Hey, sup, Apple Bloomers, what’s shaking, bacon?” You’ve never hated yourself so much. She’s sat up now, the shirt covering her like a short dress, thankfully out of the light this time. Her arms are positioned as a V, with both hands meeting just in front of her hips. Her legs are splayed outwards, socked feet pointing upwards. Her head cocked, she innocently asks:

“What’r ya doin’ in mah room?” The million dollar question. Honesty or Redirect? You go with the first, saving the question of your shirt for later.

“I was gonna wake you up, see if you wanted to play some cards or a board game or something.” She nods slowly. It isn’t clear if she believed you, or even understood. She is, after all, very sleepy. She yawns, her mouth stretching wide while her eyes tightly shut. Her arms reverse their positions, both extending upwards and away from her, making a V above her now. Her chest also puffs out, and you can see them pretty well under the thin, stretched fabric. Hoo boy. You adjust your pants to better cover an embarrassing response. Her eyes fall back to you, a teary smile on her angelic face.

“Ok,” she replies in a soft voice, sounding almost like a hum. She drags her tired legs out of bed, and falls off, feet landing on the floor. She moves to her dresser at a zombie’s gait, and opens the top drawer. Immediately you spin on your heel, not wanting to be present for this. She’s your cousin, after all.

“I’ll be in my room,” your stammering voice informs her, to which a soft okay replies. Closing the door behind you, you take a deep breath and let it out. Your eyes close, and you repeat the process, opening them at the exhale. Emotions run lower now, and you return to your room to distract yourself with video games. But your door creaks open before you can even get in-game. Bloom floats in, her light form almost gliding across the threshold. She wears your dress shirt, now buttoned fully and with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbow, and pair of tiny shorts. Her feet are bare, and you can hear the almost indiscernable thumps as she treads across your floor. The only major difference between her now and her a minute ago is a red bow in her hair. This is a different one, not much bigger than a bowtie, and is fastened above the place between her ear and left edge of her forehead. Two small ribbons fall below, a slight curl twisting their path alongside the left portion of her jawline, ending at the level of her nose. Her hair is pulled back and hanging down, revealing a curliness you didn’t know of. Appearing more energetic, she grabs your arm and immediately begins pulling you to your door.

“Come on, Anon, I know just the game.” Her pull isn’t strong, but the sheer joy in her gait makes the pull irresistible to you. She bounces as she walks, the tune to a music you don’t hear. Maybe you’ll hear it, one of these days. Though your sluggish resistance to her pull, as the morning incites resistance to all motion, has long since passed, her grip on your arm remains. Down to the living room she leads you, stopping before a large cabinet. Your arm misses her touch as she withdraws it for her search. She plunges her arms into the cabinet, pulls back, then digs in again, as if digging in the dirt for some treasure. Her face lights up, followed by hands gripping a weird looking wooden rectangle. Once more your arm is gripped by a pulling teen hand, until you’ve found yourself at a table with rickety chairs. The chairs are made of the same white-ish vanilla wood as the table, and are placed opposite each other. The table resides by a great brick fireplace, which you long to see roaring in a colder season. Thoughts of a winter trip are whisked away by the low voice of a whispering cousin, asking you if

“You ever heard of Cribbage?” No bells ring.

“Nope.” Eyes bug out in fake horror, and you can’t help but laugh at her feigned disbelief.

“Whattya mean ya haven’t heard a Cribbage? You been livin under a rack or samthing!? Huh!? Huh!?” Your laughter increases at the sudden New York accent in your Bloom’s voice. She laughs with you, though more in victory at having made you laugh. You look down at the table before you, taking in the whole picture. There’s a deck of cards, two pairs of little colored sticks, one red and one blue, and the wooden rectangle. It’s got a line snaking, split into red, blue, and green. It’s filled with holes, cut into five hole-blocks, and numbers denoting each measure of five, all the way to 120, with one hole after that.

“Ok, its real simple: ya gotta get points, which you get through hands and pegging. First, is dealing: you deal six cards to each player” –she does- “and you get to pick four of them to keep. The other goes in the crib, which is an extra hand, and that goes to the dealer. The dealer switches every turn, so it’s even. After you discard into the crib, the not-dealer picks up a portion of the deck, and the dealer takes the card at the top of the remaining pile and puts it on the top. This gets added to all three hands. Then we peg: the non-dealer goes first, putting a card down. Then the dealer puts a card on it, adding it’s total to the first –face cards are worth 10- until you hit 31 or can’t hit that or lower. Here, you get points if you hit fifteen or 31, if you pair them, or if you get a run. Runs are worth the number of cards in them, and everything else is 2 points. Oh! You also get a point if you put down the last card, unless it’s 31. So like, if you stop at 30 and the other person can’t go, you get one point, and then they have to start the next pegging thing. When you’ve played all your cards, you count your hand. Non-dealer goes first, then the dealer, who counts their hand and then the crib. Pretty much the same thing there: 2 points for fifteens and pairs, and runs get as many points as there are cards in them. Oh, and if you have a jack that’s the same suit as the cut card –that’s the card you pull up after dealing- you get one point and if you pull up a jack the dealer gets two points.”

“Do runs have to be of the same suit.” She shakes her head from side to side, tossing the bow ever so slightly, and says

“Nope! You got it?”

“I think so. It sounds pretty complicated.”

“Everythin’ sounds complicated when it gets explained all at once like that. It’ll get easier once you play it.” She beams at you, removing your reservations about the game, or really anything. You get started, and play pretty rough at first. You’re forgetting to take points, throwing points in her crib, and so forth, while she just laughs at you. But soon you start getting the hang of it, finding the patterns in the game, and playing with probabilities. You barely avoid getting skunked in the first game –losing by more than 30 points- and lose by five in the second. It was a fluke anyway, you swear. As you shuffle for the third game, you hear a low thudding coming just outside the room. Big Mac, morose as ever, peeks his head into the room, followed by his hulking body.

He stares silently at the game for a minute, then shakes his head at you. What? You send him a look, half inquisitive, half get-out-of-here-I’m-hanging-with-my-rad-cousin, but it falls flat. To be honest, you didn’t really expect much reaction from the practical mute. Her dull eyes direct themselves Bloom-ways, and he makes an inquest of her desires for a first meal. She gaily affirms her desire for such, and when the almost blank question passes from his eyes to yours, you haltingly mirror Bloom. With paradoxical guile, his image whisks away, the cling-clang of metal locating him in the kitchen. The game continues, with sneaky peeks and clever calculations throughout, culminating in a history-setting record of your success by ten whole points. Your fortune and talent are rewarded doubly when, midst victory dancing, your nostrils are engulfed by the scent of bacon.

Eyes wide with joy and beastly avarice, like an archaic Englishman spotting a new and unconquered territory, you spy a morning feast in the giving arms of your male cousin. Plates and dishes fall upon the table like manna, and you don’t waste a minute shoveling your blessings upon your own plate. With the patience of a dozen saints, you halt your voracious assault just long enough thank God for providence. Then, you set upon the plate-placed victims like Cortez on the Aztecs, and with the same result. The children of vicious hens, the warriors of a tribe of swine and whatever sausage is are razed, washed down with the precious plunder of monstrous cows. This morning, Anon is king of the wild. Finishing, a great sigh of contentment bursts forth, signaling your entrance into heaven. With your trusty sidekick, you march to the kitchen to cleanse your weapons. A fierce scrubbing with rags and towel later, the porcelain shows no trace of the massacre witness, and is placed among its stone brothers for another riskless battle.

By this time, your hat-clad cousin enters the kitchen, elder in arm. You welcome her brightly, sharing your morning joy. She wears surprise, then trades for your own happy expression. Granny is helped to a plate of her own, along with AJ, and they chat happily away at a kitchen table. You return to the open arms of Bloom, ready to give her as many losses as she wishes for. Dropping yourself into a seat, you narrow your eyes and rubs your hands together, asking her

“Ready to lose some more?” She rebuffs you with her tongue, an unanswerable strategy. She deals out the cards, and you set your mind to work. You think and plan, consider and strategize, filling the air with hmms and ah!s. Told to shut up and go on already, you obey the happy order of your cousin, and do so. If you had rebelled, you probably would have won. But such as it is, you don’t, and mock Bloom’s well-known pout. As you begin to deal for the next game, as is the loser’s prerogative, AJ interrupts you.

“Playing some crib, huh?

“Yup,” you mimic Big Mac, but not so overtly as to be insulting.

“Can you deal me in?”

“Uh… Can I?” You pose the query to Bloom, who nods happily.

“Yeah, three players can go. You just give everyone five cards and put one in the crib.” AJ chimes in as she pulls up an equally rickety chair and sits:

“Yeah, and hands and pegging is done clockwise.”

“Nuh-uh! It’s counterclockwise!” A wrinkly arbiter calls from beyond

“No, it’s clockwise, dearie.”

“But that ain’t how ah play with Scootaloo!” AJ chuckles, happily bearing the duty of informing her that

“You an’ her ain’t been doing it right then!” You snicker at the retroactive judgment and begin dealing. The new style of play throws you for a loop, your previous strategies and considerations imperfectly translating to this new form. However, the lessened amount of choice, coming from having five cards instead of six, lower the amount by which you can control the outcome of your hand, and so your cluelessness does not terribly mar your score. As you move through the ensuing games, you’re dimly conscious of a new comfort you’ve entered into. Your shoulders fall back, your breaths come more easily, and your exuberance is less forced and pretended than it had been the past few days. The breakthrough of the previous day, though out of conversation and not likely to re-enter anytime soon, had altered how you were around the Apples. You couldn’t quite describe the changes, or even make yourself fully aware of them. But through it, you noticed the ease at which you could sit and enjoy the game, and the lack of obstructions that kept you from laughing along with them in that careless manner you saw, mostly in Apple Bloom. It was nice. You felt good. After a handful of Cribbage games, then you moved onto other games. Sorry came next, to include Granny and Big Mac. You and Apple Bloom teamed up, a pair against the three other colors, but even your combined brilliances failed to snatch victory. Three failures in, a double vote called for a new game, to which the three older Apples conceded.

Monopoly followed, the living room filling with the warmth of familial community. Big Mac even seemed to step out of his shell a bit, and you heard his triumphant laugh for the first time when he seized both blue properties. Not long afterwards, a stream of ill luck struck you and Granny, leaving you both doubly caught by Boardwalk’s charges. Declaring bankruptcy, the two of you retired, watching the gameplay unfold from the sidelines. No longer terribly put off by her aged appearance, you fell into a pleasant conversation with her. She explained to you the history of Sweet Apple Acres while you sat enraptured. After she finishes, you’re awestruck, suddenly aware of the monumental significance of your great-aunt. Struggling for a similar story, you pull out some notes on the celebrity of the Oranges in Manehattan. Though you do exist at a not-unimpressive place on the Social Register, the boasts ring hollow as you spill them across the air. Your listener gracefully provides a captivated pose, though you don’t see how she could be interested when you aren’t. Then again, Granny seemed to be genuinely interested in you, as noted from your brief contacts. It may have been that her such in interest spread to interest in the specifics of your life for their relation to you, if not due to innate value. With a strength bolstered by your recent growth, you decide to trust in Granny’s goodwill, rather than assuming indifference and pretense, as was your habit.

The next game begins, and you quickly snag a monopoly on the oranges through lucky rolls and a seemingly innocent land-deal with an unobservant AJ. Apple Bloom moans as you repeatedly plunder her bank account, the die severely out of favor with her. You make it through the minefield of the opposite side of the board, where yellows and reds have all been captured by Apple girls. Grabbing a couple greens, you deftly doge the blues and leap onto the next round. Big Mac lands on Park Place, and is then blessed by a snake eyes onto Boardwalk, the fastest blue monopoly you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, your orange trio is looking less impressive. You trade your brown for a light blue of Apple Bloom’s, and both of you fill the first gauntlet with houses and an agreement not to charge each other. She immediately lands on Connecticut Avenue, and your head swings to the living room window while you whistle loudly in mock innocence. Ignoring AJ’s grumpy stare, you hold your hand out, receive the dice from Apple Bloom, then roll. Landing on a soon-bout railroad, you exclaim in mock shock:

“Oh my goodness, Apple Bloom landed on me? Well gosh darnit, I oughtta have charged you. Oh well, I snooze, I lose!” Nobody is impressed, but you get a suppressed fit of giggles from Apple Bloom, well worth your scumbag cahoots. It continues to be worth it when AJ meets Apple Bloom, and you jump on her like a loan shark. A muttering of unfairness and a couple turns later, you find yourself on Marvin Garden’s, owned and operated by one Miss A. Bloom. You gaze into her eyes, pleading for an expected mercy, when you find yourself laughingly rebuffed. What? But-But. Your pleads and references to allegiance are promptly denied, as you’re told that such only refers to the first side of the board, meaning the browns. She’s right, but she can’t keep you from grumbling. Three passes around go, and you’re king of half the board, owning monopolies on orange, green, light blue, and parts of utilities, red and purple. Unfortunately, your only opponent is Bloom, who owns the rest, expect for a Short Line Railroad that, somehow, had never been landed upon. The trades are frequent and equal, with you straying below one hundred for a moment, then lifting back up. She loses favor with lady luck, and begins a massive unlucky streak, having to sell a good amount of houses. But one final shift leads you to a massive vacation on her properties alone, while she alights on the barebones luxury taxes and light blues, when she isn’t on her own properties. Once you mortgage your first light blue, the end comes quickly, the failures rising in exponents. She sits beside you, on her bare knees. At victories she bounces, and failures she narrows her eyes, like a soldier vowing to succeed at the next battle. And when you finally land on Boardwalk, naught but 10$ in your pockets, she leaps up in the air, swinging her arms in the air. The picture of pure joy seems to levitate, eyes closed and mouth open in a cry of bliss, the beloved cousin defeated at last. Her buoyant, curly hair follows her body just a tad too late. Rising after she’s airborne, and turning mid-air to fall only after her descent is completely. The rosy cascade blankets her shoulders once more, the spotless skin covered by the luscious tangle of long, wavy curls.

The five of you move onto Pirate’s cove, where the aim is fame. You fight with cannons and men (the lowest number determining the number of die rolled in attack) and go first based on sails; you win fame on victory, and lose a turn on loss. Treasure stored in the hull and needing a dedicated turn to turn it into fame, and earning gold to buy the others or to turn it into fame along with treasure. Six different places to travel to hold different rewards for travel and different commodities to buy (all four aspects, then special fighting cards, then Treasure Island, where the burying occurs). Everyone chooses where to go and reveals it at once, fighting somebody if they end up at the same place (except Treasure Island). A legendary NPC pirate also makes the rounds, to be avoided or fought along with others. The game barely moves. The game starts off well for you, nabbing an early lead. AJ beats you and Granny in a battle, but you’re just barely behind her. But as the third turn comes around, Apple Bloom darts up.

“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” AJ, always helpful, gets up and hustles over to the car, your day suddenly devoid of the two Apple girls. You’d like to pretend you were just as happy as before, but the company of Big Mac and Granny can’t compare to you and your wonderful cousins. Still, Big Mac was your cousin too, and you can’t see any reason to give up trying to enjoy being with them. Family was family, right? Rejecting the thin grip of dysphoria, you take on an active role, pushing AJ and Apple Bloom’s pieces off the board. You act as if the game were always holding three players, and the game continues as normally.

As the game unfolds, you start to glimpse a different side of the two lesser known Apples. Granny does well, building up a powerful ship, as per the instructions; there’s no doubt she could take any fight with you or Big Mac alone, and maybe the both of you. And the way she stares at your ships and the locations to go, she ought to be raiding you left and right. She gazes at both, not with the vacant stare of a lifeless elder, but with a subtle cunning, like a chess master who avoids all boasting but that of their winning move. Yet you never fight her. She always goes to the places neither you nor Big Mac is at, even when she profits less. The only time you meet is at Treasure Island, where there is no fighting. Her score is lagging, and an untrained eye might assume the explanation of a doddering old lady who lucked into a good ship. But you know better. The whole game, she’s been chatting away with you and Big Mac, drawing just the threads of conversation out of him, and eagerly listening to the stories you reveal. She’s not in this to win; she’s in this for the two of you. Sure, she grins gleefully at the united attacks against the NPCs and gaining fame, but her purpose here is not a personal victory. You chuckle to yourself, an interested look of hers failing to discover your realization of her aim. You could see where AJ and Apple Bloom get their charity. A barely deserved first place falls into your hands, due to Big Mac dying at the last minute, and failing to bury his treasure as a result. He shoulda won, you think to yourself.

You set the next game up, this time adding two NPC pirates in, due to the lower number of players. Watching Big Mac, now the only major threat to your victory, warrants another couple insights. He plays simply, in almost a dumb fashion: where he needs to go, he goes. He pays little attention to the revolving NPCs or you, and ends up in a lot of fights as a result. Thing is, he isn’t losing. He wins more than his fair share of fights, and you find yourself avoiding him, not unlike Granny. He doesn’t seem like the brightest guy, and you’re about to chalk it up to luck when you find exceptions. Twice, there’s one thing he needs, but instead he goes to someplace else, ending up in a fight with you or Granny, where he wins both times. You’d think it was clever tactics, working around your expectations, but he then spends all his money on useless stuff. So he either gets lucky, or is using high-cost, high-reward strategies. Another small exception was when, out of cockiness, you ask him where he’s gonna go, so you can attack him (you’ve got a better ship than him at this point). He tells you he’s gonna fight one of the NPCs and asks you to join him; figuring the idea as good, you go there. But he doesn’t. One severe butt-kicking later, half of your treasure is lost, your ship broken, and your lead drops off. Worse yet, AJ returns just as you get your butt handed to you, her first sight of your advanced playing not one you’d like. She laughs and sits beside you, Apple Bloom’s spot, and you turn your thoughts back to Big Mac. As you try to reconcile these exceptions with Big Mac, you come across a middle-ground between what you’ve thought. Maybe he wasn’t doing carefully calculated high-costing strategies, and maybe he wasn’t dumb; maybe he was a clever guy who just wasn’t fully in the game. The explanation seemed to fit with what you know of Big Mac’s reaction to his parents dying, and his somewhat clever feints. It’s not solid, but you decide to keep an eye on Big Mac, if only to solve a mystery. The round concludes with united assault against both NPCs, the boatload of fame resulting from such netting Big Mac a victory, just a sliver ahead of you.

You yawn and stand up, declaring your weariness from games. Man, what time even was it? Geez, 2:00. You’d been playing board games for almost five hours straight. You guess they’re long games, but still. Wow. Granny asks you to help with making lunch today, and you happily accept. AJ follows, but Granny assures her this is a two-person job. Or rather, a one-and-a-half-person job, seeing as she’s just gonna be giving orders. Granny’s eyes follow her as she exits, then shift to you.

“So,” she asks, “what’s for lunch?” You pause, thinking that her question belongs in your mouth, not hers.

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re making lunch, today. I was wondering what you’re gonna make for us.” You’re starting to get it. “You’ve cooked haven’t ya? Even sandwiches are okay, dearie.”

“So I’m gonna come up with something and make it?” She grins and nods once,

“And I’m gonna point out ingredients.”

“Ah. Okay, gimme a second.” You furrow your brow, a technique known to increase mental productivity and efficacy. You’ve made a lot of meals over the years, so you have some preparation for this. Oh! You’ve got it!

“Ok, I’m gonna need like six cans of clams, a cup of oil, minced garlic, a bit of parsley, some green onions, and noodles.” She directs you to them, and you start your work. Water in the pot, set to boil. Mince the garlic and chop the green onions. Dump that into some oil in a pan, and set it to mid-high. Once the garlic starts browning, dump the cans of clams in, water and all. Stir, lightly, then wait for most of the water to boil off. You lean up against the counter and breathe out, the tasks wearing you out due to their number, if not their difficulty. Meanwhile, Granny has sat down on a chair in the kitchen, pleasantly smiling and making light conversation while you work after her directions are made complete. She asks you how you’re doing upstairs, what your plans are for the rest of summer, and how her nephew and niece are doing. You pause at that, holding back a scowl, but you think she notices you discomfort.

“Not getting along, are you?” You sigh, a pained expression on your face. It’s not like she oughtn’t ask this, it wasn’t rude or anything. You just don’t know how to answer it. You look to the clam mix for help, and it’s perfection offers an exit.

“Uh, food’s ready. Would you mind getting them?” She smiles, the understanding look seeming more geared to your avoidance than your question.

“Of course. I think they’re still playing games.” She enters the living room and informs them of the upcoming meal. Immediately they march past you to retrieve plates, glasses, and silverware. The table set, you tell them that the meal is clam pasta; take some noodles, cover it with the mix, and that’s it.

“Sauce seems a bit thin, and more clams than sauce.” AJ remarks, not having seen the meal before.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be; you don’t need a ton, either. A little bit goes a ways.” She nods and helps herself, followed by the rest of you. You clasp hands and say grace, though you’re slightly distracted. At the touch of Granny’s and AJ’s hands, you recall that you’ve been holding Apple Bloom’s hand for the previous dinners. You miss that now. You try to stop yourself, thinking that it’s kind of weird to be missing someone gone for only a couple hours, and besides, you’d have to get used to missing her anyways. That makes you sadder, and you push thoughts of post-vacation summer away. Still. You wish she was here to taste your meal. Maybe it was weird, but you wanted her to tell you it was good. For the moment, however, you’d have to suffice with the compliments of the present Apples.

“Anon, this is really good.”

“Eeyup.”

“Yeah, thanks for making it.” You thank them, genuinely grateful for the compliments. You’d like to think that you’d be able to handle it if you had to cook for a girl, and this was as good an affirmation as any. AJ then asks you, in a tone that betrayed it being on her mind for some time:

“So, what are your plans for summer?”

“Me? Oh, uh, I don’t know. I’m supposed to find a job, so I can be set up for after I graduate.” You add, with distaste: “My dad was gonna set me up at the firm, get me an internship or something. To be honest, I don’t really want to.” Granny appears more attentive at this last bit, more so than the usual interest she displays.

“You don’t like that kinda work?” She asks.

“Not at all. It’s so boring, and seems so purposeless. Like, what’s even the point, you know?” The two ladies at the table nod slowly, the AJ seems to pick up where Granny left off.

“So what kind of work are you looking for?”

“I don’t know, something more physical, hopefully. Ooh!” Your eyes open wide as you recall one pleasant experience from long ago “I wanna work with cars. My best friend, Steven, I told you about him, right? Well, his dad’s a mechanic, and he let me help out a couple times. Oh, that was so much fun! I’ve done a little work on my car, just tune-ups here and there, but man I’d kill to do that for a living.” Your blissful gaze rests above any of the conversationalists, set on a glowing memory.

“Didn’t know you liked cars so much,” mumbles Big Mac.

“Well, it’s not cars so much as what’s in them. All those parts, working together to push tons and tons of metal at huge speeds… I mean, how is that not incredible?” Your mechanical affections subside, and you return to the subject at hand. “So I’ll see if he can get me something like that. If not, I’ll look for something that has to do with machinery, maybe something in engineering. If I can’t get an internship or job like that, then I’ll do the internship with my dad.” You end on a lower note and a mournful face, a wish unspoken. AJ and Granny look at each other with unreadable expressions. Then AJ speaks of her own plans for the summer, working at Sweet Apple Acres. You don’t observe her fixed attention on you, instead listening happily to the sound of her own future. The dinner goes on as such, questions of futures and interests abounding, until you’ve had your fill. You’re excused without dish-duty, and thanked for preparing the meal. Retiring to your room, you fall on your bed, resorting to your good old Gameboy for entertainment. After all the strategizing and heavy conversations about your future, you need some mindless fun.

The bright LED screen transports you into the early evening, sun partly through its descent. The sky still burns yellow on your bed, warming your skin. Sleepiness seeps into you, weighing your body down. Just as your eyes are about to shut from the gravity of your eyelids, your door slams open. Having too little energy to look up at your guest, you settle for listening. Short, light stomps declare the entrance of an angry Apple Bloom. Valuing the sight of her, both in general and for the purpose of consolation, your drag your heavy head to a place where you may see her. Upon engaging the Sisyphean task of upholding your eyelids, you spy her standing before your bed, armed with a grim pout and two fists. Your chest feels crushed at the sight of her pained expression, a tight clenching of your stomach. Your left arm is thrusted out, the opening space below it an invitation to lie with you. She accepts your invitation, sinking into the soft blankets. She squirms into you, left arm resting over your stomach and head nestling into your chest. Her knees bend to keep themselves from falling over the bed, and touch your own legs. Your free arm rises and passes your body, its hand resting on her head, then softly stroking the thick ruffles of crimson. She doesn’t cry, but the stuffy silence tells you all you need to know; she’s not okay. Minutes of your gentle caressing pass before you hazard a soft question:

“What’s wrong?” A short, unhappy grunt precedes her burying her head even further into your chest, slightly shaking her head from left to right. Guess she doesn’t want to say. You share her sigh and let your head fall back, staring at the ceiling above. But your tender touch barely resumes before she tilts her head up, enabling her sad amber eyes to pierce your heart again.

“Diamond Tiara.” You know that name. You’d heard her tell you about that bully from her school at the pool. The evidence of the bullying brings your stomach to a tighter clench, and your hands to slowly formed fists. But your burgeoning desire for comeuppance does not overcome your concern, and with wide eyes you ask her what she’d done.

“She always ruins –*sniff*- everything. Me an’ the other Crusaders were walkin’ around the mall when she came up and started makin’ fun of us. She said that we were losers, and ain’t ever gonna get boyfriends. She said that nobody’d ever love a t-trashy punk, a girl that ain’t half as pretty as her older sister, an some h-hick like me.” Her words catch a few times, and she has to compose herself several times before she continues. “I told her to shut up, but she asked us if any of us had ever been on a date. I didn’t even know we were s’posed to be doing that! Sweetie started trying explain why none of us had ever been asked out, but Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon just laughed at us and walked away.” Immediately you hug her tightly, as if to squeeze out the hurt. You keep silent for a minute, not wanting to speak right away.

“Bloom, you know she was just bein’ mean, right? You girls are beautiful, especially you.” At this, you lift up her chin, forcing her enchanting eyes to look into yours. “I bet you could get any guy in this town, easy as that.” You snap your fingers, illustrating your point.

“Y-you really think so?” The watery eyes fix on you, your next words the foundation of her next mood.

“I absolutely do.” You wonder for a moment, unsure of whether you should leave the testament simple, or explain it. The former has more raw strength, but the latter can better bolster her confidence in the proposition once she’s set upon by doubts. You go the latter route, wanting both to give her reasons to believe you and to verbalize your appreciation for the beauty on your chest. Drawing on every poetic lesson you’ve learned, you set yourself to the task of describing the small goddess.

“I mean, first, your hair is incredible. I’ve never seen a natural crimson like yours, which changes so much by the light it’s under. The darker hues indoors, the brighter rosiness in the light; it’s like the colors of the evening sky, when the sinking sun paints the sky every red it can think of. Your eyes are enchanting, like drops of gold, or two gilded plates too priceless to ever use. Every time I see them, it’s like I’m teetering off the cliff, about to fall headfirst into them. Your skin is the most perfect tan, the kind that all the city girls dream about. You’ve got the cute kind of freckles, the kind that perfectly accent your eyes and cheeks. You’re thin without looking sick, and short without looking like a midget. Trust me Apple Bloom, you are, hands down, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” You finish your short list with a kiss on her forehead, slightly longer than it needs to be. Her rapt attention is halted when she closes her eyes at your lips’ touch, but her growing blush stays strong. She smiles, but it falters, a streak of unhappiness dashing her attempts to free herself from the bully’s words.

“D-do you really think all that?”

“I do.”

“Then why doesn’t anybody ask me out?” The question throws you; you don’t know enough about the town to give a good answer. Your mind races for an answer from your inadequate knowledge, something to satisfy her insecurity. Then, a thought arises. A question to ask, a wish disguised as a distraction. A wild idea, something every inch of prudence rebels against. But the idea captures you, and before you know it, it falls from your lips.

“Apple Bloom, would you go out with me?” Her eyes are the size of dinner plates, cheeks burning bright red.

“W-what?” Too late to go back now, not that you would. You push on, hoping to either get a yes or make damage control easier. Your tone is easy and light, but your stomach is tight with the fear of rejection. Your heart races, while you try to avoid knowing how much you want this.

“Let me take you out on a date. We’ll go out for dinner and movies, maybe some ice cream or something, and then you can tell Diamond Tiara that you did go on a date. With an incredibly handsome man at that.” She doesn’t chuckle your joke, retaining the same wide-eyed look as before. Burrowing her face once more into the space between your arm and chest, only her eyes are visible, still peeking out at you. You can barely hear her muffled question:

“You really wanna go on a date with me?” You smile and nod your head, feeling an imminent victory. She closes her eyes, and you hear a very suppressed squee. Her eyes open once again, as do her lips, revealing a beautiful smile.

“Ah’ll go get dressed!” And with that, she leaps up and sprints to her room. You’re a little struck, not having thought of when you’d do it, and certainly not thinking it would be immediate. You glance over to the alarm clock. 5:30. Huh, guess this was as good a time as any. You continue sitting on your bed, your mind hesitantly searching for your true motivations for this. Not finding an answer, partially due to your own fear of finding the answer, you stand up and turn your thoughts to those of preparation.

Tense legs ferry you to your dresser, and you open the few drawers you occupy. Your search is stopped halfway when you remember the clothes you’d packed. Everything was casual, save for one suit you packed, on your mother’s warning that you might be expected to go to church. Shaking your head, your mother exits your thoughts, and you pull out the suit. A solid black coat and pants, made thin and light for the warmer months; the color wasn’t particularly suited for the sun, but still, it’d be bearable. It’d been tailored to suit you, one of the few benefits of the wealthy family you had, and fit perfectly. A clean white shirt, and a plain red tie to add a bit of color. You had to admit, this was definitely your favorite suit. You strip off your T-shirt and jeans, replacing it with the comfortable cloth. Then buttoning all but the lowest, you smooth the shirt and coat down. Hmm. There’s a couple creases on it, probably from being folded and jammed into a suitcase. Well, you’ll go check it out in the mirror; you need one to make sure your tie looks right anyway. After that mishap at your junior prom, you make darn sure that you check your tie every time. Heading down to the bathroom, your eyes linger on Bloom’s door, your mind filled with visions of your future date. You enter the bathroom, greeted with an awful sight. Your jacket and pants are filled with creased lines, jagged and straight. Goodness knows how a simple suitcase ride screwed your suit up so badly, but you look atrocious. You hurry over to AJ’s room, the closest Apple, and ask her where the ironing board is.

“Why y’all needing that? And why are you wearing that suit?”

“Gonna go on a date with Apple Bloom.” Like the question that started all of this, the explanation comes out of your mouth before you think. Her slight frown tells you your honesty might not have been so prudent. You chuckle inwardly, realizing that these people may have been rubbing off on you; you never would’ve been so careless before. But you retain some of your mindfulness, and hastily explain:

“She was getting teased about never going on a date, so I figured this oughtta cheer her up. Besides, I thought it’d be fun to hang with, just me and her.” It’s the truth, if not all of it. AJ’s eyes soften, and she nods.

“Well, that’s real nice of you. I can tell you’ve been getting close to her, and I’m glad she’s got another friend who can help her out every once in a while. Same goes for you.” She smiles, happy at the connection between an Orange and an Apple: “So what’re ya gonna do?”

“Eh, get some dinner, then go see a movie.” You pause: “This town does have a movie theatre, right?” She laughs at you, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Course we do! This town ain’t that small!”

“Cool, cool. So, about that iron…” She looks down at your suit and purses her lips.

“Yeah, you’re definitely gonna need that. C’mon, I’ll show you where it is.” As she leads you to a closet and produces the tools from within, you realize there’s one more thing you need.

“Hey, can I borrow the truck?” She looks up thoughtfully, then shakes her head.

“That’s Big Mac’s, and you’d have to ask him. But Granny’s got an old Caddy in the garage if you wanna use that.” She grins coyly at you, midway through setting up the ironing board: “Me, Ah’d prefer getting taken out in that one.”

“No sh-way! What kind?”

“1987 Fleetwood Brougham, V8, painted grey with a navy blue interior.” Sounds familiar…

“That’s the one that’s real long, right? Like, a foot longer than most of the others?”

“Sure is. An’ it’s got an Astroroof too.”

“… an Astroroof? Like a sunroof?”

“Yup. I think it’s cause it’s bigger. Or they just wanted a fancier name for it. One a’ the two.” You laugh, then thank her for showing you where the iron and ironing board were. As you turn and head back to your room, she asks you:

“Well, aren’tcha gonna use it?”

“Not unless you want me to strip down to my underwear in front of you,” you retort, sending a red flush into her cheeks.

“Nah, I think I’m good there.” You head into your room, change back into your casual clothes, and sling your formalwear onto your arm. As you’re passing Bloom’s room for the third time, you notice the door slightly ajar. Two female voices converse within, and you head right on, not wanting to eavesdrop. Still, your ears are perked, straining to hear what they’re speaking about. You think you hear the word “handsome,” and grin, choosing to believe you heard right.

Your bare feet tread the carpeted floor along the way to the iron, set up far from your room. Your pace is easy, relaxed, as you’ve learned to make it. But another story is told by your less-voluntary portion: your heart beats to the rapid cadence of power metal, while your lungs suck in air as if it were going out of style. Trying to get ahold of yourself, you attempt to slow down your breaths and heart rate, to a moderate amount of success. But you couldn’t deny it: you were excited. Reaching your tools, your drop the coat onto the ironing board and set to work, working long strokes down the sleeves and body. You move it around, making sure you see it from multiple perspectives, so as not to miss anything. Once it looks sleek and flat, you drape it over your shoulders, savoring the sauna-like heat melting your shoulders and back. The pants rise and fall on the table, followed by the shirt, both receiving the same treatment. Then it’s back to the bathroom, fingers crossed for a better looking image than before. You undress, then pull on the still warm pants and shirt, followed by the coat. Oh yeah, you’re looking good. Next step is the tie. Just as you pull your collar up and place it on your neck, where it hangs down both sides, the door bursts open. It’s Apple Bloom.

Your complaint over the intrusion is stopped in your throat; gulping, you gaze entranced at the stunning model in the doorway. She’s wearing a long, black dress, with red accents over a mesmerizing pattern flowing down both of her sides. The linings on the neckline and cuffs are frilly, like a fancy lingerie, with patterns resembling those on her side. Horizontal black lines, so minute that they look almost like grooves in the material, separate the upper chest from the midsection, and such from her hips. Vertical lines cross down the lower half, extending to the bottom, which lies just below her mid-thigh. The lining of this is the same frilly form as that on the neckline and cuffs, but twice as long, the pattern visible on her delicate knees. She wears a small red coat, ending just beneath her pronounced chest, with sleeves barely reaching past her elbows. Her feet are barefoot and her face unpainted, clearly having yet to receive treatment.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know you were in here.” She cocks her head. “Why are you in here? Do you wear makeup too?” Her tone says she’s joking, so you refrain from mentioning your punk rock phase.

“Just making sure my suit’s fine, an’ my tie’s done right.” You look her in the eye, exuding seriousness. “You don’t want a badly tied tie; it’d put you in a bind.” She leans back, looking you up and down.

“Riiight. Well, you’ll be happy to know that that suit is indeed fine.” She looks to the mirror, mumbling to herself, “F-I-N-E fine.” You smile and turn to the mirror, catching her reflected gaze. She looks away, her cheeks supplying the rouge. Bringing your attention to your tie, you miss her captured stare, following you throughout the whole process. As you pull the larger end through the knot and tighten it up, her body unfreezes. You shake the knot a few times to test the comfortability, then, satisfied, pull your collar back down over it. The top buttons get buttoned, and you’re ready to go. Stepping back, both you and Apple Bloom check you out in the mirror, and reach a positive conclusion. Her lipstick stays an inch from her face, arm stuck while she holds your image in her eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be hanging out in my room whenever you’re ready.” She blinks out of her open-mouthed watch, then murmurs a rapid

“K.” Just as you’re leaving, you lean back in, looking at her partly made-up face. For the third time in just a handful of minutes, her hand freezes in mid-air as she responds to your attention.

“By the way, you look great,” you flirt in a low voice, and exit before she can react. Ok, let’s go through that checklist: Clothes: check. Compliment: check. Money; you back pocket. Not finding it, you realize your failure to transfer it, and retrieve it from the back pocket of the jeans in your arms and make sure you’ve got cash. You do, and you put it into your current back pocket. Check. Ride? You make it to your room, drop off the clothes you’d just changed out of, and make your way to Granny’s room. The door creaks open, revealing a content-looking matron lazily knitting. She’s in a rocking chair covered in complex patterns, reminding you of the pulpit of a cathedral you’d visited whilst in Europe.

“Granny?” She peers up at you, her kind face looking like one of those old saints you’ve read about. Her gracious smile seems to encompass you. You hadn’t noticed until now just how far she’d been from your idea of her: the image of the hateful, bigoted old lady was so unlike her, you could barely believe you’d expected it at all.

“What can I do for you, dear?”

“I’m taking Apple Bloom out for some food and to see a movie; AJ said you had a car I could borrow?”

“Is that so? Well, that sounds awfully nice.” She continues rocking, ever so slightly, in that ancient wooden chair. “Yes, I do. Barely used it since the accident, all those years ago.” Her eyes glaze over, revisiting that tragedy. You heart aches for your ancestor, wishing something could be done to fill the kind of gap that can’t ever be filled. Her pause ends, though your ache doesn’t:

“Ah guess it could use some lovin’, and you seem like the type to do it. You’ll find the keys with the others, on the rack in the kitchen. Can’t miss ‘em.” You smile gratefully at her.

“Thanks Granny,” you reply, then exit into the hallway. Traveling to the kitchen now, you see a rack with four sets of keys, one pair catching your eye. They’re smaller than the others, and noticeable thinner; but more than these, they look as if they’re covered in gold. It’s chipped or peeled off, obviously never being that thick, but you know that these keys were once encased in a tiny layer of gold. There’s two main keys, one square and one circular, as well as a much smaller, less ornamental one. You don’t remember that much about Cadillacs of this year, but you can tell the last is a gas tank key; the others are for the door and ignition, though you can’t remember which is which. Eh, you’ll figure it out. You drop them in your pocket, then go through your list: clothes, money, and transportation. Yup, all good. Heading back to your room, you remember the thinness of your plan: you don’t know where you’ll eat. It won’t look suave at all if you just drive around without a plan. You turn on your heel, and direct yourself towards AJ’s room. A flash of black and red disappears in a shutting door opposite you, probably Apple Bloom having finished her makeup.

“AJ, I need some help.”

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know where to go to eat, or what movie to watch.” You touches her chin with her pointer finger, and looks up, thinking.

“Let’s see... there’s Hey Burger, Ah know she likes that. Red Lobster, if you’re itchin’ for something real fancy. Oh, and Graze; they’ve got some real nice sandwiches there, especially the Sexy Time.” She narrows her eyes before you raise your eyebrows, apparently expecting that reaction. “It’s a sandwich, that’s it. Move on.”

“Sounds like you got teased about that.”

“For days.” She rolls her eyes, an exasperated sigh telling you who it is.

“Apple Bloom?”

“Gee, how’d ya guess that one? Anyway, only good ones out now are Independence Day 2 and Finding Dory. Ah think there’s a civil war one –not the Captain America kind- and some other ones, but I’d go with one of those two.”

“Finding Dory sounds good. The first one was pretty rad.”

“Yeah, Ah thought so too. Uh…” she pulls out her phone, clicking away: “Ok, show times are 7:30 and 8:45.”

“Ok, thanks.” You don’t mean to rush out of there, but Apple Bloom’s waiting.

”Anon, wait.” For the first time this evening, your heart stills, and leadenly drops into your stomach. You freeze a smile on your face, hoping not to show the worry that flows through your every inch

“Sup?”

”You’re sure this is just for fun? This ain’t you tryin’ to get.. Ah dunno, closer to Apple Bloom, or anything like that?” Ok, her face looks only moderately concerned, slightly apologetic, probably from the accusation. Think, Anon, think. What do you say? Best guess: press on that guilt, give her the same answer

“Yeah, I AM trying to get closer to Apple Bloom. She’s my cousin, and right now, just about the best friend I have. She looked unhappy, and I thought I could repay her, if just a small amount, for everything she’s done for me. She reached out to me, and now I’m reaching out to her.” This first part comes out a little snappy, but it wouldn’t work any other way. “AJ, I’m not trying to court your sister; I’m just being a friend when she needs one. Just like you and Bloom were to me.” This comes out sweeter, a kinder plea, which serves the double function of finishing your explanation on a positive note and assuaging your guilt for playing on AJ’s own. The firm response and the gentle follow up both serve to draw out the apology written in her face. After a moment, she verbalizes the expression

”Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just get kinda protective about Apple Bloom, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, a heavy weight lifted off your chest. You smile with nearly unforced carelessness, then remind her you’ve got to finish getting ready. Leaving, you realize you don’t have anything else to do. Heading back to your room, you try to plan the night out in your head, all the conversation topics and things you could do. Man, these things take a lot more time than you remembered. Or maybe it just feels that way, on account of the short time you have.

Entering your room, the figure on your bed immediately steals your attention. Apple Bloom, a vision in black and red, sits coyly on the edge, swaying legs crossed. A small bow, dipped in the flaming hues of the evening’s light, hung on her hair, just up and to the left of her left eye. Regal curls hung about her lightly bronzed face, framing the Aphrodite within it. Shadows darkened the shining coils and twists, a dim auburn making its way through the ever fading light of day. Her cheeks lightly brushed with rouge, a pair of blazing embers echoing the luscious lips that warm you so. The deep, flaming hues she adopts is perfectly complemented with the paler skin, like luminous sand containing howling bonfires. Her dazzling eyes, the hearth’s furnace that could capture hours of stares, was bordered by thick coal-black lashes, dragging in any observer to be trapped by that entrancing amber. Holy lips opened to reveal priceless pearls, the illimitable value of a Venus’ happiness. And like a camper to his crackling fire, he was loathe to leave it, wishing to stay gazing into that very particular magic for eternity. But twice, now thrice he was called, a giggling glee from a girl who didn’t mind the awe of her star struck admirer. But though your eyes managed to tear free from your reverie, your heart remained ignited, your whole body feeling ablaze.

“Anoon? Earth to Anon?”

“Uh- Hey. Sup?” A coy smile and flirtatiously blinked eyes threaten to enrapture you once more, but you fight it off. “Ready to go?”

“Yup!” Her excitement in jumping off the bed surprises you; the sudden motion and the vibrant energy within was shocking. It was as if a marble statue of Aphrodite were to suddenly wink at you, or take your hand and lead you into some lustful tango. Accommodating yourself to the vigorous life of an animate goddess, you recall the proper treatments, and hold out your arm. Beaming up at you, she takes it, and you’re on your way. Down to the Cadillac you escort her, opening her door as any true gentleman would. After a brief interruption caused by using the wrong key, of course. Two coughs cover up your embarrassed look, and you cross the car and enter the driver’s side. Fitting the key into the ignition, you notice that delightful embrace of the soft leather holding you. Lounging back, you feel the engine hum to life, taking a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the car. Hulking, aged beast that it is, a pseudo-limo, it feels and sounds like a much newer, much tinier car. Your turn aside to your precious partner, both of you immediately grinning like kids finding home on a playground. You shift into reverse, and the purring behemoth slide out the open garage. One more turn, and you accomplish that greatest of American dreams: driving off into the sunset.

On the open road, she prophesies a right-turn five minutes from now, to bring you into the town proper. Trusting her here, as you would anywhere, you affirm her directions and set your plans accordingly. And so you drive, sinking deep into your cushy seat, a veritable lounge chair that found its way into a car. You take a moment to appreciate the smoothness of the ride, only the smooth rumbling of the engine and the dated road filling the air. The thin grip of the wheel, not those fat explosions of cheap material that other cars have, but a smooth circle fitting perfectly in hand. You tilt your seat back, a laid-back position an absolute staple of a knowing driver in a luxury car like this. But your enjoyment of the treasure you drive transitions to the background as your focus shifts to the beloved girl not two feet from you. She stretches out, legs extended, and with her right arm lazily lain on the door’s armrest. Her left arm crosses the armrest in the middle, delicate fingers dangling in the air between yours and hers. Her head tilts slightly downward, eyes sleepily locked on you. Your cheeks almost hurt by how much this girl makes you grin. Slyly, you engage in a devious plot; taking the wheel in your left hand, you drop your right hand onto your armrest, hanging you hand not an inch away from hers. Oops, did I accidently shift it to be a little closer? Oh, did the turn of this car cause my hand to slide a little bit, touching yours? My goodness, did your hand end up sliding between my thumb and fingers? Gosh, are we holding hands? Well, that’s so weird. Well, it really can’t be helped at this point; might as well just keep doing it. She mirrors your mischievous smile, possibly catching onto your ingenious plan. But her hand is in yours, so the uncovering fails to bother you.

Just then, a forgotten question shucks off its status, returning to the front of your mind. The important detail shames you at having missed it into your execution of the plan.

“So, there’s a couple places we can go, and I haven’t really decided. I’ve been hearing good things about Holy Crepes, but I’ve always been a pretty big fan of P. F. Flanks. Red Lobster’s my personal favorite, but Texas Roadhouse is pretty high up
there too. Oh, and I think there’s one place you’ll really enjoy.” Her hard concentration breaks as she asks

“What?” You crinkle your eyes and direct them to hers, smirking heavily:

“Applebees.” She narrows her eyes, sending a light punch into your gut with the hand previously holding yours. Luckily, it returns to yours, the cool fingers weaving through yours, distracting you from the hurt.

“Uhff! Okay, okay, we don’t have to go there.” You chortle through the mild pain in your side. It looks like she’s even chuckling a bit too, though she’d never admit it. Back into deep thought she returns, touching the pointer finger of her right hand to her chin in the same way her older sister does.

“Hmmmmm.” After a steady amount of time, the best Apple nods, coming to a confident decision: Texas Roadhouse.” You nod at her, happy with the decision.

“Texas Roadhouse it is.” In a second, her hand –the right, her left hand is still attached to your right- reaches to the radio, and turns it on. For the second time this week, you’re faced with RaeLynn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T551UQYQU2g. You sigh, trying to keep your cringing grimace from being seen. The low light of the car helps hide it, while the jubilant singing of Apple Bloom and the continual glances at you during the chorus help diminish the distress over having to listen to country. Her hand leaves yours as she does her best to dance in the passenger seat, but the perfect happiness of her short-range dancing is enough to remove any misery that might have resulted.

At the end of her rocking out, you place your forearms on the wheel, and clap with your now-freed hands. She sends another radiant grin your way, and takes a little bow.

“Alright, it’s my turn.” You press the seek button, looking for a better station. Pop, pop, alternative (pop), hard rock, classic rock, pop… what’s this?

“Weeeelcome back to Rewind 92.5, WREE! All oldies, all the time! Next up we’ve got the late, great, king of Dixeland, B-B-Bob Crosssby!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ir1A74UA2YE. Oh, heck yes. Apple Bloom looks at you questioningly, questioning your taste in music.

“Oldies? Really?

“Ain’t nothing wrong with ol’ Bob Crosby,” you respond, between your staggered singing of the half-remembered song.

“You realize this is the kind of thing Granny listens to, right?”

“Well, now it’s the kind of thing Granny and your awesome cousin listens to.” She chuckles just a bit, watching you belt out as much as you can. At the end, she joins you, drawing out the final refrain in her adorable little voice. The two of you continue flipping stations, singing along with whatever songs stayed on. The exquisitely formed car continues gliding into the town proper, open windows accepting the warm air of the incoming summer night. The blackening fields yield to lighted houses, then yielding to the bright signs of stores. Indistinguishable figures zip by, the out-of-focus blurs having no cognizance of the two riders in that beautiful car, and the destiny that connected them. Like a space shuttle, the laughing kids traveled as if through empty space, the immense importance and happiness of both thrusting all else into an inconsequential nothingness. The car streaked along the sparse streets, faint music and wind-combatting hands leaving the window and cutting into that pleasant night air. A final turn brings the two partners into the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse.

You turn the car off, then get out. As she crosses over to you on the way in, she reaches for your hand. Instead of taking it, you cover her shoulder with your arm, then pull her close. Appreciating the intimacy, she leans into you, both arms encircling the middle of your chest. Her face pulls close to your body, and you swear she just smelled you. Good thing you remembered to shower and use deodorant today. Looking down at the girl attached to you, you beam at her, simultaneously grateful that she somehow finds you worth attaching to and proud of being worth such invaluable attention. She looks up at you, matching your ecstatic expression, and the two of you enter into the restaurant. Sat down by a server, you’re asked if she can start you off with anything. Glancing at the menu, you order a Pepsi and some Cheese Fries to start you off. The first is denied, and Coke is offered in its place. You shrug and agree; your date mirrors your drink order, told that she’d be sharing the appetizer. The server disappears into the already quiet restaurant, and the two of you are left alone with your dinner options.

“Whaddya thinking?”

“Well, this Pulled Pork Dinner looks good, but it’s a tad expensive.” You can tell she’s testing the waters, seeing what she can order. It doesn’t bother you; you’ve had to do that a couple times when others offered to buy you food. Also, you got to give her the best answer possible:

“Bloom, don’t worry about the price. I’m loaded.” Not expecting this answer, you’re greeted with a disbelieving look.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, my parents are pretty rich, and they’re big fans of the give-the-kids-money-and-they’ll-shut-up approach, so… yeah.” She can tell you’re having trouble focusing on the good fortune over the unfortunate source of it, and tries to displace your attention.

“Well then, I’ll get that. What are you looking at?” She finds no hesitation in your answer.

“Porterhouse T-Bone.” The suddenness of the answer causes her to laugh a bit at your solid response.

“You’re pretty confident in that, huh?”

“It’s a steak. It’s a T-Bone. That’s all there is to it.” The two of you talk idly while the server returns with the appetizer. Minor lapses occur, when one of the parties trails off in their speaking or fails to listen, instead dreamily staring at the other partner, neither of which could be bothered by the compliment. How she came to be so interested in your appearance, and so evidently pleased, was not quite certain to you; you didn’t look bad, but you’d never considered yourself the apple of anyone’s eye. As the thought passes through your head, you make note of it, knowing the pun would be worth pulling out later. Your date, however, was unequivocally the best girl you’ve taken out: the adorable laugh and voice, the majesty of her dress and makeup, the easy and intimate conversation and connection, it was almost too perfect to believe. Her looks and personality, the combination of simple kindness and the elegance of her outfit did not clash, but came together perfectly, reminding one of those carefree, fair princesses in children’s storybooks. The nobility of her outfit and virtuous kindness, which you had not seen stop for one moment, made her seem royal, and deservedly so, not like some usurper king or scheming aristocrat. The memory of her calling you’re her knight, and before that, her noble steed, cross your mind, and you take an immense pleasure in imagining yourself either. To serve her… your thoughts trail off, your eyes once again blissfully stuck on her dignified countenance.

Conversation and ogling halts as the steaming pile of fries, covered in cheese and bacon liberally piled on it. The two of you, more famished than either of you had realized, dug in. The white plate beneath the food is quickly and steadily uncovered, and both parties sit back, satisfied. The conversation resumes as the mostly empty plate is pushed to the side.

“So, what are your plans for the summer?”

“Well, mostly looking for a job that doesn’t suck. Something to do with cars or something. You were there for that, right?” She nods. “Yeah, that’s… really the only thing I have planned. Probably just call on some pals and tear up the town.” A confusing look appears on her priceless face.

“Ah don’t really know what that means…”

“Oh, uh…” You pause, trying to figure out what exactly it is you do. “Just going to clubs and whatnot. Drink, maybe a bit more…” You trail off, not particularly fond of sharing this part of your life with Apple Bloom. “I dunno, whatever people do when they hang out. It’s more about the people than the activity, know what I mean?” She nods her head vigorously.

“Exactly! That’s why hanging out with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle is always so much fun! Even if we end up in trouble or making a mess, we always enjoy it.” You nod your head, happy that she gets it.

“Yeah, as long as you’re with good friends, just about anything can be fun.”

“So who’re your friends?” Uh. You weren’t prepared for that either.

“Well, I guess there’s Zach and Taylor. They live pretty close to me, and our parents know each other from work. I guess they’re ok...” Apple Bloom raises an eyebrow at this, sensing your hesitance to call them friends. You respond, deciding honesty is the better course in this situation. “I guess the only real friends I had were Katrina and Carl. I’m not super close with them any more though.” Her eyes, wide and open, draw you out, as if telling you to go on.

“I met them both in sophomore year, in the band. I think they were dating at the time, but they weren’t super serious. Anyway, I got real close to both of them, and we’d hang out every day after school, talking about anything: metaphysics, our parents, emotional problems, and so forth. They’d broken up sometime around then, but they were still really good friends. Anyway, we would talk for hours on end, either one-on-one or all three of us.” You laugh, interrupting the story when you recall the next part. “We’d usually walk as we did it, and forget where we were going. Like, one time me and Katrina were getting really into this conversation about cloning, and then this real loud, gruff voice starts screaming at us. Turns out we’d wandered right into a construction site, right as they were going home for the night, without even knowing!” Apple Bloom snickers at the predicament; you continue once her attention’s returned.

“Yeah, stuff like that happened all the time. We’d end up miles from our homes, right when night was falling. Once I interrupted Carl to point out this straight up commando-looking dude marching towards us, all decked out in camo and everything. I still don’t know what it was, cause we just up and ran.” Now Apple Bloom’s looking almost shocked, afraid for past-you’s safety.

“You what?? Anon, that could have been some big ol’ military thing? That guy coulda shot you or sumthin’!” You aren’t catch the concern, instead noticing how her accent grows more pronounced when she gets surprised or emotional about something.

“It’s fine, Bloom. I mean, I’m ok now, right.”

“Ah guess… Watch where you’re going from now on, though!” You laugh, but remain appreciative of her concern.

“Alright, Apple Bloom. I promise.” You hold out your pinkie, offering the unbreakable promise of your youth.

“Cross your heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in your eye?” You stare at her for more than a few second, uncomprehending. It takes you a second to voice your absolute lack of understanding.

“W-What?” She revels in her ownership of a mystery, and the resulting puzzlement, before deciding to reveal her secret.

“It’s a very special promise that my friend Pinkie made up. It’s literally unbreakable.” Wide eyes of credulity and a fervent head nod make you wonder whether she’s being serious or not. Even so, you’ll humor her.

“Ok, I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a-

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You gotta do the motions!” She repeats the promise, crossing her heart, making wings with her hands, Napoleon Dynamite style, and hits her eye with a palm in accordance with the three vows. Man, this was some pretty serious business.

“Ok, ok. I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a… cupcake… in my eye.” You go along with the motions as she did them, much to her delight.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, tell me what happened with Carl and Katrina.” Oh yeah; you’d kinda forgotten about them.

“Well, Katrina started flirting with me, more than a little bit. We never really got anywhere, just a couple makeouts, but like, it still made things a bit weird. Then I guess she went back to Carl, cause they started hanging out a lot more. Anyway, we just kinda drifted apart. I still talk to them now and then, but it just isn’t the same.

“Ah- Ah’m sorry, Anon.” Turning to Apple Bloom, the lovely girl restores your spirits, letting you see the warmer side of the memory.

“It’s alright,” you assure her, not really broken up about the memory. “And even though it faded out, I still had some great times with them. I didn’t love them quite as much as you guys.” You pause, distracted by her massive smile at this, “but I did care about them a lot. And for a while, they really cared about me too.” She reaches over to your hand, laid on the table, and grasps it.

“Ah’m sure they did. Y’know, I’m real glad you had some friends back home; I- we were a bit worried you didn’t have any, you know, actual friends.”

“Well, you know how it goes; good friends come and go. But why don’t we talk about something else. Like, your plans for the summer. I’m sure they’re much better than mine.” She laughs, but doesn’t affirm the clear truth.

“Well, we got Apploosa coming up,” she says with excitement. “That’s the big Apple family get-together. Oh my gosh, it’s so much fun! There’s dancing, and singing, and apples!” Her face falls a bit when she thinks of your absence: “Wish you could be there, though…” You smile reassuringly.

“Hey, maybe I could come back down for that. When is it.”

“About two weeks from now.” You nod, touching your finger to your lip. Her eyes notice, tracking the motion. She looks perplexed for a minute, trying to figure out why the motion looks familiar; then triumph, when she does recall.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be able to do that.” She smiles wide, both because of your imitation and future plans.

“Awesome!” Right then the main entrée comes along, great piles of meat placed before shining, eager faces. And again the conversation pauses as the two of you devour your meals. Oh man, this is absolutely delicious. Halfway through and slowing down, you remind yourself to come back here again. Slowing down, you set the rest of your meal aside to be boxed for later. No way was this going to waste. Looking across the table, you find your date slowing down as well. The ravenous feast subsiding, you ask her something that’s been on your mind.

“So, how did the Cutie Mark Crusaders get formed?” She beams, and after wiping off her face with the napkin, begins the retelling. You can just feel the excitement exuding from her, like water off a girl climbing out of the pool.

“It all started back in the sixth grade. Wait.” She stops herself, shaking her head. “No no no, let me start again. Ok, so I told ya about Cutie Marks, right?”

“Yeah, a little picture symbolizing your purpose or dream.” She nods seriously, your definition found acceptable.”

“That’s it. So what we do is go over to Rarity’s –she does all the fashion stuff- and we tell her what our purpose is, what we’re gonna do. Sometimes you get a little image in your head, and you tell describe that for her. Then she’ll make a little badge for you. But it’s usually only the kids that wear those; adults keep em somewhere safe, and get the symbol sewn onto pieces of clothing, possessions, you name it. So that’s important for later.

“In third grade, everyone in my class but me had their own Cutie Mark, and those girls Ah was telling ya about kept pickin’ on me. Wait no, there was one other girl who didn’t have hers. Anyway, we got teased a ton, and it was just awful! Diamond Tiara was having a party celebrating hers, and Ah was gonna try to get one for myself. Rainbow Dash told me that the key was to try as many things as possible as quickly as possible, so Ah did a whole buncha stuff with her and Pinkie, but nothing’ felt right. Ah even tried lying to Rarity, saying Ah got mine in cupcake makin’. Ah think she found me out though, cause she got all squinty an’ asked me to demonstrate. An’, uh,” she looks sheepishly to the side, “that didn’t turn out so good.

“So Ah was just gonna not go, but they were holding the party at Rarity’s! Where Ah was! Ah have no idea how everyone got there without me seein’, but there was a whole mess a people between me an’ the door! Ah tried sneakin’ out, you know, hiding under tables and whatnot, but then AJ,” at the mention of the then-impending obstacle, Apple Bloom glares in the direction of home, “AJ blocks my exit, an pushes me back in! Diamond Tiara an’ Silver Spoon were right there! So Ah told em that Ah did have one, an’ they asked if they could see it; Ah had a Power Rangers badge in my pocket, a little sticker thing, so Ah-“ You hold up a hand, not letting that slide.

“Hold on a sec. You were carrying around a sticker of a Power Rangers badge.” She nods, and tries to continue.

“Yup, so-“

“Apple Bloom, why did you have a sticker of a Power Rangers badge?”

“Cause Power Rangers are awesome!” She shouts, a little too loud. Seeing the stares of the two other patrons, a faint blush makes its way through the already red cheeks. “Now, if you don’t mind me finishin’…

“Ah almost fooled em; those girly girls probably ain’t ever heard of anything cool in their lives. But then that gosh darn Snips came up, all ‘Cool sthticker, Apple Bloom! I didn’t know you liked Power Rangerth!’” she imitates a lisping, nasally voice. “An then they found out! Just when Ah was about to be the laughingstock of Ponyville, Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle came to my rescue. They told off Diamond Tiara, and everyone suddenly thought we were cool! We decided right then we were gonna be best friends forever, and made a secret club dedicated to finding our purpose in life.” She ends with a little flourish and a bow.

“That’s awesome, Apple Bloom! Man, I can see why you’re such good friends with them.” She nods proudly,

“Yup! The best part is, they were transferring into my school the next Monday, so we all gotta sit next to each other! We still haven’t found out what we’re all supposed to do,” she frowns slightly, obviously not unaffected by the failure. “But you know what? Ah’ve had some a the best times of my life with those girls, and Ah’m gonna have even more fun in the future!”

“Sounds like your group’s a success then.”

“That’s how Ah’m seeing it. Ah used to be real bothered, not knowing what Ah’m gonna do, or if Ah even have that special talent.” Her gaze grimly focuses on the table, but only temporarily. She looks up towards you, filled with determination: “But we’re gonna find it!”

“Well, I don’t think you gotta worry too much about not finding your special thing, Apple Bloom. Most of the people I know don’t have a clue what they’re gonna do, or what they wanna be.” Your server comes and clears your table, except for a couple boxes for your leftovers. You make use of them, then check your watch: 6:45. You still had another forty-five minutes to be at the theatre, thirty if you count bein’ there early.

“Hey, we still got some time. Wanna get some ice cream?” She pats her stomach, making a displeased face at the thought of more food.

“Right now, Ah’m stuffed. But how about after the movie?”

“Yeah, sounds good. But we still got, like, half an hour to kill. What do you wanna do?”

“Well, there’s a little arcade by the theatre? Ah hear that’s pretty fun.” It sounds pretty fun to you.

“That sounds good to me.” You set down some money in the black leather foldy-thingy the server left you, the bill and a handsome tip, and head out. She’s a few steps ahead of you, so you call out:

“Hey, what’re you doing?” She whips around, looking confused. “You just gonna walk out of here without your escort?” You get up next to the giggling girl and offer your arm. Taking on a posh accent, she says

“Oh, why thank you, good sir. I can’t imagine how I could’ve forgotten! What ever would I do without you?”

“Oh good heavens I haven’t the slightest idea, my dear!” The two of you look at each other, and break out in simultaneous noblewoman laughs:

“Oh ho ho ho ho! Oh ho ho ho! Oh hohohohohohoo!” Seeing the patrons and associates staring at you, you pick up the pace:

“Come on, let’s get out of here before they throw us out.” She giggles again, and the two of you powerwalk over to the gray sedan. Strapping yourself into the seats, you drive out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Your date leans heavily on her left armrest, golden eyes settled firmly on you. Her body faces you, the small red coat slightly open, framing her chest in a way that makes your own tighten. Noticing the rapt, undeserved attention centered on your face, you lean back a little more and jut your chin out a tad, like the cool kids do. Yeah, I don’t think this is working. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to be aware of your failure, or perhaps she just doesn’t care. Glimmering eyes still shinning, the melodious notes of her southern voice request stories.

“Ah wanna hear more about the city, Anon. Tell me what you do for fun. Like, if we were there right now, what we be doing?” Man. You know what, enough about you. You mean, you love yourself and all, but it feels like a huge chunk of this trip has been wasted on every detail of your life. You’re willing to spend so much time focusing on yourself for the sake of entertaining her, but you’ve gone pretty far past your preferences. There’s a girl, a vision wreathed in the colors of a roaring fire, beside you; no way are you gonna saturate this date with chatter about you when you could focus on here.

“Apple Bloom, I feel like I’ve been constantly telling everyone about myself this whole week. How about you tell me more about you, instead?” Her eyes seem slightly regretful, partially due to her failure to achieve another story and to her worry that she’s made you uncomfortable. She purses her lips, and hesitantly agrees.

“Fine, but what am Ah gonna talk about?” You shrug your shoulders, gaze darting off the road and onto the radiance in the passenger seat, then back.

“I don’t know, anything. Something you did, something you like to do…” You head moves up and down as you throw out ideas, knowing anything about her will be worth hearing. She faces forward, turning her body back to the windshield. The warm light of the interior lights, located just below and in front of the seat, gives the thinking figure a faint glow. The light is brighter towards the source, the girl’s outline growing fainter as it runs to her head, but illuminating the spotless legs. They almost looked white, or a lightly browned silver in the soft glow . The smooth legs were crossed, kicking ever so slightly as she thought of a story. A grinding rumble tears you away from your cousin’s lithe, perfect legs. As the boring road jerks itself into view, you sullenly accept the necessity of staring at the black and yellow picture, rather than the much lovelier image of Apple Bloom. As you inwardly lament your ocular setback, your ears run into their own fortune.

“Ah got it!” You feel excited, the impending story somehow sending your heart beating faster. You blame it on the night; dates always brought out the romantic in you. That’s pretty much half of their purpose anyway. Still, you can’t suppress that small part of you that holds the undefeatable truth: you are captivated by this girl.

“What is it?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what Ah did today.”

“Sure, I’d love to hear it.” Your focus drifts of her for a moment, as you remark to yourself the influence the Apples have had on you. That sentence would never sincerely come from you before; what are these people doing to you?

“Alright, so I was supposed to meet Scootaloo at her house, right around 12:00…”

This game’s harder than you thought it’d be. You stare intensely at the board, trying to remember all the rules. To be honest, you were kinda preoccupied at the time Anon was explaining the rules. To be fair, it was by his voice, but you couldn’t be blamed for that, could ya? Every once in a while that tone a his would hit this level; you couldn’t really explain it, but it just caught you all up. All you could do was just nod along, hoping those entrancing notes would continue. Still, you were left without a clue what you where supposed ta be doin’. Now where do Ah put my ship this time? Huh. Come on, Anon, why’d ya hafta pull out the one game in our cupboard that Ah haven’t played before? About to tug on your cousin’s shirt for help, you notice the clock behind him: “1:10.” Wait, weren’t you s’posed to be… Oh no!

“Oh no! Ah was supposed to meet Scootaloo ten minutes ago!” Your big sister immediately jumps up, running into the kitchen. You’re in close pursuit, your thoughts all devoted to worry. What if she left without you? What if you were a bad friend? You shake your head, feeling you’re the small ribbons of your bow tickle your face. No, you’re not gonna fall into that trap again. You’ve wigged out too many times over nothing to not learn anything. A firm nod of determination forces the last specters of anxiety from the front of your mind, and you jump into the waiting car.

“Hold on,” the heavier voice of AJ comes, your hands automatically clinging to the armrests of the Big Mac’s truck. You can hear her foot on the gas pedal before the engine roars, followed by the car swerving out of the garage and into the dirt road leading up to the house. The sudden motion, even though you’re used to it by now, still elicits a small “eep!” from you. As the kicked up dirt forms low clouds in the rearview mirror, a small bit of your heart sinks upon seeing the shrinking house. You didn’t say goodbye to Anon. Just a small thing, sure. But you wish you had.

Minutes later, speed limits sacrificed by your older sister’s sympathy for your goals, the truck coughs a dying breath in front of Scoot’s house.

“Are ya sure you got everything?” your sister says, always looking out for you. You can’t help but laugh at her sticking to the presently needless tradition.

“Ah don’t need anything, so yeah, Ah think I’m fine.” Your sister tries to force a frown outta that smile. Even she knows she can be a bit silly at times.

“Well alrighty then. You have fun now, y’hear?”

“Wait a minute!” You think for a minute, then stop your request short: “Nevermind. See ya, sis!” Turning away from your older sister’s confusion, you hop up the stone steps to the house. The screen door dangles from a couple screws, all located at the top left. You pull it out of the way, using a nearby plant to keep it from swinging back at you. Ignoring the numerous treasure’s your friend’s family has accumulated, you enter into the living room. Hairy legs protrude from the couch, a few grey wisps over a sparkling dome appearing just over its armrests.

“Hi, Mr. Dash!” A vague grunting tumbles over the blue leather, potentially an answer. “Is Scootaloo here?” Another ominous wheeze floats over to your ears, definitely an answer, definitely not English. Just when your fears of a failed hang-out return, AJ’s friend makes her way through a clogged hallway, pizza box in hand. Tossing it near the trash, she notices you fidgeting by her father’s couch.

“Hey Apple Bloom,” the tomboyish voice yawns, hand outstretched and ready to tussle your hair. You duck out of the way; not this time, Dashie! Her hand retracts automatically, the owner’s failure to notice showing the motion to be unconscious. “You looking for Scoots?”

“Yeah, is she here?” You timidly ask, hoping she is.

“Nope.” NO! “She said to tell you she’s at your, uh… secret place. Oh, and Sweetie was able to make it too.” YES.

“Cool, thanks Dash.” You dodge the treasures stacked up as high as you, and leap through the remains of the sliding glass door. Moments later the crunch of your shoes on broken glass and concrete gives way to the soft thumping of grass. Making sure not to tread on any of the brightly covered flowers popping out of the colorful property, you run into the forest beyond.

This was already going better than you’d thought it would; you were sure Sweetie wouldn’t be able to make it. As your legs propel you over a log in the path, you grin at the momentary feeling of weightlessness. You’d ran through these woods often, though rarely without your friend. Running had always been a tremendous joy for you, the feel of your legs pumping and springing forward holding a particular kind of freedom that could always be relied upon. It was no secret that you felt cooped up by this town, sometimes in your own home; Scootaloo felt the same way. And so the two of you had decided to run together, through fields and forests, anywhere that bore the possibility of holding something new. The forest had almost been mapped out in your heads, the time to cover old ground rushing towards you. But that didn’t bother you too much; for one, you’d loved every minute you’d flown through the thick leaves, and the forest was so big that old ground might feel new. But there was something else the wood had brought you.

About two years ago, the two of you had found a small clearing, not five minutes out from the house. It wasn’t big, just a rough circle of thin trees with a diameter of about 30 feet. The trees thickened around the perimeter, making it somewhat hard to get into; they were hard to get by, and thick bushes lied around it, further isolating that circle. As it wasn’t so thick (the forest was pretty full, anyway), one’s path would naturally get routed around it, unless some adventurous spirit called them to brave the branches and bushes. So far, only you and Scootaloo had been called by that urge to conquer ever inch of the wild, and you’d never found a trace of another in that area. But the spot was so much more than that natural perimeter. The trees surrounding it didn’t have intruding branches, leaving the area ceiling-less. So in that wide area, the sun shone unhindered, one of the few places in the forest where such a wide area of uninterrupted light could be found. Scootaloo swore it was man-made, though you weren’t so sure. Maybe nature, or God, set aside this little place, just for the two of you. Well, make that three. After you’d found it, it become the spot for your secret clubhouse.

Rejecting the notion of any outside help, the three of you had spent countless days working on this area. One entrance had been opened, the trees and foliage around it trimmed and cut, leaving a short entrance for the short residents. A blanket had been covered with glue and tape (Sweetie Belle and Scoots couldn’t decide which was superior), and then bushels of leaves dropped on it, followed by similar coats. This was hung on the trees on either side of the entrance, creating a surprisingly effective secret entrance. A couple tents had been pitched, then fused together, a nylon Frankenstein rising from the grass. This two had been systematically covered with leaves and refuse from bushes, so as not to alert any outsider’s to its presence. Within, furtive meetings were led, mysterious crushes announced, and classified Cutie Mark escapades executed.

One remnant from the last of these remained, a large garden constantly added to. A pump was brought in, along with a large container; with it, you could siphon water from the nearby stream and bring it back into the container. There was a hose too, and with the pressure brought in by the pump, you could spray the plants, if only for a couple minutes. The idea was all yours, and you were darn proud of it; watering with cans took way too long, and needed like, a hundred trips to the river and back. So you’d gotten just a little mechanical advice from Big Mac, who totally didn’t expect anything, and fixed it up yourself.

Your mind turns back to the lush forest around you, and open your mouth in wonder at the sight created. Moving into the thicker part of the forest, the light had taken on a strange tone, one that never ceased to amaze you. Staring up at the scattered canvas of greens and browns, with just enough light flowing through the gaps, the world had taken on a kind of mid-day twilight. The dense foliage and greenery around you did not look like some plain forest in the day, but such as touched by that particular magic of dusk or dawn. It was a darkness filling your vision, but not the coal-black or shadowy kind; rather, it was a very restrained filter, the point before the eyes had to squint. Only this particular sight was prolonged, being caused by the partial blocking of the potent sun by the mild roof of leaves, rather than a failing sun falling.

This must be what the explorers felt like, those who’d lived their whole life in one place and found another fundamentally different. For no matter how many times you’d seen this strange half-light, you found yourself the recipient of a mysterious burst of energy. You were taught early on the wonder of the Earth, the beauty of God’s creation. And it was a lesson that stuck; everywhere you went you searched for that unique property that made a place special, and very rarely you failed to find it. You always feel kind of silly and old-fashioned when you told people it, but you couldn’t bare not to share this needless secret: life was incredible. It was unclear why the beauty of this place, or any place for that matter, was made private, something unusual to notice, even by those who lived there. What could you do but try to share it, to uncover the beauty inherent in everywhere God worked?

But today, your thoughts were not on philosophy. Today, you were a girl running in paradise, and there was nothing you’d rather be. Invigorated by the perfection surrounding you, your legs accelerated, moving forward by leaps and bounds. You couldn’t help but to laugh gaily as you did so, running your hand across the outstretched leaves that lined the walkway. A tall, fallen log had set itself in your way, and like every time, you grinned as you prepared to clear it. Two feet away, you take one slower step, crouching down with it; then extend! You push the ground with all the might in your legs, and spring over the obstructer with practiced ease. You raise your arms in triumph, letting out a small “woo” through your heavy breathing. Not long after you see a landmark declaring the end of your journey.You could hear the spray in the distance, confirming the base’s close proximity to you.

Not too long after, the entrance appeared in its distance, your eye trained to catch the trees near it. You run up to it, and duck under the heavy curtain. There you see your two best friends in the whole wide world. Sweetie Belle is setting up a tall mirror, which looks as if it folds in half. Near to her, leaning against one of the tent walls, is a thick roll of shiny material, looking somewhat like aluminum foil, except it’s almost three feet long and six inches thick. Your gaze wonderingly lingers on it, then passes to the other girl. Scootaloo stands casually over the thick flora coating most of the inner perimeter. Her back is to you, her head turned to the left, as she speaks with Sweetie. The weak deluge is missing the plants entirely, falling instead on the trees behind. Immediately you rush over to the nozzle of the jury-rigged container, and turn off the water.

“Come on, Scootaloo! You’re gonna waste all the water!” You chide her, remembering the struggle of bringing the water up from the stream.

“Oh. Sorry.” She responds, also recalling the need to be careful. She drops the house on the ground. “So Sweetie Belle had a different idea for today than we did.” You turn over to Sweetie, who’s successfully set up the mirror, just tall enough for each of you to see yourself in.

“Ah’m guessing it has something to do with that mirror.”

“Not exactly,” Scootaloo replies, pointing to the large roll of the reflective material. Closer to it now, you can see your reflection more clearly. It’s a lot closer to a mirror than foil, your semi-sharp features visible on the surface of it, though somewhat warped due to the curvature of the roll.

“Nope! That’s just because we need a little more homey feelings around here. Also, we could see if our Cutie marks are in make-up, or fashion!” Her voice squeaks, not unlike yours, on that last syllable. Scootaloo looks at you with both a grimace and eyes hoping you feel the same. You return the look; makeup and fashion are fine and all that, but it ain’t really your thing. Ah mean, for special occasions, yeah, but you aren’t aiming to make it a common thing.

“Alright, so what were you thinking?”

“Well, instead of seeing if we could get our Cutie Marks in, uh, long-distance hiking,” her displeasure at the prospect is nearly palpable, “we could try dancing!” Scoots is skeptical, but you’ll hear her out. You were hankering for some exercise, something to do with your constant energy, but this seemed as good an option as hiking.

“Ah’m listenin’.”

“Ok, well, I found this weird stuff in Rarity’s room today,” she explains, moving over to the roll. The sound it makes is metallic, confirming its similarity to aluminum. Gesturing inside the tent, she lugs it in, followed by the other two Crusaders. “I thought, hey, we could wrap the inner walls of the tent with this, make, like, a mirror room, and then have a dance party!” That sounds awesome!

“That sounds awesome!” You shout, jumping up in excitement. Once you saw a music video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and there was this one part where a guy got in a box that had its insides covered in mirrors, and he danced around with those airplane traffic directing flashlight things. The memory sparked immediately, and that was all you needed. You turn to Scootaloo, who still looks unimpressed.

“Come on, isn’t it a little dark in here for that?” She does have a point. Not a bunch of light makes it through the tent walls; and even with the battery operated lamps you brought in, it’s still kinda dim. But Sweetie Belle has no such qualms.

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it so great! Rarity took me to one of those dancing clubs for high schoolers up in Manhattan, and it was just as dark there.” Your mind veers off the debate while you wonder if Anon goes to those clubs. Maybe you could visit him sometime, and do that… Your finger drops off your lips, where it’d made its perch, and you tune back into your friends.

“I say we should take a vote,” declares the firm Sweetie, dead set on the dancing.

“Uh, ok…” comes the sullen agreement, the purple-haired youth far less sure of her victory than her marshmallowy opponent. She looks over at you, the only undecided party of the three. Her face is pleading as much as the face of a punky rebel can “Come on, AB, don’t you think that long-distance hiking is more likely to be your purpose than dancing? Think of all the runs we’ve had.” You were leaning pretty heavily towards dancing, but Scootaloo kind of has a point there. Hiking was something you really liked, and even though you liked dancing, you never felt like it was your thing.

“Uh…” You look to Sweetie, ready to hear the other side.

“Maybe she’s right, but I gotta bring this back today, before Rarity finds out its missing. And we can do that hiking thing any time. Besides, this could be my Cutie Mark, even if it isn’t yours.” An excellent rebuttal; you take the arguments as a means to unleash your inner desire to imitate Anthony Kiedis.

“Sorry Scootaloo. Gotta vote for dancing.” Sweetie Belle jumps up, performing the very rare mid-air, double fist bump combo.

“Yesss!” Scootaloo shrugs, not as opposed to the idea of dancing as Sweetie Belle and you had thought.

“Fine. We’ll do the hiking thing next week.” Sweetie Belle’s cheerful façade falters for a moment as she realizes she hasn’t yet escaped the hike. But when she spies the mirror wallpaper, she grins again, happily anticipating the next few hours. Right as she and Scootaloo are about to unwrap it, she jerks her head up.

“Hey!” She looks over at Scootaloo. “Don’t you have a disco light in your room?” Scootaloo nods, a huge grin forming on her face once she realizes Sweetie’s plan.

“Yeah, I do. Here, let me go get it. Apple Bloom, can you get this for me?” You sure can. Scootaloo jogs out of the tent while you head over to Sweetie. The two of you discuss plans to coat the inside of the tent. The end plan is to just tape the end to one side of the tent’s door, then walk around the large, octagonal tent, taping the tops and bottoms to the walls and floors. That way, it’ll be solid, so you can just take off the tape and wrap it back up, instead of cutting it up. As you start the work, Sweetie Belle furtively asks you

“So, is Anon still here?” Your heart beats a little bit faster as you answer.

“Uh, yeah, he’s still here.” You’re suspicious of her eyes. They’re crinkled and squinty, while a thin smile spreads across her face, like she’s poking fun of something.

“Oooooh,” she says, like it’s a juicy bit of gossip. Though considering how little time you spent around gossipers and juicy stuff, this was probably up there by your group’s standards. ”So, didja kiss him yet?” Your eyes widen, not expecting that question. You lean back, feeling your face burn. Sweetie Belle still has that conspiratorial look to her, unfazed by the horrified face of her best friend. “Did you kiss him yet? Or are you waiting for later?” So, when you heard that Anon would be visiting, you may have been a little bit excited to be living with an older boy from the city. And when he arrived, looking careless and exhausted from the train, you may have been just a teensy bit infatuated with him. The laid-back pose, the sunglasses; he was everything Rainbow Dash had taught you about coolness. And then, after he’d been injured and you’d tended to his lips… well, let’s just say that sharing your feelings with Sweetie Belle was a heat of the moment thing. And boy, was there a lot of heat.

“Uh, you know, Ah’m not even sure if Ah’m gonna.” you answer your friend hesitantly, no longer feeling the passion of that moment. Sweetie looks stricken, and moves in close.

“But, you said you were gonna…” Yeah… there may have been a small plan to kiss him involved. In fact, there may have been a solid hour of plotting together with Sweetie and Scootaloo after walking in on Anon walking out of the shower. Sources state that that definitely might have been a factor. “You’d better get on it fast, before Scoots does.” your friend warns you, forming a pit in your stomach.

Scootaloo had mirrored your fierce desire, having been flirting with him since square one. She was up for helping you “get closer” –as had been the code word- since you’d started talking about him, but after seeing him, had become a fierce competitor. The thought of her kissing Anon, arms wrapped around each tightly, his hands slowly moving to- You shake your head, trying to get the thought out. Expectant eyes greet you as you exit the frightful fantasy, obligating you to answer. The inescapable "yes" of your desire to win Anon floats through your head, but you’re not ready to give into it just yet. You mean, what could you do? This wasn’t exactly an area you’d had a lot of expertise in.

“But Ah’ve got no idea what to do!
“Ah mean, what if he thinks Ah’m weird, or doesn’t wanna hang out with me?” You protest, your courage failing.

But while you were faltering, Sweetie stood straight before you, an iron will in her gaze.

“Apple Bloom, you are AWESOME.” her voice cracks on the last word, as she closes her eyes to accent its importance, “He isn’t gonna think you’re weird, or not wanna hang out with you. Heck, if anything Rarity taught me is true, he’ll probably wanna hang out with you more.” Her pep talk is slightly hindered by her very high-pitched voice, but the words are appreciated. “You want to kiss Anon, right?” You’re tempted to say no, the dramatization of a chance desire feeling out of place. The thought of Anon’s lips return to your mind, a rose-colored memory bringing out a happy smile from you. But still, this wasn’t the hyped up, heart-bursting crush your friend wanted to make it. Nevertheless, you did care for Anon; the fact that he lived inside such an awful tragedy broke your heart. And the fact that he could still be so strong throughout it, so kind and caring to you and everyone else. A soft sigh breaks through your smile: no doubt about it, your cousin was really something. Even though it wasn’t as consuming as your friends made it out to be, it definitely felt like more than an attraction to a cute boy. There was this weight to it; you’re not really sure how to describe it. But you’ve wanted to kiss boys before, and this was definitely deeper than that. This was Anon, not some boy. The cool kid from the city, the kind cousin who’d shared his heart, the silly boy who’d given you piggyback rides.

Your attention falls from the rosy dreams, and problem of your feelings. What did you feel for Anon. There was a little bit of push from the other girls to make it into a crush. Heck, even a little bit from yourself; it just felt better to put a label on it, and it was fun to make something of it.

So you assumed it was just a little crush, not entirely wanting to deal with the unknown. Still, treating it like this felt… you don’t know. Just kinda wrong.
Problem was, you didn’t know if it was because you didn’t like him that much -Ah mean, it’s only been a couple days- or because you cared about him more than any of your other crushes. You groan inwardly, and put your attention of the uncomfortable topic and back on Sweetie’s query. That was definitely something you could be sure of: you wanted to kiss him. Heck, maybe it’d even clear things up for you. Despite worrying about your deep affection appearing as the latest turn of a capricious heart, you affirm your friend.

“Yeah, Ah do.”

“Well then go get it! He’d be lucky to have you do it.” You grin at your friend, genuinely appreciating the cheers. You bring her into a hug, thanking her for the support, and promising

“Sure. Soon as I get the chance. Now can we get this mirror stuff going?”

“Oh yeah.” Her position, two fists pumped and in front of her, fades as she goes from encourager to worker. Together the two of you steadily roll out the shiny wrap, taping it as you go. It falls just short of the top of the tent walls, but it suffices. Just as you’re about to finish up, you hear a rustling and a crank of the hose. You’re guessing Scootaloo’s back. The two of you turn towards the door of the tent, while some water hits the side of the tent, then falls off as the pressure decreases.

“Guys, it’s Anon!” The third musketeer’s voice comes from outside the tent, sounding giddy. What in tarnation- did she bring him here?? You trade shocked, then excited looks with Sweetie Belle, then come bounding out of the tent. You’re met with Scootaloo and only Scootaloo. She’s posing, turned to the side, while holding up one arm and flexing it; the other arm is busy holding the hose… right between her legs. The green tube went under her legs, and twelve inches protrude from just beneath her groin, gripped by a small hand. Spurts of water push out, the sign of a mostly empty water container. You and your innocent friend stare transfixed at the sight, now grunting and flexing in different positions, the impromptu phallus swinging around her thighs. The presence of water on your shoes breaks the daze, and you run up and start smacking her on the back.

“CONSARNIT SCOOTALOO, THAT AIN’T FUNNY!” you screech, while your purple-haired friend laughs off your open-handed blows. Sweetie Belle disagrees, laughing at your fury, until you give her the death glare.

“Come on Apple Bloom, it was a joke.” You lay off the assault, instead turning away from both of them. You tilt your nose into the air, mustering all your vocal might to produce a loud:

“Hmph!”

“You can’t stay mad at me forever, babe.” The voice of Scootaloo says, moving closer to you. You feel something on the back of your leg, something wet. You look down, seeing the metal head of the hose brush past the inner, upper portion of your thigh just as Scootaloo presses into your back.

“Ah!” you shout, getting a whole lotta air as you leap away from your friend. The other girls erupt in laughter, while you try to hide your crimson face. After a bit of howling and cringing pass, you feel the hand of Scootaloo touch your shoulder.

“Apple Bloom?”

“What?” you sullenly reply.

“Do you forgive me?” You look at her, not answering. A slight glare makes her take one step back. She raises her eyebrows, and offers a new question. “What if I told you I had a peace offering?”

“Ah’m listening.” Her right arm appears from behind her, a fist clutching a dozen glowsticks, with at least twice as many glowstick bracelets and necklaces dangling from her forearm. Yup, you forgive her. Grinning, you nod and walk towards the opening, your friend at your side. A small punch helps to push away the stubborn dregs of your animosity, and the two of you enter into your private dance hall. Sweetie bell in on a step latter, disco ball in hand. The multi-colored light has a thin rope tied to its base, the other end of the rope being hooked onto the tallest part of the tent. Successful, she clicks the switch on the side, igniting the pendulous ball with bright spheres of color. The bright spears fly in every direction of the tent, reflected by every wall. The spinning of the disco and the swinging of the ropes creates a perfect chaos in the reflecting lights. Scoots doesn’t wait a minute before doling out the glowsticks, and the three of you get down.

Scootaloo starts off with her signature: the chicken dance. Hands ball up and are wedged into her armpits, the elbows flapping up and down, while she violently throws her head forward and back. Through the thick music Sweetie Belle has put on, loud bawcks can be heard. That being a good place as any, you and your non-dancing bff join the wildly gesticulating girl, throwing up kicks and jumping around as the beat demands. You’re the first to break out of the classic, going freestyle. Many lessons learned from repeated viewings of Napoleon Dynamite and the dancing sequences of Hot Rod, you limber up and mimic the skilled dancers. You spread your legs out, then wave your arms in wide arcs: palms lands face down on the side of your legs, then fly up and clap above your head, then repeat to the tune. Sweetie Belle, always a fan of pantomimes, engages in The Shopping Cart. She bounces up and down to the music, both hands forward and curled, as if holding a shopping cart. She looks from side to side as she slowly walks forward, then looks surprised and mimes taking something off a shelf before returning to the usual dance. Following her lead, Scootaloo hunches over and grips an imaginary walker. She squints heavily and constantly grunts, ever few seconds moving the imaginary walker an inch or two forward, then taking a tiny step. A perfect rendition of The Old Man.

You aren’t gonna be left out, so you run between your friends, and try The Sprinkler. You stand on one leg, the other bent back with the knee pointing down and your hand gripping the heel, like that one stretch in gym class. You place your other hand on the back of your head and push it forward and down at the same time that you move your knee up and forward, all the while trying to rotate your body clockwise. You get one or two good iterations there before you lose your balance and fall down. Not a small amount of dirt has clung to you as you rise and hear laughing behind you, the tomboyish voice of Scootaloo claiming ability. She makes it a good three iterations before she too falls. Sweetie Belle abstains wholly, not aiming for the somewhat filthy clothes of you and your friend. A three-person wave is attempted, then halted due to being kind of lame.

You and your friends party in the most radical club in town, possibly the state, not worrying about the possibility of other finding you. You spring up and down in buoyant maneuvers, loving the expression of the happiness and excitement so natural to you. As you leap across the floor, twirling as you do it, you take a moment to sigh with happiness. You’ve got your two best friends in the most awesome secret base ever, and Sweetie made it into a dance party not even the middle school dance could keep up with. Sweetie and Scootaloo were the best friends you could ask for, you thought to yourself, as you went up and pulled them into a hug. The hug was returned, followed by an impromptu triple can-can. A couple hours of dancing pass, the three of you trying every move you could remember and teaching it if you were capable enough.

Finally, you collapsed onto the dirty ground, not caring about the state of your clothes. Scootaloo falls to the ground right beside you, placing her hands on top of her head to provide some elevation. Just as you mimic her, Sweetie Belle lays down on top of you and your purple-haired pal, citing some worry about not getting close dirty.

“Well, why’d you wear them if you knew we were coming to the secret base,” Scootaloo says. Sweetie turns over to you, possible expecting some support.

“Uh… she kinda has a point there.” Sweetie looks up to the ceiling, answering.

“I told you guys, me and Rarity are going out tonight. She’d want me to wear something nice, and this means I don’t have to change into something later.” Remembering her appointment, she looks at the small, crystal watch on her left wrist, which reads 4:00. “Oh geez! Guys we gotta go!” She jumps off the pinned bodies of you and Scootaloo, who immediately follow. With haste, the three of you remove the tape from the mirrored walls and roll it back up. Looks fine. Mostly fine. There’s a couple sticky spots where the tape was, but Rarity wouldn’t notice, right? Yeah, probably not. Scootaloo turns off the disco ball but leaves it:

“I think this is a pretty awesome thing to have here. We should just leave it.”

“Ah was thinking the same thing.” Sweetie Belle interrupts the appreciative looks at the Crusader’s new light fixture. She’s trying to pick up the silver roll, but having trouble.

“Come on guys, we gotta go!” The two of you fly over to help your friend, eager to ease the load. Six hands on it, the three of you head out the tent flaps and the secret entrance. Back in the forest, you hustle back to the established walking path, heading home.

“How we looking, Sweetie?”

“Huh?” she responds, not understanding your question.

“Are you gonna be late?”

“Oh.” She looks at her watch again, then turns, smiling, to you. “No, I think we’re good. I guess I’d thought it’d take longer to pack up.” You nod your head, glad that she won’t be late. A song subtly enters your mind, your step unconsciously matching its cadence. Feeling that light comfort and ease that comes from good friends, you feel free to open your mouth and let the words out. As you happily sing, the other girls end up joining you, familiar also: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ggzxInyzVE. The three of you bounce up and down the walking path as your voices reach the heavens, a smile on every face. Coming closer to the landmark declaring your journey half over, a fourth voice crosses your ears. The three of you stop singing, turning to each other with questions of “who’s that?” and “did you hear that?” A moment of silence later brings the return:

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way ma’am.” The three of you continue vacillating between staring at each other, dumbstruck and searching for the owner. Not a moment later, two older men emerge from the path ten yards up. They’re balding, each with pencil mustaches, fancy suits and giant girly backpacks. Their eyes look mostly shut, and their heads are tilted up. As they near you, one casts a haughty eye down at you, saying in unison with the other:

“How do you do?” Sweetie Belle stares open-mouthed, not sure how to respond to characters you’d only see in the dream. Scootaloo mutters a quiet

“What the fuck…” and you mirror the greeting.

“Fine, thanks. How are ya?” Absurd as this is, you knew to be polite. Especially on fancy occasions or to fancy people, since it was more important to them. The two gentlemen nod at your question, then turn back to the trail behind them. The mystery is solved by the presence of your only enemies, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. They’re dressed similar to Sweetie Belle, pink and purple costumes to match the huge backpacks on their manservants. The frilly girls move up to your group, sneers growing like the distaste in your stomach. This wasn’t going to end pleasantly. It never did.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Cutie Mark Losers.” Diamond Tiara says, stepping into your personal space. You sigh, wishing she wasn’t here to ruin your day.

“Hello, Diamond Tiara.” Sweetie Belle just looks off to the side, while Scootaloo tries to stifle a glare, partly successful.

“So what are you doing in my woods?” At this, the growing anger of Scootaloo comes out in a bitter correctiuon.

“These woods aren’t yours. Your dad doesn’t own everything, you know.” She’s met with a bigger sneer than the one Diamond had begun with, her face distorting with contempt.

“Well, he might as well. And who knows, maybe he’ll buy it for me some time?” You can’t help but respond to the ridiculous idea.

“Why would he give ya a forest? That’s kind of a dumb gift, if ya ask me.”

“No-one’s asking you,” Silver Spoon interjects, trying to mimic her friend’s tone and sneer. You glare at her, your limited patience with these bullies running out already. Silver narrows her eyes and takes a step towards you before Diamond Tiara stops her.

“Hold on Silver, you don’t want to get to close to these girls. You’ll get their stink on you.” Her cohort wears a cruel grin, then backs up.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Scootaloo growls, her hands leaving the roll and clenching.

“Why, you. I mean, look at you. You’re absolutely disgusting!”

“Revolting!” Silver affirms, nodding her head.

“No wonder you losers are always alone with each other. Nobody would want to be your friend.” Diamond goes on, searching for sensitive spots. A flash of fear and increased rage on Scootaloo’s face tells her she’s found it. “And you can just give up on getting a boyfriend; nobody’d ever want a trashy punk like you, that hick, and a girl that isn’t a tenth as pretty as her older sister.”

“Shut up!” you shout, your anger matching Scootaloo’s. “That ain’t true!” Though she aimed to prod Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara is pleased to find an outburst from another. A dersisive smirk coats her face as she taunts you.

“Oh really? Has any of you ever been on a date?” You’re speechless, not knowing how to respond, apart from giving in.

“Yeah, I thought so.” With two girls almost in tears, and one almost baring her teeth in fury, she orders her servants to keep moving. Pleased at the victories, but slightly afraid of Scootaloo, she and Silver Spoon walk away with their heads held high, but don’t continue their scorn. You take one hand off your cargo and place it on Scootaloo’s shoulder, hoping to keep her from pursuing them. Her beastly visage looks at you, the tears in your eyes bringing her back. Sweetie’s looking at the path beyond the girls, hair covering her eyes and obscuring her mood.

“Come on guys. Let’s just go.” She mutters, a blank lowness to her voice, rather than the usual energy and exuberance that could be found in it. The three of your look down, trying to ignore the continued jeers of the hateful girls echoing through your heads. You trudge on, ruminating on the ruination of what could have been a perfect day. Spurts of conversation come occasionally, each of you trying to spark some happiness back in the group. But each attempted ignition ends in failure: The day was too good, and thus the fall too far to be resolved by any light conversation. It wasn’t for lack of trying; nobody wanted to stay in that darkened mood. But the continued experience of those two girls, the cruelty taken for years and years weighed heavy on all shoulder. Heads bowed, even your own bow feeling as though it drooped, the Cutie Mark Crusaders made their way into the home Scootaloo. No sooner than you’d returned to the house than Rarity entered through the other side. Spotting Sweetie Belle, she immediately grew worried over her clothing.

“My goodness, Sweetie Belle! What happened to your clothing?” Fashion wasn’t the first thing on the dull-eyed girls mind, and so she murmured some automatic explanation of outside play. She seems still concerned, but her eyes fall on the other dejected girls. With all sincerity, she replies “Well, I hope you had fun. Now, let’s get you home and changed.” Sweetie mumbles an affirmation, and grimly smiles at you and Scootaloo as she waves goodbye and follows Rarity. But the older girl pauses, seeing the roll Scootaloo is leaning against the wall.

“Is that my…” Her brow furrows, spying the minor theft. But when she looks down at Sweetie, whose gaze is firmly stuck on the wall opposite Rarity. You see a slight grimace, but she says nothing more; she simply walks over, tucks it under her arm, and continues walking out. You had to give it to Rarity; in the past, she’d probably have thought only of the state of Sweetie’s clothes and her material, perhaps even give a lecture on the importance of cleanliness and not messing with her things. Though it didn’t seem it, you could see that she noticed the Crusader’s unhappiness, and was trying to cheer Sweetie Belle up with the sister-date. She didn’t always know how to act around Sweetie, being somewhat tasked with both sisterly and motherly roles, not fully reconcilable; but you could see she tried. You hope Sweetie noticed, and hoped that she would be cheered up.

Watching the regal gait of the older girl and her formal attire, you think back to your sorry state. Getting dirty rarely bothered you; in fact, it was a sign of a successful day in the woods. To go into that magical paradise and not come out carrying some of it with you was silly, a sign of restraint in one of the few places where perfect freedom can be found. But your usual position wasn’t held now. Somehow the badge of successive, of utilization that freedom to play like a child, had become a sign of shame. The words of your opponents return to your mind: nobody would ever want you, nobody would ever date you… A bolt of shock runs you through, as the memory of your guest returns. None of your family would mind if you came home looking like that; you were Apple Bloom, and that was just what you did.

But there was another member of your household, a new family member. You didn’t know what he’d think. The jeers of the oppressors haunt your mind, conjoined with horrible fantasies of a disgusted-looking Anon. You bolt past Scootaloo, working through the filled household until you find the shower. AJ would be here any minute, but you can’t risk coming home like this. Even if you were you fly directly to the shower, he might see you. And though you would feel free on any other day to walk proudly with your grimy exterior, the guest and the bullies convince you to take another course of action. You immediately strip and turn the nozzle. Holding back a shriek as the cold water slaps your bare body, you grasp the soap with a nervous swipe.

The shower takes too long, your motions doubled in an attempt to be as clean as possible. When you finally finish, having taken no pleasure from the usually comfortable experience of a shower, you hear the voice of AJ downstairs. Judging by the answer, you deduce that she’s talking to Rainbow Dash. You say a quiet prayer of thanks; that marks a lessened probability of wait-induced irritability, and you’re too fragile right now to bear a lecture. Drying off, you slip back into your clothes, looking at yourself in the mirror. You look alright. Certainly better than you did before. Anxiously, you hop down the stairs to see AJ and her close friend deep in conversation. Your sister turns to you and smiles, apparently in good spirits:

“Hey Apple Bloom. Ready to go?” You nod slowly.

“Yeah. Let me just say g’bye to Scootaloo.” You turn back to the hallway, walking over to your fellow crusader’s room. She’s nose-deep into one her comics, sitting in a great bean bag chair next to a massive pile of Batman’s adventures. A twig falls from her still grimy head as she pulls up, smiling faintly.

“So, my sis is here.”

“Yeah, I heard.” You match her sad smile, trying to pull some encouragement out of the situation.

“Sorry our trip got all crappy at the end.”

“Yeah, they really fucked it up. But before that, it was pretty radical.” You feel a little better when you think of the day before that meeting.

“Totally. We should see if we can snag Rarity’s stuff again.” She sighs, but looks more content than before.

“Well, I’ll see ya. Still on for tubing tomorrow?” A big grin, revolting against the pall previously held, rolls across her face.

“Oh, hell yeah!” You laugh at little at her excitement, yours rising to match hers. At least two crusaders were beginning to shrug off the heavy weight. Closing the door behind you, you begin to feel happy. Thinking about tomorrow, and the adventures (hopefully to include Anon), helps lift your spirits. Unfortunately, it isn’t quite enough to dispel it entirely, but it is held off a bit. Heading down to Applejack, holding up a happy visage for her. You don’t want her to worry about something she can’t fix. She sends a goodbye in Rainbow’s direction, then the two of you hop in the idling truck.

“Boy, you missed a good meal and a lot of fun.” AJ says happily, obviously having had a pretty good day at home.

“What’d ya have?”

“Anon made this clam-spaghetti thing. Honestly, I had my doubts, but it was actually pretty good.” Surprise paints itself across your face, your understanding of Anon not including cooking skill.

“He can cook?”

“He sure can.” She looks at you and smiles conspiratorially, not unlike the look Sweetie had given you earlier. “Maybe if you ask him real nicely, he’ll make something for you.” The wink goes unnoticed, your mind filled with thoughts of Anon cooking for you. You try to hide a guilty grin out the window, the eyes resting on the house in the distance. Coming closer, you can see the individual glows of each window, and try to guess which one shines on Anon. The heavy feeling of your day and the continual conversation and thoughts of Anon drive you up to his room once the car parks. Amid the grinding noise of the truck’s wheels over the gravel, you small body creates its own crunch as you hop out before the car’s stopped. And without thinking, you find yourself at the door of your cousin, Anon Orange.

“Is that it?” you whine, your Captain Falcon flying off the screen. “You left out all the best parts!”

“No Ah didn’t. Ah told you about my secret base didn’t I?” Apple Bloom returns. You nod, understanding that secret bases are indeed the coolest thing in the world.

“Ok, yeah, that was rad. But I wanna hear who you have a crush on.” The question burned in your mind ever since she mentioned the subject of the discussion, then skipped to the dance party. It just felt important.

“Ah don’t have one. Not really.” Her commitment to the first statement wanes with the second, a hint you pick up on.

“Not really, huh? Then why did you say you and your friends discussed crushes?” She falters, leaving her Pichu open to your Falcon Punch. You didn’t get the answer you wanted, but hey, you won. She looks away from you, then notices the clock on the wall.

“Oh hey, look at the time, we better get goin’.” You want to want to press forward, but she quickly diverts your train of thought. Her small hand, a little warm from handling her joystick, grabs yours. You’re led towards the exit, reduced to the singular function of following the pull of that soft touch. Captain Falcon and Pichu pulse in place as their operators disappear behind the opaque door of their home. The air outside is barely chilly, only a faint breeze reminding you that this is indeed night. Though you feel you don’t need your coat, Apple Bloom reports a different feeling by pressing close into you. Pushing for off for a moment, you pull of your black coat, then place it over her shoulders. And though it’s still a little dark, you can make out the crimson crescent on her face. You pull up your sleeves, folding them in at the elbow; the temperature permits it, and you prefer that look anyway. Not a minute passes before she’s at your side again, merging her space with yours. Apparently your coat didn’t do quite the trick. Her right arm attaches itself to the small of your back, your own left responding by coating her shoulders.

The distance to the theater was about a block away, the distance feeling far too short for you. But you pushed thoughts and musing of brevity from your mind, resolving instead to enjoy this walk with her. It almost felt too good, like you shouldn’t be so happy to hold your Apple Bloom on a simple walk like this. But any guilt you had over your potentially excessive joy was melted when Sweetie raises her left hand and weaves her fingers through the hand laying over her shoulder. She does it naturally, as if it would be odd for her hand to be anywhere else. Over these days, you’ve felt this sense of belonging unparalleled to your own home; Apple Bloom gave you similar sense of belonging, like your rightful place was next to her.

Together, you walked into the movie theatre. The clerk gave you a wink as you bought the tickets, informing you that you can get a great view in the upper left seats. Flustered, you thanked him and tucked the tickets in your pockets. Realizing that you’re going to need them in a minute, you take them back out, not noticing Apple Bloom’s concentrated look, which began at the clerk’s advice. Before that, you need some popcorn. Turning to her wide golden suns, you ask her if she wants anything. She wants some soda, and some candy, as reported by the meek voice. Your own voice translates the message to the deadeyed vendor. Her orders carried out, you and your date step over to the ticket collector, sick gains in hand. Fumbling with your mad loot, you manage to hand him the tickets. He waves you by, and the two of you proceed. She steps ahead of you, eagerly pulling you along. As you pass by the middle section, you tug Apple Bloom back.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Well, the guy said the best seats were up here.” She responds, biting her lip and looking directly at you. You can’t help but laugh at her innocence.

“Bloom, he thought we were dating. You only sit up there if you’re planning on making out.” You pull her into the middle seats, noticing her pout. “Trust me, Apple Bloom, those seats are the same as these. She mumbles something, but you don’t hear it. To ease her small pout, you lift up the arm-rest divider, then bring your right arm over her hand and around her neck, pulling it close. There’s a little bit of fear that you’re over-reaching, but the way she snuggles into you help to put your pessimism at ease. Neither of you breaks out of the close connection through the entire movie.

You don’t pay too much attention to the movie. It was nice to see Dory and Marlin again; not so much Nemo, though. It’s kind of repetitive thought. You get déjà vu like, five times. Still, it was a pretty good movie overall. The jump scares were definitely appreciative, since they sent Apple Bloom dive into your chest, squeezing you tightly. She looked pretty into it, as far as you could tell. Still, there were a couple of times that she’d take her eyes off the screen and look at you for a minute, usually after the jump-scare-hugs. Your eyes met hers and smiled, hugging her tightly and looking back at the screen. You were glad you came, the date feeling like it was a good plan. And as far as you could tell, she was feeling better than she was when your gaming had been interrupted so long ago.

The credits roll, and an attempt to stand up is met with your date pulling you right back down.

“Sup?” Blonde, wide eyes can still be made out in the blackened room.

“There might be something after,” comes the voice in the dark, to which you assent to the wait. All it really meant was that the embrace could continue. And so she remains close in your arms for a few more minutes, the ravings of an orchestra accompanying a scroll of unknown names. After a lovely minutes, a small ounce of movie is revealed, then the screen goes completely dark. You turn to the girl sitting half in the chair beside yours and half in your lap, her face so close to yours. Her face is almost blank, except for a curious intensity in her eyes, heavily focused on yours. Some sentence concerning leaving freezes in your throat, then dissipates as you fall into her eyes. The intense look continues for a moment, before her eyes fall to your lips, and yours to hers. Just as the realization that you’re moving forward hits, you sit up quickly, still flustered. What are you thinking? This wasn’t what you came here to do!

Outside of your attention, three looks cycle through Apple Bloom’s face: disappointment, determination, and then the sweet, happy look that is most often found. You look down to see her blithe expression, not looking as disappointed or uncomfortable as you’d thought. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen to her, a position you found ideal, though perhaps not particularly comfortable. She got up and dusted herself off, and throws out the trash with you. Her hand reaches yours again, and a happy look accompanies a genuine thanks:

“Thanks for taking me here, Anon. I had a lot of fun.” Ok, she seems happy to you; you’ll go with that. You walk with her, pushing down the feeling of remorse, pretending you didn’t just miss out. And as you enter into the still comfortable night air, nothing could be further from your understanding than the devious plot behind her soft eyes. Heading to the care, she gives into the grin, that kind of grin one has to have whenever one makes a brilliant plan, just when you aren’t looking. You step into the luxury car, seeing your date enter from the other side, all cunning hidden behind an honest happiness. The key turns, and the car wakens, ready to transport an Apple and an Orange safely home.

Back in the caddy, you and Apple Bloom relax in your seats, which are practically lounge chairs. Though it’s only about 9:30, the roads are mostly empty. Probably has something to do with this town being so small. That works for you; that sweeping black road stretching beyond sight is far lovelier than some kaleidoscope of differently colored boxes, all honking in their angry lateness. A relaxed happiness enters into your body as you gaze into the infinite gravel rushing to meet your bumper. Your dad has a Cadillac, one you were allowed to drive a long time ago. It was a bit older, but handled and felt similarly to this one. Whenever you could find the time and permission, you’d fill it up with gas and just drive. It didn’t matter where you went, just that you were going. The current ride had a similar tone, only it had less to do with escaping, and more to do with wanting this moment to last. Your head turns, the lax figure of a happy Bloom entering view. A hope flutters in your chest, the wish for her gentle comfort to mirror yours, with no desire beyond this moment.

Your hands lightly grip the thin wheel, moving on autopilot as you turn to strange streets and unknown neighborhoods. Idly, the right moves over to the radio and turns the knob. Music fills the car, and a smile fills Bloom’s face. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZ8wVKPUN_g. Once a few verses pass, the song is remembered, and you can’t help but mirror Bloom’s expression. It’d been a long time since you’d heard these guys, way too long. Apple Bloom turns to you, her excitement making every word seem to bounce off her lips and into your blessed ears.

“Hey, so ya do ever listen to a single album or song or whatever while doing something, and than everytime you do that thing or listen to that song, it reminds ya of the other thing?” After thinking for a few seconds, the meaning becomes clear, and memory retrieves examples.

“Yeah. Like, I listened to a bunch of RHCP back in middle school, and now the band always reminds me of 7th grade.”

“Yeah yeah,” she nods her head, bouncing as much as one can bounce in a car, “that’s it. So, Ah got that for this album, ‘specially this song.” Your look at her with interest, a bit excited to hear another story from her. “Alright, so waay back in sixth grade, Big Mac was trying to paint our fence all by himself -Ah think AJ was feeling sick or something- and he was just making this huge mess a things. Like, he was tryin’ ta go real fast, but there were a ton of missed spots, paint all over the nearby bushes and ground, and he still wasn’t anywhere near finishing. So Ah went up and told him that he was doin’ an awful job, even though AJ was tellin’ me to leave him alone. He looked real mad for a second, then just sat down and laughed.” She laughs too, transported to that happy moment.

“He tells me that he guesses he ain’t doin’t it right, an’ Ah offer to help. Still takes us like two days –that fence is huuuge-“ here she spreads her arms wide and opens her eyes as much as possible to stress the size, “but the whole time we were listening to Third Eye Blind.” She closes her eyes to better take in the faded scene. “Ah can still remember sittin’ by the wall, eating some of the apples that fell off the tree. This song was on then, an it’s the one Ah most remember.”

“That sounds pretty amazing,” you respond, gleaning some joy just by bearing near the fount of such.

“It really was,” comes the voice of your beaming cousin, eyes still glazed in reverie. You take a moment to appreciate it, understanding that these moments with your beautiful date are limited. Gosh, she looks beautiful right now; her gaze is tuned to some spot in the distant night sky. Her lips are curved, not in the delight that is so often found in her, but in a subtler way, a result of nostalgia’s soft bite. Turning back to the road, a potential destination rises in your memory, and you bring it to Apple Bloom.

“Hey, did you still want ice cream?” She looks at you thoughtfully, then shakes her head.

“Nah, let’s get that some other time. Ah’m pretty sure they’re closed by now anyway.” She’s probably right. But now that the topic of ends are at hand, you can’t help but as the only question that follows.

“So what do you wanna do now? We could go home,” your tempo slows almost to a crawl at this option, then immediately speeds up as you try to shift attention to the preferred one, “or we could just drive around for a bit. You don’t have a bedtime during the summer, do you?”

“Ah do, but Ah don’t think it’ll matter tonight, just as long as we don’t come home around one in the morning, or something.” Your heart soars as the eventual green light, jumping to the conclusion that she’ll want to keep the night going. She continues looking thoughtful, then flashes the sly look from before.

“Sure,” she says to the latter option. “Sounds fun. But there’s something Ah wanna do before we go home.”

“Oh? What’s that?” The sly smile only grows when she responds.

“It’s a secret.” You’re at a total loss here. You push the mystery out of mind for a moment, due to a lack of leads. If the trail gets hot, you’ll try to follow it later.

“Well, alright then.” The song changes to some weird indie song, so you turn the dial some more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfOdWSiyWoc.

“Oh! Oh! Ah was just talking about this song today!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! It’s like, the best song ever!” You can’t dispute her there: these guys have some pretty dope songs. Both you and Apple Bloom do your best to dance within seatbelts, with very limited success. A whole lot of bouncing and mangled attempts to sing along to the word salad lyrics ferry you through the end of the city proper and into some unlighted farm road. The lack of light alarms you a bit, and start looking for a place to turn around.

“Hold on, I think I got myself lost.” To your surprise, Apple Bloom corrects you.

“No, you’re fine. This is on the way to that thing.” Ok, now you’re totally lost.

“Bloom, what even…” She looks to you, a faint pleading in her eye.

“Trust me, Anon.”

“You sure you’re not pulling my leg?”

“Ah’m sure.” You squint a little, as is apropos her, then shrug. Attention back on the road, the next song comes up. The first notes of some Creed song bleed from the speakers, eliciting a groan and change from you. Next up is some classical station, playing some morose melody: https://youtu.be/oL_HFnnywEU?t=7m17s. An idea pops inside your head, something you’d do while driving around the city and suburbs at night. You’d done it with friends sometimes, even convinced a couple girls to cut loose and do it. You switch the boring music off, then replace the silence with your own tone.

“Hey Bloomers.” There’s no need to move, her gazed is already focused on you.

“Yes?”

“You wanna know how to be a cool kid?” She chuckles a bit, then nods earnestly.

“Ah was actually hoping you’d teach me.” You roll your window down, the tepid air flowing into your car. Then, confirming that your cruise control is on, you unbuckle your seat belt and lean forward. Your right hand grips the top of the wheel alone, the left holding the edge of the window. Then. You stand up as much as you can, pushing your head and most of your torso out the window. Then, making sure your car is headed straight, you tilt your head back and howl.

“Awoooooo!” You can hear her cracking up down in the cab. Twisting a little bit, your bring your left hand over the roof and bang on it. “Come on, get on up here!” More laughter, then a sunrise of red, made into a deep crimson by the darkness, rising up the passenger side. Soon you can make out her sunny face, illuminated by the light from the cab. You turn to the road, making sure you’re still going straight, then look back at your date. Her hair is flying back, no doubt messing up a lot of work, but she doesn’t seem to care at all. Showing her pearly whites to you first, she follows your lead.

“Awooooooooooo!” Her hands having a freedom yours lack, she raises them high. Starting to get worried about your driving, you sit back down, but still find the time to poke your head out. She continues sitting of the edge of the window, one leg folded on her seat and the other extending in the lighted matt below. After a couple more, she comes back to the cab, still convulsing with giggles. You put on the most serious face you can –not very, given your high spirits- and inform her with eyebrows raised:

“That’s how you do it.” The light staccato of her continued laughter warms your heart, then gradually fades into a beaming crescent stretching her cheeks. Suddenly, as her look lazily touches the road, she turns to you with near-alarm.

“Slow down, slow down!” You check your speed with newfound alertness, scared of having driven too fast. But nope, you’re still going just above the speed limit. Still, your foot eases off the gas and switches to the brake. Apple Bloom scans the road with stern fervor, as if something were to pop out of the thick walls of grain any second. It’d escaped your notice, but the entire field of vision swelled with the ripe stalks. Not that you could be blamed or anything; the rest of your vision contained a 1987 Cadillac Brougham and Apple Bloom. How could you be expected to notice anything besides? A few long moments pass, the expectation of a soon-found prize giving why to inquisitiveness over your now crawling car.

“What is it?” Not even a twitch of her head accompanies her slow reply.

“Almost there…” Her strict vigilance prevents her from receiving the confusion your raised eyebrow sends. But it doesn’t really matter, as the shrug of your shoulders suggest. Another minute of slow driving finally yield a response.

“Stop!” It’s a little patch along the side of the road, a dirt rectangle carved out of the field. Well, it doesn’t really answer any questions, but at least it promises to.

“There?” You ask, and she confirms your destination. The caddy’s parked in the spot and turned off, taking up about a quarter of it. Opening the door, you get out of the car and look around. Still nothing. Apple Bloom opened her door at the same time, then paused. Checking to make sure you weren’t looking, she turns the radio on and at full blast. A little present for when you turn the car back then. After she sets up the prank, she exits the car too, then crosses over to your baffled person. The only answer is a coy look and a hand grabbing yours. Leading you to the wall of dark grain, she steps into it, bringing you with her. The pre-wheat leaning in does a good job of hiding it, but there’s a small walkway of dirt and crushed greenery, just large enough to walk through with minimal obstruction. As you’re led, you recall the movie Signs, and how it’d scare you right now if it was a scary movie. But soon enough, another small clearing meets your eye. It’s another dirt square, about ten yards on all sides. In the middle is what looks like a picnic bench, one of those things you see at parks. There’s two rectangles for sitting sandwiching a larger one, all made of plastic and connected but metal bars underneath.

“Ok, I still don’t get it.”

“Ah tried stargazing with the CMC, but it ended up in a two-hour game of tag in the field. An’ since they didn’t wanna do it again, Ah never really got the chance.” A step closer brings her body into contact with yours, her big eyes asking you to believe the unbelievable. “So Ah figured you could help me out with that.”

“With stargazing.”

“Yup.” You can see her wrestling with her lips, trying to keep a straight face. And naturally, you don’t believe her for a second. But her chest is ever-so-slightly pressed into yours, and you’re completely fine with stargazing with her, so you play your part.

“Okay,” you say, barely stifling a laugh. “Let’s go see if you’re an astronomer.” Her chest departs from yours when she swings over to your side and grabs your arm. Walking alongside her, you reach the table and fall back on it, dangling your legs from the edge. Eh, not as comfy as you want. You scooch yourself up, bringing most of your legs onto the surface. She mirrors you, lying closely to you. Your arms touch, but that’s far too little contact for you. Time for the moves. Thankful that Orion’s out, you draw on your sparse knowledge of astronomy;

“So, I actually know some constellations. Thing is, it’s kind of hard to point at something and have someone else see it, since they might see you pointing at something else. I can’t exactly remember why, but I think it has something to do with the angle of perception. Anyway, it doesn’t really work unless you’re looking straight down the person’s arm. So here, let me just-“ You let the sentence fade into the air as you move a bit closer, moving her arm under her neck. She lifts her head, allowing the intimate touch, and you pull her closer. Now your elbow is just beyond her neck, so when you point to the sky, your forearm touches her face.

“See, now when I point to something, you’re more likely to see what I’m trying to show.” Two can play this game of unpassable lies. She turns to you, her nose grazing the side of your cheek. Unable to turn your head towards her without kissing her, your eye falls into a corner to see her. The conspiratorial humor is written across her face, apparently having caught onto your deceit. Oh no. Whatever will you do?

“So, there’s Orion over there,” you point out the only constellation everybody knows and she feigns being impressed. Luckily, you’ve got four other things. Across the sky, you make out the bigger dipper, pointing that out. “Ok, and see those last to stars of the cup part?”

“Yeah.”

“Well they point to the north star, which is riiight over here.” She actually looks interested now. “And to the right of that, just below it, kind of like a reflection of the Big Dipper, is Medusa. I mean Cassiopeia. It’s the one that looks like a sideways ‘M.’” You always mess that one up. You scan the sky for a planet; they’re usually pretty easy to spot, since they’re a lot brighter and don’t twinkle. But you’re not finding one. Hmm. You turn to Apple Bloom, moving your head back so you can look at each other without more than the tips of your noses touching. She actually looks impressed right now; thank you, beginner’s astronomy.

A moment passes, and her face grows somber, like they did in the theatre. The moon’s risen, unnoticed, bathing her face in milky white. The pale light reflects off her skin, the dark red of the shadowed lips threatening to captivate you once more. Your attention moves to your eyes, unmoved from you. A single subject distract from those eyes, almost worrying you. What was she thinking? The thought would never have been put forth, but now it seems almost undeniable that she’s captivated. Her open eyes blink occasionally, held open, as if to not miss you for a moment. What was she seeing in this moment? What captivated her? A dozen self-judgment break the meeting of gazes, your head cast downwards, almost shamefully. Your confusion at what appeared to be a high estimation is broken when her soft hand lifts your chin. She’s moved just a bit closer to you, her nose now alongside yours. Her face is kind, giving strength to you, as it had done so often this week. Lips so close to each other, you can hardly restrain yourself. When this date had become so real, you didn’t know. But one could only stare so long into the perfect eyes of a perfect girl; you lean forward, closing the little distance between you and Apple Bloom.

Your lips meet, a soft melody playing in your chest. Her rouged kiss touches lightly on yours, a sudden lightness emerging. Though little attention is given to the whole, your body releases the small bit of tension held. A feeling of freedom, like stepping outside into fresh wind after a day of hermiting. The kiss lasts only a few moments, small, soft motions of two pairs of lips caressing each other. Still, every texture and taste of her lips is imprinted in neurons never to go unused long. It wasn’t the great, sloppy kiss you’d imagined several times tonight, but it was enough. And while you looked at her, a bashful rue rosifying your cheeks, a battery of butterflies grew in your stomach. Ease runs through you, the feeling of belongingness coming into great, spectacular fruition.

On the other end, Apple Bloom can’t hide the explosive glee within her. She’s kissed you. She’s kissed you, and it didn’t disappoint. True, it wasn’t the longer kiss she’d spent not a small amount of time planning, but it answered her question. And judging from the skittish wonder on your suddenly shy face, she’d made you happy. Her elation was multiplied by her ability to give you that happiness that grew with your smile. And boy, your lips tasted good. She hadn’t kissed a boy since that awkward, half-accident at sixth grade prom; and that barely counted anyway. Doing the simple math, more kisses were found beneficial, and so she moved in again. You find yourself peppered with the little kisses, some on your mouth, some on your cheeks, some meant for the former but landing anywhere from your nose to your chin.

Laughter erupts from you at the onslaught, to which Apple Bloom soon becomes a part of. You hadn’t thought that she might not know what kissing is, and assume that nothing went further than these little pecks. And that was perfectly fine; your affection for your lovable cousin, though deep, wasn’t the heavy hunger you’d felt for other girls. The lighthearted delight you experienced as you laid down your own amorous assault was just what you needed. Save all that serious stuff, you wanted kisses and laughter, and seeing Apple Bloom with both made you want the same for her.

She squees in her ecstatic bliss, almost tackling you from the side. Her arms grab your sides in a hug, her face pressed into your chest. Your coat her with your own, the two of you almost rolling as she looks up and starts laying kisses on your chin, neck, any skin within her lips’ reach. Some of these end of being more ticklish than anything else, and you may exude a couple “eeps” as you twist and turn your head in half-hearted attempts escape. The affectionate play continues for a couple minutes more before she lays off, now on top of you. You look up, meeting the crinkled gaze of the buoyant girl.

“So Ah kind of have a crush on you,” she cheerfully discloses, face propped up by palms on her cheeks. You can feel her trembling as your stomach convulses by your chuckles.

“You know, I think I might have one on you too.” The almost meek smile gives way once more to the full beaming of the satisfied girl. Her eyes almost shut in pleasure, the night going better than any of her plans. The well-groomed head rests on your chest, outlines by the pale moon. Her face is darkened by the contre jour lighting, but the reflected light still illuminates the glimmering eyes. As you stare into her, a piece of that minor solemnity from earlier comes into you. It’s clear that your happy look is fading, for her own falters.

“What’s wrong?” Nothing’s wrong. Everything's right. A sad smile crosses your face, then you speak without thinking. Man, that just keeps happening with this girl.

“I love you Apple Bloom.” Sensing that you’re feeling tenderer than the carefree bliss of the past fifteen minutes, she mirrors your own soft smile. Before she can respond a gush of words burst forth, born from your realization of your own buoyancy. You hadn't realized you could be happy like this. Like Apple Bloom. “No, I mean it. Like, I was a huge fuckin’ mess before I came here. I still kind of am. But you made me feel like I was part of a family.” She’s hesitant to interrupt, but really wants the clarification:

“Me, or all of us?”

“All you guys, but you especially.” Your hand reaches to cup her cheek; she leans into it, much to your joy. “Apple Bloom, you’ve been the best thing that happened to me in a long time. These past few days have felt like…” you struggle to find the words. “Christmas. Every Christmas. I don’t know- I’ve just been really happy, and that’s mostly because of you, and…” your words fall off again, and you fall back on the only phrase that could come close to conveying your feelings: “I love you.”

She moves upwards a bit, so that her head is close to being over yours. You’re still lying on the table with her on top of you, even her legs stacked on yours. Her left forearm lies just to that side of your head, propping her up while she plays with the hair above your forehead. Confusion crosses her face as she struggles for the words to respond.

“You know we love you too, right?” Looking into your big eyes, the most tender and fragile she’s seen you, even counting your confession. Understanding that importance of this moment, that it might be remembered for years to come, she chooses her words carefully. “All of us. AJ, Granny, even Big Mac, though he don’t show it.” As she names her kin, her eyes roam above you, gone to some memory proving each. But then she looks back at you, while her hand begins stroking your cheek.

“Especially me. Like, when you came off that train. An’ when you confided in me. It’s just- You- Uh…” Despite her best efforts, she falls to the same inability to articulate her heart. She’d never spoken to anyone like this, someone who’s kin, but unlike her regular family; someone she feels so familiar with and to, but is still so unknown. A helpless, then exasperated look seizes her expression as she looks down on you. And like you, she comes to the only message she has left, the one that can’t be misinterpreted. Her lips fall on yours, this time staying for a minute before another shower comes. More than a few seconds later, you climb out of your daze and see her with the same expression, along with the hope that you got the message. You did. Moving your head up, you return a small affirmative kiss, then fall back down.

She lets her own head fall on your chest, a contented sigh leaving her lovely red lips. There you lay for a while, echoing that wish from the drive up here: that this moment wouldn’t end. Some of her soft curls tumble over to your neck and face, most dark except for the occasional shine of brilliant crimson in the moonlight. You push them off to the side, then lay your hands on the girl atop you. You can feel her weight on your body, rising and falling with your breaths. Somewhere her legs fall over yours, each ending up on the outside of yours. Her right arm is at your side, while her left arm remains close to you head, still idly playing with your locks. Your left arm moves down beside hers, your hand touching hers, then mixing fingers. Now and then a soft coo is heard from the content girl. Your eyes start to close, your mind fading out in the perfect night air. But you realize the need to get home, and more yet, to not fall asleep in the middle of somebody’s field. You nudge Apple Bloom, who looks up to you with tired eyes. Unable to help it, your lips rise to meet hers once more, the small kiss eliciting a sleepy smile. Goodness, you love that.

“Hey, we should probably get going.”

“Hmph.” She pouts, banging her fist very softly on the table.

“I know, I know. But this doesn’t have to be the last time.” She looks satisfied as that, and commences getting up. Crawling off of you, she hops off the table. Her hand extends as she waits for you to do the same. You take her up on her offer, and allow her to lead you through that almost invisible trail back to the car. Tired but not exhausted, you walk through the bluster of the skinny plants. A small skip ends up in your step, but she definitely doesn’t notice. She giggles, at something else probably, and you emerge into the moonlit patch of dirt. It takes a minute to go your separate ways to your respective doors; your hands seem unwilling to part. Eventually, you do, and get into the car. Still struck by your brilliant night, you absent-mindedly turn on the car. The radio was still on and at max volume, striking you with a roaring https://youtu.be/L0bcRCCg01I?t=4m24s.

“Ahhhhhfuck!” you cry, thrashing your hands around the knobs in a struggle to turn it off. Dexterity compromised by panic, it takes a couple seconds longer than it should. Finally Holst’s onslaught is silenced, and you sit back, now fully alert. Looking over to Apple Bloom, she’s got her ears covered and is laughing at you.

“What? Why?” you ask in your confusion. She stops laughing long enough to explain:

“Ah had to make sure you were awake for the drive home. Y’know, for safety reasons. An’ it looks like you’re awake!” You narrow your eyes and grumble at her, even though you couldn’t possibly be mad at her.

“Grumble grumble grumble.” Then, putting the car in reverse, you leave the small dirt patch and start heading home. Turning the radio back on, but at a much lower level, the song actually sounds pretty cool, for an orchestra thing. Kinda sounds like Star Wars, now that you think about it. Apple Bloom, wakened also by the thunderous brass, is chatting happily about that one time Granny took her to a concert. It isn’t the most gripping story you’ve heard, but the speaker and the sweet voice that delivers it is enough to keep your ears on her.

Through the comfortable ride of the high-class sedan, buzzing thoughts send your mind away from your date’s storytelling. What happens now? Aren’t you still gonna leave? Immediately, you kick the thought out with the fierce staunchness of a military dad. Boarding up your mind like an apocalypse prepper’s house, you resolve not to let that question enter again. Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can change it. No point to letting it ruin the little time you have left. As your knuckles whitely grip the wheel, the change of the song accompanies the change of your thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz0b4STz1lo. But little jollity is brought to you when you consider the future before you. As if reading your mind, the slightly concerned face of Apple Bloom gives voice to your thoughts.

“So what are we gonna do now?”

“Well, we probably shouldn’t tell AJ.” Her finger rises to her lip as she muses:

“Ah don’t know… She had a little something with Braeburn not too long ago. Now that Ah think about it, she does seem a bit exited for Apploosa, which is when they see each other. But Ah don’t know.” You raise your eyebrow as she goes on: “An’ Granny didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” You feel like you should have an issue with this, but if it gives you any kind of approval, you’ll go with it.

“So maybe just kinda hint at it, see what she feels? And if she’s hyper against it, we can just keep it on the down low?”

“Yeah. An’ anyway, Ah’m pretty sure she won’t mind us being all close with each other. That’s what kind do around here.” You nod, happy to have some chance of permission and some intimacy acceptable. But there was another problem that opened up here. What exactly is it that you want to have accepted? Turning to Apple Bloom, you go with the transparent option, not wanting that secrecy that happens in most relationships to happen here. Hesitantly, you ask:

“So… what are we?” She looks at you seriously, remembering the answer found in your lips.

“Ah think we’re two people that like each other a whole lot, and kinda need each other. We don’t have to make a big ol’ relationship out of this. Besides, Ah’m pretty sure both of us have pretty different idea of what that’d mean.” You agree, but it’s still kinda vague.

“Ok, but where does that leave us?”

“Ah think we just keep doing what wer’e doin’, only with more cuddles and kisses.” She says this slowly, still holding a trace of fear. But it’s needless: that sound just right for you. Besides, that’s about all you can do in this short time you have together. And who’d say no to vacations with secret kissing? The positives slightly mitigate the horror of your Orange future, but not so much that you’ll allow it’s trespass. Pushing it out of your mind once again, you answer Apple Bloom.

“I think I’d like that.” She holds out her hand, which you take with your free one. Suddenly, she almost throws herself out of her seat to give you a kiss on the cheek. Then, settling back in, she watches in amusement as you grin like an idiot. The rest of your ride goes like such: two hands clasped inside that sublime moment, hearts deeply connected. Jollity brought, she casually changes the stations with her right hand. Landing on the pop station, a live version of one of your old favorites comes up. And judging by the sudden excitement in the passenger seat, she’s a fan of it too: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_6f95WzDQaM.

Late night pop brings your car home in a sweet haze, hands never parted. Dashboard Confessional returns for an encore, followed by The Airborne Toxic Event crooning about something happening at midnight. The grinding of gravel ends the fading notes of Coldplay’s Yellow. Quietly as you can, you exit and close the doors. The gravel crunches beneath you, the unavoidable alarm hated with fervor. But all lights remain off, and you enter the unlocked door with no other auditory obstacles. Moving quiet as a mouse, the kitchen passes you and your ninja cousin, the oven clock informing you of the proximity of midnight. Guess the drive and the kissing took longer than you’d thought.

Sneaking into the bathroom, you brush your teeth together. You wash off the numerous red kiss marks, suddenly thankful nobody was up, and that lights were off. Though light, the mere number of kiss marks is ludicrous, appearing as if you’d been set upon by the sum of the Bacchante. Both of you suppress those excited giggles, home only to new lovers who haven’t yet accustomed to the most unimaginable of joys. She turns to exit, and you spin her around, kissing her on the mouth. Worried and excited about the danger of being caught, she pulls away without wanting to. Suppressing a jubilant smile, she disappears into the dark of the hallway.

After entering your own room and changing into pajamas, your missing of Apple Bloom is dashed when she enters your room. She wears her own night gown, a beautiful golden dress going to her knees, with an inch of white lining and spaghetti straps. Her tanned legs bear no shoes at the bottom, the long figures grabbing your attention. Most of her makeup’s been removed, but her lips still remain rosy, and the lashes long. Her posture reveals no sleepiness, despite the late hour. Instead, she leans back on your door, flashing a furtive smile, as though realizing for the first time that she’s a girl in a boy’s room.

“What, we still have prayers,” she nonchalantly explains, at your questioning expression.

“Ah, I forgot,” you respond, thinking that she probably could have (and would have) done this on her own. Happy for the opportunity, you kneel down next to your bed, and she does the same, not a foot apart. You recite the now-learned askance, then look at Bloom.

“So.”

“So.” She repeats happily.

“High-Low?”

“Ah think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Still wanna hear it, though.” She lets out a single laugh, wanting the same from you.

“Alright, so my low’s the thing with Diamond Tiara,” she says without a hint of sadness, the bullying far negated. “An’ my high was finding out what your lips taste like.” Your heart feels like it doubles in speed, and you wonder how you’re gonna sleep tonight. Her lips entrance your gaze once more, the luscious curves beckoning a wanting boy. She nudges, urging your return.

“My high was seeing how sad you were today.” You place your hand on her jawline, just to the right of her chin, and stroke her cheek gently. “My high was seeing how happy you were tonight.” And with that, you remind her what your lips taste like. Somehow resisting another bout of kissing, she gives you her kiss one last time, and exits your room. And as you lay on the bed with thoughts of Apple Bloom, your Apple Bloom, you finally feel at home.

Friday

Errrrrg. Rosy dreams of Apple Bloom cut off, replaced by a grim awareness of the world at hand. The imaginary sensations of Apple Bloom part too fast, hatefully replaced by the lifeless touch of soft blankets. Recollection is attempted, a desperate pull for those lost caresses; little success is found, and that soon lost to the imposing demand of the uncomfortable heat of the bed. You twitch and squirm, aware of the bad warmth, but not enough to see the solution. Another minute of discomfort brings you closer to your senses, and you toss off the coverings, exposed to the mild air of your room. You’re awake.

A stir of emotions swarm within you as you try to recoup, the persistent slumber making your head swim. What’s clear is this: some part of you is awake, while the rest needs sleep. Another groan falls to the floor while neck muscles strain to turn the resistant head. Faint moonbeams are found, tirelessly dragging themselves through the window; but their obstacles and distance was too great, the illumination they set out to bring is barely passable. If not for eye grown accustomed to the dark over several hours, nothing could be seen; as it was, you were able to make out the shapes of the room, if not the details. Working with memory, a map of the room in drawn in your head, and you stand up to leave. Now prepared to dodge obstacles and locate the door, you exit the room, in pursuit of warm milk to dull an anxious mind.

Stepping silently down the halls and stairs, the deep blue kitchen meets you. Cold tiles clasp your feet, which in turn hop away, preferring the less chilly carpets. A glistening, hazy mirror reports itself as the face of a refrigerator, beckoning your gait. Soundless it opens, only the wild scream of its outward rays to make any alert. Unheard by other eyes, your quest remains solo. This insensitive body is your only defense against the twin assaults of the burning lamp and biting tiles, eventually overcoming both by man’s insurmountable capacity to accustom. The blinding light fades to its typical glow, revealing sundry containers of uninteresting nourishment, save for one. Its plastic container is pulled from a lofty perch, delivered to lower counters. Meeting it, a crystalline chalice, chosen for its poetic reflections of sparse moonlight. Thickly, that white liquid charges into its destination, some drops lost on the counter beside. Solution made, the combination of glass and milk transports to the microwave. Subjected to its namesake, it’s swirled, tested, and finds favor. Disorganized drops are wiped, gallons replaced, and the door is shut, finishing all steps of the quest, save the reception of its reward.

Leaning back on the counter, the unlit world is shrouded. That adaption to the light removed its counterpart to dark, leaving you lost in the dark. Still, a dim window is found, through which the stars call for attention. Freely and wisely given, they twinkle and shine as you drink your warm prize. Insides nearly melt as the old remedy cures festering anxiety. Slowly drained, the cup barely imprints itself on your nearly dazed countenance, nearly entranced by inner warmth and the celestial bodies winking in the distance. A final draw realizes the end of the drink, it’s fruitlessness revealing the previous to have finished it. Tiptoes summon the dishwasher, and carefully opened, it quietly consumes your unrequired shell, then closes its maw.

Ends met, the way back home is carefully executed, much harder with darkness unfriended eyes. But home is got, no expense beyond a smarting toe and a softly cursed table. Relaxing in the quiet cloak of unfinished night, breaths softly come in the apple-clad guest room. Inside you, the war against yourself is waged, desperate attempts to stave off dread thoughts of family and family not, those truly kin and those with title solely. Unwinnable strife halts when the girl moves through mind, all silent at the golden and red visage. Queenly banish relieves one, sending black terror far into hiding. And princess-like, memories of her kiss bring final freedom, sweet reentry into dreams.

Legendary tales of bravery pass through your head, loyal knighthood and rightful kingship assigned to you in those vivid fantasies. But no sooner than your third dragon is slain does your kingdom fall to pieces, ruined by a kind girl shaking your body. Like any good king, you try to defend the citadel, holding to your precious domain.

“Mmmmm. No. Sleep now.” But the gentle rocking sends violent waves to rend your sojourn, a catastrophe too great to be fixed. The soft face of Applejack, unknowing of her ruinous effect, greets you, as friendly as any amnesiac, deposed king could be.

“Urng. Mmph. Go ‘way.”

“Come on, Anon, it’s nearly eleven.” Still missing the disappearing life, you manage to crawl above the blankets, your head and bare chest entering the clean air. Your hands beat out the sand in your drowsy eyes, which attempt to accustom to the fierce light of near-noon. The sight of your room is awash in autumnal colors, including the heavily tanned girl with her dirty-blonde hair. She, sitting on your bed with hands in lap, good-naturedly inquires of your status.

“Y’all awake now?” Mouth still indisposed, you softly nod, becoming the vacationing city boy entirely. A series of blinks brings clarity and distinction to the objects of your room. The most important part of the day comes to mind, and you question its status in regards to your person.

“Is there still breakfast?” Your priorities appear humorous to her, as evidenced by the quiet chuckle.

“First thing on your mind, huh?”

“Well, yeah. It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.” You inform her, the facts on your side.

“Yeah, Ah’ve heard about that. Well, don’t you worry; we’ve finished, but Apple Bloom gettin’ some ready for you now.” She closely observes your brightening appearance as her little sister tugs at your heartstrings all over again. As you ponder who’s supposed to be giving the breakfast in bed (it’s the guy, right?) she asks you about last night. “So how’d the date go?” You nod your head, candidly retelling the way the night went.

“Pretty rad. We went to Texas Roadhouse, and that food was incredible.” A pause. “Oh geez, I think I left the food in the car.” She shakes her head.

“Don’t worry, Apple Bloom got it.” Oh, good.

“Alright. Well, then it was the arcade for a bit, but that was mostly Smash and Marvel v. Capcom. I let her win a fair amount of them, since I’m not a huge jerk. And then the movie, which was alright. Pretty funny, I guess. And after that, we went stargazing.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Stargazing, huh?” You’d forgotten your guile, and realize the mistake. Trying to handle the situation –you’ll wait for Apple Bloom’s OK before you reveal anything- you try to play it cool.

“Yeah, stargazing. It’s pretty fun.” She nods, then assents:

“Yeah, it is.” She leans back and smiles, lost in some past experience. Ah used to go all the time with Big Mac or Braeburn. Got to know quite a few constellations too.” She turns to you, blinking away the glazed look. “Well, Apple Bloom’s been gushin’ nonstop about last night, and what a gentleman you are and whatnot. Wanted to make sure you actually had a good time, instead of… you know, getting dragged along from place to place without her realizing.”

“Nah, I had a lot of fun with her.” You respond, assuaging her concerns. Stomach unclenched, you relax in the sudden absence of an interrogator. All along, she was a friend, not some scheming girl trying to put you in a bind.

“Ah’m glad to hear that.” Just as she finished, closing her eyes in a happy smile, a clamor arises from below, then growing as it comes closer. Through the approaching din of stomping and clanging, you make out three clear words from three voices:

“CUTIE! MARK. COOKS!” AJ seems to relish your shocked, almost fearful look. You can hear a faint snickering held deep in her throat, and write it off as some auditory hallucination. Easy to mishear things when the soundtrack of the apocalypse is playing outside your door. Bang bang bang, cries the innocent wooden door, heralding guests.

“Anon! It’s us!” The unique tone of Scootaloo shouts, soon joined by cohorts.

“The Cutie Mark Crusaders!” All three shout with way too much energy for the morning. Then again, it wasn’t exactly morning, so no fault there.

“Come in,” your frail voice permits, the upper end of the loudness scale barred by half a day of disuse. Apple Bloom blows through the door, followed by a cavalcade of food-bearing girls.

As usual, you notice Apple Bloom first. Her hair is long, falling behind her back. It looks wavy, with only minor curves to it, suggesting a morning straightening. The soft morning light falls softly on it, bringing out its natural rosy brilliance. She wears the large bow again, attached to the back of her head, where pony tails are usually located. The makeup from last night is missing, but you can detect a hint of new cosmetics. Her lips are pinker than usual, a faint glossiness making them shine and catch the eye. Just a hint of eyeliner encircles her eyes, making them pop. She wears an odd combination of shirt and dress. Around her stomach, it appears as a dress shirt, though with sleeves ending midway down her upper arms, and with a thick pink ring as its border. Below the midsection, it transitions to a pure dress, made up of large horizontal stripes. These lines, alternating between pink and white and having no larger number than twelve, encircle her down to her knees, billow out as it goes lower. Over her shoulder is a round purse, the same color as her bow, which in turn wears a bow matching her hair. Small, princess-like blue shoes cover her little feet, but are soon kicked off.

Scootaloo is at her left, and wears an adorable version of a gold uniform. Over her head is a dark green visor, enclosing hair cut short and pulled to the right. Although she wears no discernable makeup, her bright eyes are naturally accented by her dark eyebrows, which twist and bend in her many, capricious expressions. The happy expression on her face reveals a facet you hadn’t noticed before: dimples. They’re subtle, just faint divots in both pink cheeks. She’s got a dark green vest that matches her visor, as well as a white short-sleeve shirt underneath. She wears a pair of white shorts, with numerous black lines, both horizontal and vertical, making it appear similar to some huge graph. A small blue backpack, matching Apple Bloom’s shoes, bulges from behind, noticed only when she turns to round your bed. Pink and white sneakers, mirroring the shade of Apple Bloom’s dress coat her feet.

Sweetie Belle has her hair down, like Apple Bloom’s, but obvious care has been given to it. Manufactured ringlets falls about her head in sweet curls, similar to that of yesterday’s DateBloom, but filled with swilrs of her multicolored hair. The light and dark pinks are held in check by a dark purple bow, matching the thick sweater she’s somehow decided to wear. It looks good, matching her style, if not the weather outside. Her vibrant green eyes, looking like lush fields of grass, are wide open; together with her open, crescent-shaped mouth, she looks both innocent and eager. Over the sweat is a dress not unlike Blooms: the white and pink hues, along with the billowing lower half are mirrored. However, the style is closer to Scootaloo’s shorts: thin pink lines going up and down, left and right, fill up the whole. It’s held with a belt-like ribbon near the top, just below her breasts, tied in a small bow. Tight black legs protrude from underneath, ending just below the knee. Pale white legs go further, ending in a pair a brilliant pink shoes of the same kind as Apple Bloom’s.

AJ, grinning throughout their introduction, puts her hands up and excuses herself. Her place on your bed is filled threefold, a trio of plate-wielding girls setting themselves down. Apple Bloom sits closest to you, her back falling on the headboard, as yours does in your half-sit, half-lie. Scootaloo is situated by your torso, with a supporting arm planted over your body, forming a tent over your critical zone. Sweetie is at your feet, cross legged and beaming. Each lays a plate on the bed-covered legs, though only one is in reach.

“We made ya breakfast!” Apple Bloom cries, then plants a quick kiss on your cheek. Ok, so they probably know. The three of them simultaneously checks to see if the door is closed, then, seeing it is, admit the cause.

“We wanted to get today off to a good start,” Sweetie Belle peeps, her pale skin glowing in the brightened room.

“And congratulate you two, on you know.” Scootaloo dawns the biggest shit-eating grin, pumping her eyebrows up and down at furious speeds. You cock your head, feeling she’s got the wrong idea. Seeing the confused expression of your face, she confirms your suspicion by making a circle with one hand and poking her finger in and out of it.

“What! No!” You turn to your cousin, who appears similarly horrified. “Apple Bloom, what did you tell her?”

“Ah just said we hooked up!” You introduce your palm to your forehead, then explain the difference between hooking up and what you’d done. She nods, “ohhhh”s, blushes, and glares at Scootaloo all in record time, who’s still got sky-high brows. “Come on, Scootaloo you know Ah wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure, sure. But hey, if you guys ever wanna try one a those ménage a trois, go for it.” She throws a hefty wink at you, ignoring the nonunderstanding face of Apple Bloom. You and Sweetie Belle are the only shocked ones among the audience, put off by the invitation and the pronouncing of the “s” in “trois” alike. You look off to the side, trying to change the subject before Apple Bloom asks you what Scootaloo wants with you and her.

“So… what are you three up to today?” Apple Bloom’s arm snakes around your neck, the almost hidden bra moving closer to your cheek.

“We were planning on going tubing down near Scootaloo’s neck of the woods. We figured, swimming up by Sweetie’s was so nice, and my sister won’t let us go to the old swimming hole-“ Here Scootaloo grumbles something about being told they’d seen enough. “so the only place left is the river.” Pulling you closer, her hand softly caressing the skin just below your shoulder, she adds: “we were hopin’ it’d be us four, though.” You hesitate to accept the offer, memories of the putrid slum returning to warn you. Seeing it, Sweetie quickly adds:

“The river’s actually really cool now. They cleaned it up so it’s not all polluted. I mean, it still looks kinda crummy, but tubing down it’s real fun.” The argument from the most prim and proper girl of the group goes further than she suspects: you trust her standards most. Scootaloo leans in from the side, face close:

“And more importantly, we’ll be alo~one,” she practically sings, a seductive smile on her face. Instantly you turn towards Apple Bloom, and your mind goes to several unacceptable places. She seems to hold a similar look as yours, one of held back excitement, with just a trace of hopeful debauchery. Thinking on the option, it’s not really a contest: you wanna do something while you’re here, and something with Apple Bloom’s practically an automatic yes. You’re not gonna miss an opportunity during your short stay.

“Sure, I’ll go. I would like to eat though.” You call attention back to the most important part of the day, which is solidly respected by your pals.

“Ok, we’re leaving in like an hour.” Scootaloo says, suppressing her small glee.

“No, it’s like half an hour.” Sweetie Belle corrects her.

“Eh, we can push it back. Just don’t take forever eating,” comes the response. You nod, and view the meal before you for the first time; sometimes it’s hard to focus on the important things when cute girls are around. Oh. Uh, ok. So the meal isn’t perfect. Burnt toast, a cold slab of overcooked eggs, and milky apple juice lie on the plate before you like some hideous burn victim. You subtly push the plate away, feeling both sorry and averse to the tragedy. All three girls, who’d been watching you with bright expectation, laugh aloud at your attempts to be subtle about your rejection.

“Ah was wondering what you’d do,” Apple Bloom chirps, picking up the next two plates and placing them before you. The same food appears here, but less destroyed and potentially destructive to your health.

“I thought you’d just try and eat it,” Scootaloo chuckles, “You don’t want to offend Apple Bloom, do you?” In response, you turn to Apple Bloom and assume a look of the tenderest love. Softly cupping her chin, you slowly move in, your lips just an inch away from her. Surprised at the sudden affection, Apple Bloom stares frozen at you, while you speak:

“Apple Bloom, I love you.” You lean it and lightly kiss her lips. Moving back a bit, you finish your sentence, still with that soft voice: “But I’m not gonna eat that gross food.” The other girls snicker at the subversion, and Apple Bloom huffs, retracting her arm.

“Maybe Ah shouldn’t cook for you, then.” You laugh, trying to pull the staunch girl back.

“Come on Apple Bloom, I was just kidding. If you really wanted me to, I’d eat your burnt food.”

“You know, Ah’m tempted to ask you to.” You keep up your happy expression, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Then, in a grateful tone, you take the offensive:

“And I’m so glad you aren’t. That’s why I love you, babe.” She blushes at the term of endearment, forgetting the pretense of indignation. You settle back in the bed, and start in on the delicious meal. Sweetie Belle sweetly warns you:

“Better watch out, Anon. You came pretty close to having to eat our rejects.” You’d reply, but it turns out CMC successes are actually pretty good. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, though already having eaten, help you out a bit; after all they brought way too much food. Apple Bloom, trying to pilfer a cup of undiluted apple juice, explains that they wanted to cover all their bases. The waffles and pancakes were from the family breakfast, but they whipped up the toast, eggs, and apple juice themselves. It’d taken a couple tries, but the girls were persistent, if nothing else. Still, you were grateful, and designed to show them in the most undeniable fashion: devouring all of it. After nothing remained, –ok, maybe there were a couple cakes left, but willikers, these girls made so many- you shooed the girls out of your room.

“Aw, why?” Apple Bloom whines.

“Because I need to get changed, and that’s still something I prefer to do by myself.” You can tell Scootaloo is trying to come up with some sultry reply, so you double your efforts: “Come on, out. Out.” Sweetie Belle remains alone in her quick exit; it takes Apple Bloom and Scootaloo a little effort to force themselves to leave. Geez. A few minutes later, you’re clad in some trunks and the French Club T-shirt you found at Goodwill. Thinking to take a shower, you discard the notion: not really any point if you’re just gonna get wet later. Instead, you head downstairs, finding four girls playing Pirate’s Cove.

“Hey, you ready to go?” asks Scootaloo, clearly anxious to get going. A quick look at her pieces shows her to be severely lagging, and the reason why she’d like to go.”

“Yup. Should we go after this game?” Before Scootaloo can turn her groan into a rescheduling to now, Sweetie Belle affirms the time.

“Yeah, that sounds alright. How much time do we have left?”

“’Bout twenty minutes,” comes the blank response of a concentrating Bloom. You sit down by her side, to her delight. The two of you soon become an unstoppable team, demolishing the opponents. There’s a minor sticking point that your competitors keep focusing on, being your loss at the end, but the both of you insist that it’s unimportant. What matters is that you’re rad as heck, and that marks you as the true winners.

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!” The debate goes on like such, measures of success being based on who can achieve the greatest volume. None of you are too mad, though; the four of you just get caught up in the fun of yelling and seeing AJ confused. However, AJ soon breaks up the heated argument.

“Come on girls-”

“Hey!”

“Come on, girls and Anon.” She fixes her sentence, sarcastically placing heavy emphasis on your name. “There’s no need to get so mad. Now shake hands and make peace, or y’all can find another ride to Scootaloo’s.” Not finished playing the injured combatant, you deliver a serious gaze at AJ.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, AJ. Sweetie and Scoots really blew my hat in a creek,” you say without breaking the stare. Only confusion is returned, however:

“What? What’s that mean?” The four girls look questioningly at you, not having heard the phrase before now. The confusion passes over to you, who’d thought that she’d know the country-ism. Choosing not to explain, you stretch your hand out to imaginary foes, who promptly take it. Sweetie shakes it with her nose high in the air, the perfect imitation of a haughty noblewoman forced to interact with the proletariat. Scootaloo gives you the response you feared, squeezing your hand for all she’s worth.

“Ah!” You gasp in pain, not fully expecting it. You’d respond in kind, but you don’t exactly have the proper grip for such. All you can do is plead with the young girl to release you. Before you do so, a glimpse at the triumphant look in her face convinces you to search for another route. Her head is jutted forward in what she thinks is victory, giving you an idea. Quickly, you thrust your head forward, entering her personal space. Your face is only an inch from hers, the pained hand growing either numb or accustomed to the hurt. Taking your free hand a brushing her face, you whisper softly, in the same voice you’d used on Apple Bloom earlier:

“Dearest Scoots, if I say that you’re my one and only, the girl my heart pines for, would you release my hand?” Blushing heavily, the first time you’ve seen her that embarrassed, she quickly retracts her hands, taking a step away. Her open eyes are still fixed on you, however. You thank her in a normal tone: “Thanks Scoots. You’re my one and only, the girl my heart pines for.” Apple Bloom and the others look at you bewildered at your tactic, the former more so than the latter.

“What? I needed my hand back.” “Well, I think that’s as good place as any to go,” says AJ summarily, marching off towards the family van. As the four of you happily follow her, you notice that Scoots is neither addressing you directly nor looking at you. Looks like she can’t take teasing as well as she gives it. Devious plots run through your head, leading to a grin Apple Bloom asks you about directly. Should you tell her? You hesitate, but seeing the benefits of her as a partner in crime, you decide to go for it. Whispering in her ear finally warrants you a look from Scootaloo, the slightest amount of worry appears on her face, as brief and obvious as lightning. Plans of spontaneous butt-grabbing and hugging her while kissing each other flow from your mouth, too lost in your thought to fully consider Apple Bloom’s reaction. A moment of hesitation halts the flow of prospective teasing.

Closed-mouthed, you nervously fear for your esteem; eyes hiding worry search for signs of discomfort and disappointment on the nodding girl’s face. At your silence, her head turns to you, the slow bobbing ceasing. When a wily smiles grows upon her face, golden globes lit with sly excitement, the fear subsides. She’s in. She glances over to dear Scootaloo, now purely defined by a compulsion to check on her future teasers and the complete inability to hide such. Grin growing wider, she lifts her mouth to your tilted head and whispers her own designs into lowered ear. Returning your own nods of agreement, you find yourself somewhat shocked at the number and lengths of some of these. Visions of the both of you each grabbing a boob of the poor girl, of laying next to her and draping legs and arms over enter your head. Trying to douse her high-flying dreams and your libidinous rise, you mention that, perhaps, we should not go so far. A finger on her lip brings forth an understanding acceptance, and the unexpected deviance lowers once more. Trying to lower your own self, you switch thoughts to other environments.

The van lies before you, its faded door open for enter. As you sit down on the far side, just behind the driver’s seat, the touch of Apple Bloom greets your side. The sight of the dull brown interior explodes with visions of escapades with the girls beside you. Ahem. You cough to yourself, shaking your head a bit; you wished that Apple Bloom hadn’t gone so far with her suggestions, but you don’t wish too hard. Two more freshman enter, and one fellow junior. Or, rising senior? Your title during the summer always kinda confused you. A slender arm goes behind your arm and circles back as your loving cousin interlocks herself with you. Caught between soft affection and uncomfortable heat, you attempt to strike up some conversation. Questions of Canterlot High stimulate the rest of the van, all of whom nearly bounce in excitement of their reports.

“Oh, it’s sooo awesome!”

“There’s this crazy counselor who always wears these multi-colored suits-“

“He was kind of a jerk before Fluttershy’s rabbit bit him-

“The music teacher is so creepy-“

“No, she’s great!”

“Yeah, everybody loves her!”

“Yeah, so did I, before she made everyone sign a petition that’d make her the principal.”

“Oh, right. That was really mean.”

“Good thing AJ and her friends told Principal Celestia about it.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, girls.”

“It sure was! If it wasn’t for you girls, we woulda had the worst time ever!”

“There was like, this super buff gym teacher that kept yelling at every kid.”

“Uh-huh. He even got in a screaming match with the principal, totally cowed her.”

“But then Twilight got super fu-friggin pissed and just screamed at him. Really let him have it.”

“Dude quit pretty soon after that. Getting’ told off by teenage girl really took it outta him.”

“Oh man, remember when the school almost got demolished?”

“Wait, when was that?”

“Like, right before we started goin’. Those two contractors wanted to make a freeway right through it.”

“AJ, weren’t you the one who stopped ‘em?”

“Not really. Ah just reminded the board that they were scam artists.”

“Yeah, they wanted to do it to our farm, ‘member?”

“Ah sure do…”

“Oooh! Remember when that magician lady tried to get Twilight expelled?”

“Trixie?”

“Yeah!”

“Dude, how do you forget her name? And she wasn’t trying to get her expelled; she can’t do that.”

“Well, what was she doing?”

“I think get her kicked off the math team? Or replace her as president? I don’t know, something like that.”

“Yeah, and she did!”

“For like, half a day. Then Cheerilee found out she was hiding a the answers in that weird brooch.”

“Still, Ah got a bit scared.” The girls continue to regale you with stories of their high school. It isn’t clear if they’re exaggerating or if the place is actually the center of these storybook dramas. Either way, you feel a clear note of jealousy rising up in you. Sapping the joy of your physical connection with your cousin, thoughts of your distant school, Apple-less, threatens to engulf your whole mind. A frigid smile and fixed crinkles are put forth in the hopes of masking the tumultuous depression beneath. Put off so long, those awful gravities grew to unavoidable strengths. What had been a mere background, a faint shadow with delusions of entrance, now gained that presence you’d fought so hard against. The heavy cloud had surrounded you at the first spark of joy, flickering in the presence of newfound kin. And the murky gas, with its single-minded aim of diffusing, sought every crack of your mind. Hastily you’d sped to each opening, marked by the tangible dark seeping through, and plugged it. The feverish chase that had so come to be, almost the norm of your mental action, had failed in sort. And for the first time since Apple Bloom had light that fire in you, that miserable mire had seeped in once more, choking the anguished flame. All you could do was sit frozen, masked with turgid joy and connection, and wait for the spell to pass.

But the solo quest was interrupted, a variable unaccounted for setting new paths before you. The notice of your stilted replies and nods, like a poorly used puppet, had come unto Apple Bloom. Her face worried, perhaps not seeing the muck that had flooded your head, but suspecting something of its ilk. The first thought to cross her mind is a tightening of your physical bond, drawing you closer. But the small spark fails to catch, just as a second solution crosses her mind. It’s a simple sentence, spoken with the typical earnestness of the energetic girl, but the effect’s profundity is inversely proportional to the statement’s lack.

“Hey, you should come to Canterlot High next year.” All eyes turn towards you, save the driving AJ, who goes silent in a severe attentiveness.

“What?” What do you say? This wasn’t a solution you’d foreseen, let alone considered.

“Ya got another year to go, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, move down here!” It isn’t a well-thought out proposition; rather, it was the first answer to the distance that she too feared. At the first crossing her mind, she’d treated it as prophecy, and at the first opportunity, she’d thrust the inevitable choice forward as a request. Before you the weighty smog dissipated, like an ignited balloon. Clear air filled your head, which swam with visions of a full year with Bloom, and who knows what beyond. Playing in fields, valleys, in schools, hanging with AJ and the CMC, pleading to see the clubhouse, skinny-dipping, game nights, and more dates.

The effect of these numerous pictures was great; before, it had only been bright enough to forget the poisionous vapor outside. But now, it seemed as if it could be banished entirely, as if your frantic scramble to keep your head above the water could be ended, that solid ground could bless your flailing feet. In these visions, you saw as you had not seen before. Disorganization was revealed in the dim glow, a wainscoting of remaining sludge of the walls of your psyche. The filth of Scootaloo’s home was here echoed, a grime filled house testifying to your poor state. Your long face was cast out as you focused on the new centerpiece, the crackling bonfire warming the once wintry house. Perhaps in time the grime could be wiped, the thoughts organized. A small hand squeezed yours, a happy burst of flame leaping up. At the promise in her touch, the hope of one day being healed, you set your mind to it. You had to stay. Not being the most extroverted person, you don’t express the whole of your impassioned decision. A small but firm:

“Yeah, I will” exits your lips, a solid nod hinting at the great resolve behind it. Still, you end up doubling back, not yet brave enough to make such a promise: “I mean, I’ll try.” But Apple Bloom saw your wish, and took it as the unavoidable conclusion it was.

She’d made up her mind days ago, but only recently realized her pure faith in Anon’s stay. He had to stay, she’d thought. Her young mind still couldn’t grasp the nature of the world, that “ought” did not always translate to “is.” She wanted him here, even needed him. How or why, she didn’t know; only the pure gravity that held her form was seen, and this indisputable. It is there, pulling her in since that first step off the train, and grew greater every time a barrier to his heart fell. Those kind eyes, often geared towards her own, set her heart aflutter. The soft grip of his hands on hers, the not unappreciated visits of his gaze to her chest, the careless laughter she’d drawn out of him, which so contrasted with the weight on his heart. All of these things and more set him as her favorite boy, the best cousin imaginable.

And didn’t he need her? Amid fears of being a nuisance and unwanted, she’d seen proof that he wanted her as well. The way he went along with her jokes, reached for her hands or grasped them back when she reached for his, and the bearing of his heart to her were proof enough. Her grip on his arm tightened, and eyes met. Hers filled with radiant pleasure at a future not to be doubted, lending him strength to believe in the same. They needed each other, she thought, so they must end up together. A world that didn’t work that way was unbelievable. Reminders of the cruelty of her parent’s departure and his’ isolation were pushed out, two dark specters not to be allowed in her happy mind. And with their arms snaked together, visions capturing a horizon holding hope, the rest of the trip passed easily.

Soon enough the welfare wasteland came into view, still shocking you with the gross atmosphere. But rather than going down those previously known roads, the garbage choked alleys gave way to a more natural arena. The forest you’d seen before, hiding behind great trash mounds, had burst forward, thrusting aside all of man’s works. The grassy floor had shaken off the refuge, and now laid itself bare before you, a pure, waving green under the flourishing canvas of thick trees and bushes. The great trunks of giants sat beside the empty dirt road, jumping up and down at every bump in the road. The van grinds to a halt at a rectangular patch of dirt by the side of the road, the vibrancy of the natural world urging you to escape the metal confines. Hopping out, you immediately hear the greatest track of nature, the theme of all youthful expeditions: running water.

Chipper female voices arise from around you, but the contents aren’t discerned. Somewhere along the line, your pants come off, revealing the swim trunks underneath them. They’re tossed in the car, as well as the outer garments of your compatriots, now dressed in choice suits. AJ gives the lot of you a “come on” look and wipes the discarded clothes off the tube. It’s one of those double ones, shaped like a figure eight, with a little square in the middle for drinks or whatever. She pulls out a pump and tosses it to you, along with the deflated ride. With a little help from a sweet belle, you find the little opening and stick the tip of your pump in it. Setting up the main body, you grip the two handles and begin pushing down, forcing air into the tube. It isn’t too long til you get a bit tired, embarrassing though it is. However, luck isn’t far, and a Scootaloo shoos you off, eager to provide some help.

You let her have it, turning around to look at the lush woodland around. It really is beautiful; the events behind you fade out, relegated to some corner of your mind while you take it all in. The trees aren’t as thick as they were in the beginning, but roughly one or two within every twenty feet. However, being so deep in the forest, there are plenty of trees behind all those in the immediate background, leaving no visual exits of the wood in their graded rows. Bright pockets of flora abound, little rows and spots of multicolored flowers, all backed on the many shades of brown and green. The calls of birds play in tune with the rushing clamor of the living river, hypnotizing you. Needless to say, you didn’t get out often, and certainly not into this level of untouched perfection.

“Alright, Ah’m headin’ out! You guys have fun!” The bellowing AJ wakes you to the human element once more. Slightly embarrassed at your singular reverie, you stumble back into the crowd of three yelping girls, and wave goodbye to your older cousin. The van exits, the smoke soon after, and the four of you are left with nothing but each other and the mostly full inner tube. Noting Scootaloo’s obvious tiredness, barely masked by her unwillingness to show weakness, you tap her shoulder. She lets you finish up, the grabs one end while you take the other. Sweetie Belle guides Scootaloo down a rocky path, and you follow their lead, a skipping Bloom at your side.

The nearby river explodes into view, the few cracks of blue between the trees suddenly giving way to the full picture. Though the roar makes it sound as if it were some foaming rapids, it actually looks pretty mellow to you. The water glows a brilliant azure in the further parts, the bright suns speckling it, as if by it’s own bound stars. Near, the lower concentration offers a clearer picture, revealing dark brown rocks and deep mossy green beneath the surface. Where the occasional rocks juts out, or at odd shifts of direction, white form leaps into being then fades almost instantly. A rocky bed beside the river proper is covered with an inch or two of placid water, and the tube is set down here.

Scootaloo stretches out a bit after carrying the awkward luggage, then looks around, as if to make sure nobody is around. Then, with a devious smile, she opens up the small purse still carried. Her hand descends, then ascends, clutching a small brown bottle. To the three shocked faces before you, a massive grin responds, followed by a wild shout:

“Who’s ready to get waaaasted!?” Wait. What? In your bewilderment at the beer-toting Scootaloo and her apparent belief that it’s enough to get four people wasted, Scootaloo takes action. Her small hand clamps down on the lid, trying to rip it off. An awkward moment later and it’s screwed off. She presses the bottle to her lips, inciting you to action. A few brisk steps forward brings the bottle within arm’s reach, and you easily confiscate it. Faced with such a betrayal, Scootaloo lets loose a mighty whine:

“Awww come on!”

“Look, that’s really not a good idea.” You respond, commanded more by duty than by a reasonable objection.

“Why not?” She tries to take back the bottle from you, hitting you several times as you move it out of her grasping hand. Truth is, you can’t really think of a reason why this is a bad idea. It’s only one beer. Still, it doesn’t sit right with you. Thinking of what you should do, you come up with a compromise.

“Because you guys are way to young to be getting wasted,” you explain, banking on the delusion that this amount of alcohol will get anything wasted. “And I’d be letting down AJ if I were to just stand by.” A look around show the three girls are slightly disappointed, but without rebuttal. Now’s your chance to pick it up:

“However.” Their eyes light up with this. “I don’t see anything wrong with a swig each.” The lit up faces signal a partial return to coolness. Lined up before you, you pass the bottle to Sweetie Belle first. You wouldn’t think she’d be into that, but she’s looking pretty determined. She grasps the bottle in her hand, staring at it intensely. You’re alright with waiting for her to muster her courage, but Scootaloo doesn’t wait to egg her on.

“Come on, SB, don’t make us wait forever!” She doesn’t appear to respond immediately, instead continuing to stare at the bottle for another few seconds. Then, filled with determination, she nods then takes a huge pull. She manages to swallow, though her face contorts in disgust. She coughs a few times in another direction, thrusting the bottle away from her.

“Ack! Geez, that was way gross!” Seems Apple Bloom is next in line. Huh. You wonder why Scootaloo’s moved to the back, but only for a moment. Apple Bloom looks hesitant to drink, her gaze flickering from her friends and you to the bottle. She doesn’t stare at the bottle as Sweetie Belle had done, but more looked at her audience. Hoping she’s not feeling pressured or anything, you open your mouth to tell her it’s fine if she doesn’t. But before any words can cross your lips, she pulls the top to her mouth and throws it back. The effect is similar to Sweetie Belle, with a quick swallow followed by a hacking cough. She turns, grimacing, to her partner in suffering.

“Ah shoulda listened to you, Sweetie. That was awful.” Scootaloo grabs the bottle out of the offering hand, and with only a brief moment of hesitation, takes a long gulp. She takes much more beer than the others, judging by how long it stands upside down over her mouth, and has to gulp twice to het it all down. Her mouth contorts just a little, nowhere near as disgusted as the other girls, but you can tell she wasn’t a huge fan. As she speaks, her voice wavers with somewhat cloaked nausea:

“That was… uh… great!” The lie’s pretty obvious, but you don’t call her out on it. The bottle returns to your own hands, and a new problem presents itself. What do you do with it? It’s not as if there’s a trash out here or anything, and you can’t exactly keep it with you (what if you forget, and AJ finds it?). Geez, you don’t want to litter… Hopelessly, you turn to Scootaloo and the girls:

“I’m guessing there isn’t a trash anywhere near here.” She shakes her head.

“Nope. Unless we wanna go into somebody’s backyard.” That doesn’t sound so bad, but you remember the trashy village coating the forest. Being a wealthy city kid, you can’t differentiate between the kind or indifferent poor and the violent poor. For all you know, a step into a backyard is grounds for execution. Maybe that’s classist or something, but you aren’t taking any chances. Sensing your negative answer, Scootaloo takes the lead: “Just throw it anywhere, ‘cept in the river.”

“Yeah, but then it’s gonna look awful; I don’t wanna do that to this.” You wave your arm around the perfect scenery. Scootaloo shrugs.

“Well, bury it then.” You don’t like it, but it sounds like the only option left. You head to a little patch of dirt, and dig a small hole.

“Wait!” Sweetie Belle cries, the descending bottle tilting sideways to fit. “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t do what?”

“If you bury it like that, the beer’s gonna spill out!” You’re still unclear on the issue.

“Ok…” Her expression remains slightly panicked, hand still outstretched in a “stop” gesture.

“I just read that alcohol is really bad for the environment! If you dump that out there, nothing’s gonna grow for 10 years.” That sounds suspiciously like a flat out lie, and you raise your eyes skeptically. Scootaloo joins in with a gleeful smirk.

“Yeah, I read that too!” What’s she playing at? “We can’t pour any of it out!” Oh, now you get it.

“Scootaloo, you can’t have any more.” You reply flatly, to which a ridiculous exaggeration of innocence comes up. Eyes and mouth wide open in innocent shock and a hand pressed to her chest, she speaks in the voice of a criminal who’d never conceived of being caught.

“Whaaaat? Nooooo,” she shakes her head, the performance becoming ludicrous. “What I meant was, you’d better finish it off.” Oh wow, you didn’t expect that. You look at the unwanted booze, then to the three girls. Sweetie is nodding her head seriously, obviously buying into the plan, while Scootaloo is grinning wildly and nodding vigorously. Looking to AB, she shrugs her shoulders:

“Sounds like that’s the only thing to do.” The lack of inflection in her voice doesn’t tell you if she’s bought into Sweetie’s mistake or if she’s following Scootaloo. But faced with three cute girls asking you, your small ability to resist peer pressure is found wanting. You bring up the bottle, taking a moment to sigh before you try to chug it. A couple swallows pass before the urge to cough pushes the bottle away from your mouth. That out of the way, you set yourself to finishing it off. Man, the girls barely took any of it! Finally, the last of the bitter liquid burns through your throat, and you toss the empty bottle into the hole provided. Blech. You were never much of a beer guy, even if you’ve had it before. The familiar burning of your throat reminds you of why you tended to abstain.

The stares of the girls upon you only last a moment, being interrupted by the sound of the tube on the rocks. Apple Bloom turns, then speeds off. Only a second later the rest of you see the tube starting to move towards the stream proper, threatening to escape. Your cousin moves in an amber blur towards it, unconcerned with the wet rocks that hold her speeding feet. But safely she exits the slippery floor, through a grand leap onto the bloated figure eight. The craft sinks slightly under the thin frame, then bounces up, still continuing its wayward path. Three figures fly towards it, though more slowly, impaired by the safety concerns of the tallest. Little distance is made between their careful pursuit and the quickening raft. The float-bound girl reaches a heroic hand toward a rock, the head of which pierces the foaming lid of the river, trying to grab on. A slip carries it away, but another attempt is made upon the next. At this second skyward stone, the grip excels, but rather than anchor the ship, it serves only to pull her from it. Her torso moving slowly off the temporarily stopped escapee, she quickly releases the unhelpful pillar. Precious seconds are spent righting herself. As soon as her position is secured, she throws it away by leaping over the side. Two hands grab black handles atop it, while bare feet are tasked with anchoring. Successful, she takes steps towards bringing the captured prey to a less speedy zone. Patiently waiting for her troupe, she spies a nearby boulder with a promising grip. Grabbing it, she hoists herself back onto the raft and grips it, triumphant in keeping it still.

You and your protected companions arrive at the grinning Apple Bloom, the savior of the day. Noting the possibility of Apple Bloom losing, you direct the rest of the girls onto the boat.

“Come on guys, before it slips away again.” Unthinking, your boarding places you on the ring opposite Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle climbs into the Bloom-inhabited ring, and Scootaloo leaps onto you. She scrambles for proper positioning, in the meanwhile slamming an elbow directly into the critical zone. Eyes bulge and hands fly to the injured groin, while you hold in a pained groan. Outside your small world of torment, you faintly catch the conversation of your agony-inflicting friend and your kin.

“Hey Bloom, ya don’t mind me sitting on your man, do ya?” A cocky voice comes. Apple Bloom scoffs a bit, not so jealous or so possessive as to deny her slightly heartbroken friend a favor.

“Not at all. But Ah’m gonna take him back in a bit.”

“Fine by me,” Scootaloo responds, with more relief in her voice than she wanted. She scoots back and forth, a somewhat bony butt not feeling so great on your upper legs and groin. Just as she gets comfortable, you lose your own comfort, and adjust yourself. Picking yourself and taking a more reclined position, the small girl is lifted too, yelping as she does so. Finally, the two of you find some comfortable position in the small space.

“Come on, let’s be off then.” You say, and Apple Bloom releases the held anchor. The heavier float takes a minute to move, but with a little push, you find yourself in the stream proper. It isn’t as fast as you’d thought when you’d been chasing your present seat. Or perhaps the river just slowed, if that’s a thing. You weren’t exactly versed on the physics of streams.

In any case, the drift was leisurely, a slow pull through the enchanted forest surrounding you. The cloud of trees surrounded you, reaching to the shockingly blue sky. Several clouds were present, leaving a mottled cloak in that light blue. The sun was covered by a single cloud, made marvelously vibrant by that infusion. As a result, only the indirect, reflected light made it through the great towers. You and the girls were touched by that soft light, a mellow illumination that made on think of those magical hours before the sun sank completely. It fell perfectly on the trim girls, each of them shining like starry attendants. They were suits of purple, red, and swirling pink and purple, each attached to the girl holding the matching hair color. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom were lying side by side, arms cloaking each other in a lax hug. Thin, perfectly curving legs hung over the edge in a tangle, and their relaxed heads rested on the center. You found yourself a little jealous of the marshmallow Crusader, being so closely tied to your Apple Bloom. Your position was much the same as her, mirrored with Scootaloo. Only instead of being side-by-side with your companion, she laid on top of you. Your head rested on the center, not too far from Apple Bloom’s, while Scootaloo rested on your shoulder.

Your resting head moves upwards, settling its gaze on Apple Bloom. Her gaze was already fixed on you, kind eyes drawing you in. A smile crosses your face at that perfect girl, which she returns. She’s too far to kiss, and the girl on you prevents any small motion. You could push her off, but that’d be rude. In the middle of devising a means of kissing, Apple Bloom once again demonstrates the synchronicity between both of you. Her soft hand extricates itself and moves to her lips, which kiss the tips of her pointer and middle finger. The two extended fingers then move over to your mouth, alighting on lips which receive the kiss. You can’t help but grin widely at the sign of affection as she returns her fingers to her own lips, to take the kiss you’d given.

You manage to move a hand over to the center, while she does the same. Comfortably resting, with hands clasping and then intertwined, the next few minutes pass in a peaceful bliss. Soon, the sun escapes from its cloudy prison, its full light blazing down on you. It’s pleasant; not so much the sight, but the noticeable warmth it offers. You yawn and stretch, not unlike the lazy motions of a well-pleased cat. Just as you’re settling back into a comfortable position, Scootaloo’s voice comes softly to your ear.

“Hey, Anon.”

“Sup?”

“I need your help putting some sunscreen on.” Her voice is noticeable quieter than before, the question seeming honest. You look over to Apple Bloom, who’d heard the question. The smile perfecting her face remains, and you see a small nod. You’re not a huge fan of those guys that have to get permission, but you don’t want to hurt Apple Bloom, and this might be one of those things. But she seems fine with it, even encouraging you.

“Uh, yeah sure.”

“Really?” Again, the question lacks the bluster and sarcasm, one of which is almost always found in her speech. Maybe she was actually needing this; you didn’t know her backstory, or really very much besides the facts that she lived in a slum and seemed slightly more interested in you than other people did. Still, it was given the OK, and you did like this girl. She was pretty fun to hang out with, and if there was something you could do for you, why not?

“Yeah. Where’s the sunscreen?” The middle compartment opens up, and Scootaloo fishes out a small bottle of suntan lotion.

“You sure you got that right?” You ask, not sure of the difference between suntan lotion and sunscreen.

“Yeah? It’s sunscreen.”

“Well, it says suntan lotion.”

“Well, that’s what we packed, so that’s what we’re gonna use.” Still uncertain, you take it just as she flips herself over. She’s facing down now, head resting on the centerpiece while her legs are curled up and resting on the edge. Her back is face up, directly over your lap. Before you start, you notice something that wasn’t there on the pool day. Two tracings of thin black wings, located on each shoulder blade, both spread out and rendered in surprisingly skillful detail.

“Hey Scoots, what’re these?” She turns her head so the left side is lying on the middle, where her right eye can see you out of its corner. Already having committed to relaxing, her voice is almost sleepy.

“Mm-what? Oh. Yeah, I was talkin’ ‘bout tattoo ideas with my sister last night, and I decided on some wings. Pinkie was there, ‘an she offered to do some for me.” Both the other girls are staring at her back too, obviously sharing your ignorance.

“Wow, that’s so cool!” exclaims Sweetie Belle.

“Sure is,” agrees Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, I’m pretty psyched about it. She took a picture so I could show it to the artist.” Her eyes close, some lost sleep apparently catching up with her. Noting her gradual fade from the scene, the other two girls immerse themselves in a conversation concerning Pinkie’s heretofore unknown artistic ability. Scootaloo shifts a few times and you worry a few times when her elbows move a little too close to your groin. But she comes out comfy and you come out un-elbowed, so everyone on this side of the float is happy.

Taking the bottle, you squirt a small amount onto your hands and rub them together, a mild coating present. You start at the area closest to you, the right side of her back. Two hands come down, the cool liquid sending a shiver through your subject. You send your hands apart, moving to the upper and lower-right of Scootaloo’s back. Fingers splay as they move out and come back together as they return to the center, just to add a little variety to the massage (and after all, that’s really what these things are about). For the same reason, your hands start slowly turning, your fingers 45 degrees inward on their outward motion, then 45 degrees outward on the converse. After a minute, you turn the motions wider, making circles over her back. Hands are now pointing towards each other on the middle-right of her back, then move to the middle left side, followed by small swirls back to the starting position.

Here and then you squirt a bit of lotion where you’ve missed or put it on lightly, pressing harder on these areas in order to hurry the rate of absorption. To be honest, you kind of wished she was facing away from you, instead of having her back horizontally placed on your lap. It made left-right synchronicity difficult, and upper-lower synchronicity was far less meaningful. So instead of trying to paint patterns with one hand and reflect or mirror them with the other, you take inspiration from Pollock: just random stuff in random places. As the intricate motions continued, still with a hint of artful design, you found yourself hoping Apple Bloom would see you. You’re tempted to check, but maintain the urge, staying focused on tracing intricate patterns on Scootaloo’s back.

You can feel the curve of her back, tracing it with one hand all the way up to her neckline, the back down with the other. Her back moves slightly with each deep breath. In your slower movements, you can even feel the faint vibrations that follow her sigh of contentment. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the you-ward stare of your younger cousin looking at your hands, an almost hungry look in that solid gaze. Suddenly, this much treatment feels a bit odd, so you finish up those untouched place right quick, then declare the end.

“Alright, I think I got it.” You receive a happy groan in response, the purple-haired girl doing her best to sit up and stretch in the small space.

“Ah’ll say!” Apple Bloom comments, somewhat breathlessly. “Ah’m next!” You get the notion that your plan worked. The red-clad girl tries to get up while the purple-clad girl does the same. Both are on their knees before the center, attempting to switch sides without putting two much weight on one side. They start forward several times, then back up quickly when the rocking raft threatens their dryness. Their eyes lock, plans forming like rabbit babies in their minds.

“Here, let’s-“ Scootaloo starts, reaching for Apple Bloom’s hands. Hands meet, and slowly they rise, conjoining the two girls. It isn’t clear to you what they’re thinking, but it’s the same thing, that’s for sure. Perfectly synchronized, each lifts up their left leg and slowly brings it over to the other side. Shifting torsos, both girls are now sitting on top of the centerpiece with legs in both camps. Slowly they try to rise once more, in order to get the other leg over, and to complete the transferring of spots. The water isn’t moving too fast, and luckily there are no rocks; nevertheless, you worry for both girls’ safety. Your worries come to awful fruition when Sweetie takes that moment to adjust herself, the temporary change of weight distribution causing the side opposite you to sink just a little bit. Scootaloo’s hands, near you, immediately grasp onto your immovable shoulders, steadying herself. Apple Bloom’s hands are near no such mount, and they flail wildly before she falls backwards into the water.

“Shit!” You shout, jerking forward. The sudden noise and worry blocks your conscious to the second splash. At the edge of the inner tube, you stop yourself, realizing the problem is a very minor one. Apple Bloom surfaces in no time, adjusting her displaced top and laughing. Her wet hair falls over her shoulders and face, and she corrects the latter inconvenience. She swims up to your side, now conspicuously Scootaloo-free. Your turn backwards, and find a similarly drenched Scootaloo spitting some water off to the side. She looks over to Sweetie Belle right before the inner tube smacks her head. One small arm reachs up the downstream side and yanks the rest of her body up. Scooting in close to her bestie, she levels a withering look towards her. Sweetie Belle returns with a nervous laugh.

“heh heh heh…?” Surprisingly. Scootaloo takes it up.

“Hah ha ha ha!” Seeing that her sins are forgiven, the initiator laughs a little more confidently.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Right as Sweetie Belle begins to get suspicious, Scootaloo leans back, then extends her arms, pushing Sweetie right out of the inner tube. Her shrill cry is cut short by her inundation, all but a flailing hand falling beneath the rippling water. Beneath the white residue of the splash, her form can be seen, distorted by the chaotic currents. The almost-foam disappears, the progeny of a splash never knowing long life, and the blurry image of an angry Sweetie Belle comes into full view. The clearness of the water does not last, however. Sweetie Belle leaps up out of the waiting, a great gasp tearing through the giggling atmosphere. Wiping great strands of interspersed pinks from her eyes, Sweetie Belle gives her bestie a mean eye, the kind you’d never expect from such a pretty girl.

“Oh, it is on!” she says, an attempted shout ruined by the squeaky rage and a mortifying crack on the final word. She strides towards the pathetic escape of your slow-moving raft, unable to run in the thigh-deep water.

“Oh no!” Scootaloo laughs, in that particular tone belonging to someone both having fun and foreseeing a comic vengeance. The deep awaited her, and she knew it. She scrambles back as far as she can, which really isn’t very far. She sits on the far end of the tube, almost flipping her side over, then hastily leans forward to avoid such a fate. But the thin escape provided a valuable scheme for Sweetie Belle, who saw a way to recreate it. Scootaloo, mind adrenalized by her near dive, did not see how the information could be used against her. Instead, she only sat ready for Sweetie on that end, awaiting the only recourse she could think of: Sweetie climbing on and pushing her off, the same motions she herself had done. But the preparations to keep Sweetie off came short when Sweetie Belle grabbed the nearest edge of the tube, the side opposite to Scootaloo’s, and heaved it upwards. Up the tube tilted, Scootaloo’s tube approximately 70 degrees in the air, and yours’ and Apple Bloom’s only about 30 (the length of the craft didn’t allow for a full translation of the tilt). As a result, you and your guest needed only to grab tightly to each other and the handles to stave off the terrible plunge.

Scootaloo was far from lucky, and was tipped off, open mouthed, in seconds. A short “Waa!” erupted from the chaotic non-fruit side, cut off by a loud splash. The mirrored effect of Sweetie’s plight brought a grin to the agent of justice, who then tried to climb in. She grabbed both handles and hoisted one leg over the inflated border. But no sooner had her slipper foot touched the inner edge than, for reasons unseen, she let out a fierce cry.

“AHHH!” She tilted her head back to let out the mighty squeak. She then dipped down a few inches, as if something beneath pulled her. The whole scene evoked a horror-movie feel, with the beautiful girl being horrified as something beneath yanked her unsafe leg. She clung madly to the handles, desperately trying to fight off the underwater pull. Fearfully, she managed to stay, though the tube threatened to turn over in her direction. The pull subsided, and she gained a few inches in height as the natural float prevailed. Gasping breaths blew water droplets off the interior as she rested. Then a spiky bomb of purple flew up behind her, the necessary intake of air preceding a warlike bellow:

“HUUUUUUHHH- YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Tan arms reached upwards, as if to pierce the heavens, as their owner rocketed upwards. Then, as her descent began, both arms fell onto the screaming victim, clutching her body. The sopping monster clung tightly to her, trying to pull the girl away from the tube and into a watery demise.

“NONONONONONO-“ came the marshmellow lady’s howl, her tight cling not lasting against the might of Scootaloo. For a moment, hope shone through when the plain tug didn’t work. But tan legs soon arose and pressed feet against the side, the extension of which then propelled the mess of terror and pink into a shock of white spray. The tangle of friends had long sent you and your Apple into hysterics, both of you not expecting the show. Two hair-covered heads arose from the water, ceasing their battle to look at the laughing cousins. One looks at the other, who nods, and they both silently move towards the previously safe duo. A falsetto speaks from behind a curtain of pinks:

“Something funny?” The sudden attention of the voice and the veiled threat seizes your attentions, blinding you to the disappeared partner. You’ve come to sit crisscross, like a Buddha statue, with your arms around Apple Bloom, whose legs fall over your right side and whose arms have clung to your neck, unlike a Buddha statue. You feel her arms constrict, as she tremblingly replies, in that same half-jocular, half-nervous tone from before.

“Uh, no sir! Not at all!” But the laughter remains in Apple Bloom, breaking forth in an unhidden “pffft!” Your accuser’s pale hand peels back the curtain, a pair of happily menacing eyes fully stopping Apple Bloom’s humor. You try to bring the threatening party over to your side of things.

“Come on, Sweetie, it was kind of funny.” She shakes her head and gives little, quick nods.

“Oh yeah. Real funny.” She moves forward as she speaks, a small expression of malevolent joy growing on her face. With all your efforts spent on not appearing as terrified as you are, you fail to be properly aware of your situation. Only when her hands rise and surreptitiously grasp the handles do you begin to feel as alarmed as you ought to be. “You know what else is?” Your alarm comes too late: before you can make any securing motions, her hands push down with all her force. Behind you, Scootaloo had pushed upwards, the two motions using the combined weight against you. Sweetie almost moves out of the way, but her left arm is subject to the tumbling mass of you and Apple Bloom.

Underwater, you’re blind to her shaking the pain from her arm, caught up in a flash of colors. They fade quickly as you shut your eyes against the uncomfortable touch of the river. Vestibular senses completely out of order, you feel an acute sense of panic as your spatial awareness disappears entirely. There’s water, some skin, and a rock touching you, and that’s about the sum of your knowledge of the world about. Gradually, the spinning stops (though it was only one rotation, it feels like twenty) and external knowledge grows. The slippery rocks under your feet, the departing grip of a lost hug, and a whole lotta wet. Pushing yourself up, your upper body escapes the watery atmosphere. Water rushes off of your body, passing its grip on you to a sudden chill of the cold air. You suck in new air, then cry out as your arms cling to your cold chest.

“Ahhh!” A moment passes, and the temperature returns to a more reasonable degree. Besides you is a similarly emerging Apple Bloom, who mirrors your gasp. Her hair is clings to her face, the only unfortunate aspect about those beautiful strands of rose, now made a dark crimson by the moisture. You look around, quickly finding the figure eight not too far downstream. Two girls occupy the two seats, both crisscross and with supporting elbows on their knees and hands on their chins. They watch you, grinning, feeling safe in their lofty perches. Apple Bloom shakes her head, then brings her hair to rest on her shoulders, sight regained.

She looks to you, a call to vengeance in that playful determination. You nod, reading her intention, then kneel down and gesture to your shoulders. She lights up as your plan is understood, then climbs aboard. She climbs aboard, thighs resting on your shoulders and legs dangling over your shimmering bod. Standing up, Apple Bloom clears the water line, and points towards the now worried girls.

“FRIENDSHIP FUSION TEN: ASSAULT CHICKEN!” she screams, and you hide a chuckle in your serious business face. Attagirl. You walk forward, not too fast –gotta keep your pilot safe- but quickly enough to gain on the enthroned opponents. Sweetie Belle actually looks alarmed, her hands grasping at the safety promising handles. Scootaloo looks happy, the joy of battle clear in her earnest grin. She too grasps the handles, but only with one hand: the other is cocked and ready to grapple. Naturally, you pick the former, her being an easier target. Your march slowly brings you to the tube-bound girl, and you slow a bit, keeping pace with her craft. A foot from her, you shout your intentions, both to comply with the theme your team has taken and to give Apple Bloom a heads up.

“BATTLE ATTACK TWELVE! APPLES FROM THE SKYYYY!” Immediately, you fall forward, bringing a detaching Apple Bloom onto Sweetie. The last thing you hear before your head falls underwater is the battle-cry of your jockey mixing with the scream of your target. This time you recover more quickly, keeping your balance as you rise to the surface. You see a mess of teenage girl tangling in the small space, and the small part of you not dedicated to the campaign wondering why mud-wrestling is a sport and inner-tube showdowns aren’t. Realizing there’s little you can do in the Belle-Bloom struggle, you turn your attention towards Scootaloo.

Her eyes are glued to the nearby thrashing, and so don’t immediately notice your approach. She does catch you before you get too close, dissolving your plans of a sneak attack. Immediately, she shifts position, moving her body to a less moveable position, and arms ready to parry yours. Still you move closer, laying your hands on the rim and leaning in. She responds by placing flat hands on your chest and pushing. What folly! Expecting this, your hands were ready to reach up and grab her wrists. Doing so, you allow her momentum to bring you back, using your weight to add to the momentum. Her push and your pull combined, you succeed in wrenching her partway out of her seat, an alarmed shout telling of your partial success. Tilted back, the water cushions your momentum, stopping with her only partly out of the tube. You quickly muster some balance and pull again, taking advantage of her precarious position and moving all but the lower part of her legs out of the seat. With her center of gravity out, she falls into the water, the close proximity to the water resulting in a small splash.

Naturally, you join her underneath, having spared no effort to keep yourself above. Your short intake of air lasts a moment, but not long enough to stay for more than a few seconds. You rise to the surface, only to see a Scootaloo already waiting for you. In your terror you suck in some breath, not having enough time to fortify your position as hands push you back under. Not ready to give her any more time than you can, you immediately thrust yourself skywards, arms outstretched and ready for grappling. Your hands collide with hers, and you lock arms. Both parties push with all their might, but your greater strength is negated by the lack of solid position and the inability to find one. Every time your feet get close to finding a solid position, you pushes, or pulls, keeping you from finding it. Darn, this girl is good. You try your previous tactic, trying to use the force of her push to bring you both down, but she’s ready. She moves along with you, but positions herself on top of your falling body, mounting you while you go underwater.

Her legs clamp on both sides of you, her torso upright. The water reaches up her chest as you sink, but her head remains above. A handful of plans surge through your head, but none of them are found acceptable. The only potentially successful responses you can think of will take much more energy than you have. Not exactly a super fit person, your stores of energy are depleted much faster than you’d like. Your body goes limp as you signal your surrender, the triumphant girl hopping backwards. To secure the point and dodge any more attacks, you raise your hands as you emerge, open-palmed in a secondary gesture of surrender. You cough, then verbalize it.

“Alright, I surrender.” You try not to gasp as you speak, and succeed in holding back the sign of exhaustion until you finish. She grins, then raises her hands in victorious fists. Her eyes close in jubilation, a guttural

“WOOOO!” exiting. She turns to the inner tube, greeted by a cheer from Sweetie Belle, who formed peace with Apple Bloom already. Apple Bloom offers you a comforting glance, a respectful “you did good” in her eyes. You’re glad you didn’t completely let her down. As you and your water-bound friend approach the dryer party, Scootaloo asks them:

“Who won?” Sweetie Belle looks away, pretending to notice something interesting. Apple Bloom beams, proud of the truth that turned away her friend.

“Ah did!” She announces the circumstances of her speedy victory, the wrestling ability of the farm girl exceeding that of the pampered fashionista. A few deft moves and a near fall had prompted Sweetie to surrender soon after you’d pulled her partner off. Scootaloo doesn’t seem too upset at this, and claps her hand on Sweetie’s shoulder.

“S’alright, I made up for you.” About to climb in the circle opposite that shared by Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, the latter calls out.

“Hold on a minute!” One leg awkwardly in, she cuts her climb short.

“What?”

“Ya already got your turn with Anon.” Apple Bloom gets halfway up and starts moving towards the circle Scoots is about to get into. “An Ah still need some a’ that sunscreen treatment.” Scootaloo raises her eyebrows, and huffs good-naturedly.

“Sure, sure.” She takes her leg out and moves over to Sweetie Belle’s side, crawling over the side. Sweetie Belle, who’d dried off a bit, is set upon by her partner’s soaking form. The cold water renders the sun’s work pointless, making the girl cry out.

“Ahh! Cold!” Scootaloo only laughs and snuggles up to her, the small space a perfect excuse to get her friend thoroughly wet. Amid the continued shouts of the poor girl, you look at your future tube-mate. She grins at you, while her open arms invite you in. You return the happy expression, looking forward to the lotion-application as much as her. Climbing aboard, you mirror Scootaloo’s effect, though your shipmate doesn’t seem as upset as her counterpart. Laughing happily as you reach each other, you hug briefly. Then, fumbling a bit, you position yourselves as Scootaloo and you had before, with you crisscrossed on the black net that formed a floor of the tube, and her laid out on your lap, facedown.

The scene before you is gorgeous. The slow, lingering ride through the river, especially with your Bloom resting quietly on your chest is nothing less than divine. The sky is a clear blue, with white clouds speckled throughout the otherwise perfect hue. To the front and the right side of you are close mountains, covered in a thick fur of evergreens. The vibrancy of the colors is almost shocking; the large side of the covering is a thick green, ranging from a deep emerald to an almost lime, based on where the light can pass unobstructed by billowing clouds. Some of the trees lack that color, leaving dark browns and yellows where death and premature falls have altered it. Where the hills aren’t covered, mostly towards the top, is the purest amber, like America’s waves of grain. It has a bare, balding sort of look, only singular patches of trees scattered through the sparse summit.

The smell is indescribable, that fresh scent that only nature has. It’s not clear where it comes from, if it’s one plants, many, or just the absence of a man-made world. But wherever that scent comes from, it blesses your nose, and you breathe in deeply. A contented sigh exits, a smile reaching up the sides of your face. The air here is clear, easy to breathe. It’s not something you really notice, but each lungful feels fresher, holding more oxygen than the impeded breaths of your home, which, looking back, felt like a house filled with smog. You thought of a man nearly drowning at sea, then being saved, and swallowing great snatches of air, more precious than anything else. Perhaps you weren’t quite as desperate, but the simple enjoyment of the cool, delicious air was satisfying in a way you’d never thought air could be.

Trees crawled up to the sky on every side, nearer at the right and left portions than that in front of you. The twisting path didn’t offer a clear view of the end, but rather a field of wild goliaths signaling an impending turn. The water remains low, but not too much that the water didn’t crash into foaming waves at directional changes and junctions. The mostly clear water, with occasional patches of white, not unlike the sky above. Dark rocks could be seen below, along with the infrequent fish. The feeling of being summoned to some snowglobe-like enclosure, a small part of nature kept safe from the encroaching grasp of man, was made complete when a small deer strolled to the middle of some shallow part and leapt the rest of the way over the river. At this, Apple Bloom rockets upward, nearly tumbling off, to point and shout:

“Didja see that!?” She looks to you excitedly, that beaming smile never to get old. You nod with the quiet happiness of a more wearied person, but still touched by that infectious joy.

“I did.” She sits down, trying to find a comfortable position. You shift with her, and in the shuffle, you find yourself in curled up with your head on her chest. She’s curled up towards you, with her arms falling along your back. In this place, she doesn’t move, and you’re glad for it. It wouldn’t be your first suggestion, but once you’d begun, lying with your head just above her perfect breasts was somehow irresistible. The dry fabric of the swimsuit was an unwelcome juxtaposition to the otherwise soft and warm skin of your girl, but… Hmm.

Realizing that you could find a solution, your re3ach your hand up and grab the material, flipping it down. You look up to make sure it isn’t uncomfortable for her, and her thankful expression tells you she’s just as alright with it as you are. Lying down once more, you feel the soft texture of her breasts against your lower face as you close your eyes. You don’t rub into them or anything; right now, you just want to relax on the best pillow in the world. There’s a small thumping, and you realize it’s her heartbeat. It maintains a steady rhythm, slightly decreasing after the initial excitement of exposing herself to you. Thump-thump-thump. Those soft, repetitive beats hold your attention close, the rest of the world quietly fading out. And after a few minutes, you’re fast asleep in the arms of Apple Bloom.

On the other side of the tube, the audience had watched with open-mouthed gapes at Apple Bloom’s overt exposure. The moment she’d asked permission to flash Anon, heads lazily fallen on the tube’s edge had snapped up at the entirely unforeseen plan. True, Apple Bloom had gone topless with them before, but there was a boy here! And she was in her lap! And although no other answer could be expected, the barely discernible “sure,” had opened their mouths to unheard-of circumferences. Just as they had thought the situation partially defused by their crushing friend’s placement (facing downward was much less…hot), the massage had begun. Sweetie Belle’s breath had stopped, then continued in heavy, halted breaths. Scootaloo, distracted from her failure of her halfhearted plan to snatch up Anon, mimicked the girl next to her, with one major difference. As the massage continued, the intricate patterns more fully realized and their friend’s occasional moan becoming more audible, Scootaloo bit her lip, and her hand started sneaking its way down into her bottom. Noticing this, the light-skinned girl gasped and slapped the hand from the lascivious friend, though the same thought had occurred to her. Several more times Scootaloo’s hand had to be kept from her own places. Sweetie Belle had to wipe away the slightest of nosebleeds at the kiss, and was unable to silence Scootaloo’s loudening breaths. Luckily, the boy and girl in the seat beside were so entranced with each other that they didn’t seem to notice. Shortly after, the pink and purple haired party lied down on their own end, in positions that implied sleep. They might have fallen into such, or stayed awkwardly awake at the slightly lewd playfulness in the starboard side, had not vivid fantasies filled the heads of both closed-eyed girls.

A gentle rocking, followed by a tender pat on the head, brought Anon back to the world. The three girls were conversing happily, as if nothing had happened. It would have been a perfect showing, had not the eyes of Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle not kept moving back to your sleepy self. Apple Bloom, tragically clothed, patted you once more, then pointed to the shore.

“That’s where we’re goin’ tomorrow!” You don’t understand. Your tired reply eventually comes:

“W-what? Where we goin’ again?” She chuckles at the cute mumblings.

“To the vineyard, remember? Our neighbor told us that she could use some help crushin’ grapes tomorrow, and we could even keep some grape juice after!” Were you ever told about this? It seems to ring a bell, but you can’t find the moment. Not that it really matters.

“Oh yeah, cool.” Your head’s found its way onto her lap, where her hands absent-mindedly brush through your hair. Her fingers are graceful and gentle as they flow through your hair, the fingers running along the head beneath. Losing yourself in the feeling, you don’t pay attention to Apple Bloom’s attempt to point something oput and the other two girls shushing her immediately. Not hearing that it’s a secret and no boys allowed, you tilt your head upwards to a sorrowfully nodding Apple Bloom. All you’re comprehending is the mild unhappiness of her disappointment, and you reach out a hand to caress her face. Stroking her ample cheeks, which have just the right amount of chubbiness (enough to be seen without making the face appear fat), you smile lazily. She returns the expression, your happiness at touching her all she needs to brush off the disappointment. A moment passes, and a clearing in the tree-filled lining appears. In it is a van, the same that brought you up here.

A shock of fear bolts through you, an anxious untangling from Apple Bloom following. The realization that there still isn’t anything to fear from Applejack hits you moments later, bringing a dim regret over the lost few seconds of cuddling. Several shouts and waves from the girls are given to the van, which offers no response. The silent port confuses you, but doesn’t faze Scootaloo or Sweetie, both of which have already hopped out and scrambled to port. Sweetie’s department was almost immediate and speedy, but Scootaloo’s was a little slower, and maintaining a short gaze at the two remaining shipmates. Masking her desire to be part of that cozy group, she hollers a summoning, and waves her hand in a “come on” gesture.

“Come on!” Apple Bloom grants you one last hug, her backwards moving head hesitating on the exit. Sadly deciding not to kiss, you stare at each other for a quick moment. Her shining eyes still maintain that mysterious aspect of vitality, as if they were so mythical, curing fountain. Drinking deep of their waters, you smile at the jubilant girl, who beams at the attention. Her lashes are light but thick, the delicate whispers of colors flashing in the light as she blinks. Her cheeks protrude slightly as her pearly whites greet your welcoming eyes, reminding you of the ruddy-faced smiles of those children kept safe from worldly wisdom. You lean in slowly, tilting you head to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. A blush fills that perfect face, while both hearts beat furiously.

The two of you exit your ship, almost causing it to tip over on both parties when all the weight fell on the edge. A dull crash follows its descent to its proper place on the water, and you begin pulling it to shore. Apple Bloom meets up with the crouched partners ahead, her question concerning their position shushed. They put pointer fingers to their lips, indicating the need for silence. A small hullabaloo occurs when you land your ship, and eyes bug out while the gesture is directed towards you. The girls, unappreciative of the docking, wave at you to join them beside the still unmoving van. They’re on their feet, almost sitting on their heels, by the driver’s side door.

“What’s up?” you whisper to them. Sweetie Belle turns her face up to you, which is a little too close for comfort. Feeling the same way, she leans back a bit, then informs you of the situation. Apple Jack’s sleeping, a hat over her eyes and a half-read book flopped down on her lap. Guess she’d been here a while. Anyway, the plan was to spook her; two girls would jump up and bang on her window, while another would bang on the passenger’s side. You know, for surround-sound. You were tasked with jumping up on the very small hood, slapping the window and yelling; this would be the signal for the other girls. Thinking twice about terrifying your second-favorite cousin, you make the hard decision to favor comedy over comfort. Scootaloo crosses to the other side, and you move in front of the van. Wait, was this safe? Ah well, too late to turn back now. You leap up far, blanketing the thin hood with your torso, granting your arms enough reach to bang on the window. At the small thump of your body on the car, the other girls leap up, ready, while AJ stirs slightly.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGGHH!”

“WOOOOOOOOOUUUGGH”

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!”

“BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The four of you shout in unison, while pounding hands on the vehicle. AJ leaps up in her chair, as much as she’s able to, and lends her own cry to the noise. Her face assumes a horrified visage, qualifying her for a place in horror movies, while her hand grasps her hat in an attempt to keep it from falling.

“AAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” As she settles back into her seat, shock turning into a pouting menace, you and your squad of trouble-makers laugh heartily. AJ sees that your body still remains on the hood, and sends a heavy feeling to your stomach with the devious grin. Uh oh. Her hands slam on the horn, the screaming F# filling your poor ears. You hurl yourself off the front, tripping on a rock behind you. As your butt heartily greets the ground, your hands clasp over your ears. The horn soon subsides, and you stand up, rubbing a slightly harmed posterior as you do so. You find yourself the target of a foursome’s laughter, and begin to feel empathy for AJ’s previous plight. Exaggerating your pain, you glare at the lot of them, who have begun to file into the van.

Scootaloo takes the front seat, while the three remaining enter the middle. Apple Bloom sits in the left, followed by you, then Sweetie Belle on the right. They continue their laughs, now quiet chuckles, as AJ shifts into reverse, and begins the exit. Apple Bloom combats your harrumph and crossed arms with a close hug, the good-natured appeal melting even the pretense of grouchiness. You hug her in return, then tilt your head back in exhaustion.

“Anybody wanna get that tube? I’d like to take it back.” AJ announces, stopping the car. You groan, knowing the task would fall to you and your racked reserves. The three in the back hop out, though yours is more of a tumble, and walk to the bright figure eight by the water. Letting the air out of it takes a minute, and you sit on a rock to wait it out. Not following your example, the energetic girls fall upon it, rolling around over it. They giggle as they do so, looking like the kids who’d stick their legs together and arms to their sides and roll down grassy hills. Not having that much space, these two only roll back and forth. They seem to be having the same kind of fun as those kids, though how much help they’re giving to the displacement of air is questionable. You watch them from the sidelines, with the feeling of a parent who watches those kids, holding a certain joy of witnessing that kind of life. Once the air is almost all out, you work to roll it up, then tuck the rumpled mess under your arm. You drop it into the back of the van, the door to which happily opened by Apple Bloom. Grinning at the girl, so eager to please, the three outsiders enter the van once more. You slouch into your seat once more, happily sighing as you relax into the thick, carpet-like covering. AJ’s voice comes from the front:

“So, y’all were out a lot longer than I’d figured. So how’d y’all like to eat out?”

“Wow, is it dinnertime already?” Sweetie asks, not knowing where the time had gone. Then again, none of you really did. Looking out the window, you can see the dim tones of an impending sunset.

“Yeah, we got kind of a late start.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that late,” says a partially perplexed Apple Bloom, looking at you.

“Probably all that time you guys spent sleeping,” pipes Scootaloo.

“We didn’t sleep that much!” You respond.

“How would you know?” asks Scootaloo, voicing the question that had only just entered your head. You don’t reply, instead sinking into your seat once more, under the spell of some mysterious sleepiness.

“So where we goin’?” AJ interrupts, as stores enter your vision.

“Dairy Queen!” Scootaloo shouts immediately, the hope for such long held in her mind. The rest of the group drops a drawn-out:

“Ehhh,” followed by Sweetie Belle’s argument.

“Their food isn’t very good.” Everyone but Scootaloo agrees with this, and Sweetie Belle, still holding the platform, offers up an alternative. “How about Sonic’s?” Sonic’s? It sounds familiar, but you don’t think you’ve ever been there.

“What’s that?” She turns to you, excitedly describing her favorite fast food place:

“It’s like a drive-in, and they roller skate your food out to you!” She continues describing some of their specials, but you don’t listen closely to these. Fast food pretty much all tastes the same, but this particular gimmick sounds kind of cool to you.

“Sure, I’d be up for that.” Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle cheer at the majority vote, while Scootaloo grumbles in the front. AJ nods, then takes a quick left. In just a minute, the car brings you to your destination, the typical gaudy markings of fast food advertising shining through the windows. The van pulls up into one of these horizontal driveway-things with a huge menu on either side. You set yourself up with some Coney Island hot dogs, while the girls order various burgers. Before you’re finished, Apple Bloom elbows you.

“We gotta get ice cream, remember?” Oh yeah. You’d forgotten about your plans from yesterday; it wasn’t with her alone, but it’d have to do. Ignoring the pit in your stomach, arising from the unnamable thoughts about why you wouldn’t have time to do this alone, you order a hefty milkshake. Peanut butter and fudge: heck yeah. A chirping, slightly robotic voice tells you that she’ll be right out, and the lot of you climb into the back of the van. There’s a lot of empty space there, even with the mess of a deflated tube covering the bottom, enough for all five of you to sit with adequate space. As you’re climbing over your seat, you feel a firm smack of your hind quarters; you think Apple Bloom, but she’s already mostly in the back. By the time you can turn back to look, all three girls behind you wear innocent masks with barely hidden snickers. You blow some air out of your mouth, muttering:

“Girls.” You sit down next to Apple Bloom, with Sweetie Belle soon joining you on your right. On the other side of the van is AJ and Scootaloo, who sit cross-legged. AJ opens up the back door, letting in a rush of cool evening air and yellow-orange light. Your sweetest cousin lifts her eyes to the sky above, the light from above shining on her beautiful face. You turn towards Sweetie Belle, who looks blankly at you, as if searching for something.

“What’s up, SB?” You ask, feeling as if you ought to try to connect with her. You’ve been focusing almost entirely on your Apple Bloom, and the remaining attention has been spent on the purple-haired girl. The latter just kept pushing her way into your line of sight, so you didn’t really get a chance to speak with the shyer girl. From what you’ve seen, she seems pretty nice, and you kinda feel like you should get to know her better. At your question, she shakes her head a bit, as if she were lost in thought.

“Oh, uh- nothing. Just hanging out. In the back of a van.” She sounds kinda nervous, as if she wasn’t expecting you to talk to her. Which she wasn’t: she’d assumed partly through the tube trip that whenever you were around, all attention would be drawn either to you or the new couple. There was a small pang of jealousy for the spotlight: Apple Bloom and Scootaloo had the crush, and it was you. Feeling left out, she’d tried not to blame you, after a thin spurt of guilt made her go back on a wish that you’d go. As a result, she’d been left almost aimless, not wanting to be mad at feeling left out, but not knowing what she could do instead. It’s a little awkward.

“Cool, cool. That ride was pretty fun.” She looks off into the distance.

“Yeah, I thought it’d never end.” Suddenly she realizes the surfacing of the latent bitterness, and doubles back. Her eyes widening and her mouth open, she tries to move in a different direction. “Scootaloo and Apple Bloom really seemed to like those massages you gave.” You nod, feeling like there’s something you’re missing here.

“Yeah, I’m alright at it.” AJ and Scootaloo have started talking interestingly about something or other; you catch wind of a few comments about sports and next year. Somewhere along the line, Apple Bloom’s scooted up to them, joining their conversation. You and Sweetie Belle are left alone, similar to that little bubble you’d shared with your golden princess earlier, though without the comfort. Still, the semi-isolation does allow for a deeper question you wanted to ask. Still a bit nervous about it, you take a moment before deciding to go through with it:

“Sweetie, did I do something wrong?” She looks taken aback, a clear answer coming before any words.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just…” she looks up at you, and seeing your soft look, decides there’s no reason to keep it secret. Staying hidden was never her passion anyway. “I dunno, I kinda felt left out. I guess.” She looks over to the trio of girls, hoping her words didn’t reach them. She’s not looking for a big deal about this right now. They remain entranced by Scootaloo’s future soccer career, and you remain looking gently at her. You understand what she meant.

“That’s not what I meant,” she replies to your hesitant offer to give her a massage as well. She look at her two best friends, chuckling as she does so, then turns back to you. “Sorry, but I don’t feel the same way they do.

“That’s cool with me. That’d be pretty awkward for everyone if you did.” She snorts, imagining the dramatic scene, which would probably be really awful if it happened in real life. Then her face becomes serious again for a minute.

“I don’t want you to think I want you gone or anything, I really don’t. It’s just, you’re kind of all they talk about right now.” You try not to smile at that, enjoying the grand compliment that it was. After some difficulty, you do achieve your sympathy once more, and try to make the situation better.

“I’m sorry about that. But it’s gonna pass, you know. That kind of thing doesn’t last forever.” Sweetie nods her head, more able to believe the truth now that you’ve stated it.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Seeing that her mood is rising, you see an opportunity to keep improving it.

“Why don’t we just take a step away from all this? Tell me about yourself.” It’s not the smoothest transition, true, but you’re not the smoothest guy. Her curiosity is peeked, and her head is tilted to the side. You follow up, trying to amend the awkward suggestion. “I know a lot about Apple Bloom, and I’ve picked up on a lot about Scootaloo, but I still don’t really know anything about you. I mean, besides the fact that you’ve got a fancy sister, but that doesn’t tell me a lot about you.” She sits up and smiles, happy that she’s neither overshadowed by her sister nor neglected. Before she can begin, a teenage girl rides up to the back of the car in roller blades. She’s got this minty blue-green hair, and a dazzling white smile. Too many bags sit on top of a circular tray, but she manages to move each and every one of them with incredible skill as she passes out the food. Greeting you is a bright and chipper

“Good evening!” followed by a sly look at you and your conversational partner. AJ reaches out with a card in hand, which is taken by the roller-waitress. She looks at AJ and benignly says:

“I’ll be back in a minute.” She leaves, not before throwing a wink towards you and Sweetie Belle. Your face blushes slightly, eliciting a soft laugh from the departing girl. You cough, then turn your attention to Sweetie Belle, trying to ignore the previous flirtation.

“So, you were saying?” She beams again, happy to be remembered. This girl probably doesn’t get a lot of attention.

“Well, I absolutely adore arcades and crocheting. Which is pronounced ‘cro-shay-ing,’ not ‘crotch-et-ing’.” She adds this final part with an accusing glare. Scootaloo looks confused at the sudden attention, then returns to her circle. The waitress comes back, looks at you for a few moments, then leaves, apparently disappointed. Near you, Sweetie Belle continues, spilling out the most delicious secrets of crotchet; you do your best to listen, but this is so far from your own interests, it’s all you can do to nod and smile. You work through part of your food while she speaks, deeply disappointed in the quality of the hot dog, but nothing else. When she finishes her lecture on proper techniques, she switches over to her love of video games.

“So, there’s this one, super-awesome game called Smash Bros. Have you ever heard of it?” You hold in a scoff as you reply.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Smash.”

“Oh my goodness it’s sooooooo cool! I’ve been playing it since I was like, 10! I mean, the main reason I started playing video games was because it annoyed Rarity. She HATES video games, you know.” She drops a huge emphasis on the verb, bugging her eyes out and waving her hands. Apple Bloom looks to the two of you, drawn away from her own conversation. “But then it turned out they were kinda fun! I got my dad to start playing too, and now we play all the time! Sometimes Scootaloo comes over to play, but she’s not as good as I am.” She whispers this last part, trying not to draw Scootaloo’s attention. However, she does draw the full interest of the other crusader, who sidles up next to you:

“What are y’all talkin’ about?” Golden eyes looks up to you, then to Sweetie Belle. Absent-mindedly, you pull her a little closer, so she’s leaning into you. All three of you are sitting with legs crossed and half eaten meals in laps or besides such. Apple Bloom turns so that she faces away from you, then falls back to you, so that her back is leaning into your side while she listens to Sweetie Belle go on. Again your arm acts of its own accord, draping itself across her neck, with your dangling hand soon grabbed by Apple Bloom. You notice AJ look over to you, then back to Scootaloo; she seemed unfazed, so you allow yourself to keep the happy position.

Sweetie Belle’s tale continues, becoming much more interesting than you’d thought. Apparently one of Rarity’s friends had babysat her –“It’s not that I’m a baby, it’s just that my stupid sister treats me like one”- and they’d go out all the time to Hey Burger or the arcade. She’d pretended not to really know how to play, just cause he seemed to enjoy teaching her, but in the end, she’d actually learned a whole lot from him anyway. Eventually, Rarity found out, and straight up banished the dude. But then he got this managerial position at the local arcade, got Rarity to let him near her again, and they won this huge tournament thing. You were kinda surprised that anything that fantastic could happen in a town like this, but what do you know? Your attention slowly becoming rapt as the story went on, you’d forgotten even to sip your milkshake, or notice Apple Bloom’s stare.

“Wow, did that really happen?” you ask, not fully believing it.

“It sure did,” the sweet girl under your arm responds, corroborating the facts, “Ah saw it myself.” She turns to look at her cheerful friend and asks, “but Ah’m not really clear on where y’all are now? Is he your fella yet?”

“Nah, I’m still not allowed to date. But you can bet that by the time I turn 16, he’s gonna be.”

“How old are you now?”

“15! Turnin’ 16 in two weeks!” Suddenly, Scootaloo appears next to her, her sporty discourse over.

“What are you talkin’ about?” She looks to you, then adds with a grin, “is it how ya spanked him?” Immediately, all eyes fall the girl with the bright red face. Her answer comes out in a stammer:

“N-N-No! I never did that!” Scootaloo laughs at the protests, and Sweetie Belle hides her face. Apple Bloom looks at you, far less confused than you’d thought she’d be. You look through the girls, but no answer besides some snickering and face-hiding greets you. Turning to AJ, you ask her. Honesty’s her thing, right?”

“AJ, what’s going on?” She looks at you flatly, then over to the window.

“Ah wasn’t gonna say anything, but-“

“Scootaloo dared me to!” You look to Scootaloo, who’s trying to suppress that mischievous grin you’ve come to know so well. The blushing girl stares worriedly at you, not as used to being caught as Scootaloo was. Rather than give her the punishment she foresaw, you break out in laughter at the ridiculous bet and how worked up Sweetie’s gotten over it. Seriously, that horrified expression was priceless. But as soon as she finds out about your lack of concern, she returns to a neutral, slightly uncomfortable expression. After you calm down a bit, you assure her that it’s fine. She seems to agree with it, and you look at the nearby Bloom.

It felt like it’d been a long day. All the exercise, which you weren’t used to, along with all the effort you expended to not think of the incoming end, had worn you out long before dusk. You slide yourself to the edge of the van, hanging your legs over. They just barely touch then ground, only the tips of your down-pointing feet doing so. Turning to the abandoned Bloom, you pat the area by your side. Right now, you just want to be with her. You hold up your milkshake, barely touched, and smile, inviting her to partake. Soon enough she scrambles over to you, sitting with her side against yours. This is what you wanted.

But something was off about it. That sadness that had been pursuing you the whole day had caught up, your mind losing the strength to fend it off. Your eyes began to flicker, your heart feeling like it was beating against some insurmountable pressure. You could feel your chest tighten as a slow trickle of misery pours into you. All day you’d fought against it, tried to banish the thought and all its promises; but that didn’t work. It never did. Unbeknownst to you, your body had slumped forward, partly leaning towards the Apple Bloom on your left. Your expression fell, and a deep sigh escaped under a lax guard. The rosy-haired girl held the small weight you’d put on her, then hugged you tightly, sensing that you’d needed it. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed the heaviness in your spirit, but it was one of the first time’s she felt capable of doing away with it.

It wasn’t done away with. You were still going. She was still going to disapp- You stop yourself from finishing the thought, feeling those slight tremors that precede tears. Maybe you couldn’t be the happy guy you’d like to pretend you were, but you didn’t have to bring down the whole mood. AJ and the two girls, understanding that something of a moment was occurring on the edge, moved to the other side to converse about the trip. Apple Bloom’s arms remained around you, providing some comfort to you. A small flicker of joy leapt in you, before fizzles out. A squeeze of her arms brought you another small flame, this one lasting slightly longer.

Your eyes lift to meet hers; hers full of concern and care, and yours showing a truer despair than you’d ever let yourself if you could have stopped it. Resting in her sight, you felt a change coming over you. It wasn’t your best moment; the control you had over yourself, so highly valued, was dwindling. But you weren’t weeping, as you’d feared you would. The swirl of emotions within you had faded to a few remnants, a few discernible feelings made clear through the thick veneer of exhaustion. There was just that little bit of joy that she never failed to give you, and a clear sort of pain. There was that sharp cut of the future knowledge, but it didn’t dominate you as you’d been so afraid. A quiet, sad smile formed on your face as you drew strength from Apple Bloom. A part of you wished you weren’t so messed up, wished you could be as cheerful as she was. Right now, you didn’t feel like the greatest companion.

But she was fine with you. Seeing your expression change from crushed to hopeful had written a huge grin on her face. She’d closed her eyes as she smiled at you, then took the milkshake from your nearly limp hands. Her eyes open, then stay on yours as she takes a long pull, then offers it to you. Cheered, you take it and place your lips on the straw where hers were a moment ago. The indirect kiss doesn’t pass by unnoticed, and you feel a slight fuzziness at the twinkling eyes that hold the secret.

The minutes pass, the others fading into the background once again while your attention carved out a special place for two. The cars and people flow by in small groups, barely being registered as more than ephemeral bursts of color. Blues and green, reds and yellows on hurried bodies speed through your vision, like thick fireworks in the gentle sunlight. The sky grows darker, the brightness of the world being turned down with it. Laughter and happy words stream into your ears, the unheard meaning allowing for little more than the sounds themselves to be registered. The sights and sounds continue in front of you and your Apple Bloom, each of you enjoying the performance of a summer day. You exchange the milkshake, passing it back and forth; the touch of your hands sending sparks through your bent figure. You don’t hold hands, but it feels as if you do.

On Apple Bloom’s reception of the shake, when it’s most of the ways gone, she pulls the top off and sticks her finger in. Your attention flies from all self-centered thoughts at the notion that she’ll do the finger bite. Oh man, do girls actually do that? She smiles as your eyes glue themselves to her finger, the furthest third coating in the treat. Then, without any hint or forewarning, she thrusts her finger forward, a splash of peanut butter and fudge flavoring left on your nose. You reel back, the dark cream coloring still on your nose. Interrupting the happy laughter, you reply in pseudo-rage:

“Oh, you!” You snatch the shake and dip most of your forefinger in. She sees the motion and leaps off the car. You follow the girl, screaming that very particular scream that children and girls do when they’re being chased by parents or boyfriends (respectively, of course). Through a handful of wide-eyed onlookers you weave, your cousin’s agility being a match for your adrenaline-heightened speed. She crosses behind a table and faces you. You feint left, and she matches you, trying to keep you on the far side of the table. You make a couple more attempts to the side, each expertly countered by Apple Bloom. Heh heh heh; just as planned.

Her smile grows triumphant, thinking she’s got you beat for the current challenge. She sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes in the process. At that moment you step on the seat beside the table, the place the other on the table proper. By the time she’s reacting to you, Gordian’s knot has been cut. You reach an arm around her left side, keeping her steady while your right finger moves to her nose. She screams again, the sound mixing with her laughter, the girl not entirely upset at losing. Just as you wipe off the smallest remnant of milkshake onto her nose, you hear an unhappy coughing behind you. Some guy with a hairpiece is grimacing at you, tapping his foot.

“You’re gonna have to stop that. Now.” You pull Apple Bloom close, trying hard to pull off a genuine smile. Your girl laughs nervously, burying her face into your shirt. Not noticing the new smear of ice cream on you, you answer the old man in the most insincere tone.

“Oh, of course sir. Very sorry sir.” Apple Bloom continues giggling into your shirt as you walk back to the van, not paying attention to the grumpy customer. Three pairs of hands clap as you reenter the van, pats on the back for you and “there theres” for your defeated date. With radiant teeth and closed eyes, you’re the target of yet another snuggle. The two of you sit close to each other again, one of your arms finding its way across her shoulder once more while hers snakes around your waist. The milkshake is rediscovered, and finished off soon enough.

Once the shake disappears, you lean forward. Your feelings still remain to some extent, that sticky murk that you have so much trouble shaking off. But there’s definitely further in the distance. You sit beside Apple Bloom, still breathing heavily. Inside you is a torrent of emotions, the multitude and flux of such drawing your attention to them. Not exactly content, not exactly ecstatic, but still appreciating where you are, and who’re you’re with. You remember a speech given by somebody, some girl you knew back in high school (you think) that speaks to you now. The sweet urgings of that girl, ignored and scoffed at then, are valued now: “Can’t we just accept where we are, and be there? Can’t we appreciate the moment we’re in, instead of constantly worrying or fantasizing about being somewhere else? Can’t we look at a moment, and say that while it isn’t perfect, it’s good enough?” You look at the freckled face of Apple Bloom, her skin looking copper in the fading light. You weren’t perfect, and this moment probably could be better; but fuck it. It was good enough. You lean over to plant a small kiss on her forehead. Seeing you coming in, she closes her eyes and smiles gracefully, a quiet happiness in her reception. The moment doesn’t last forever, but you try to be okay with that too. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle join your party of two, poking their heads in between you and Apple Bloom’s.

“OOOOOOOOOH,” they almost shout, making fun of your moment. They grin at each of you, the grins of kindergartners who see a boy hold a girl’s books, just before singing about them kissing in a tree. You’re still a little tired, enough that you don’t get drawn in, unlike the blushing Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo immediately take advantage of the moment, and make a quick song that concerns a future marriage and children. From the slightly distant position, you are able to see that Sweetie Belle’s enjoyment is genuine, something you’re grateful for. You wonder where AJ is on all this, and direct your gaze over to her; she seems amused, nodding her head slightly to the tune. Seeing you glance at her, she smiles at you, holding in a snicker as she points with her thumb to the duet impaired by her sister’s protests. You don’t exactly get what she’s laughing at, but she doesn’t seem to be too upset with the implications, which is just fine with you. The giggling girls stop their song, and Apple Bloom almost stops blushing. Trying to change the conversation, she asks aloud:

“Alright, so what are we gonna do next?” You shift uncomfortably at the thought of the future, and turn your head away. Sweetie Belle’s confused voice comes from behind you.

“Weren’t we gonna make wine? Oh, I mean, grape juice?”

“Yeah, but that’s just tomorrow. What about afterward?” Scootaloo answers this one, in a similar state of Sweetie Belle.

“Well, ain’t he leavin’ the next morning?”

“Ah know, Ah know. But what about after?” You nearly wince at the subject, a motion not unnoticed by Apple Bloom. Grabbing your shoulder and turning you towards the group, she speaks to you as well as the others. “He’s coming back, and that’s that. So we oughta get to planning our next adventure.” Her speech is firm, no doubt lying behind those words. In her mind, you’ve achieved a kind of permanence, a magnetism that would inevitably bring you back to her. In all your attempts to escape from the future, you hadn’t really thought to plan on a return trip. But now that thoughts of the future had forced their way into your head, you were able to make such plans; and nothing was going to keep you from returning. A jolt of happiness rushing through you, you scoot up closer to the trio, and start making suggestions.

You suggest the arcade; you might be able to check out Sweetie’s moves and maybe get that sexy tutor thing going with Apple Bloom. Scootaloo nods her assent, referencing a score that needed to be settled. Apple Bloom, ever the neutral party, assents based on the facts that the tubing and grape-stomping was her idea, the hike and skate-boarding was Scootaloo’s, so it’s Sweetie Belle’s turn. The trip to the arcade chosen, and after Sweetie Belle are finished trading the glare of rivals with each other, the subject turns to the next event. AJ joins the conversation, sneaking in between you and Sweetie Belle.

“Sounds like y’all all got plans for what you wanna do. But what about Anon, here?” Six eyes open wide, your littler cousin’s the widest. Goshes and gees enter your ears, followed immediately by avid questions of your interests. The trio of crusaders get up on their knees, their faces filling more of your vision.

“What are your interests?”

“What do you like to do?”

“You like cars, right?”

“Yeah, he loves ‘em!”

“Do you wanna see some cars?”

“There’s a car show in a couple weeks, come back then!”

“What about the park?”

“Yeah, do you like the park?”

“Bowling!”

“Kite-flying!”

“Sewing!”

“Rainbow Dash Fanclub!”

“Church Youth Group!”

“Choir Club!” Questions and suggestions assail you, your opinion just as distant from the conversation as before. You don’t really mind, the antics of the girls being entertaining enough to distract. But somewhere AJ comes along, parting the sea of youthful cries.

“Now, you’re almost there, but Ah think your best bet in figuring out what Anon wants to do is asking him about it.” The three girls look to you, the question written on their very near faces.

“Uh…” You try to figure out the answer, but nothing’s coming up. What do you like to do? Bum around with your friends, dance at a club every once in a while? You decide to center your plans on the car show, and figure the rest out later. “Why don’t I come back when the car show happens, and we’ll just play the rest by ear?” They smile and nod amongst themselves, the look of politicians hearing a refreshing speech of an up-and-coming ally.

“Yeah, that sounds great!”

“Sure does!”

“Ah’ll plan for it!” The three girls high five each other, then hold out hands to you. You reply in kind, not willing to let down the earnest friends. AJ seems satisfied by the resolution, and whispers over to you:

“Sometimes ya gotta speak up, otherwise these girls’ll walk right over ya.” You nod, understanding how that could happen. Then AJ interrupts the chattering girls, who’re already planning what they’ll wear and so forth. “Alright, Ah’d say it’s about time to go home.” The night seems imminent, the sky fading much quicker. The five of you struggle to bring full bellies into their original seats. Eventually succeeding, you buckle up, and are off. The twisting path home is mostly uneventful: the long day, the summer heat, and good food brings a sleepiness to all parties involved. The winding road makes your two seatmates lean into your sides, but only the gorgeous ginger makes an attempt to remain. Falling into your lap, she stays there, turning herself so her shoulders and the back of her head fall lie on your lap. She seems the most alert of all of you, her brilliant eyes shining up at you with her signature smile. Gosh, she looks happy. You spread your own crescent above her as you slowly begin brushing her hair in a simple, loving gesture. Her eyes shut, not out of exhaustion, but bliss.

Sweetie and Scootaloo are both dropped off in turn, waving sleepy goodbyes at the fruit team, and thanking them for an exciting day. You tell them you can’t wait to hang out with them tomorrow, and they return the sentiment. It’s surprisingly warming, having these two girls tell you that you’re cool and fun to be around. It’s not how you’d describe yourself, but you’ll take the compliment. Finally, it’s just the three members of the fruit team, two Apples and an Orange. The van pulls in slowly, the crunch of the gravel marking your entrance into the Apple estate.

The three of you hop out, you and your older cousin much more weary than the still energetic Apple Bloom. She skips partway to the front, then, seeing you lagging behind, returns to your side. You can’t manage to summon the energy of her, but you can try. You skip a couple of steps before returning to your trudge. Entering the house, AJ directs you to prayers before letting you go to sleep. You feel some resistance, just wanting to go to bed already, but you assent. In robotic form, you go through the motions of the prayers, too tired to really feel it. The game of High-Low does spark enough interest to get your mind moving, and you report the joys of sleep-tubing avidly. After denouncing the shame of losing to Scootaloo in your bout of water-wrestling, you turn attentive ears to the next in line, Apple Bloom. She starts off with her low, being pushed into the water by Team Purple, then moves onto her high: getting to play with her friends and Anon together.

You feel a little bit dejected, though you don’t think you ought to. Still, a part of you had hoped that her high would be your massage. As soon as she finishes speaking, her eyes turn to you. Swallowing a disappointment you don’t want to show, you send a smile her way, telling her you loved hanging with her and her friends too. You see her shine with your affirmation, but don’t notice her gaze staying on you just a little longer than necessary. The rest of the family finishes up theirs, and you quietly excuse yourself to your room. Passing the bathroom, figuring you can always brush your teeth tomorrow, you saunter into your own room.

The minute you’d come into the home, there’d been that particular smell of home, the kind of comforting smell you barely notice, but remains with far-reaching effects. It is was this smell that had secretly put your nerves at ease when you’d come into the house. The secondary form of this was that of your room, a truer home than the rest of the house could achieve. And once you set foot in your room, there was this feeling of tranquility, like a thick blanket draped over a nearly napping body. The isolation of the room, detrimental to the more socially advanced types, was a necessity for you after so much hanging out. Being with the Apple family was one thing: they were family, and being with them gave such a welcoming atmosphere that the intimacy and ease of the situation might be compared to hanging out with one’s own self. You’d need a break from them, of course, but far less so than you did today. Constantly being surrounded by girls, without some radical injury to limit the experience, resulting in a more tiring day than you’d foreseen. But you were by yourself now, in that reliable haven of your room.

A part of you wished you were at your room back home. Not that you missed the house at all, but there was just something about a permanent residence that gave it a great hominess than a guest room could. Besides, that room up in your house was relied upon so many times to serve as a sanctuary that you always defaulted to a longing for it whenever you got to this level of exhaustion. Still, the location of it was sub-par. Ideally, you’d replace the Oranges with the Apples, or make this room your permanent residence, but both seemed implausible. Choosing to enjoy the comfort of this room rather than devalue it, you flop backwards onto your bed. In spite of all the issues that had been sprung on you today, you felt pretty good. You reach over to the bedside table, and pick up the DS on it. Placed side by side with your Gameboy, you manage to retrieve the intended device.

As the screen lights up and Mr. Nook introduces you to casual wage slavery, there’s this slight feeling of something being off. It’s not immediately clear: you’re in a place you like, doing something you like, so what’s the problem? You continue playing, somewhat apathetic to the events: you finish a dinosaur collection and succumb to a pit-fall hidden behind a tree. The lack of any real feeling towards these makes you question the vague discomfort more. Suddenly it dawns on you: you’re in the middle of a temporary stay with the Apples, and you’re wasting it on some game you can play anytime. The notion of waste enters your mind, increasing that feeling of malaise. You should be with your family, not waiting for the day to end.

At this juncture, a war begins to be fought within you. The lethargic and isolationist side argue vehemently for remaining. They cite the sufficiency of your socializing for today, pointing out that you oughtn’t strain yourself. They’d understand. It wasn’t worth it. But the conclusion of your values remains steady, an unchanging commandment repeated at every thrust of its opponent. Soon the arguments cease, and the two parties begin using emotions. On one side you’re struck with long-learnt distaste towards leaving your comfort zone, to jumping back from any notions of over-exertion, to despair over your family’s love for you. On the other, you have your want, plain and simple: you want to be with them, even if you’re not in the greatest shape to do so. You veer close to finding the strength to carry out your will when another change of tactics arrive. The game had continued in your hands, the NPCS hobbling around at intervals. Your hands do what they do, and you begin playing the game again, the engagement blocking out the results of the former arguments and any questions of its rightness. But one mighty jolt of desire explodes in your heart, propelled by the terror of regret; with the temporary strength, you shut it off immediately. With the blackened screen, you find two allies in the quest to go downstairs: the removal of the obstacle of engagement of the game, and the aversion to that asshole Resetti. On the tides of victory, you set the DS aside and sluggishly set yourself on the edge of your bed. Standing up, you walk over to the door of the room, opening it to reveal a cousin pre-knock. Apple Bloom stands there in the darkened hallway, her fist raised to beat the door, somewhat off-put by your having made it needless.

“Sup, Apple Bloom?” You ask, spirits lifted at the girl with the frozen fist. At your words, her trance breaks and the arm falls back to her side.

“Ah was gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with us. Ah know you’re a bit tuckered out, an’ AJ said ya might wanna be left alone, but I figured Ah’d come see if you wanted to anyway.” You can tell she’s unsure of the answer by her hands idly twiddling. Reminded of your tiredness, you yawn.

“Yeah, I’d be up for that. ‘Sides, I’m not really that tired anyway.” It’s true: the weariness of before seems almost like an exaggeration now. There’s still a bit of lag in your motions, but nothing to prevent watching a movie. “So, who’s in? Is it just you and me?” You ask the final question before you think, being more forward than intended. However, she only smiles at the apparent wish before debunking it.

“Uh, me, you, AJ and Grannie. But Grannie’s probably not gonna stay for the whole thing.” That’s still good with you. By this time, you’ve been turning towards the stairs and begin walking, Apple Bloom perfectly synchronized with you. Heading down the stairs, you notice the blueish light of an early night barely illuminate the house. The faint yellow of a distant light that accompanies it is enough to light your way, but not enough to make it seem optically loud. It’s kind of a comfortable little walk, just you and Apple Bloom in the quiet hallways. And though the staircase is only a few seconds, you decide to fill that moment with handholding. Your hand reaches out and touches your cousin’s, who immediately responds positively. The staircase’s approach slows as both parties try to draw out the pleasant experience. But soon enough it arrives, and you separate.

Moving downstairs, that low, mosquito-like hum of a TV draws your attention. You’re led into a different part of the house, one you hadn’t been through before. Along the way, you pass along a room with the door open, bright light shining out of it. Looking in, you see Big Mac in his room, playing with a deck of cards. The room itself is sparse, with little decoration apart from the Apple-themed wallpaper. There’s a generic looking oak desk with a matching chair, a bed made from the same material with a glum red comforter, a black metal nightstand with what looks like a picture frame on it. You don’t want to linger too long, but Apple Bloom seizes the moment to rush in and give him a big old hug.

“Are ya suuuuuure ya don’t wanna watch Aladdin with us?” Big Mac looks up from several stacks of cards to slowly shake his head.

“No.” You wait awkwardly outside the door, thankful that he doesn’t bother looking at you. Still, you feel as if you ought to add your invitation to the mix:

“Come on, man. It’ll be fun.” Although he’s not your favorite person, Big Mac is a pretty chill dude. You could see playing a game of cards with him or something, but the chance of him accepting this offer are pretty unlikely. He repeats his answer to you, then looks back down at his cards. You remember what AJ told you about how he used be real outgoing before his parents passed away. Poor guy. Feeling obligated to extend some sort of friendship to him, you resolve to try to reach out to him now and then. Who knows, maybe you could help him out a bit. Apple Bloom hugs her brother one more time, then exits with a sorrowful.

“Well, alright then. Maybe some other time.” She smiles on the last word and as she walks away. But as soon as she’s out of sight, she lowers her voice and lips. “Ah wish he’d say yes at least once.” The words are faint, and taper off towards the end, but you still pick them up. But while you may not be in a position to give Big Mac anything, you could be there for Apple Bloom. Stepping closer, you wrap her in a big hug. The walk stops as she returns it, the fierceness of the embrace momentary, but noticed nonetheless. She let’s go a little earlier than she usually does, then begins moving forward briskly. In no time you reach the TV room.

You’re shocked at how big it is. You’ve never really noticed the grandeur of their home, but one fact is slowly dawning on you; these guys have money. Whether it’s from a good farm or some inheritance (that’s where you think the Orange fortune came from), they aren’t in any financial trouble. They’ve got this great big plasma right in the center, and two theater-like rows of lounge chairs, loveseats and a great big couch. Your eyes immediately focus on the loveseat, hoping to use it. The walls are a very light blue, the hue indiscernible in the low light. The screen is lit up, showing the repeating menu screen of Disney’s idea of the Middle East. You move towards the loveseat in the front center, already planning out your invitation. Before you reach it, AJ raises her hand from the decadent couch in the back row.

“Howdy, Anon!” She gestures for you to join her; she sits on the leftmost side, with Granny Smith in a lounge chair immediately to her left. Patting the space beside you, you foresee a night with hands kept to themselves. Reluctantly, you put your dreams on standby, the proximity of AJ forbidding any major loving. Still, some casual cuddling might be in your future, and you plan accordingly. You seat yourself beside the country girl, followed by her little sister to your right. Somewhere along the line she got a blanket, and drapes it over both of you, which AJ doesn’t bat an eye at. Huh. AJ grabs the remote and hits play, and the show begins.

As the opening credits come on and the totally-not-the-genie merchant tries to entice you to watch a movie you’re already watching, you yawn unexpectedly. You sing along to “Friend Like Me” the best you can (which is basically only the chorus) in conjunction with Apple Bloom. Surprisingly, AJ chimes in, adding her own unique voice to the sound. If Granny follows along you don’t hear her: the three of you and the movie are pretty loud. Leaning back after the song ends, you find yourself entering into the outstretched arm of Apple Bloom. She’d carefully positioned herself so that when you did fall back onto the couch (you’d been leaning forward), you’d wind up in her arm. She steal a glance at her, noticing a completely innocent expression and a small smile trying to force its way out. You chuckle at her devious plot, and follow suit. Yawning, you thrust your arms up into the air. Oh, did my right arm fall onto your shoulders? Huh. Well, nothing I can do about that.

The movie continues, and you find the second wind arising, a tiredness returning to you. A pleasant tiredness, of course, but there’s still that desynchronization between you and the movie. Laughs come a second late, and a little slower at that. A sweeter song place, that romantic one you can’t remember the name of. As you listen, trying to keep your eyes open, the screen tilts to the right. When it’s almost made a 90 degree turn, the soft fabric of the couch touches your left cheek, the armrest having risen somehow. Not thinking clearly enough to investigate, or even notice, the mysterious situation. Slowly the words fade out, the lights and sound turning off.

Clang! The thunderclap of fallen iron jolts you up, adrenaline giving you a little more of your Friday. You blink a few times, trying to clear your eyes of that initial blurriness caused by disuse. Looking around, you see an empty room with still image of a genie on the TV. There’s a yellow overtone on part of the wall, sourced from an open doorway. Some noise comes from within, but you’re still too close to sleep to identify the sounds. Struggling to get up, your legs hesitantly allow you to, and carry you into that glowing rectangle. Moving closer, the noises clarify, revealing a conversation of the female Apples.

“Ah geez, sis! That almost caught me!”

“Sorry, Applejack. Musta slipped or something.” Her voice trails off as she finishes her explanation, which is overlapped by her sister’s reply.

“S’alright. Just be a little more careful next time.”

“Sure thing!” The concluding answer is bright and chipper, an odd tone for this hour or in those circumstances. You saunter in, scratching the back of your head tiredly.

“Well, look who’s up?” AJ says in conjunction with Granny Smith, the former’s hands placed on her hips. Granny Smith looks about as tired as you do, her body looking as if it drooped as a whole. All except her eyes, which stuck determinedly open. Her hands are extended towards Apple Bloom, who sports her trademark grin, along with a big metal pot.

“G’morning, Anon!” Your neutral expression, the sleepiness making you hard to faze, twists into one of shock, with a little bit of fear mixed in. Was it morning already? You didn’t feel like you’d slept THAT long. And why was the movie still in then? Your eyes dart to the kitchen window. It’s completely dark outside. Turning back to the family, they’re all wearing Bloom-esque grins, trying to keep from laughing. At the sight of your awareness, they laugh to themselves.

“Ah didn’t think you’d fall for that,” AJ says in something between an explanation and a taunt.

“Me neither,” adds her little sister in a kinder tone. She finishes handing the pot in her hand to Granny Smith, who hoists it onto a burner. Apple Bloom moves over to your side, patting your arm sympathetically. You throw out your lips in an exaggerated pout.

“You guys are a buncha jerks.”

“I stayed out of it,” Granny says matter-of-factly, picking up some olive oil and dumping it in the pan.

“-except for Granny,” you say, without missing a bit. “Granny is the tops.” You hear her chuckle to herself, appreciating the relabeling. Apple Bloom, having stayed at your side after the conciliatory pat, makes a case for herself:

“Awwwww.” Her eyes bore into yours, as big as she can make them. Just below her cute little nose is a pout to shame yours. She moves her head forward, so the chin of her upturned face is resting on the right side of your chest. Her hands are low, moving from the middle of your chest to your hand. Yours is given a prolonged squeeze as she melts your heart, and you correct yourself immediately. Bringing an arm up and over her, your hand comes onto the back of her head, pushing her gently into your chest. She naturally moves into a slight nuzzle and you rub the back of her head softly.

“Ok, I take it back.”

“Yay!” She moves back, her touch immediately missed, and raises two triumphant fists. Before you or AJ can say anything, an odd sound catches your ears. It’s like hundreds of little, light rocks being poured into a bucket. Looking over to Granny, where the source of the sound is, you see her holding some orange-ish plastic container upside down over the pot. You tilt your head and rack your tired brain for answer, but come up with nothing.

“Hey Granny,?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Whatcha got over there?”

“Popcorn,” she says simply, the singular word unraveling the mass of confusion that had been swirling within you. She moves to the side, and you see the tiny little kernels pouring out. The vegetable rain soon stopped, and the pot was given its lid once more. She turned the heat on and swiveled to face three other members of her family. “Alright, that’s all I’m good for. You young’uns make sure to clean up afterward, and go to bed at a reasonable time.”

“Sure Granny!”

“Will do, Granny.”

“Yes, Ma’am” come the three replies. Granny gives all of you a sweet expression before walking out of the room and off to bed. The mention of sleep brings a reminiscing wave to your head, and you yawn heavily. Leaning back of the counter, you struggle to keep your eyes open, unaware that the challenge would so suddenly arise. Apple Bloom looks at you hard, asking:

“Are ya sure you’re gonna make it?” You honestly don’t know, but you don’t want to disappoint Apple Bloom. AJ offers a similar sentiment:

“Ya know, ya don’t hafta finish if you don’t want to.” You do want to! Thinking as quickly as you can, which is really not all that fast, you try to assuage their concerns.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’ll stay up.” Hold on a second. You’re promising this to avoid disappointing Apple Bloom, but if you fall asleep (which you probably will), won’t that disappoint her more? If your face wasn’t already downcast with sleepy rest, it might convey your frustration with yourself. Curse your tired brain! Meanwhile, AJ’s been nodding her head while looking at you. She walks past you to the refrigerator, and pulls out a can of coke. Holding it out to you, she says:

“Well, we don’t have any coffee made –‘sides, that’d keep y’all up longer than you wanna be, Ah’m guessing- but sometimes this does the trick.” You smile gratefully and take the can from her, opening it with the familiar sound of released carbonation. After letting out a yawn, not wanting that to come out mid-sip, you toss the can back and chug a good half of it. The sudden rush of the crackling soda down your throat threatens a cough, but you overcome the reaction. Being in that sleepy place, you let loose that ridiculous “ah,” after you finish. Fortunately, the dumb exhalation doesn’t bother you too much, for the same reason that it came about in the first place. You don’t feel any extra energy yet, but that could always come later, or under suspicion.

Apple Bloom, still beside you, is drinking her own. She takes smaller sips than you, the little motions and ending sound being cute in their daintiness. But she doesn’t keep the dainty, proper form for long. A couple kernels pop, the noise bringing your attention to the pot. As soon as you figure out the cause, your neck becomes subject to a chilling touch. Apple Bloom’s left hand had traded it’s soda for the back of your neck, the icy coolness of the can unfortunately transferred to you.

“Ah!” Failing to conceal a girlish squeal, your hand rockets up to your neck, replacing her retreating offence. You rub it hastily, quickly removing the painful cold. Looking to Apple Bloom, you ask her: “What gives?”

“Well, did that wake ya up?” No! Wait. You know, the minor adrenaline rush actually did help clear out some of that fogginess. It hadn’t been entirely present, but rather lurking at the lower layers of consciousness, ready to seep out at the first halt of action. But now you were feeling pretty awake, even if your body proper didn’t have all the energy it would have at an earlier time of day. Begrudgingly, you accept the fact. Still, you make your own plans of avengement while you affirm her.

“Yeah, it did.” She makes that face again, the one where she smiles so widely her eyes almost close entirely. It’s so sweet that you consider not exacting righteous justice on her. You smile back, mulling the question over in your mind. Nah, you’re gonna go with the righteous justice. As she pulls back, you turn towards AJ, who is now shaking the mostly full pot around, making sure all the unpopped kernels go the bottom. Just as planned, Apple Bloom follows your gaze, watching the semi-interesting sight. Your hand, the one holding the soda, is beginning to get crazy cold, having passed the point where you’d have moved it to your other hand. Ready to exact some righteous justice, you look at her from the corner of your eye. The back of the neck is too obvious. Probably shouldn’t go for the boob with AJ here; same goes for her butt, too. Then you remember a similar experience with one of your childhood friends, who’d attacked the inside of your arm with a spoonful of cold jam. He explained his superior strategy to your madly washing past-self as due to the inner part of your bicep, the part that lies against the skin, never receiving ill-treatment from the world, and so never gaining the sturdiness of the outer layer.

You look up to the ceiling and yawn greatly, stretching your arms up to the sky. The infection spreads to Apple Bloom, who yawns in turn. She raises her arms in an imitation of you, a step you weren’t sure would be successful. As soon as her arms go straight, you pass your can to your other hand, and attach the cold appendage to the soft flesh of her upper, inner arm.

“Yikes!” Her arms retract instantly, thrashing downward into a cross-armed posture. Her right hand frantically rubs the spot, her eyes still bugged out from the unexpected sensation. She looks to you, and you say with a smile:

“Just thought I’d return the favor.” Her rival-like like changes to her innocent you-got-me smile, and she chuckles a few times. AJ looks over her shoulder to observe the shrill response, confirming your rightness of your decision to avoid her chest and back.

“What are y’all doing over there?” You straighten up and give her a military salute, a position immediately mimicked by Apple Bloom.

“Nothing, ma’am. Just some good, honest, clean fun.” You speak in your gruffest voice, staring straight ahead.

“Yes ma’am. Nothing but good, honest, and clean fun over here.” Apple Bloom follows your lead brilliantly, though her deep male voice, like most girls’, is more hilarious than realistic.

“Yup. Sure is nothing but that.”

“Affirmative, not a thing to be worried about.” AJ interrupts your mockery with that semi-skeptical narrow-eyed expression you’re becoming well acquainted with.

“Yeah, yeah. Now come over here and get some popcorn.” You gladly follow orders, grabbing three bowls from the cabinet, and handing one to both ladies. AJ denies yours, telling you that one of you is gonna holding the main bowl. “Probably you, granted that you’re in the middle.” You put your own bowl back, leaving two out. AJ grabs this big honkin’ thing from a different cupboard and dumps the lion’s share of the popcorn inside of it. Then she passes it to you, followed by both her and your favorite Apple dipping their smaller versions in. All set up, you and your cousins pass back into the TV room, the last of the party shutting off the lights during the exit. You take your place in the middle of the couch, with Apple on both sides. An exaggerated shiver, completely with a pretty loud “BRRR” precedes a blanket being tossed over to Bloom. You pull it over yourself nonchalantly, hoping to make up for her slightly overzealous performance. Not wanting to bring the notion of a couple to mind, you hold up the end and offer cover to AJ. She declines politely, the lack of skeptic eyes setting the minor worry at ease.

“Alright, I’m ready,” says the cocooned Apple Bloom, only her head peeking out from the thick cloak. You repeat the sentiment, after which AJ picks up the remote, and hits play. The rest of the movie passes rather quickly, your heightened awareness allowing for greater attention to be paid, which results in an immersion your previous run lacked. Man, this movie’s a lot better than you’d remembered it being. When Jafar does his gross snake act, laughing all the way, Apple Bloom let’s out a soft “eep!” and clings to your right side. You doubt that she’s actually frightened of that guy, but hey, you’re not one to question a clinging Apple Bloom. Under the blanket, your hand slides over to her back, holding her close. You can feel that familiar bliss of her nuzzling into your chest, her eyes on the screen but her mind on you.

The climax comes and goes, Jafar’s forgotten storm of puns bringing a few laughs to you alone. How people could be so unmoved by such linguistic brilliance was beyond you. The popcorn is steadily devoured, the reaching hands of Apple girls surprising you with their refilling rustles. Everything ends happily for everyone except Jafar and all the people whose homes were destroyed by the falling pieces of the severely harmed castle. It was a pretty good ending; heck, the whole thing was pretty great, even though it was clear that Robin William’s could be credited for most of its value.

Standing up, you release the returning sleepiness through the duel actions of yawning and making a “Y,” like in that song about the YMCA. You can hear the other girls yawning and stretching in their seats before getting up. Feeling a soft arm still encircling you, you look down to see Apple Bloom attaching herself to you, humming happily. Inside you your heart explodes, blooms into that kind of perfect joy that rarely comes outside of late-night affection. You glance at AJ, who’s rotating her shoulders, groaning at the unused muscles. You pull her in with your arm, a brief gasp accompanying her facing you. You smile, the sleepy ease releasing you from everything that held you back from the simple joy of the girl to your right. You feel happy, and it shows. AJ smiles back, and accepts your offer, the three of you hugging tightly.

“I love you guys,” you say, barely keeping the unchecked words from being mumbles. “You guys are the best.” Your words come instantaneously, without the usual second thoughts that filter out any potentially embarrassing sentiments. And as you grin and hold the two girls tight, you’ve never felt a more honest and real moment. True, most of your happiness is due to your younger cousin, but AJ’s kindness has been important too. You know that you don’t, and probably can’t, know how much she’s affected you. But you’re thankful for it, for both of these girls. You give them an additional squeeze, just to make sure you’ve expressed your care. They both respond in kind, so happy to have you here.

Finally you part, your heavy lidded eyes pleading for rest. The second wind is disappearing, and you can feel it sapping at your strength. Your legs move like heavy logs, defiantly fighting at your efforts to move. The other girls seem far less affected as they happily walk you down the wall. Each of them remains at your side, walking at arm’s length apart. But you know that a closer proximity is mandatory, so before either of them could slip away or correct it on their own, you pull them both in once more. Your arms twist around each other’s, hands meeting and clasping at the bottom. No sneaky joy in the hand-holding here: only the simple bliss of a boy not alone in the slightest.

On you walk, a vague notion of a tooth brushing destination in your mind. As you go on, a familiar rectangle of light places itself along one of the walls, the loud glow setting some light upon the hallway around it. Taking note of the pictures and recalling the structure of the massive house, you figure out the source before its reached. Thanks to the memory of the walk here, your foresee Big Mac’s room just before you step foot into the grand deluge of light. Within it is Big Mac, looking the same as he did before. He’s bent over a desk, the same card game before him. Had the cards not been different, you could have mistaken him for a bright painting.

“Howdy, Big Mac.” He looks up to his older sister, and smiles. Huh. That was unexpected.

“Hey.” His low voice comes, the deep timbre surprising you. He speaks so rarely that you’ve never really set down a complete definition of what he’s like: there just isn’t enough information. AJ unravels herself from your love bundle and heads into the room. In order to fit through the door, you do the same, but not without a semi-apologetic, long glance at Apple Bloom. Upon seeing her similar response, you do so, and enter his room. AJ leans over his desk, placing one hand on the back of his chair and another on his desk.

“Still playing, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, well I’ll jump in after you finish.”

“Ok.” The monotonous replies continue, as does your confusion. Luckily, AJ clears that up right quick. She looks up to you and her sister, and grins.

“Y’all want in? Me and Big Mac were gonna get a little Gin Rummy going, maybe some Poker after that.” The thought of playing a game stirs up your weary center: you needed to be asleep before now.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can.” You give them a little half-smile, apologizing for your inability to keep up with them.

“Don’t worry about it,” consoles AJ, flashing you a smile. “Apple Bloom?” You turn to the fourth, who stares for half a second longer before responding.

“Oh! Uh, yeah! Sure!” She looks at you with her big eyes, giving you that heart-melding, pleading look. “Are ya sure ya don’t want to?”

“Oh no, I want to. But I’m just beat.” Softly smiling, you give her one last hug, wave to the older Apples, then head out. Your walk to your room is a solo one, but still enjoyable. The house is warm, that comfortable level of heat that almost makes it feel like a blanketed fort. You walk up the stairs, smiling to yourself, and cross the hall. Standing in front of your door, that desperate urge to stretch overwhelms you, and you obey without thinking. Then, your body calm and relaxed, you open the door and walk into your room.

*phew* You collapse on top of your bed, exhausted equally from the day's events as you are from that perfect summer heat. You feel a yawn coming up, and, releasing it, you stretch out your limbs in all directions. Taking up as much space as possible, you roll your shoulders back and give a loud conclusion to the yawn. It's been a long day, and boy do you deserve this. Your head lolls to the side, and you experiment with its position, trying to find the comfiest one. Finding success, you close your eyes and curl up, ready for a nap. Naturally, a frenetic knocking at your door stops you in your tracks. A deep groan resonates from you as you give the door a sleepy glare. Adorable as she is, you really just wanted some time alone. But what could you say?

"Come in," you start to yell, but finish in a mumble. Apple Bloom leaps in, once again exuding energy from her very being. Seeing you sprawled out on your bed, she decides she's found a prime cannonball spot. “Anoooooooon!" she bellows, and sprints towards the bed, planting a foot on the trunk in front of it, and leaping into the air. Giggling, the forces of gravity soon pull her down. Terror obliterates all tiredness, and your adrenaline filled body flings itself to the side, almost escaping. Your cousin's tiny body slams down hard on your right leg, though much of her weight was focused on the bed. Enough to hurt, not enough to cripple, which was a condition you very justifiably expected. A half-faked howl of pain echoes through the room, and the giggling girl looks up in worry. Her arms were under her, and she was half turned towards you. Defenseless. You stop your howling and leap onto her, tickling her sides for all you're worth. Her giggles return, then evolve into full blown laughter as she feebly tries to hinder your works.

Raucous laughter fills your ears, and you find yourself beaming at the girl beneath you. Sensing your weakened efforts, she retaliates, her precious little fingers finding your sides. AHHAAJEEZNOOHMYGOODNESSAHHHH. The second her fingers start digging in, all energy exits your arms, leaving you fully at her mercy. Your attack gone, she places all her strength into tormenting your poor sides, a devious grin capturing her face all the while. You fall onto your back, laughter and a little pain gripping you. After a minute, you muster your strength, and bring back the devilish assault on her sides. A few minutes of laughter interspersed with giggling shrieks of "stop!', and the two of you are lying on your backs, breathing heavily, you find your right arm trapped underneath her, the elbow barely poking out from right side. Your forearm is raised, tilted slightly to the left, with your hand hanging down over her exposed tummy.

Her shirt must have slid up a bit, leaving the cute little mound exposed. Absent-mindedly the tips of your fingers begin brushing her tummy in small, light circles. You shift your body a little to the right, moving right up against her, so your elbow moves further from her body and gains a little more leeway. Now your whole hand can touch her belly, which it immediately does. Your open palm begins tracing large circles, with the unspoken perimeter of an inch away from the beginning of her bra and the upturned edge of her shorts. Your hand presses down, firmly but not too much so, as you make the initial circles. Then you shift it up a notch, dividing the motion into two crescents, one light and soft, with the other being firm, slightly depressing her skin. Your hand, once flat for the whole iteration, starts turning, so the inside of your hand massages her partly, then just the edge of your pinkie (while you make the turn), then the back of your fingers, before your repeat the whole process. As you work, you talk to her.

“So, what’s up? I thought you were gonna play cards with your fam.” Her eyes turn towards you, a subtle deliriousness seeping into them.

“Yeah, Ah was gonna, but Ah got tired in a hurry. Ah figured Ah might as well go to bed.”

“I get that. This isn’t where you sleep though.” Her reply comes a little bit slower as your motions draw her in.

“Ah know that, silly. Ah wanted… Ohhhh, yeah… Ah wanted to say good night to my favorite cousin first.”

“Awwww. Well, I appreciate it.” You show her you appreciate it with a small peck on her lips, eliciting a smile from your entranced sweetheart.

She breathes in deeply as you do this, not saying a word. You can feel her breaths begin to match the tempo of your strokes, breathing in as you make the light crescent, and breathing out when you press down more firmly. Every few iterations you stop, and move your hand in lines, almost petting her small tummy in vertical lines, then horizontal ones. Eventually your arm, still subject to the weight of your cousin, begins to feel tired, and you retract in from under her, earning you a sincere pout. You meet her asking gaze with a reassuring smile, then lean on your right arm while your left arm comes over to assume its position. You repeat the whole process, using variations of light and soft touches, and different patterns, just to keep it from becoming monotonous for her. You exhale, not realizing you've been holding it in, as her eyes lazily drift up and under the lids, halfway closed.

Her eyes then shut completely, a blissful smile interrupting her audible breathing. You note the gentle curve of her little belly, just barely protruding from her thin frame. The soft, malleable skin reacting to your hands is incredible, and you find yourself enjoying this almost as much as her. She groans and stretches her limbs, not unlike you had moments before, and you gaze in wonder at the beauty on your bed. Feeling like you're nearing completion, you press your hand down firmly, and resuming the large circles you'd begun with, decreasing the pressure at every interval. Finally, your last circle just a ghost of a trace, you lift your hand up, and lie down beside her. She turns over to you, eyes still closed, and shifts closer. Her head falls on your shoulder, and she curls up close, whispering sweetly in your ear

"You know, the massage was my high.” You tilt your head toward hers, asking quietly:

“Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t really wanna say it in front a’ Granny. But yeah, it was.” You can hear the smile in her voice, the sight of it not necessary. You want to answer, to return some gift like that she’d given you, but you’re gone. Apple Bloom remains beside you, not wanting the motion of getting up to erase the still-present traces of your touch. She knows you’ve fallen asleep, and feels a special sort of happiness in draping her arm over your slumbering body. In that sweet relish, she finds one final surge of energy in an impulse: she lifts herself up just barely, and pecks your lips ever so lightly. Then she falls back down on you, the taste of your lips being the last thought on her mind.

Saturday

In the penultimate Earthspin of the sevenlong, a pair of see-globe covers tremored, then vanished. The sleep-place within the look-gallery, the lash-flaps removed it several times while your live-motor cranked itself to a start-place. A small windtorrent of de-oxided breath-gas fled from your lip-circle, the pink edges of which smacked wearilously. At the summoning of your up-limbs, a blockade of the port-homed member is brought to mind-view.

A minor retrieval was sought, and, arm-stayed, you direct your observating-ovals to the predicted home of the move-enemy. You kill the quiet air-bite in your throat-tube with the free five-finger over your facehole. The wake-noise stopped, the anti-mover remains considerated in your stilled top-globe. For the arm-trap is none other than your very own aunt-spawn, the El Doradon personette Apple Bloom. Her front cushions lift and unlift with her vacillatory oxide-feast, captivorating your thought-place entirely. Her port up-looking, the homed up-reacher cloaks your own high-chest. Dainty fifth-longs hang over your starboard top, faint-sweeping it at intervals.

Both tragesorrowedly and unwished luck-holding, your semi-lovepal was cloaked in a T-shape of the Southern whitefluffs and double-longs of the rough-blue. The bottom-standers were cutiferously unheld, adore-calling end-nubs clenching and unclenching as their homes swayed with the un-normed temperature. A bouquet of cherry ultra-thins homeseized your lefting-grabstick, the soft-wrap of the snoresquare, and even part of your limb-base. Curiousasking why the ticklebearing rosethreads didn’t untriple-z you pre-now, your collect-sift the animesque waywarders to a more together-bound area.

Unthinking of wakecausing, the proper course solestands, your see-globes cannot but shimmer upon the beautyowner. The livegranting regalite, somehow miraculized into your gratefilled embrace. Brown youthspots over her puffcircles and olfactory organ adorable to the max. Her speakmaker crescented in some enjoyitude, evercute. Willingless to desirecease, your hand lovestrokes the see-treat’s blushholder, the smoothflesh liplifting your still dazed personage.

With the tendersweep, the residual resident of the refugous nocturnal imaginarium stirs. The shortquake of the halfduo alarms you after-caught, your lovesnugg mitt still her-homed when sunshone see-globes encapture your sightform. Uncontent with usual cornerlip-heightening, her reaction up-antes to a personpaw mouthmeet. Enjubified and butterflated, you switch your stroketool with your own mouthpiece, lightly liplocking with the femalian friendlove. Emotative topbulbs parted, hilarious shypbreaths were lost to the atmosphere. But peril, ever banished for littletime, rode in upon shrill woodraps. Three bonks stageset the impestuous call:

“Boyguest?” Doublepairs of flabbergastic alarms meet, follow by the sweetbreath of the prime planner.

“Pseudosleep, speedily!” Upperholders unweave and topbulbs featherfall soundless to the bodywarmer, your bodies devicinitated to each other. No sooner than the chaste tableau apparates than the fourwalls is impaired, an easthole bearing the a second personette, triple appled. Viewing the hornified hiders, a pair of citrous lips imply a protectorating discontent. With a falsitous deep cough, you’re cued to informize the toe-tapping invesitigant. Subpoenaless, your bedmate intersects, placepilfering the hotseat designed for you.

Cinematoriously, the pro-you Apple hammocks her highglobe in double personpaws, lazylooking at the duellish trespasser. Tumbox hidly tingling, the present unsleeper awaits, first move declining. Crosslimbed, the inquisitor enquests explanation, the suspectily gossipfodder unaloneable. The responder’s headfront is undazed, unproblemed. AJ depatiently words the lewd potential pre-now causes of doublysleeping, unbuying the innocence. Uprighting herself to a greater degree, the defending personette mouthsounds another tale, a pre-now mirror of unsame cousins. Chestsinking, the listener rightpredicts the incoming names: her own, and Braeburn.

Backfooted, the now-focused elder wordswats away the implicatory rejoinder, the defenses failworthy. A mere topeye brush-raise is enough to wordstop the blusher, retractily wording some apology as she hurries exitwards. The wallhole shuts, fading footdrops indicating the disapperated danger. Sightsafe and deperilized, you celebratiously lovepour into the salvatory sweetheart, ultimatedly tilting girlwards. The pro-pair recipient pinkifies at the saxifragous encoupling. Toplimbs rewrapped in the safespace of inhabitory fourwalls, interrupters unexpected. You unspot the both, brazefully amorating the chest cushions as he arranged a superior lesiurelay.

Horizontalized, the permissing pal halfcrawled on your tophalf, starboard limbs curled pleasurily over. Minutepassing with the girlish loveholder, you lose yourself in the splendidspot of being a subqueen’s alphaknight. Palmfives poke through the rosethreads, eliciting a puffchested lovegroan. Her rapturous see-globes vectorize to your headfront, appreciously lovelusting the lipgrasp once more. Syncroniziously thoughtful and message receiving, you wishgrant the lovebuddy. Timelocked, the sunfurthers into the clearwalls, lightbathing your effulgent belover.

Eventualending, you fastly persongrasp the treasure, closeness the prize. Responding lasciviously, your own toppiece constricts in the ecstatic yougrip of the amoriscious emotator. An unfinal retreat leaves you personless, a necessary redress calling to both halfpairs. Waterfall intending, a pretendinvite spurs schemes in each, the jokelaughs fading in the seriousing of youngwishes. A futurepromise threatens to lovesplode the doubleheart, and the wallhole begins anew. But before the sleepspace singlizes, the depantsing of the male begs a stillstay. Unshirting, the watchgirl fins her previous pretense of innocence boyheld as you casualsearch for your nextcovers, boxerbound solely. At the rehiding, you drop a see-globe cover to the flushcheeked watcher, who, untranced, finds the fourwalls exitable once more.

Slowly, through a torrent of vivid dreams, Saturday came around. The last day of the week, the last day of your visit with the Apples, crept into your blinking eyes through the early sun. You blinked a few times, barely blocking out the light, which still crept in through that hazy red of a sun through closed lids. Your head and heart begin to stir, transitioning to a more lively state. You breathe in deeply, letting loose a great yawn. In those stretches that bring awareness of the body, you find your left arm unable to move. You try to move it again and, still failing, glance over to identify the source of the impairment.

Laying atop your arm is Apple Bloom, looking as radiant as she ever did in the bright sunbeam. Another yawn is cut off midway by your hand clasping over your mouth, suddenly desiring quiet. Her back is on the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly with her relaxed breaths. The rise and fall of the fair breasts captivates you for a moment, your staring face frozen for a moment. Your silent adoration eventually ends, allowing you to look at the rest of her. Her left arm is laid gently over her stomach, traveling across to the right side, with the hand dangling over. Her little fingers are close to your own chest, the occasional shifts from her breathing making them brush you very lightly.

Unfortunately, but probably fortunately, she’s clothed in a light cotton shirt and some jeans from yesterday. Her feet lack socks and shoes, looking cute at her toes furl and unfurl in those natural reactions of the non-static temperature. You try to remember if you’ve given her a foot massage yet. You feel like you have, but nothing comes to mind, and so you resolve to get one in there somewhere. Her rosy hair has cast in all directions, coating the hand that came from under Apple Bloom, her shoulders, and a little bit of your own chest. You wonder why the ticklish strands didn’t wake you up before, and try to brush them into a less-crazy area.

But you hadn’t thought of the possibility of her waking; your mind was still stuck in the singular function of appreciation this gorgeous girl you’d spent the night with. Surprisingly, though not justifiably so, she stirs, her own eyelids fluttering as she tried to snatch wakefulness. The adorable little yawn makes your head swim with affection, multiplied by the following grin as she recognizes you. Your hand moves, seemingly off its own accord, lightly stroking her cheek in dazed affection. Her grin widens at the tender display of love, and she places a light kiss on your hand as it passes by. Feeling as though your heart may burst, you pull her into a long hug, the failure to connect as fully as possible unthinkable. She pulls off just a little bit, then immediately solves your confusion with a kiss.

Your moment, tragically, doesn’t last. Just as you’re about to step up your kiss, shrill raps can be heard upon the door, followed by a piercing call.

“Anon?” It’s Applejack; for the first time, the notion of her makes your heart sink. As good of a friend and family member she is, you find yourself wishing she’d fucking stop and go away. The continued knocking informs you that your wish is ungranted. Apple Blooms eyes, filled with alarm, meet yours. The realization that this is not only a disruption of your romance, but a potential injury to it, fills yours with the same. Her voice, still sweet under the fear, comes quickly and quietly.

“Quick, pretend to sleep!” Your arms unweave, both bodies falling soundlessly on your bed, not too close to each other. Your portrayal of an innocent scene is completed just in time, the door opening not a moment after your pretense is complete. Her lips purse as she spies the scene, your frozen forms not enough to push her away. She taps her foot and coughs loudly, inviting you to an interrogation. But before you can respond, the shifting of your younger cousin alerts you to her volunteering. She assumes a look of pure innocence, not too hard for her, and places her head in hands, supported by elbows propped on the bed. Her nervousness doesn’t show while she waits for AJ to speak first.

“So, ya wanna explain this?”

“Explain what?” You’re worried she’s piling on the naiveté a little thick, but you trust her anyway.

“Somebody lookin’ atcha like this might assume something… a little more than what family oughta be doin’.” Apple Bloom looks down at you and herself, then turns up to her with am able response:

“Who’s gonna see besides you? Ah mean, you’re the only one that’d come here an’ see anything.”

“That’s not the point. Ah mean, Ah don’t know if anything happened. Should Ah be thinking so?” The hidden question of what you and Apple Bloom were was nearly tangible; you wonder if Apple Bloom can still get you off without lying. From what she’d told you, AJ was something of a lie detector. But Apple Bloom takes a different route, trying to divert her.

“Well, Ah don’t know, AJ. Should Ah have assumed something when Ah saw you an Braeburn sleepin’ on your bed together?” AJ turns bright red, facing the wall. She looks for something to say, but can’t find an answer. Meanwhile, Apple Bloom goes on: “Ah mean, Ah don’t know if you two were wearing clothes like me an’ Anon here, seein’ as y’all were under the covers…”

“Alright, alright!” AJ nearly shouts, throwing her hands up in surrender. She still just looks around, trying to find something to say. Nothing can be found, and she leaves quietly, apologizing about the accusation. Under the growing shock that AJ might have had a similar experience that you were having now, you feel a little bad about shutting her down so hard. But still, if it gets you to be with Apple Bloom, you’ll take it. Hearing the door close, you finally rise from your pretended slumber to see your dearest cousin grinning in triumph. Immediately she jumps on you, kissing you deeply in continuance of your halted outpouring of love. Your arms wrap around another as you make out heavily, and you try to keep your hips from moving thrusting forward, as they so wanted to do.

Eventually, one of you does pull away, though it isn’t clear who. You do have to get ready for the day, after all. You hop off of the bed, promising the kissing session will be resumed at a later time. Trying to hide your erection, you make your way over to the dresser. She gets off as well, moving towards the doorway.

“Ah’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, initially in mockery, then realize the underlying seriousness. She blushes at the thought, not wanting to admit how much she wanted it to.

“Ah think, with what just happened…” she trails off, regretfully understanding that you should probably not test the waters right not. But she does glance back up at you, a determined look in her eye: “Eventually, though.”

“Yeah,” you affirm, as she smiles once more and opens the door. Before she goes, you drop your pants, not thinking of her as somebody you should be clothed around. Your shirt taken off, you’re now solely in boxers, the full light of the morning shining on you. She stops her exit, staring lasciviously at your unnoticing form. You notice her watching, and give her a quick wink as you pull some new clothes on. Removed from her trance, she finally leaves your room, hoping you don’t hear how heavy her breaths have got.

As you see her leave, you yawn again, rubbing your eyes. In the absence of Apple Bloom, the delirium of the morning fades away, though not without leaving a small tinge of magic. You walk over to the edge of the bed and sit, trying to clear your head from the stubborn cloud of sleep. For the most part, you’re feeling pretty refreshed and awake. Stretching out, you can feel your muscles tingle, ready for the grape-stomping of today. Still, you take a minute before you go off to shower; Apple Bloom is probably still using it anyway. You can feel the soft give of the mattress, depressed beneath your weight. Your torso leans back, both hands extending in the same direction, keeping you at a 45 degree angle above the bed. You toss your head and take a deep breath. A clear head and full lungs portend a good day ahead. With your head falling back, you smile with eyes closed in the simple enjoyment of where you are right now. The bliss invites a full fall, and you give ion, letting your torso lightly smack the top of the bed in a muffled thump. Your body calls for another stretch, delighting in the feeling of such. After a few soft half-yawns, you finally push yourself off the bed and stand up.

You walk over to the door and head out into the hallway. The nearby bathroom still holds light coming from beneath it, indicating its occupation. But before you can turn around and continue the wait, the door opens, and a vision comes through. Wet hair, long and straight falls down the shoulders of your little cousin. The darker red color parts as she tilts her head to the side, exposing her eyes to a greater degree. The light copper skin of her face and shoulders disappears beneath the veil of a brilliant white towel, ending just below her hips. Your eyes travel to the lower end of the towel, where the shining, glorious legs erupt from the cotton fields. A breathy gasp makes its way past your lips, mortifying and flattering in one spontaneous motion. Coughing, you try to distance yourself from the many seconds spent staring, and greet her happily.

“Hey Apple Bloom.” You go in for a hug, the type of greeting pretty common and immensely desired. You realize only a second later that she isn’t returning it. Stepping back, you see her giggling features, still joyous from your earlier ocular compliment. She shrugs, saying,

“Ah’d hug ya back, but Ah think Ah’d lose my towel.” You nod, trying to believe that that’d be a bad thing.

“Oh yeah, definitely don’t want that to happen.” Your insincerity comes out in an almost subtle sarcasm, unfortunately caught by her. She blushes, then bites her lip.

“Well, Ah’ll see ya in a minute.” With both parties unsure of how to address the mutual desire to see each other fully, you’re not too unhappy at the ending of the conversation. Still, you’re never a fan of her image disappearing into her room; but it’s not like you can follow her or anything. Ignoring the fantasies that streak into your mind like unforeseen fireworks, you blush and head into the steamy bathroom. It smells like her. You try to clear your head while walking into the shower. But the mental images of her in this space are a little too much to ignore. A good fifteen minutes later, your shower ends, your heart rate significantly dropped after the relaxing experience. You dry yourself off, then put your clothes back on. Heading out of the bathroom, you’re greeted once more by Apple Bloom, who’s jumping up and down in short bursts.

“Hey AB-“

“Blueberry pancakes!” She returns your greeting with great news, the words bringing a huge smile to your face. You fucking love blueberry pancakes. In response to the news and her still hopping body, you jump along with her.

“No way!” She nods her head up and down in that excited way as she counters your claim.

“Way!”

“Those are like, my favorite!”

“Ah know!” Wait a minute. You stop your hopping and tilt your head curiously, not having recalled imparting that information.

“Wait, how’d you know?”

“You told me!”

“I did?” She stops jumping for a minute, placing her forefinger on her lip as she assumes a thoughtful pose. Looking to her upper right, she explains.

“Well, on our date, you were telling me about this one time you were tellin’ me about how you’d slept over, way back when you were in third grade. That means Ah was in kindergarten at the time…” She trails off as she compares her timeline to yours, before snapping to attention and continuing. “An’ you said that in the morning his mom made you blueberry pancakes, and you’d loved ‘em since!” You’re a little awed that she remembered such an insignificant detail of an insignificant story, and feel your heart swell a bit at that. A pretty girl paying attention, noticing, remembering you is always good; but when that girl is Apple Bloom? Your cheeks flush, just a little bit, but enough to be noticed and to surprise both parties. You’re going to say something to break the silence, but you don’t actually know what to say here.

“Uh… thanks.” What would be an awkward, somewhat discouraging response is alleviating by your obvious happiness, and Apple Bloom smiles brightly at the appreciation. Grabbing your hand, she bolts down the stairs, a motion joined immediately by the necessity of your holder and excitement over the destination. You tromp down the halls, loud clanging heard when you pass over the kitchen area. The stairs fly under you boisterous sprint, the hubbub unnoticed by either of you. Your minds are on pancakes and held hands, and nothing could penetrate your attentions but the entrance of the first or disappearance of the second. The former appears before you, bringing the latter as you part for plates. Dishing up, you fill yours to the brim and sit down, the table filled only by the lush plates and two cousins. As you devour your meal, a thought crawls into your mind. There’s nobody else here right now, and these pancakes are still steaming from their being cooked. It becomes clear that Apple Bloom had made them, not Granny or AJ, as you’d expected. You ask her, just to be sure.

“Hey, did you make these yourself?” She looks up, then closes her eyes and nods vehemently. A piece of waffle, not fully placed in her mouth, interrupts the sweet curves of her smile. You feel your own eyes crinkle as a similar expression works its way across your face. Something about that small act of making you breakfast fills you with a greater happiness than you’d expect. You really want to hug her, but she’s on the other side of the trouble. Uh… Hmmm. Yeah, screw it. Without thinking past your decision to do so, you stand up and quickly walk to the other side of the table, kneeling down, and giving her a big hug. She squeaks a little as you embrace her, and does her best to return the gesture from her somewhat awkward position. Finishing, you return to your seat and resume eating, though not without flashing a little grin and explaining: “Couldn’t help myself.” She’s visibly delighted at your inability to hold back your happy gratitude. Both of you continue eating, and finish up after a little while. Looking at your empty plates, you think you see a way to repay her.
“Hey, I can do the dishes for you if you’d like.” Again she looks pleased at the gesture, but doesn’t find it necessary.

“That’s alright, Anon. Since Ah made it, the others gotta clean up; family rule.”

“And that doesn’t include me?”

“Not if Ah don’t want it to. And since you’re a guest, Ah’m not gonna make you.” Well, you kinda hoped you could respond to her kindness this way, but you’re not going to mourn the loss of dish-duty. Your stomach full, you lean back and release a hefty yawn.

Your mind turns towards the events of the day as you look on the slowly brightening room.

“So we’re gonna go stomp grapes today, right?” She bobs her head in a quick nod, wearing that closed-eyed smile you’ve come to love.

“Yup!”

“Cool. So when’s that start?” She touches her finger to her lip, then glances at the clock behind her.

“Right around 2’o’clock. So we got about… four and a half hours to kill.” Geez, was it really that early? This is your last full day, so you don’t wanna waste any time just hanging around. The thought of the finality of the day sends a tight clenching to your stomach. You take a deep breath, and try to ignore it. You’re not going to screw up your last day by filling it with worry. If anything, you’re going to make sure you appreciate it as much as possible. Just as you’re trying to stick to your affirmation, trying to push away the fear of a wasted day, AJ and Big Mac come in. Both have hands up to their faces in nearly synchronized yawns; AJ’s is recently risen and her brother’s is on the descent.

“Morning, guys.” AJ says quietly. You respond in kind, and Apple Bloom joins you. Big Mac gives the two of you a small nod, which you also return. AJ’s eyes find the stack of only slightly steaming pancakes, then smiles sleepily.

“Ah thought Ah smelled something nice. Y’all made some pancakes?”

“Yup! Blueberry ones!” your youngest cousin says cheerily. This elicits a wider curve from AJ’s mouth, and a hint of one from Big Mac, though you may be imagining it. As Big Mac and AJ dish up, you casually ask Bloom about pre-stomping plans.

“So, d’ya wanna do anything before we go grape stomping?” She nods, her eyes focusing on you. Her reply comes lazily, her eyes glazing over as she stares at you. As you’ve spoken, your arms have crossed in front of you, your chest unknowingly pushed out. The more or less masculine pose, completely overlooked by you, captures Apple Bloom’s blossoming interest. She’s loved the way you’ve looked since you first came, from your different style of clothes than the boys at her school, to the specific ways you carried yourself when you walked and stood. But here, the amorous appreciation breaks into the next level, your motions and posture bringing her attention fully to you.

“Uh-huh.” You look up to the right, trying to figure out something to do. Your finger rises to your bottom lip, and Apple Bloom continues her dreamy gaze. Not used to feeling this way, Apple Bloom isn’t self-conscious enough to stop herself from leering at you. Meanwhile, you’ve never been looked over as you’re being now, and so you fail to recognize what’s happening. You’ve never really noticed the girls who’ve crushed on you, nor understood what it was that made girls like a guy, besides muscles and charm. Naturally, not being terribly gifted in either section, you hadn’t expected any girl to grant you that breathless look you received now. You realize that she might have an input, you turn towards her and ask her.

“Is there anything you’re wanting to do?” She nods, still looking at you with barely blinking, heavy lidded eyes. Suddenly noticing her expression, your heart leaps in your chest and you breathe in quickly. You’ve never seen that look on her face before, but it’s definitely something to make your heart beat faster. Her reverie snaps in a moment, and she does a little shake of her head before answering.

“Uh, yeah. Wait. Ah mean, no. Can’t really think of anything.” She blushes and looks down, becoming aware of that her rapt staring might have been noticed. But neither of her siblings saw, and you weren’t the kind of guy that could identify the look. Still, she didn’t know that, and tries to transfer any spotlight on her over to you. “What about you?” You think for a moment, bringing your finger to your lip once more. Going through the possibilities of both your interests and the speedy list the CMC had given you yesterday, you pick out one that seems pretty good.

“Yeah. Uh, do you wanna go get a coffee or something?” Apple Bloom’s never been a really big coffee drinker. She can’t even remember the last time she’d had some, except a sip here and there from AJ’s rare trips. But she’d go just about anywhere for you, so she agrees without hesitation.

“Yeah! I love coffee!” AJ and Big Mac both give her skeptical looks, which she studiously ignores. You grin at the acceptance, having missed the taste of coffee since you’ve been here. Most of the time you’d been preoccupied with the other events, but here and there a wave of weariness would crash over you, making you miss the hot, comforting drink.

“Sweet!” Your lack of familiarity arises, and with it, the lack of a destination. You struggle to figure out if you’d passed any on your date-night or the other trips into town, but nothing comes to mind. You look over at the three Apples, and speak to none in particular. “Where’s a coffee shop around here? The three Apple as look up, the oldest and youngest trying to figure out if there is one, and AJ trying to remember where one is. You take the silence as a sign that there might not be one, and ask with the slightest of worry: “There is one, right?” Big Mac shrugs his shoulders at the same time that AJ responds.

“Yeah, we got one. Starbucks in right by the Target, just behind the McDonalds.” She speaks more to Apple Bloom than you, who is definitely a better navigator in this context than you. “Ah think there’s a stand somewhere near the church. Right by Baskin Robins.” Apple Bloom looks confused at the second one, then nods her head vigorously as the memory returns to her.

“Yeah, ok! Ah remember now!” There’s another concern that brushes across your mind. What if the other two wanted to go? You really didn’t want to bring them along, but you weren’t sure how to clarify that. You decide to just ask for the keys and head out, hoping they’ll pick up on the implication.

“Hey, where’s the keys to the caddy?”

“Ya wanna take that thing again?” Well, yeah. AJ looks a little uneasy, for some reason or another. It’s not normally used, except in very rare cases; twice in a week is something the tradition-loving girl isn’t used to. Maybe it was one of those things they just keep around, like a knick-knack? You push the thought away, the notion of that car falling into disuse being too much for you to bear. Cars like that needed to be paraded around, and filled with beautiful people like Apple Bloom, not sit in a garage and rot. Before you can inquire further, Apple Bloom speaks out on your behalf.

“Aw, come on AJ. He’s our special guest.” Her voice stretches out the word ‘special,’ and her eyes goes puppyish. ”Pleeeeeeease?” One of those two factors, reason or cuteness, get the better of AJ, and she grants you the use of the car.

“Yeah, alright. Just be careful with it. It’s kind of a family heirloom, if that makes sense.” You guess it does; you don’t know the history behind it, but you can see something like that being treasured and passed down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.” You grin as you promise her, hoping she’ll recall your love of cars. She smiles in return, understanding.

“Yeah, I reckon you will. After all, if you scratch her up, Ah’m gonna be tanning your hide.” She responds good-naturedly, knowing you’re not gonna do anything to mess it up. You head over to the nearby key-rack, happy that it’ll just be the two of you.

After the risk fades, you realize that it wasn’t ever really an issue.
With Big Mac being as quiet and socially recessive as he is, and with AJ’s embarrassment over this morning, neither of them was likely to offer to be a companion or chaperone. Grabbing the keys, you immediately head over to the garage, motioning for Apple Bloom to come with. She does, and the two of you reenter the car.

Man, even though it’s only been- what, a day and a half? – you feel some strong, pleasant memories of that night. The sweet girl beside you buckles herself in, then looks happily to you. As you return the brilliant gleam as best you can, you realize you’re never gonna get over that smile of hers. That cheer, directed at you, caused by you; if you were asked a week ago if you could feel this happy, you’d have laughed in the questioner’s face. It was almost too good to be true, but with the evidence shining on you, not two feet away, you can’t deny it. The urge to kiss her, an impulse that’s become increasingly more common, starts to rise in you. Looking around to make sure nobody’s entered the room, you move your head forward and kiss her lightly on the lips. You move your head back and turn towards the back window to begin your exit. Her expression makes it clear that she wished you’d stayed so she could return the kiss; but since you didn’t, she makes do with blushing and biting her lip slightly. Her amorous eyes stay on you, barely seen due to the need to maneuver a couple tons of metal around some delicate fixtures. But eventually you do get out of the garage, scratchless, and drive off onto the main road.

The bumpy road sets both of you thumping up and down in your seats, and you think you hear a squeak after a particularly large pothole. You turn to her, who faces away with carefully crafted poise, then looks at you as if nothing happened and she has no idea why you would ever ask if something had. You can’t help but smile, then look her over. Her legs are crossed, the thighs more than a little visible beneath the short bottoms of her overalls. The straps above go down lower than you think it’s supposed to, connecting to the front portion just beneath her breasts. Both straps are placed right over her perfect chest, looking like they’d barely cover her nipples, had another barrier not been in place beneath. Underneath her coveralls is a light white tank top, with a small lace-border. It isn’t quite see-through, but it’s thin enough to make you stare a little longer than a driver should. Her cute little feet sit atop some dark blue flip flops, which had been cast off upon entering. The cool blue denim of the material strikes a brilliant contrast against the burnished gleam of her gilded legs, perfectly tanned past the natural paleness. Gosh, this girl makes it hard to look at the road.

As you fly forward, the occasional farm houses make way for thicker clusters of neighborhoods, then actual stores as you enter the town proper. The sudden arrival of the squat squares, filled with advertisements for things you don’t want, kinda make you miss the country road before. A lone dirt road, with nothing besides seas of farms and the occasional home, was rare for you. In fact, you don’t think you’ve seen a single other car on that road yet. It was a little refreshing in a way you didn’t know how to describe. You couldn’t really place it, but there was something about that quiet little road -no, the whole farm really- that appealed to you. The most you could say was that it felt light; like you could breathe there. Not fully understanding your thoughts, and dissatisfied with your inability to define that allure, you try to change your thoughts. Apple Bloom pipes up, interrupting your thoughts at the right time, and guides you over to the little coffee shop they’d spoken of earlier.

You are now Apple Bloom.

“Alrighty now, just take a left right after that Baskin Robbins.” You shift in your overalls, trying to get a little more comfy. Boy, were you excited. Maybe it was just a little coffee date, but still: it was a date! With him! You were a little worried that he might catch onto your being a coffee greenhorn, but you think you could play it off. Even if you couldn’t, you doubt he’d really mind. With the way he’s been acting towards you, his not-so-subtle glances in the car included, told you he probably wouldn’t be too mad. You still can’t believe that he likes you; it almost feels like a dream. You’ve looked at yourself in the mirror a few times, and thought you were alright; that, and your two besties attested to you being beautiful. Still, you had your doubts; you were kinda scrawny, and your chest certainly wasn’t as big as other girls’. What’s worse is your build: you had a few more muscles than other girls your age (you’ve been working on a farm since you were a kid, so what could you expect?). And even though they weren’t anything huge, you still got teased for the little definition you had by Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.

But Anon still stared, and when he touched you with those magic hands… Golly, that boy knows how to work a girl. You mean, a body. Anon knows how to work a body. Gosh, this isn’t getting any better. You try to control your blush as you step out of the car. The hot summer air pushes out the cold breeze of the Caddy’s AC, a pleasant transition for you. There’s nothing like that sweet, summer heat. Especially if you could find place in the shade (which was different from it actually being cooler, darnit), or get a cool drink to even it out. You take a minute to wonder if coffee can be cold. Yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve heard that somewhere before. You don’t really know any dedicated coffee drinkers, and AJ never describes hers beyond ‘just coffee.’ Looking over, Anon’s form rises from the other side of the car, then meets yours as you move to the front of the car. He takes a step forward, opening the door for you.

“Aw, what a gentleman,” you say, echoing your thoughts. He gets this giddy little grin that he tries to hide, which just makes him even cuter. “Ah’m glad chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Not here, anyway.” He says, following behind you. The store is a small little place, with only a handful of tables, chairs and one couch spread out in the customer’s area. The first thing that stands out is the art: there’s this black and white picture of Clint Eastwood hanging over one of the tables, and another of that Nirvana guy, you think. Then there are the paintings made directly on the red and white walls, including a woman with the head of an alligator and another with the head of a zebra. The former has a ludicrously long tail that goes all over the walls, ending behind a metal sign with the image of Betty Boop. The walls themselves are mostly white, with a red outline, and a red line just above the lower perimeter, looking something like one a’ those heartbeat machines. In one spot, the line turns into what looks like a picture of a city, with one weird looking structure in the center. It’s a big pointy thing, with a flat line at the top of it; something about it seems familiar. It’s gonna bug you all day if you don’t find out, so you ask your cousin.

“Hey Anon, d’ya know what that’s supposed to be?” You ask him, tugging on his hand and pointing to the weird looking building. His eyes squint, then light up in realization.

“That’s the Space Needle! Oh man, I’ve always wanted to go there!” You’re still a bit behind.

“What’s the Space Needle?” He seems pretty excited as he explains. It’s an uncommon expression for him, and one you love seeing.

“It’s this huge, sort-of skyscraper thing that they built in Seattle for a World’s Fair. I think. Apparently you can see the whole city from it, and it rotates, and there’s even a restaurant! Well, that’s what one of my friends told me. I’ve wanted to take a trip there for ages, but I never actually could.”

“Well, what’s stoppin’ ya?” He frowns, then scratches his head.

“Uh… Actually, nothing. I was too young or too busy before, but this summer, I think I could actually go there myself.” He trails off, looking into the air. Something apparently clicks in his head, and he looks down to you with the same suppressed smile as before. “Hey, would you wanna go see the Space Needle with me?” Yes! Yes, you would. Would they let you? You’re not sure if you could pay for it, and you’re a little averse to asking for money. Not to mention, they usually wanted an adult to chaperone you if you were ever going out of town. Wait, that second one might not be an issue here. You try to hide your sincere wish and excitement, not wanting to let him down if you can’t go.

“You’re an adult, right? Ah mean, you’re eighteen?”

“Sure am. I mean, I don’t really feel like an adult, but I’m not gonna argue with the government over that.” Sweet, so that’s one thing down. You’ll ask your older sister later about the money thing, and for permission at that. It isn’t certain if she’ll say yes, but that’s why you have your plan B: ask Granny. AJ was mostly in charge, so it was more or less her call, but she always listened to Granny, and Granny listened to you more. It felt kind of like cheating to make a plan to go around AJ’s back, but sometimes AJ got a little too strict, and she knew it. If it was a bad idea, Granny wouldn’t say yes either, so its not as if you were tricking anyone, just getting a second opinion. Like how people do with doctors. The moral quandary solved, you finally respond to your waiting boy.

“Ah gotta ask for the money and permission, so Ah’ll get back to you on that.” His hopeful face drops slightly at the non-yes answer, and he makes another offer.

“Ok, I understand. But if money’s a problem, I can take care of that.” You look at him with widened eyes, somehow not expecting the charitable action. It’s not as if you expected him to be stingy, but still… you didn’t know how much that’d cost.

“Are ya sure?” He nods affirmingly, confident in his funds. This was great! You were still gonna ask for money from the family bank account, just so you didn’t have to take anything you didn’t absolutely needed. But still, if you got negatives for that, you could bring up his offer. So all you really needed was permission. Delighted at the shrunken potential obstacle, you bring Anon into a tight embrace.

“Thank you!” He hugs you in return, saying nothing beyond the tight squeezing. The embrace breaks, and he changes the subject:

“Alright, now let’s get some coffee.”

Oh jeez, you’d forgotten. The two of you approach the counter, your worry over keeping the lie afloat increasing when you see the nonsensical titles on the board behind you. You don’t know what half of these words mean. Anon steps up first, and you don’t follow him.

“You got any specials today?” The barista, a tall brunette, replies cheerfully.

“Today we’re introducing the Nitrous N20! It’s like our regular White Rockets, but with a couple extra shots in it.” Anon looks intrigued, but doesn’t take her up on the offer.

“Huh. You know, I think I’ll just go with a black and white mocha, with two shots of black.”

“And would you like whipped cream with that.” He grins like a little kid:

“Heck yeah!” Then her turns to you, noticing that you’re far enough from the counter to look like another customer. “Come on, Apple Bloom, I’m paying.” You walk up to the girl, hiding hesitance. You pretend to peruse the menu, then say nonchalantly:

“I’ll take a coffee.” Both Anon and the barista look at you with confusion. Great job, Apple Bloom. The latter speaks up, trying to ascertain the rare order:

“You mean like, a drip coffee?” You nod quickly, spying salvation.

“Uh… yeah.” She looks at Anon, who just shrugs and pays. She gets to work on the drinks, and you look around for a place to sit, not wanting to talk about the obvious strangeness of your order. It’s a little chilly in here, but there’s a couple white tables outside, with metal imitations of wicker chairs out there. “C’mon, ‘let’s go outside.” Anon nods at your suggestion, following your lead. There’s a great white tarp-like thing hanging out over the small yard, a makeshift ceiling blocking a few of the sun’s rays. As you walk underneath, basking in the toasty air without the direct stream of the burning rays, you sigh unintentionally. This is perfect.

Sitting down with Anon, he pulls something out of his pocket. You look closer, and see that it’s a pack of cards. He shakes them a bit, holding that happy look once more.

“Found these in the side panel on our date night. You wanna play some cards?” You nod at him, smiling with your eyes shut. While you wait for his shuffling and the girl’s coffee, you lean back in your chair and make yourself comfortable. Your feet slip out of your flip-flops, and drop onto a nearby chair. You’ve never been a huge fan of wearing shoes; having free feet was almost always superior. The gentle breeze caresses every part of your feet now, the plastic straps no longer pressing into your soft skin. You clench and unclench your toes, just enjoying the refreshing feeling. The tender kiss of the sun and the clean air, only a trace of dust found in it, goes onto your bare legs too. The warmth makes you feel a little bit sleepy, the indulgence of that perfect atmosphere on your body giving rise to a sentiment you’d heard a long time ago: ‘I could just fall asleep here and never wake up.’

Fortunately, you don’t fall asleep here. You’d rather stay with your boy than anything else. Just as you’re letting your head fall back in relaxation, you hear some worrying words:

“Coffee’s ready.” She places two white cups on the table, with tiny streams of steam rising from the small holes in their lids. Anon takes a sip of his, then sighs, clearly pleased with the outcome. Guess it’s your turn. You bring your lips to the cup, tilting it back ever so slightly. The first few drops show you your clear mistake, and you thrust the container back onto the table with the violence of disgust. My goodness, that’s awful. You look up to see if Anon’s caught onto your telling response, but he’s only looked up at the sound of the cup hitting the table. Your disgusted expression having disappeared before then, you try to cover.

“It’s, uh… hot. It’s hot. Too hot.” Your mouth scrunches, not unlike your older sister when she fibs. Oh please don’t notice, please don’t notice. He raises his eyebrow, then shrugs again. Ok, looks like you’re in the clear. He finishes shuffling, then passes out cards, thirteen each.

The game’s Gin Rummy, and you’re lookin’ for groups of three or three cards in a row (of the same suit). Whatever can’t be put into those groups gets counted, the number of its points equal to the number on it (tens for face cards). Dealer puts one card face up on the discard pile, which the non-dealer can choose to pick up. If they don’t, the dealer can. If the dealer doesn’t, turns start as normal, the first turn going to the non-dealer. Turns go as such: you can pick up the top card of the discard pile or a card from the deck, and then go down if the number of not-grouped cards is ten or less. You discard a card at the end of your turn (although you don’t have to if you’re going down, but you usually do). When one person goes down, the other person has to go down too, even if they have more than ten points; they can, however, add their cards to the other’s (e.g. if the person that went down has a group of threes, and the other has a three, the latter can place it on the group and not take the points). The difference is calculated, and whoever has less points gets the total (e.g. if one person has seven points and the other has seventeen, the former will receive ten points to their score). 25 points are added if you go down with no points (a Gin), 31 if you go down with no points (a Big Gin) and without discarding, and 25 points if the person that didn’t go down first wins. First to 150 wins.

But despite your eagerness to defeat him, your bloodlust soon dies down. Anon’s not new this this game, but you can’t tell he’s not very good at it. The first game destroys him, a 39 point victory leaving you in a pretty good lead. The second brings you another victory, only two hands in. He had a good hand, only giving you 12 points, but it’s clear he thought he was gonna get that one.

There’s a bad feeling growing in your gut, a notion that Anon wouldn’t enjoy himself. >It seemed like a small concern, but the worry was real. After all, this was his last day. Unless he said yes to AJ, which you know he will. You know he will. Your heart starts to doubt the once definite future, but you push the feeling to the side, trying to explain away the fear with something else. It’s, uh… this is his first week. Yeah, it’s his first week, and you gotta make it perfect; it’s these few days that he’ll remember above all the other days. That’s a reason to worry, a reason for this pit in your stomach.

Anon snaps a card onto the table, declaring that he’ll go down. His hand has seven points, and you have ten. He seems happy enough with an actual win, but the measly three points isn’t something he’s getting worked up over. Trying to retain your cheer, you pick up the deck and start shuffling. Your attempts to act happy seem to be successful, but you’re not feeling it. You remember this one time that a butterfly up and landed on your finger, and by the time you realized it, it took off. That feeling returns to you again, sinking your typical happiness. And try as you might, you can’t force that light feeling, so natural to you, to come back. So you deal, hoping it’ll return. Your coffee remains untouched.

A third victory brings 20 points to your 51, close to the halfway mark. His banter starts to fall off, and his acceptance of your successes grow duller. Geez, this isn’t what you want. You’re not gonna throw it or anything, but you do start slacking off a bit; you don’t bother with some strategies, and be a little less vigilant about what cards he picks up and throws. Normally, you’re pretty competitive –you get that from your big sis- but this time, you’re just gonna focus on having some fun. Just then, Anon asks you:

“Is your coffee still hot?” Huh? You cock your head at him, asking for an explanation.

“Beg your pardon?” He points to your coffee.

“Is it still hot? You haven’t touched it in a good hour.” Consarnit, the coffee again? Can’t it just leave you alone already? You’re trying to deal with your emotions and give Anon a good time here! You smile hesitantly, then cover for yourself.

“Oh, Ah plumb forgot about it!” You reach over to pick it up, your body rebelling against the reach for that gross substance. Once the cup enters your grasp, you feel that it’s gotten lukewarm. Maybe that’d make it better, you vainly hope. It reaches your lips, but you’re having some trouble actually taking a sip. You struggle against the petulant refusal of your body, and finally succeed in tipping back the cup. But your body was right: this stuff needed to not be in there. Immediately you swallow, aiming to get it off of your tongue ASAP. Your face contorts in disgust, the lukewarm temperature making it much worse. After the unavoidable “blechs” finish leaving your mouth, you look up to see if he was still looking. Yup, sure was. He looks at you with this little sideways smile.

“You’re not really a coffee drinker, are you?” You shake your head sheepishly.

“Ah think the last time Ah had some was on our family vacation to Apploosa. About a year ago…” You shrug and open your hands as you offer the small correction. He chuckles, then stands up, offering his hand to you; you’re exactly sure what he’s doing, but that ain’t gonna stop you from taking his hand. You’re pulled out of your chair, and directed towards the counter. “Ah come on, Anon, don’t make me drink any more a’ that stuff!” He turns to you, looking confused:

“What? Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Well, you’re takin’ me the counter of a coffee shop, what else are ya gonna do?”

“Get you something else! They had smoothies, tea, and hot chocolate, and there’s coffee that isn’t actually that bitter if you’re lookin’ to try it. I mean, you don’t have to go straight black.” He shivers as he mentions the black drip coffee, apparently with you on the sentiments toward such. Looking at the menu again, you revisit the best part of it.

“Ah’ll go for a fruit smoothie; Ah can try coffee later. If, uh, that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me.” Stepping up, you make your order: “Hey, can Ah get one a’ those berry smoothies?” The barista takes a look at you, and asks kindly:

“Finished that coffee right off, huh?”

“Eh… Not really.” But she can’t hear your answer, having turned to a series of machines and begun making your drink. She looks at you and says something unintelligible, also blocked by the noise of the smoothie-maker. In no time she’s done, and hands the colorful drink to you.

“Alright, here you go.” As the two of you are returning to your seats, you notice an odd look on Anon’s face. It looks almost hurt, but not quite. Before you can place it, Anon looks at you seriously.

“You know Apple Bloom, you don’t have to lie to me.” The directness of his assurance is unexpected; you’re not really sure how to respond. You look off to the side as the two of you sit down. Before you can think of something to say, he continues. “I mean it. I know you were just doing it to make me happy, and while I appreciate that, I wanna know what you’re feeling, what you like and don’t like. Even if it’s something as small as this. Hey.” He directs your wandering gaze back to him.

“Yeah?” You stare into his eyes, trying to read the emotions on it. Seen again, he starts into a deeper word.

“Apple Bloom, I love you.” You’ve heard it before, but somehow the phrase still feels new. Despite the outpouring seeming kind of out of place for the context, you feel your heart warming. “Apple Bloom, I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re needing to lie. You’re perfect to me.” He looks off to the side, feeling like he’s made it awkward. “I’m sorry if this sounds weird. I guess it kinda is…” He scratches his head, then continues. “But the thing is, I’ve seen stuff like that happen before, where people start hiding the small things, and before they know it, they’re trying to convince their partner they’re somebody completely different. It’s happened to some people close to me, and I…” He shakes his head with a grimace, trying to move past the ugly memory and back to you. “I just don’t want that to happen here.” He holds both of your hands in his, your breath catching in your throat. “I love you Apple Bloom, just the way you are.” His face returns to that unsure expression just before, saying apologetically: “Um. Sorry if that was weird.”

It was kind of unexpected, but you think you get it: whatever happened in his past, to him or whoever, he’s just trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. And, as you’re beginning to realize, he really does love you; the realization impacts you more than you’d expected it to, a tear threatening to form at the sentimental outburst of your dearest boy. The outpouring of love seems justified, given his circumstances and affection, and you’re not going to turn it away. You squeeze his hands back, touched both by his concern for your relationship and his clear love for you.

“Not at all.” Pleased with your answer, he lets loose that certain smile you’ve seen him wear from time to time. It’s exuberant, just like a kids, but muted, barely suppressed, as if he can’t bear being that happy. It’s almost a twitchy expression, a grand smile growing then halting as he tries to regulate himself, then growing once more. That joy, despite being so hard for him to hold, still lit up your heart. But there was one small issue you were having, some nagging feeling that you didn’t say enough. Here was your boy, your Anon, the one who’s set you alight every time he’s come near, and all you could say in response to that emotional confession is three words? And not even THOSE three words? Aiming to correct the problem, you ready the three most important words you could say. But before you can spill them into the sweet summer air, the same feel stops you. Yeah, those words were important, but were they enough?

You set aside your plan to speak the affirmation of love, and set to constructing another. You wanted to say something meaningful, something deeper than the phrase. So what do you say? Looking over at the city boy shuffling dexterously across the table, you let your mind relax, trying to catch the thoughts that come naturally. He catches your silent gaze, and smiles with just a hint of nervousness. Gosh, I love you. The words streak through your head as a soft, contented sigh exits your lips. It was hardly a new experience, but the pursuit of something more to say leads you to a question you hadn’t thought to ask before. Why?

Beyond the perceived necessity of a response of equal depth, another force pushes you towards answering the question.Curiosity bubbles up in you as you observe the deft motions of Anon. What made him different? Why did he set your heart aflutter, so far beyond all the little crushes you’d had before? This was something else. He was something else. Your mind takes on an explorative direction as you continue your steady gaze.

The first thing that jumps to your mind is his touch. At the memory, you can almost feel his hands over your body. You shiver, just barely, as the reminiscence. Gosh, he was so good at it. The way he would move his hands almost felt like he was painting a picture, and your skin was the canvas. A private pleasure erupts from the thought, and your willingness to be a canvas whenever he needed one. The skill in his hands was evident, and that alone, even apart from that vastly enjoyable experience he made, was a reason to love him. You close your eyes, taking a brief break from the happy sight of the beautiful cousin to indulge in the sensual memory of his body moving yours. Damn, he was good with his hands; the thought comes as you unconsciously move your body in a slight reenactment. You don’t like using that word, but what else could you say?

He was unique. You’ve known a lot of people, despite Ponyville being such a small town. There were quite a few visitors to your house, and even more that would hang out with your sister’s friends (whom you eventually met or caught wind of). But none of them were quite like Anon. Or rather, Anon wasn’t like anybody else. There was something in that worldly, almost jaded way he saw things that was different from others whom the world had hurt so badly. It rung closer to wisdom than that broken pessimism you’d seen in a lot of older persons: he still saw the good in some things, still had his heart open to adventure and love, if not fully. Nobody saw things the way he did, that was for sure. And it was that vision, that world he lived in, that increased your intrigue; you wanted inside of his head, to see what he saw.

But it was more than just that. You recall the look in his eyes when he sees you, how they light up. He cares for you. Golly, that boy cares for you; the more you think about it, the more you realize how loudly he expresses his affection. Every glance, every touch of his hand feels electrified to you, and it’s becoming clear that he feels the same way. The way he blushes when you kiss him, the way his heartbeat speeds when your lie on his chest. But the time that made it more clear than anything was when you’d taken off your shirt for him: he hadn’t stared hungrily at you, or tried to do anything really naughty. What you saw in him was adoration, love; you weren’t a piece of meat to him, you were somebody he loved. His tender caressing, his passionate kisses told of his love for you. It was almost enough to make you cry; you cared for him so much, you wanted him to be happy so badly. And he cared for you! He loved you too! Not only was he happy, but you were making him happy. It was an honor you weren’t sure you deserved, but nonetheless brought endless delight.

“Apple Bloom.” You open your eyes, lifting colorful visions of your love’s beauty. Snapping back to the real world, the emotional daydreams start to wither as they pass into the background.

“Yeah?” You respond in the manner of a recently awaken person, not prepared to act in the waking world.

“You alright?” There’s a note of concern in his voice, and you look questioningly at him. “Are you tired?”

“No, not really? Why?”

“Well, you’ve kinda been… ”I don’t know, it kinda looked like you were napping for the past minute or two.” You shake your head around, clearing it slightly. A pinkish hue still colored your thoughts, clouding the world about. As you focused more on the world, the context returned to you. You were playing cards, and you had a pile of thirteen before you. Oh, he’d probably been waiting for you.

“Oh geez, sorry., Ah was just thinkin’.” You can see curiosity invade his face as he answers.

“About what?” Should you tell him? Grinning, you decide to, aiming to tease him just a little bit.

“You.” His eyebrows grow up, hope and worry tangling within his face.

“O-oh. Good things, I hope.” Your roll your shoulders back, keeping your coy look:

“Only the best.” You pick up your hand, and start sorting through your cards. As you arrange them and start playing, your mind falls back to the questions. The answer was only partially found, and you weren’t gonna leave the job half-done. You drop a king of diamonds and pick up a three of clubs. He looks hard at the the cards, a cute seriousness in his determination to win this time around. You knew it had to be something more than what you were thinking of: there were cute guys, guys that liked you, and guys that were somewhat unique before. But they didn’t ignite you like he did. You next card played is slapped down almost in frustration.

He paid attention to you. You think back of his loving looks, his attentive nodding as you detailed your life and history. He asked questions, referenced your likes and dislikes, and so forth. You’d always been somewhat overlooked by the people around you; you tried to keep it hidden, but you’d always been terrified of being left behind. There were times you thought your friends, even your family would just up and walk away, forgetting about you. And even when you were assured the weren’t, and did your best to believe it, there was still that voice in the back of your head saying they’d leave you behind. Funnily enough, you didn’t really get that with Anon. True, there was that secret terror that he’d be dragged away by his parents and his city, but that wasn’t the same. Even if he did leave, you knew that he didn’t want to, would never want to. And that made all the difference.

You reach for the seven of hearts Anon throws down, but he announces that he’s going down, preventing you from a further turn. Crap! Anon’s got only two points, and you’re stuck with a whole buncha un-matching face cards. Counting them out, the points come to 43. Minus his 2 adds 41 to his score, bringing him much closer to beating you. Happy at his reentry into the game, he jumps up and pumps his arms wildly, belting out a

“Oh yeaaaaah!” before resuming his more inhibited nature and sitting back down. You laugh at the display, but your smile falters as he catches himself and sits down in needless embarrassment. It isn’t that you dislike him when he’s shy, but you like it so much better when he acts out. You get that he’s a little shy naturally, and that’s fine, even cute; it’s just… some of that is pretty obviously coming from the way he’s been beaten down all his life. And whenever you see him overcoming those barriers, you feel like you could just glow. It was this weird mix of happiness, of seeing him healed from those hurts he carried, and pride. After all, you’re partly responsible for that.

Thinking of his smile, you return to that proud feeling, the notion that it was you that helped him do it. It wasn’t just pleasure at him being happy with you, though you were certainly cheerful at the fact. It’s the fact that you had helped him get there. Suddenly, your mind moves over to your brother, and what had happened to him.

You don’t remember much about your parents; only bits and pieces of them. It was hard for you, no doubt about it, but nobody was hurt worse than Big Mac. AJ would never tell you the full story, always being overcome before she could say it. But you did know that he wasn’t always this way; the quietness of his personality, sort of like the natural shyness you saw in Anon, was massively increased by the trauma they’d experienced. His cheerful smile remained in your memory, only occasionally remade by the brother himself. There was one memory you had, a time your whole family, parents and grandparents, had all sat by the fire at Christmas. Big Mac was just talkin’ up a storm, then; you didn’t understand most of what he was saying, the boy bein’ much older than you, but gosh was he animated. His hands were flying up in the air, his legs kicking up as he told his story; pretty sure it was a bout school or something. Anyway… You sigh as you pull the fading memory closer. You’d always wished you could help him, maybe bring him back to his old self, even just a little bit. What wouldn’t you give to see him talk like that again? Maybe that was why it felt so good, so important, to be able to heal Anon, even if it was only a small amount.

Besides, you wanted to help people. That was what you did, and what you were proud of. The CMC was a defender of the weak, the protector of the little, the friend of the friendless, as the motto went. Ok, it was unofficial; you still had to run it by Scoots and Sweetie, but it was on your heart. You’d stood up to Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, you’d befriended Featherweight and Twist, and far more, just for the purpose of helping people. The other girls were with you on this; it was your passion, both you and the group, to help people. And when somebody was in need, you could bet your bottom dollar that Apple Bloom would be there. Triumphantly throwing a three of clubs on the discard pile, you snap out of your heroic inner dialogue and look at the boy across from you. There’s this feeling of disconnection you get, the hinting that your reasoning still isn’t complete. Thinking about it, the feeling’s right; Anon isn’t just a patient, or replacement for Big Mac. He was more than an opportunity to help; he was himself, the thief of your heart, whom you’d had the privilege of helping. He was-

Suddenly, as if on its own, your hand reaches out and touches Anon’s. You just… you just wanted to touch him right now, to connect with him. Throughout your thinking, there’d been this torrent of emotions flowing through you. But now, like some inward geyser, it felt like it had exploded, a surge of emotion threatening to wet your cheeks once more. Seeing the confusion in his eyes, then tender requitement of your loving touch, you wonder if this is what he felt like just before now. His hand gripped yours, a firm response to your unhidden need. It was a strong hold, a steady one. Maybe that was it. You’d had just a glimpse of the pain he’d been through, the misery surrounding him, and yet- here he was. Smiling. Happy. You loved the credit you could take for him, the joy of being relevant and good for him, but you knew it wasn’t just you. He wouldn’t have been able to take your hand if he wasn’t strong, wouldn’t have been able to make this kind of progress toward being alright if he hadn’t already possessed some great inner strength. Resilient, that was the word. He was resilient. As you held his hand, you couldn’t help but be impressed by everything he’s gone through, and still come out the other side.

You tighten your hold on his hand, looking into his eyes with pure, nude affection. Nothing held back there. Maybe you couldn’t place your finger on it; maybe you weren’t gonna be able to figure out exactly what made this man so special. Everything made sense, everything seemed to fit, but… as you kept his gaze, it still felt like you hadn’t found the answer. He seemed almost magical in your inability to pin him down. All you knew was that you did love him, and that to an immense degree. It still felt like it wasn’t enough, but you think the only response you can give him is those three words, and hope he understood all the weight beyond them. Falling into those perfect eyes, you open your mouth to speak them. But instead of the short declaration you intended, another phrase comes out. Breathlessly, your voice almost cracking, you hear yourself say:

“Don’t go.” You tighten your hold on his hand, looking into his eyes with pure, nude affection. Nothing held back there. Maybe you couldn’t place your finger on it; maybe you weren’t gonna be able to figure out exactly what made this man so special. Everything made sense, everything seemed to fit, but… as you kept his gaze, it still felt like you hadn’t found the answer. He seemed almost magical in your inability to pin him down. All you knew was that you did love him, and that to an immense degree. It still felt like it wasn’t enough, but you think the only response you can give him is those three words, and hope he understood all the weight beyond them. Falling into those perfect eyes, you open your mouth to speak them. But instead of the short declaration you intended, another phrase comes out. Breathlessly, your voice almost cracking, you hear yourself say:

“Don’t go.” Somewhere in that short time of holding his hand, the fear of his departure had arisen. The continual examination of him and all those positive traits had brought forth that flow of love you’d held for him, which had been growing since he’s first stepped off that train. But with your affection, the terror over the possibility of him leaving had grown with it, every piece of joy that came with him had become a risk, like a hostage held by parents and city. Unthinking, you squeezed his hand harder, as if the tightness of your hold could overcome the threatened retrieval by his tormentors. You didn’t want him to go.

Feeling you, Anon places his cards face down, then moves his chair over to your side of the table. Contact is broken temporarily, but the second he moves closer, you dash into his lap, hugging him tightly. Some other time you might have cared what an onlooker would say, but right now, the thought couldn’t be further from you. Your arms constrict him, squeezing tightly. Hearing a cough, you loosen your grip just a tad, allowing for both his breaths and your arms keeping him in Ponyville. And as you allow yourself to experience the previously suppressed fear of his probable departure, the feeling grows far greater than the minor glimpses you’d had before. The thought seems to become more probable with every passing second, and more horrendous. Trying to keep from crying, you whimper into his chest:

“Don’t go. Please don’t go.” His arms wrap around you, slight tremors evident in his own embrace. You look up, half expecting to see tears on his face. But no water surrounds his eyes: instead, that expression of suffering is drawn upon his features. That firm mouth, and a solid, narrowed gaze pointed straight forward; it’s as if any tremble of his lip or glance at you would break him. He closes his eyes and bends over a bit more, hugging you tighter. There you stay for what feels like hours, both of you clinging desperately to each other, trying not to name the fearful future, trying not to cry. Finally, he looks up, the saddest eyes in the world meeting yours.

“I don’t want to.” Immediately, before he can add something else, you jump on him, the chance to convince him like a great piece of driftwood to a floating shipwreck survivor. The eagerness in your voice is almost palpable, and you struggle to keep your words from becoming unintelligible.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to go back to them. You can’t go back to them.” Your gaze loses the girlish fear from before, replacing it with the forward urgency of a fanatic. He can’t go back. They’ll wreck him, and everything the two of you built will be for nothing. Can’t he see that? He has to! He has to! A few moments pass before the answer comes… he doesn’t. A grimace invades his face as his mind inhabits the prophesied future:

“Apple Bloom, I…” He stops, choking on the incoming word. He closes his eyes forcefully, mashing the lids together in an attempt to stop any tears from escaping. “Apple Bloom, I can’t stay here; this isn’t my home.” Yes it is! Dammit, it is! You immediately jump on his words.

“Yes it is! Your home is with us! With me!” Your voice cracks on the last word, as you point to your own heart. Not that you could even care. Anon laughs, almost bitterly, a weak smile forming as he acknowledges the truth.

“I know, but… you know I don’t mean it like that. You’re always gonna be where my heart is, Apple Bloom, but… Come on, you know what I’m trying to say.” His words come haltingly, needing to be ripped from an unwilling mind. “I’m not an Apple. I’m just your cousin.”

“Yes, you are an Apple!” You slam your fist on the table. “Maybe your last name tells a different story, but Ah know you belong with us. You know you belong with us.” You remember once, not more than year ago, when you’d found out Pinkie was probably related to the Apples; there hadn’t been explicit confirmation, but AJ had told her that she belonged, whether or not a piece of paper said so. An’ if Pinkie could be a part of your family, you better bet that Anon was gonna be. He looks off to the side, the same tragic smile painted across his gorgeous face. Taking your hand and placing it on his chin, you guide his face and eyes back to you. You smile sweetly, only a hint of sorrow in it. You place your other hand on his heart, leading both your attention and his to the spot before you make eye contact once more: “Sorry, honey, but whether you like it or not, you’re an Apple. To the core.” And with that, you lean forward and kiss him.

He tries smiling again, then closes his eyes and grits his teeth, desperately holding onto dryness. Back and forth he goes, switching from that joyful smile that came from belonging, to the bitter verge of tears over what he thought was an undeniable pull away from the people that mattered most to him. Biting his lip, he looks down at you with moist eyes.

“B-b-but,” he stutters, shutting up immediately. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, then tries again. “But that doesn’t mean I can stay.”

“Of course you can! We want you to stay!” You blurt out, almost going against AJ’s forbidden offer. She’d told you not to invite him yet, but you’re having severe doubts about the rightness of her call. She said she’d have to work out the details with him, and she didn’t want any false hopes goin’ on. Still… AJ didn’t see this boy, right now, at his most vulnerable. You’re not entirely sure of whether his implicit denial of your request was due to his belief that he didn’t belong or because he didn’t think he would be allowed to. A lone finger ascends to your lip and your brow furrows at the dilemma. You get that you shouldn’t offer a deal if you can’t ensure it’ll go through… But as Anon looks into your eyes, half between his misery and confusion at your sudden, thoughtful pose, you decide he needs it. If only for the hope it’ll bring, you have to tell him.

“Alright, Ah wasn’t s’posed to tell you this, but AJ’s gonna ask you if you wanna stay.” He doesn’t respond beyond shifting into a neutral expression. His eyes stare into yours and his mouth seems to have frozen at some half-open place. You continue, telling him as much as AJ told you: “You can help out on the farm, help pick up some a’ the chores, and with some of our old machines and trucks. We’re always lookin’ for help, and this way, we don’t have to do a big ol’ background check, since you’re part of the family! Ah mean, we’d still have to clear it with your parents…” your voice drops on that note, the only potential hitch in the plan. “But you can do it right? Ah mean, you want to, right?” He opens his mouth, trying to coax words from within it. Nothing comes out, his lips still trembling in disbelief. You lean in, eyes widening as you anxiously wait for his response. Suddenly it comes in a great hug, tighter than the loose holding you’d been in, and a magnificent kiss. The brief heaven ceases, and he presses his forehead into yours, eyes closed in a happiness too great to believe.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, oh yes, yes, yes! He repeats the word over and over, the word itself like some wine he cannot get enough of. His pained look slowly turns to one of pure joy, like a girl getting the perfect gift for Christmas. Your arms mirror his own, tightly wrapping themselves around the body of your dearest one, completely absorbed in sheer joy. He’s in! He’s in! He’s- uh. Well. Suddenly you recall AJ’s words about trying not to get him too worked up over something that might not happen. That’s right, he still had to wait on his parent’s answer, and that wasn’t a sure thing. You hate to ruin his expression, but you gotta remind him.

“Hey, remember you still gotta get your parents’ per-“ you stop halfway, remember something he’d said earlier today. “Wait, you’re eighteen, right? We were making plans around you still being a minor, but if you’re eighteen, you don’t need permission!” Your wide grin is cut short by his uncomfortable shifting.

“Uh… that’s actually a month away.” What. Now it’s your turn to stare at him. His expression looks pained again, this time with the agony of shame over that of imprisonment. “I, uh... Well, I was gonna be eighteen by the time I take the trip, and I kinda…” He looks away from you as he finishes, not wanting to meet your eyes. “I was just trying to get you to come. I didn’t think it was that important.” There’s a note of pleading in the final sentence, a clear hope that you’ll forgive it.

You’re not gonna lie, this is pretty upsetting. Part of it is the lie, but most of it is because you thought he’d be able to stay, obstacle-free. Taking a note from Anon, you look away, not wanting to show the disappointment on your face. After all, it’s not wholly in Anon; a lot of it is just the situation. Still… why couldn’t he have just told you the friggin’ truth? You take a deep breath, then let it out in a heavy sigh. You wanna be mad at him, but you did the same thing not an hour ago. The shift from misery to joy to numbing disappointment, was actually kinda of tiring. Turning back to face him again, you respond.

“Ok, just- just don’t do that again. You don’t have to impress me, Anon.” As you begin to move away from the white lie and its immensely magnified inconvenience, you gain a little smile as you assure him: “You’ve already done a pretty good job of that.” You chuckle lightly, hoping to ease the situation a little bit. You need to focus on what’s important, and that’s keeping Anon here. If he does something like this again, then you’ll give him an earful, AJ-style. Anon smiles nervously at you, still slightly afraid that you’re mad. And while you are a little bit mad, you don’t want to surrender the moment to it.

You give him a quick peck, then a bigger one at the surprisingly alluring feel. You’re still emotionally exhausted from everything that’s gone on, but these last few minutes of blank discomfort have left you wide open for the shockingly massive affection you had for him. His mouth on yours, passionately working his magic, feels like it’s restoring you. A few moments pass before you break off, wanting to talk about his future a bit more, maybe plan something to say to his parents. But at your lips’ departure, he can only stare at your lips for a few seconds (while you respond in kind, forgetting what you were gonna say when you see his perfectly formed, slightly wet lips) before going in again. Wait, we gotta- Oh, never mind. You close you eyes and give into the amorous kiss.

Minutes pass, and the third cough from another patron convinces you to stop. You giggle as you stare into Anon's eyes, forgetting the other troubles, just for the moment. Right now, it’s just him and you. Your hands still touch, your bodies only inches from each other. He’s still leaned most of the way out of his seat, like you, in your effort to get as near as possible. Leaning back, he mirrors your actions, but neither of you takes yours eyes off each other. There’s something special about this moment, some vague bubbliness floating gently into the front of your mind. It’s a simple cheer, like some light pink bubble slowly encompassing the both of you. His eyes are half open, fluttering lightly. The tender gaze he gives you feels freeing, as if it could wash away everything else. The threats of before stand at the edge of your mind, ready to torment you the moment you let them in; and while this sweet aura doesn’t dispel it, you do feel as if you’re given a choice. It’s as if you’re able to choose whether or not to let those thoughts in or not. And while a part of you does want to return to the worried planning (though you’ll never understand that draw), you gently deny it entry. You came here to have fun, to give Anon a last day worth remembering. The whole point of this was to just relax with the best boy in the world before you went out to stomp some grapes. So why not?

You return to your other side of the table, the neglected cards calling for play. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy some more cuddling, but you’ve still got a while. Besides, you know for a fact that a couple games of cards can bring about some fine memories. You can still remember a perfectly ordinary day, two summers ago, when you went to the park with Big Mac and AJ. All you did was sit by this big old oak, play cards, and eat sandwiches, but for some reason, it was the most memorable day of that summer. Maybe it was pointless to try to manufacture memories, but you might as well give it a shot, right? As the control freak within you cheers at your attempt to create a perfect moment for your Anon, the other part of you gets to playing.

Glancing at your cards, you gulp; it’s not a great one. Too many high-point cards. You take a quick peek at Anon, hoping to see any indication of his hand. He nods slightly, and shifts a few other cards; nothing to be gleaned from that. Well, all you can do is hope to pick up a couple kings and queens, maybe find a run or something in there. You draw a ten and keep it; it doesn’t quite get you a run, but it promises more use than that eight. He picks it up, and you drop a quiet Consarnit from your mouth; that meant it was helpful, and if he goes down now, you’re lookin’ at around thirty points. The next two turns bring a king and queen to you, filling the gaps perfectly. With a little investigation, you find that you’ve lucked your way into seven points. The game’s still very early, so you knock the table:

“Ah’m goin’ down.” His heretofore blank face disappears as a thin smirk stretches across his cheek. His lips are almost pursed in the mocking grin, eyes shining in perceived triumph. Oh geez, this is not good. You place your cards on the table, grouping them in the runs and groups you’ve seen. “Seven points,” you inform him. He nods, then throws down a nearly perfect hand, only two cards left over, both fours. He’s lost by one point. Suddenly, horror overthrows his expression, and his hands fly to his head in stressed support.

“Oh, come on! I thought I had this!” You fold your arms, and jokingly respond with a voice of the utmost pretension:

“Well, sweetheart, Ah guess you can’t count your eggs bef-“ Your gloating is interrupted by his gleeful surprise.

“I got it!” What? No! You look at the table, and he’s rearranging his cards so that he’s left his a four and a five of spades, the latter of which he adds onto your run of spades. Now he’s perfectly imitating your previous stance, arms folded and eyes haughty. “What was that, Apple Bloom? I think you were saying something?” In mock grumpiness, you swipe up all the cards and begin shuffling.

“Harrumph.” He puts his hand to his ear, like he’s hard of hearing.

“Oh, what’s that? Twenty-five extra points because I beat you when you went down? Oh, I’m sorry, did you say 28 whopping points for me? Oh gosh, Bloom, you’re too kind!” You send him a grumbling yes as he writes his score down with a huge smile, now having a decent lead on you. Despite the unhappy pretension, you’re actually glad that he’s being silly again. You might be able to deal with the shitty circumstances well enough –after all, you were well-practiced- but you weren’t sure Anon could. In fact, you were slightly worried that bringing the subject up might screw over his whole day, or just a big part of it. But it seemed like he was getting along well enough, and you couldn’t welcome your cousin’s cheer any more than you already did. Oh, that reminds you:

“Hey, uh, just one more thing before we keep going: can you not tell AJ that Ah told you about the deal thing? She was gonna ask you tonight or something; wanted to give you a little more time, Ah guess.” He nods, stiffening slightly. If you were anyone else it would have been imperceptible, but you know Anon pretty well for the time you’ve been with him; not to mention you do pay a lot more attention to him than most would.

“Yeah, no problem.” He leans back into his chair and sighs. But before you can say anything to try to distract him again, he flashes that brilliant smile and says: “Now, are you gonna deal those cards or not? I’m itchin’ to beat ya again.” What surprises you more than the honest happiness in his eyes is his choice of words. Itchin’ to do something? That’s something you say, not something you’d imagine gets said in the city. The conclusion brings a huge grin to your face as you realize you’re rubbing off on him. It’s a small thing, but still, it’s making you grin like an idiot.

Dealing out the cards and thinking of the previous result, you realize the loss has made you feel a tiny bit sour, and you recall your habit of over-valuing winning in games. In response, you take a more comfortable pose and take a deep breath. You’re gonna try to take this a little less seriously and just relax a bit. The lungful of fresh air helps, the clear feeling it leaves behind more refreshing than you’d remembered. Taking a minute, you just close your eyes and take in your surroundings. With your feet propped up on a nearby chair and your torso leaned back about thirty degrees, you’re at your comfiest position. Nearby, there’s the sound of the occasional car, scooting right on past. Beyond that, there’s very little noise; the rustling of the wind through the trees, the chirping of unseen birds, and the shuffling of another patron are the only things that fill the air.

The smell of summer is bright and clean, the aroma of nature filling your nostrils. The park is only a block away, just down a nearby hill, and the trees that fill it could account for the enticing scent. Giving into the gentle relaxation, you feel the need to stretch coming on. You extend your legs, making them as straight as you can, then relax them again. The mostly bare skin can feel the gently breeze softly gliding over them. The slight chill, more cool than icy, brings a certain kind of relief that can only be felt in summer. It was hot, just the way you liked it, but the dark shade and the cooling breeze made it just perfect.

Your arms, previously laying at your sides, rise up, elbows out and hands brushing your sides as they ascend. As your hands touch your shoulders, chicken-like, you extend you are fully and continue rising, moving into that victory pose every stretcher knows by heart. The light shirt you wear extends with you as your chest is pushed forward in the arc. As you hold the position, just before coming down, you wonder if Anon’s looking at you. You wonder if Anon likes what he’s seeing. The thought of this makes you blush and giggle just a bit, enough to set you back into your comfortable slouch. Suddenly, your absent-mindedness departs, and you remember where you are.

“Ah gosh, sorry about that.” You apologize to Anon, who’d been absent from your attention for at elast a couple minutes. But as you face him, it becomes clear that he doesn’t have a problem with it. His eyes are fixed on you, a little half smile on his lips. The moment you spoke, his eyes darted up to you; and while you didn’t see where they were pointed before, you can make a pretty good guess. A smile works its way across your mouth as you realize: guess he did like what he saw. Anon speaks too, also sounding like he’d left a reverie.

“Uh- Yeah, no problem. You looked pretty comfortable there.” He gulps, obviously a little embarrassed at what he thought he’d been caught looking at. Seems kinda strange to you; he’d actually seen the girls, so why was he being bashful now? Huh. Boys; you’re never gonna understand them. Still, that expression on his face is sweet as peaches, and you take a moment to appreciate it. Leaning forward, your hand comes up on your chin to support your head as you look interestedly at him. Today you got one of the best days of summer, the perfect temperature and few clouds, as well as a boy like that, liking you. And you know what? It felt pretty darn good.

“Ah was.” You grin brightly at him, “sometimes you just gotta sit back and smell the roses.” The boy across from you smiles sweetly in response:

“I hear ya.” His gentle look threatens to melt your heart. Your hands move to the pile of cards in front of you, then stop. A sudden thought enters your mind: dancing. Preferring an impromptu session to the continuing game, you grab his attention.

“Hey.” His eyes, which returned to an organized hand, move to you.

“What’s up?” Now, you could tell him. But where was that fun in that? Instead, you inch your hands over to his, and softly tug at his cards. Ah, there’s that bewildered expression you love. You partly expect him to hold onto his cards, but he relinquishes them, a limp grip allowing you to retrieve them. Placing them with your cards, then adding that to the deck, you put the cards away. His head tilts, but he still doesn’t say anything; instead, he leans his head on his hand, looking pleased to just watch the mystery unfold. Well, hate to ruin the show, but you’re participating in this too. You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him out of his chair. Suddenly standing, he finally inquires:

“Alright, so what’re we doing now?” All he gets for an answer is excited eyes above a lightly bitten lip. Somewhat satisfied with the promise in your look, he goes along with you, still sporting that confusion that makes him so cute. You turn around, your hand still holding his, but with your arm extended behind you. You make your way over to the car and deposit the cards and your flip-flops. The initial plan was just to sprint down to the park, but why not skip instead? Barefoot, you give into that sprightly joy that so often possesses you, moving forward with great leaps and bounds. The crumply gravel and soft grass kisses your feet as you pass from the street to the nearby hill. It’s too bad Anon’s got his shoes on; he should be feeling this. You stop in your tracks, Anon soon reflecting the motion. Turning around to him, you disappoint his expectation for an explanation, instead making the appetite grow:

“Take off your shoes.”

“Why?” Huh. You didn’t expect him to actually ask, though he certainly had reason to. But you’re not one to spoil the surprise, no sir! You walk a little to the left, slightly up the hill, lessening the height difference by an inch or two. Then, leaning in, you close your eyes and peck Anon on the lips. His lips pull back as he smiles, and you answer him, the distance between your faces only a couple of inches:

“That’s why. Come on.” Still smiling, he does what you ask, his excited heartbeat overthrowing any concern of his. You grab your newly barefoot beau and pull him along once more, causing him to let out a small “waah!” as his balance is imperiled. But while his legs do flail a little bit, he regains his footing soon enough, and is soaring with you across the grassy hill. As you and he bound over the brilliantly gleaming grass, you tilt your head back and laugh, the simple motions of joy swelling your heart. Soon enough, both you and the leaping boy are bounding in time, your feet slamming down with the synchronicity of a marching band. An elite marching band, not a high school one. Two right feet pound the thick dirt, then spring upwards, leaving two happy kids suspended in mid-air for one blissful second. The moment seems to last longer than it really does, the unbounded freedom of flight seemingly held in that leap. And when it does end, the descent is no return to earth, but the mere preparation for another majestic flight. Closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the sun, you take a mental picture of this moment. Whether or not you needed it, you wanted to remember this forever.

A slight change in the held hand draws your attention over to the holder. He’s catching up, his hand pulling you in just a little bit to help himself. Steering himself slightly rightwards, he moves to your right side, skipping alongside you. His legs take a moment to realign, then mirror yours with expert precision. Glancing to the left, he throws a cheerful glance your way, then squeezes your hand three times. You shake your head, albeit with a happy grin. That Anon; every time you think you couldn’t be happier, he pushes the limits even further. The pace accelerates as the happiness becomes energy, and the two of you are overcome with that curious fire that impels children to run as fast as they can for no apparent reason beyond “I can.” Suddenly wracked by that now-common need to be closer, you retract your arm, pulling Anon closer. But this doesn’t fit well with the speedy skipping, and soon, the two of you take a dive.

The hill is flattening out, but still retains a generous downward curve. Anon’s foot catches something, the unbalancing pull bringing his right foot to an odd place. Suddenly out of rhythm, his body tries to correct itself by placing the left foot as far to the right as possible. But mid-leap, this only serves to weaken the landing, and his weight tilts too far to the right, following with a crash. His hand tries to let go off yours, hoping not to drag you down. But while you aimed to do the same, your heart acted on its own accord; fingers tightened as yours loosened, the hated act of departure foiled at the most inopportune moment. Anon’s hand flew down, pulled by his grounded body, and yours soon followed. Memories of the raft trip and the tipped tube return to you, the same wounded perspective held now. In your rolling, you see the sun and sky clearly, then suddenly obscured by the ground. Then there it is again, rising from the river above it; wait that’s not right… The mistake fails to matter as the ground swallows up both again, then throws them back at you, each rotation slowing.

Your hand touches a particularly warm and soft portion of the ground, then more of your body falls on it. You feel part of it sink beneath your now-stopped body, having much more give than dirt normally does. The blue ground has the texture of denim, and –Good gracious it’s moving! The ground beneath you parts, and your head fall a bit lower, hitting normal earth. Trying to get a feel for your surroundings, your arm extend, hitting a pair of small, moist somethings and a significantly harder substance in the gap between. Immediately upon feeling the slight wetness, you pull back your hand and yelp.

“Ah!”

“Ow!” Half the ground beneath you twitches, revealing itself to be the body of Anon. Oh yeah, that makes sense. You look over to the sound of hurt, but see only a bright sky above blue. Your vision adjusts a bit more, and you suddenly realize that your head is lodged firmly between his thighs. Meaning that bulge is… With your recovered spatial awareness, you’re able to sit up and skootch away at supersonic speeds. The embarrassment-fueled actions depart as the distance is created, and you glance back to your previous seat. He’s sitting up, legs closed now, and rubbing his upper lip. Oh geez, did you hurt him? You’re already close to the ground, so you get on your hands and knees to close the distance. Arriving, your hands are just to the left of his left legs, and your face only a foot or two from his.

“Hey, are you alright?” He smiles on one side of his mouth and rubs the back of his head.

I’m a little banged-up, but I’ll be fine. Are you?” His happy groan turns to worry at the last sentence as he realizes you might be hurt. You immediately clear the air.

“Ah’m fine, dear.” You mean Anon. “Ah mean Anon. Ah’m fine.” Geez, you didn’t mean to say that! The term of endearment, given to him on his second day here, had never actually been used out loud, and you sure as heck didn’t mean to let it out now. The verbalization brings a massive blush to your face, though if you were to stop and consider why it would be bad, or look at Anon, you wouldn’t be so embarrassed. Anon’s expression remains unseen for several seconds, but the nearly glowing grin of his finally makes its way through to your attention. Fearing the worst, you only stare at the silly happiness on his face before he leans in and surprises you with a kiss. You’re caught between feeling like you have to explain something and kissing him back. You go with the latter choice, which just seems way better.

Too soon, the kiss stops, and Anon grunts as he lifts himself off the ground. He brushes the dirt off of him, making sure not to do so towards you. Then he extends his hand towards you, offering you help up. Slowly, you hand raises to meet his. You’re still a little bit behind him; he’s ready to continue the skipping, seemingly fine with the new name. It’s almost as if he didn’t notice it. A small pit forms in you as you wonder whether it meant something to him; you really hope it did. But at the same time, you’re just plain relieved. It was probably needless worry, but being vaguely aware of that didn’t make it go away. Whatever. You grab his hand, and enter once more into the moment. A short focus on his gleaming smile and capable arms forms, followed by a thin plan to call him “dear” at a more intimate moment forms, with the hope that it’ll still be found pleasing while being meaningful. After all, it was what your parents and grandparents referred to each other as. Ah! Bad Apple Bloom! It doesn’t happen often, but you can get lost in your head, and this is definitely not the time to do so. Blinking your eyes, you try to focus on what’s happening around you instead of worry and planning. It’s harder than it sounds.

Looking around, you see that you’re actually at the bottom of the hill. The park’s still about half a mile away, but you’re kinda running low of skipping energy. The riverside path isn’t too far in front of you, lined with thick trees, sparsely scattered on either side. He seems to have an idea of your idea and pulls you closer to it. This time, he’s leading you; it’s a good feeling, you silently reflect. Stepping onto the concrete, mostly cool from the shade of the trees, he stops. He doesn’t know where to go now. His pleasant face turns down to you, a question upon it.

“To the left.” He nods, then starts down that way, you at his side. His hand searches for yours, but once they meet, yours runs up and softly holds the lower part of his bicep. Understanding the cue, he brings up his arm making it perpendicular to the torso it crosses. Happily clinging to his arm, you sneak a few glances when you think he can’t see. That gentleman posture he’d inadvertently assumed when he’d made his arm perfect for holding is pretty dang fine, if you say so yourself. Visions of future proms and homecomings fill your mind, you in a princess-like dress and him in a handsome suit. It’s enough to threaten a swoon, but you fight it off. You’ve still got a ways to walk, especially at the comfortable pace set, so you try to draw some more stories out of him.

“So, tell me more about the city.” Instead, he just shakes his head.

“No no no no… I think I’ve told you enough.” You look at him confusedly, not expecting the sudden closure. But before you can say anything else, he grins and comes up with a counteroffer: “I wanna hear about you.” He pauses before saying ‘you,’ and gently boops your nose on as he does. After blinking in surprise at the unexpected boop, you hesitantly agree.

“Alright, fine.” It isn’t as if you don’t like talking about yourself; you could go on for some time, as your besties had informed you. You’d just rather hear about him. Talking about yourself felt like a bit of a waste. Still, he wanted to hear about you, and that valuing was good enough for you. “So, what do ya wanna hear about?” He looks up, trying to find an answer.

“Uh… I don’t know, anything. Just tell me about yourself.” About yourself, huh…

“Well, Ah was born right over in Ponyville Hospital. Ah don’t think you’ve seen it, it hasn’t been anywhere near where we’ve gone. But yeah, lived my whole life around these parts, in that same old house.” You stop, wishing you were a little more exotic. The way it sounded out loud was like you were just some plain country girl; who would want that? A quick peek over at Anon reveals an unanticipated interest. Uh, you guess if he’s enjoying it, you’ll keep going. As you do, you do keep glancing at him, watching for signs of boredom. “Went to Sunnyside Elementary, which was alright, Ah guess. Ah wasn’t the best student there was,” you confess, just a little bit ashamed of it. You quickly try to defend yourself:

“It wasn’t that Ah was dumb or nothing, just, you know, there was always so many chores at home. And when- well, when my parents…left… things kinda got crazy. Granny and Grandad came back over, sold the little cabin they’d be living in. Always felt bad about making them come back. Um, anyway, they managed to help AJ and Big Mac kinda get back together. You know, into their whole routines and everything. Granny was more of a mentor for AJ than Grandad, an’ the same thing for Big Mac, but the other way.”

“You mean your grandpa was a mentor for Big Mac?”

“Yeah, they were pretty close. Ah mean, as close as Big Mac could get to anybody back then. Ah didn’t really need as much support as they did. Ah mean, Ah was just a kid.” These last words are pronounced with a bit of bitterness, that hatred of being overlooked surfacing for some reason. Not wanting to think about it, you push it back down, and finish up. “Anyway, that was that. Grades weren’t too great at that part, but got better. Took another dip when Grandad left, but yeah. Ah did pretty well besides that.” He looks hurt, an expression which you assume you share. You change the subject.

“Uh, Ah was a pretty big tomboy back then.” Through the dwindling discomfort on his expression, curiosity is found in his raised eyes. “Oh yeah, Ah hated all those dresses and stuff that Ah had to wear on Sundays. Ah mean, Ah got a perfectly good pair a’ overalls and a T-shirt in my cabinet, why do Ah gotta put on that thing! And, later, when Ah met Sweetie, ooh!” She blows air of her mouth, an exasperated look on her face. “Alright, get this: we agreed to go to the school dance together, and she’s like: ‘Hey, lemme pick out the dresses,” you know, Ah just say ‘Ok.’ Ah mean, she’s way more into style and stuff than me, so Ah figure she’ll handle it just fine. Turns out she got us a pair of matching corsets! Corsets!” You hands fly up in the air at the thought of the ludicrous piece of clothing. “Ah didn’t really have a choice, so Ah had to do it. The dang thing felt like Ah was caught in a lasso! All evening!” You pull him close, eyes wide with the awful memory. “You know what that’s like!?”

“-N-no”

“It’s awful! Ah gotta take a look every time she wants me to wear something, just in case she tries to slip one a’ those in there!”

“Has she tried?”
“You bet she has! Ah swear, girl’s in love with those.” You stop, hearing the soft laugh of Anon. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just imagining Sweetie chasing you around your house waving a corset.” He’s not too far off, actually. You correct him:

“You’re almost right. You see, usually she’s chasing me an’ Scoots around one of our houses.” The mental imagery of not one, but two girls, fleeing from a crazy fashionista is a bit much for him. Letting go of your arm, he doubles over in laughter. Recalling the actual memory, in all its glory, you join in. A few moments later, both parties recover and return to their idle walking. After a short pause you continue your exposition.

“Ah kinda got over it, though. Ah mean, Ah’m not gonna spend half the time knitting and planning outfits as Sweetie, sure, but Ah still like the occasional dress.” Anon nods his head.

“I’m glad,” comes his voice, softer than usual.

“You’re glad?” He looks at you with a benevolent smile.

“Well, yeah. I mean, if you didn’t like all that stuff, how would we have a ton of fancy dates?” Grinning, you pull him closer.

“You like that? Like, what we did on Thursday?” He snorts, nodding a few times to emphasize his ‘yes.’

“Well, yeah! That was one of the best nights of my life! No way is that only gonna happen once.” The certainty in his voice grants you a strength you didn’t know you needed, the illimitable encouragement of another believer when one thinks oneself the only one. You nod, your cheek pressing into his arm.

“Well, Ah’ll be glad to keep that up.” Another small pause finds its way out of the moment, cued by Anon’s voice.

“So, you got any other good stories?” You think hard, trying to capture some. There was that time you put on a big show and got best comedy act… but you didn’t really wanna share that experience with him just yet. It was fun and all, but still a bit embarrassing. And that time you tried to keep Granny from speaking on Family Appreciation Day. You tried a whole buncha things, but the story was still kinda boring. Hmmmm… The next story that comes to mind is that time the homecoming queen picked a fight with that foreign exchange student. It was pretty crazy; she basically got the whole school to watch, and straight up lost. Kinda lost her ‘queen bee’ crown there. Anon didn’t know about it, and you might be able to substitute the foreigner for yourself, or give yourself a bigger role in bringing down her reign… Nah, you can’t do that. Gotta be honest, ‘specially around Anon. Ooh! You’ve got it!

“One time we drugged Big Mac and Cheerilee!” He stops walking, looking at you incredulously. For a moment you hesitate, wondering if this was the right story to tell. But as soon as a smile invades his wide-eyed face, you can tell you haven’t blown it. Good thing, too.

“What??”

“Alright, so we were still pretty young, and we were having this big ol’ Valentine’s Day party in class, with Ms. Cheerilee. Aw man, it was great. We got here this huge valentine, way bigger than anyone else’s. If it hadn’t kept falling over, she definitely would have liked it more.”

“Uh-huh.” He responds, nodding his head just fast enough to get his message across: ‘Hurry up and get to the good part!’

“Anyway, Sweetie Belle asked her if she had a boyfriend, an’ she didn’t, so we figured: ‘Hey, we’re pretty great at this stuff; let’s go find her one!’” Then, under your breath: “Woulda found one too if this town wasn’t so dang tiny… Anyway! So after finding a whole lotta nothing, Sweetie and Scootaloo picked my brother. Ah accidently agreed to it…” At his questioning expression, you explain: “Ah got caught up in the moment! So we get this real romantic date set up, an you wouldn’t believe what happens!”

“Noth-“

“Nothin’! They just sat around like a couple a chickens! So We go back to the clubhouse, y’know, to figure out a plan. Me an’ Sweetie were gonna try again with the date, make it real romantic, way more than the first one, but Scootaloo was like: ‘Ah got something that’ll do it!’ She won’t tell us what it is, but we go over to her place, and she’s got a couple of pills that one of her neighbors gave her.” Now he’s looking really shocked. You quickly try to calm him down. “We didn’t know what they were, Ah swear! We figured it was like, Ah don’t know, mood enhancers. Like how some vitamins can make you feel good!” Ok, part of you did think it might have been drugs, but Scootaloo had asked you to trust her. Still, your youthful stupidity is seeming a lot less defensible right now, but what could you say? You had always tended towards tunnel vision, and were really focused on the goal. He still looks a bit worried, so you just press on with the story.

“Anyway, she called ‘em happy pills, said they’d really give ya a good time. Scootaloo tells us if we just slip em into their drinks, they’ll be so happy, they’ll think it was each other, and then date! Seemed kinda thin, if you ask me, but we thought it’d be better than another date by itself. Keep in mind, we were still pretty young at this point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So we set up the date just like Sweetie and Ah planned, and gosh was it good we didn’t stay with that plan; they were crazy awkward. But then they drank the juice we gave them, an’ they started acting all funny. We watched them for a bit, but they never actually did anything besides lay on the ground an’ look up at the clouds.” Anon scoffs, shaking his head with only a trace of a smile left.

“Well, I’m glad nothing too bad happened. Didja get in trouble?”

“Oh, yeah. We went back to Scootaloo’s house, an’ a couple hours later Big Mac picked us up. He really chewed us out, too.” You shiver, not wanting to see your big brother angry again; it was pretty scary. Sensing your discomfort, Anon blankets your shoulders with his arm and pulls right up against his side, offering a comforting look.

“Well, we all do stupid things. I mean, I haven’t drugged my family members,” Anon consoles you, snickering at the above-average mistake, “but I’ve certainly done some dumb sh- stuff.” Your misgivings about the story are somewhat justified, the experience seeming much less light-hearted in retrospection. Definitely not something you plan to revisit anytime soon. You duck into Anon’s arm, hoping to separate yourself from the discomfort. His protective embrace is almost perfect, a warm feeling soaking up your full attention.

Under your foot, the gravel sports a pair of bright painted numbers: ‘0.5’. You and Anon had entered the path a little while before the starting marker, meaning you had about half a mile to go before you reached the park. Not too far in the distance, you can spy the sparse parking lot, sprinkled with a handful of sedans and trucks. There’s a large truck towing a boat behind it, getting ready to back into the boating area and drop off its cargo. Your family doesn’t have a boat–the rest of your family isn’t quite as into it as you are- but you borrow one from your neighbors every once in a while. Another plan, involving boats and Anon in a pair of trunks, fills your mind. Your future summer’s plan is rapidly filling up; maybe you should consult Anon before filling up his schedule. Turning your well-nestled head upwards, you ask him if he’d like to go boating.

“I’m not sure we have time…” he responds with a hint of a smile.

“Well, not today. Silly goose.” You jab his side on the latter sentence.

“Oh, well then yeah.” Sweet! Well, there’s one down. It crosses your mind to invite him to all thirteen activities planned, but you turn the inner proposal down. It’d probably be better to ask him about them every once in a while, so you don’t overwhelm him, or come on too strong. Maybe you could suggest something to him here and there, see if you can make him think it’s his idea. AJ told you that’s an important thing to know in life. For now though, you just keep on walking.

The path is sloped ever so slightly, up until a division in the path, which marks the entrance of the park itself. The multicolored little stones that make up the path are imperfectly flattened, only noticeable to the shoeless, like you and your beau. You’ve gone so many places barefoot, and done it so many times that you barely notice the heat and rough texture, though you can’t say the same for Anon. Thankfully, it isn’t too hot today, and he seems to be making it along alright, except for the occasional ‘ow,’ and stagger as a sharper piece falls under his step. Maybe you’ll give him a massage when you get there; it’s only fair. There’s railing on the left side on the path, faded and cracked paint over the black metal, the olive coating broken in off in great chunks. On the other side is a short hill, no bigger than 8 or 9 feet tall, covered in rocks as big as your head. The jagged wall probably served as a levee before the nearby dam fixed the issue of flooding.

Thick trees had begun to spring up, hiding the river on the left side except in the occasional spaces where one had fallen towards the river. The depressed branches of one hang below the rest, the low ceiling of leaves forcing Anon to duck. You reach up and grab a branch as you pass by, a wide but firm grip dragging some of the leaves off as the branch pulls out of your receding motion. The bright green leaves, a dry mossy color on the bottom, flutter out of your open hand. The wind and your forward motion fail to escort one of them out, a lone leaf holding strong to the palm of your hand. You look at it with interest, wondering how it’d braved the pushy breeze, and what kind of tree it’d come from. But the thought is interrupted by a sudden motion of the boy on your arm. He’s bent over, trying to keep up his pace, then stood back up. Had he tripped? No, it didn’t seem lik-

Before your thought can finish, his right hand moves in front of you, showing you a brilliant daisy. Every petal shines bright, each as pearly white and proud as the feathers of a swan. The lingering presentation ends along with the walking and his arm’s hold on you, as he fixes the flower in your hair. He puts it right over your right ear, needing a couple tries to keep it in place. You’d help him, but that determined look in his eye and the exaggerated dismay when it doesn’t keep are too good to ruin. When it finally sticks, patted twice to ensure its stability, he breaks out in a proud grin. A giggle breaks out, the show proving too funny to keep silent for. You go up on your toes and kiss your adorner’s cheek in thankfulness, then return to your original position. The walk continues with beauty intensified, and you hum contentedly into his side. Can he hear it? Can he feel it?

His right hand holds his shoes, forefinger and middle finger hooked on the back of the dangling loafers. Your own shoes are carried in the same way, though on your left hand, so your other is free to hold onto him. Both external arms swing softly in the sweet motion of the stroll. At first, the bobbing of your walking, the movements up and down as your legs carry you onward, is mismatched, but within a couple steps, you’ve synchronized with him. Your head leans slightly into his torso, and his hand, hanging just over your shoulder, softly caresses your left cheek. His body is warm from holding you and the warm sun resting on him. The division of the walkway into two separate paths, the herald of the park, is coming closer, but you’ve long forgotten the impulse that led you here. For now, all that exists is the boy and the stroll.

Soon the split in the path is found, the wall of trees rapidly fall off to reveal the majestic sparkle of the sunlit river. The gleaming whiteness of the ragged waves are nearly blinding, though rare in the undulating blue. A boat or two comes roaring out of the tree line and into the limelight, before disappearing into the other side of your view. Trees still hug the side of the path, but to a much lower degree, only one every couple of yards. The leaf-coated branches still block out some view, but it’s still inconsequential. On the other side of the brilliantly shining water is a small island, one you’d trekked with your older siblings more than once.

Beyond that lied the other shore, golden brown dirt surrounding the few houses sprouted here and there. The island was fantastic, a rich oasis of plants and trees, devoid of almost any human involvement. Sure there was a bottle or two lying around, but for the most part, it was a small portion of the wilderness never broken by the advance of civilization. You’d definitely have to bring Anon there sometime. And so the schedules swells.

“Oh! Over there!” A pull on your hand invites you to follow the running Anon, and your glance reveals the source of his excitement. In a small field, fenced by a ring of loosely placed trees, is a small playground, the nearest attraction being a pair of swings. The excitement catches, and soon you’re booking it towards the metal structure alongside him. A race develops in the first couple steps:

“Bet Ah can beat ya there!”

“Like heck you can!” He picks up his pace, moving to be just more than a head in front of you. His bounding body moves up and down over the emerald grass, turned dim under the tall canopy of trees. The trees themselves may be thin, but they rise far above the ground, the lush branches providing a surprisingly adequate cover for the park itself. >Under that cool shade, you double your speed, really going for broke. >His longer legs carry him further, but years of running in the fields grant you a strength his legs don’t know. >You speed ahead of him, landing in the mottled bark a step before he does. The tiny chunks of wood are no friend to bare feet, and you kill your momentum quickly, as does he. You pass by the first swing, allowing Anon to have it; it’s the little things you can do for people that mean the most, you know.

You hop into the black seat, the former line made into a ‘U’ at the sudden pressure. The chain lines, snaking their way to the sides of it jut inwards, a little more pressure on your sides than you prefer. Then again, it’s been quite a few years since you’d last gotten onto one of these, and you weren’t the same weight as a third grader. First, you stand on the ground, sticking your upper half backwards, at an angle. Then you tilt your body backwards and extend your feet forward, moving you forward just a bit. Though it’s at a very low speed, you can already feel the illusion of a slight breeze caused by your body cutting through the air. Once your momentum all but stops, you lean forward and contract your legs under your seat, rocking you back. Once the apex is reached again, you return to the former position, and begin to pick up speed. Only a few more iterations and you’re soaring through the low arc. Up, up, up you go, a good second of motionlessness –or a velocity close enough to it- in that highest position. It’s actually a little bit scary there: that second lasts way longer than it has any right to, your weight just hanging in the air like some old cartoon. You instinctively grip the chains to either side, the odd shape making odd impressions on your hands. Still, that rush as you speed from that first height to the second is awesome, and you can’t help but shout for joy as you swoop to the front of the swing set.

Anon’s over to your left, swinging with wild abandon. It’s surprising to see the older boy, usually so serious, swinging with that childlike glee on his face, but goodness is it there. Those positions, back lowered and legs extended forward, then quickly switching to torso leaned forward and legs curled almost seem silly on his larger frame. The motions of a happy kid are unusual to see, but the sheer happiness exuding from him as he grins at you is inspiring. You’re glad you came out here today. Suddenly, he slows down and turns around, facing the opposite direction as you are. Then, after picking up speed, he extends his hand for a power-high-five. Not one to deny him, you put yours out as well. Then, just before the midpoint on your arc, they meet. POW!Geezums, that hurt! You take your right hand off the chain line and rub your hand, the intensity of the awesomeness leaving a bit of pain behind. It fades momentarily, and you’re free to appreciate the five again. Looking over at Anon, you can see him rubbing his hand as well, but no injury done to his smile. Good; that’s something you wanna protect.

Ready to get off, you aren’t sure about the instinctive exit. The way you’ve always done it was to just leap off, see how far you could go. But you were going a bit faster and a bit higher this time around; maybe that kind of leap wasn’t the best. But the only other thing you could think of was to just jam your feet down and drag along the dirt until your momentum was killed. It probably wouldn’t hurt your slightly calloused feet too much, but no way in heck are you gonna take the lame way out. Compromising, you go through a couple iterations without any motions to hasten yourself, and the momentum and arc lowers slightly. Now at a more comfortable place, you leap off, throwing the chain supports behind you. That momentum of air is pure glory for you, absolute freedom. Soaring through the air without the sides jutting into you, your whole body free from all external touch; you can see why’d you always leap off as a kid. The ground finally hits, more than half the pressure entering your left foot and leg. A sharp pain, noticeably sourced in the middle-right part of your foot shoots through you. You stumble, but catch yourself, the sting falling off momentarily.

Suddenly, you recall the impulse that had brought you here in the first place, and you rush over to him. It’s a slight hobble at first, your pained foot rebelling against the motion, but it comes to its senses soon enough. Grabbing his hand, you lead him over to the bare part of the grass. Arriving, you immediately turn around to face him, his expression bright and open. Too carefree to think consider the possibility that he doesn’t know square dancing, you go right ahead and start. The circle’s what you and your family usually start out with, where you just face each other and revolve around a point in the center. Pretty simple, and kinda like those scenes in the movies where a couple is spinning in circles in a field and one starts to lift off the ground. Wanting a reenactment, you speed up, and he soon joins in. But the pace gets to be a little too fast before any liftoff happens, and the fear of falling slows you down.

The next move’s just a simple forward and back: you face each other, get right up close, and then back to original positions. It’s a bit more fun when a lot of people are doing it, but it’s the dance you know, so you go for it. Your hands grasp each other’s’, elongated and pulling when you’re distant. But as you move in close, your chests touch, and his face is as wide and pleasant as the sun itself. You move backwards, then in, aiming to kiss him at your next convenience. Apparently the same plan is had by him, and both faces move forward a bit faster than usual. His mouth hits yours, each drawing a small pain in the lips.

“Aw geez, are you okay?”

“Ah’m fine, Ah’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He reassures you, then awkwardly begins the dance again. This time he’s leading, and you’re not exactly sure what’s going on over there. There’s a vague feeling of swing to it, but a lot more individual motions going on. At one point, he severs the connection and begins shuffling in place, swinging his arms as he does it. Another move, presumably a popular one in the clubs he’s told you about, comes about: a mess of arm sways and kicking graces your vision. Stepping back to watch the show, you’re unhappy to admit that the best part is the smile as he does it. He really looks like he’s enjoying it. But… you look at the moves again, to make sure you’re not missing any secret coolness. Eh… You don’t wanna say his dancing’s dumb. You really don’t wanna say it looks sillier than a cow in stilts. But he’s making it real hard on you. A hand ventures out, and you’re pulled into a flurry of wild gesticulations and wobbles. Trying desperately to keep up, you show off your skill at the Shopping Cart, and the Sprinkler.

Partway through, he slows down, looking at your ill-matching moves. It’s not a bad thing; a little funny maybe, but he’s certainly not unhappy about it. Your pace slows down, your eyes mostly on his goofy dancing as well. Slowing to a stop, the two of you continue looking at each other with repressed giggles. Eventually they do come out, the ludicrousness of the alien dances as well as the never-to-be-spoken-of attempt to mingle them a bit too much for each of you to remain serious-faced at. His eyes always close when he laughs that hard, a wandering mind notices. When he does open his eyes, they seem clear; his hand extends to you, and you grasp it, hoping the next stage of dancing will go a little better.

It does. His first steps are slow, allowing you to understand what he’s doing and follow accordingly. Right off the bat you understand the motions: he’s swing-dancing. It’s the basic forms, and at a slow enough pace to sync up with each other. You count inside your head, being out-of-practice; 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and, repeat. 1- Left foot forward, little weight on it; and- back to standing; 2- right foot forward, little weight on it; and- back to standing; 3- right foot out to the side, little weight on it; and- back to standing; 4- left foot back, full weight on it; and- place weight back on right foot, begin to move left foot forward. You continue this for a little while switching feet every once in a while, or going diagonally instead of straight forward. His foot does come down on yours a couple times, but his worried apology isn’t necessary; this isn’t the first time you’ve danced with boys. And if you could deal with them, you could certainly be okay with Anon here.

The pace has been slowly accelerating as you get into the groove of it, but he slows down to show you something new. Instead of the rock-step on 4, he thrusts his left arm out to your right, and takes a giant step that way, turning to face you at its completion. You follow suit, rotating about a quarter turn every measure of that unheard music. Here and there he pulls you into a spin, and you make sure to slap the ground as you do so. It was the way cool kids did it.

During your spinning, the flying colors of an unfocused background make their way into your sight, the kaleidoscope of hues more beautiful than ever. The perfect summer sky, blue as ever, against the brilliant greens of the trees and grass feel like some exaggerated painting. But his hand in yours, and the beautiful music, the kind for your ears and his only, tell you that this is all, incredibly and wonderfully real. The wind flows through your rosy locks, sending them flying in a mad attempt to keep up with your bobbing head. His fingers are cinched on the back of your hands, and your grip holds him in a similar manner. For a moment, it feels like you aren’t two people, just one, caught in this magic maelstrom. He twirls you once more, this time holding your back and letting you fall most of the way to the ground. But you don’t fear falling for a second, knowing he’ll keep you. And as the ground finally stops rising to meet you, his face descends, kissing you passionately on your own lips.

Your arms extend, reaching up to snag him in a tight hug. Your lips respond to kiss, answering every inch of love he’s given you with your own. And your love for him ain’t something to scoff at, no sir. Somewhere along the line, your impassioned response makes him forget his balance, and the ground soon closes the distance. But he didn’t forget entirely, and he regains his mind just enough to spin and let you fall on him, instead of the other way around. Feeling the soft give of his chest under your, you lie your head down on his chest, listening for his heartbeat again. Thankful for the protection, your hand slowly rubs his chest, just an inch past where your head is located. You hope the love in your touch can make up for the skill you know you haven’t got. But the humming that comes a moment later tells you he’s content with it. And there you lay, for who knows how long, in the loving arms of your cousin, Anon Orange.

You are now Anon

“And that’s how that happened,” Apple Bloom finishes her story from the back of the van, squeezed tightly between her two best friends. Not for lack of space, but because both of those girls were leaning in like there was a hobo outside the window. You nod, not particularly to anyone, and rest your arm on the open window. She’d left out a lot of the story; the deep coffee table talk –‘We talked about some stuff’- and all the kissing. It doesn’t bother you; AJ’s driving, and it’s probably best not to name what she already knows. You look outside the window, leaning your head just a bit out so the wind begins whipping at your cheeks. You actually kind of like it: both the wind and the omissions; it was a sweet date, but the best parts were kept private. It was like some tender, beautiful secret, not meant for the eyes of anyone else. You close your eyes and stick more of your head out of the window, feeling the full force of the wind blowing on your face and hair. Briefly, your eyes open, closing soon after in the pain of the wind’s assault. Returning your head to the car, you let your arm and hand have the full experience.

Your hand opens wide, fingers splayed out as the wind pushes against you. That cool feeling of the wind flying between your fingers, against your palm takes you away from the inside of the cab. That sharp coldness, not so cold as to be uncomfortable, borders your skin. The full feeling exists in the center on your skin, but on the edges of your arm the wind has begun to exit into other currents, and can be felt far less. Recalling the impulses of your youth, you grin and press your fingers together, tight as a salute. Your hand begins curving through the air, flowing up and down as you tilt the solid figure towards the sky or ground. It swims through the air like a fish, aided on its ascents and descents by the air.

There’s just something about this moment that makes you feel 10 years old again. Something about this town, these people that made all those years of cynicism fall off, like dust before the swipe of a house-cleaner. Brushed off, a weight had left you; it was like new eyes had been granted to you. There was this wonder in the things you saw: the people and stories they told had contained this importance you’d rarely given them before. You’d begun to have fun; it was almost weird, you were sorry to say. But when the seriousness of your typical mood was brushed off, the little things seemed to be both important and fun; this dumb playing in the wind was somehow enjoyable, though you’d have scoffed at it a week ago. Was this how she saw the world?

The girls continued chattering in the back seat, going over the details of your little coffee date. You looked over to AJ, who’d been glancing at you on occasion. She returns the gaze, a smile in her eyes.

“So, Ah guess you had a good time this morning?”

“Sure did.”

“Good good.” A comfortable silence steals a moment; you’re happy for the lack of forbidding, and her happy for the healing and happiness in her kin. “Figure out that she don’t like coffee too much?” You chuckle softly, AJ following suit.

“Yeah. Took me a bit, but that’s more me being unobservant than her hiding it well.”

“Yeah, she ain’t much of a liar. Reckon that’s a good thing, though.”

“I feel ya.” A sudden question appears in the back of your mind, and you give a curious voice to it: “Hey, why’d didn’t you tell me? I mean, you knew, right?”

“Ah did. But it was her deal, not mine.” Your brow furrows, something being lost in the phrasing.

“I don’t get it.” Her eyes, green as the fields you frolicked in not 3 hours before, glance over to you.

“Ah wanted the truth to come out from her. Besides, it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world, an’ Ah figured it’d come out soon enough.” Huh. You guess that makes sense. Sensing her eye still on you, flickering to the road and back, you remember to respond. Shaking her head, the smile of being understood crosses her face. You sit back in your seat, enjoying the lowering sun on your skin. You read the clock on the dash: 1:45; about ten minutes til you get to the grape farm. A flicker of dismay crosses your heart at the thought of the day’s uninhibited motion towards its own demise, but it fades soon enough. Just gotta tie up a couple loose ends, and you’ll get to stay here; AJ’s gotta break the question, you draw a yes out of your mom –probably the hardest part, but it’s not as if she actually wanted you, so you don’t foresee problems there- and you should be good. Heck, you’ve spent more time planning your retrieval of your possessions, those that you’d actually need, than you had the actual talk. Turning your mind to the trip at hand, you remember the temporary absence of Big Mac, but not the particulars.

“So, Big Mac’s gonna meet us there, right?”

“Yeah, he’s still talking to Apple Bloom’s teacher about something or other.” Wait, could that be?

“Cheerilee?” Her eyebrows raise, then lower.

“Nah, Mrs. Frizzle. Though Ah heard Ms. Cheerilee got herself a job up at Canterlot High, so she might be there.” Oh. “He’s gonna be half an hour late, or something like that.”

“What’s he doing?” AJ grimaces, glancing towards the backseat where the three girls are tittering. Looking back at you, she responds in a quieter tone.

“The girls got in a bit of trouble before the end of the year, an’ Ah asked him to clear it up.”

“Why him? I feel like he wouldn’t be the best at that.”

“You’d be surprised. Ah can reason with most teachers, but this one seem to be holding a grudge. Says she’s gonna put it on her permanent record.” A mean look appears on AJ’s face, a subtle anger towards the teacher working its way out. “But Big Mac… A lotta people respect Big Mac around here, and not many wanna make him mad. He’s uh… a little bit better at dealing with difficult people.” You can’t remember him getting mad, but he is a pretty big dude. Those muscles, the way he towers over you; you can see why he might be good at big-stick diplomacy. Soon, the unhappy thoughts of Big Mac are cast off by the squealing of the van’s tires.

“We’re here!” You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out of the van, stretching a bit as you do so. The sun hits you hard, the heat greatly increasing since this morning. Good thing you were wearing light clothes; it wasn’t bad now, but you could tell you’d be cooking in no time. The screeching of other doors heralds the retreat of the female four, hopping into the scorching sun along with you. Purple and pink heads conceal Apple Bloom for a moment, then move forward, a rich ball of crimson hair greeting your eyes. The hair swirls as its owner turns, giving way to the shining face of your younger. She gives you a smile, that secretive sort that only close lovers can give. You respond with your own, though it’s more of a beaming grin than the quiet sort she’d granted you; it was your intention to mirror hers, but that look on her face was just too much. Your heart ignited, you absent-mindedly walk over to her, joining the trio of freshmen. They’re almost bouncing in their shoes, so excited for the upcoming event. Before you say anything, you remember the fifth member of the party, and look for her. AJ’s stopped in front of the car, and is waving to something behind you. All four heads turn towards the object of AJ’s greeting and see a girl hoping down the front steps of the magnificent house. Her hair is purple, not unlike Twilight’s, but she seems way less shy than AJ’s science friend.

“Bailey!”

“Applejack!” As the two move closer, they shout each other’s names and embrace. The cheery stranger, once parted, turns toward your group and notices Apple Bloom first. “Is that little Apple Bloom I’m seein’? My goodness, you’ve grown since I’ve seen you last.” She’s bent over, her hands on her knees as she looks at your sweetest cousin. Apple Bloom fakes a pout, responding with a cute veneer of grumpiness:

“Ya saw me a month ago, Bailey.” The girl stands up again and looks to the upper-right, stroking her chin Sherlock-style. She’s doing a pretty good job of pretending not to remember, but the thin smirk growing at the edge of her lips gives it away.

“Oh? Well, you know how it is with you Apples; never do stop growing, huh? Like that mountain of a brother you’ve got.” Her eyes threaten to glaze over at the mention of his name, but instead search the van for signs of the man himself. “Speaking of which, where is he?” Her hand rises to her forehead, blocking the sun as she exaggeratedly looks in all directions.

“Dealing with Mr. Doodle, but he should be here in a bit.” Your host’s face had fallen at the confirmation of his disappearance, but rose higher than before at the mention of his return. Boy, this girl really wore her heart on her sleeve.

“Well, We’d best get started without him. Wish he was here,” she mumbles under her breath, “Oh, is that a new face I’m seeing?” Her attention turns to yours, a rosy grin spreading once more. AJ, standing next to her now, informs her of the connection between the cousin spoken of and the subject of the lady’s sight. The girl just nods her head, before continuing: “Ah, the famous Anon. Well, I’m glad to have another helper for today; ‘sides, all that city-walking’s probably got you a strong pair of legs, right?”

“Um, sure.” You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to be saying here, the inner awkwardness beginning is seep out. But she doesn’t go on, instead speaking to the whole crowd.

“Well, we’re set up right this way if I could have y’all follow me.” She turns away and begins walking around to the back of the house, making a ‘follow-me’ gesture behind her as she does so. All four of you rush a bit to catch up with her, then slow down as you close the gap. Entering the backyard, you see four giant wine-barrel-looking things right in the middle of the freshly mowed yard. They look almost identical to actual wine barrels, in the context of their general shape and material: circular and made of wood with metal lines keeping the whole solid. But they’re much wider and squatter; you’d reckon they’re about two feet high –maybe less- and five or six wide. There’s a small chunk of wood in front of each, cut to resemble a very rural set of stairs. Each is filled about halfway with brilliantly purple grapes, matching Bailey’s hair exactly. Two out of the four are already filled with people standing there, in shorts or rolled up pants, apparently waiting for the order to begin. There’s three in each bin, and you’re guessing the same ratio’s gonna apply to the remaining two. They wave frantically to your group, shouting familiar names. Your group shouts unfamiliar names back, and the hellos are complete. Bailey puts her hands on her hips and declares proudly:

“Alright, let’s get stompin’!” Alright, guess this is it. As you take a step towards the grape-holder on the left, you hear Scootaloo murmur, just loud enough to hear:

“I thought we were gonna be makin’ wine…” Hearing this, Bailey turns towards the group, then puts her hand to her face.

“Ah, geez. Sorry, forgot to tell you guys what’s up. I already gave the speech to the others,” she gestures to the six people ready to go, “and I guess I figured that was the end. Alright, so here’s the deal,” here she gets a more serious look, like that of a teacher. “We’re stompin grapes, an’ all we need is these four vats to be made; we did the rest already, an’ this is just the extra we got left over. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Wine-making –heck, even making grape-juice- is a lot more complicated, and me an’ the fam are gonna take care of that. Can’t have y’all finding out the secret method.” She winks at the lot of you, nods of understanding coming from the two Apples beside you. “Three to a bin, an’ you can switch out if you’re ever looking for a new dance partner. Once you’re done, you can just go wash up with that hose over there,” she points to a hose by the back door, “and head on in. We’ll fix up the grape juice –that’ll be about a half an hour, maybe less if there ain’t a lot of pulp- and then y’all can get some of our fresh juice. Sound good?”

“YEAH!” The Cutie Mark Crusaders shout in unison, drowning out the quieter yeps of you and AJ. You walk to the bin, immediately followed by Apple Bloom. The hot suns beats down on your shoulders as you do so; you may need a temporary break before this is over. But maybe not. It’d been a while since you’d worked –other than fiddling with cars- and there was no telling if this would be hard or not. Still, you were already feeling a bit woozy. Hoping it would fade soon, you kneel down by the barrel-thing and unlace your shoes. Dragging your socks off afterwards, you tuck them inside your shoes. You take the nearby hose and spray down your feet; seems a bit on the unhygienic side, but you figure they know what they’re doing. Thankfully you’d brought some shorts; pants seemed like a pretty bad idea. Big Mac had lent you one of his work shirts; you hadn’t brought one, not having expected to get dirty on this vacation. You take a step up the makeshift stairs, at the front of the bin. Screw it. You hop forward, both feet slamming down hard on the squishy mess. Two words appear in your mind, each with equal gusto: ‘EW!’ and ‘COOL!’ It feels gross, but at the same time, kinda awesome. Your feet are sinking in it, the texture sorta like mud. But at the same time, not all the grapes are popped, so it’s like somebody dumped a bunch of mud into a ball pit; only with really small balls that explode with more mud. Yeah, you’re gonna let go of that mental image right now.

Turning back, Apple Bloom is standing on the top step, gazing at the purple mush around your own feet. You take a step out of her way, thinking you’re probably in it, and offer your hand. She blushes, and you exaggerate the motion, bowing down and making a somber face; Alfred wished he could be this butlery. She takes your hand with the upturned nose and pomp of a noblewoman.

“Why thank you dear sir. I don’t know what I would have done without- waaaah!” As she speaks, she puts her foot out with her eyes closed, still aping the upper class; when she steps down, she keeps the façade perfectly. “Oh, Ah do declare, this is the strangest ballroom floor Ah’ve ever set foot upon! Mr. St. Rumpterfrabble, what on earth were you thinking?”

“Ah, my darling Ms. Stembleburgiss, I was only thinking of one thing: you.” She breaks character, snickering at you before returning your only partly kidding gaze. Still holding your hand, she takes on a much shyer, happier look. You find yourself gazing back, with the same speechlessness of an elementary-schooler with a crush.

“Alright, alright, break it up,” comes a tomboyish voice. Seems your arms had been in front of the entrance, blocking the path in. Scootaloo moves forward, breaking the connection. “Geez, you two.”

“What? Are you feeling left out?” You ask with a smirk. Apple Bloom chimes in:

“Yeah, you can be fancy too, y’know.” Upon hearing this, Scoots turns around, places her finger under her nose like a mustache and makes a monocle with her other hand.

“Why, I should say… uh, dear chap… Yeah, I can’t do this.” Looking over, you see Sweetie, AJ and Bailey avidly speaking in the other bin. “Yeah, so apparently Sweetie’s pretty good friends with her younger brother, so she’s going with that group, I guess?” She seems kinda dismayed about it, but you take no notice. To be honest, you’re still a bit captivated with Apple Bloom. She’s wearing the same overalls as before, only with a dirty T-shirt instead of the clean white one from before. Her bow’s been taken out and left in the car, her luscious hair fluttering in the light wind. Already there’s grape juice on her feet and ankles, and splashes make it seem to reach up her legs. Now, more than ever, she’s looking like a farm girl; and it is surprisingly attractive.

“Alright, is everybody ready?” You hear the shouting of Bailey, her voice carrying like a megaphone. You add your voice to the eleven-part yes that pierces the air. “Good! Alright, so we’re gonna mix things up a bit; whoever finishes first is gonna get a prize!”

“What prize?” you hear someone shout from the other bins before Bailey can begin the next syllable.

“To be announced! Whenever you think you’re finished, just wave down my little brother, and he’ll make sure you’re good! Any questions?”

“Where is he?”

“Inside; unless you’re gonna finish in a minute, I wouldn’t worry about it. He’ll be out in a moment. Now! On your mark! Get set!” She drags it out, looking at all the tense stompers getting ready to pound the grapes. Then finally, after what feels like forever: “Go!” You start off at a slow pace, knowing that’s what actual athletes do. Over there, AJ and her crew are doing the same; and since that includes Bailey, you reckon that’s the best way. Over in the other bins, there’s a crew of women who are more busy talking than they are stompin; not much of a threat there. And the fourth, home of the shouting guy, is full of heavyset guys giving it all they got. They got a bad technique, but their muscles might win out in the end. And that’s about the end of your reasoning faculties; the summer heat was already making it kind of a drag to think analytically, and you needed to focus on stomping. And so you do; full attention is made to keep your legs moving. It’s already a lot harder than you’d think, the minor difficulty of stomping adding up with every step you take. And of course, that dang sun ain’t helping one bit. You look around to see if there’s any shade casted upon your bin. There’s that thin shade that comes from the sunrays shining on thin leaves, flickering in and out of existence as the wind blows the tree holding them around. Not gonna help.

There’s a ton of shade on the other side, the two bins not occupied by your friends. That’s probably why those groups picked ‘em. Seeing the group of women, probably the fourth bin’s wives, just laughing it up while they half your already easy pace. Some people have all the luck. But all you can do now is try the best you can. You experiment a bit, trying to find the best method. Quick hops don’t seem to be doing the trick: you’d thought that moving your feet out before the sludgy grapes had a chance to build up around your feet and lower shins might reduce the effort required to pull your foot up. And while it did, the frequency of your steps had by far compensated for the ease, making the whole more difficult. You wanted to stomp somewhat slowly, but keep yourself in motion, as stagnancy would make the buildup worse. Already quite a bit step to your foot as you pulled it up. But walking in place didn’t quite seem to do it; not only was it kinda boring, but you weren’t getting new grapes crushed. The path forward seems to be walking in circles concentric to the edges of the bin. But the plan required all three of you to be maximally efficient. The person on the outer edge could mostly stay in their circuit, then middle having slight deviation, and center one moving around a bit, just so that the maximum area could be covered equally. You look over to the other girls, preparing a plan.

Scootaloo is skipping around in her third, jumping every which way. She’s got a determined look in her eye, joining with a slight grin to create that odd vivacity that a person gets from victorious conquest. You almost expect her to laugh, like an evil robot crushing the citizens of Tokyo. Turning away from the teenage Godzilla, Apple Bloom captures the totality of your vision. She’s leaping around, the motions looking somewhat like Scootaloo’s: erratic. But as you continue looking, you start to see a pattern emerge. She’s jumping in triangles: to the right, down and to the left, up and to the left, and the all over again. Her arms are swaying side-to-side, fingers quietly snapping at the finishing of the rotation. These small motions are just barely enough to remind you of some of the slow-dancing you’d done earlier in the day. That’s what keys you off to the order of her dancing anyway. The awkwardness of the dance floor makes it a little hard to hit the same areas, so that’s probably why the triangles she’s making are sort of off-kilter. Another moment of watching and you realize that it’s on purpose. She’s trying to vary her landing spaces so she’s covers the greatest area. It’s that little detail, the combination of intelligence and that barebones dance within an activity that’s probably not too different from regular work for her, it’s that that makes you forget to stomp.

“C’mon, Anon, you’re gonna make us lose!” Scootaloo complains from her section, still prancing about like a madman. Huh? Oh, you’ve stopped. Crap, you’re supposed to be doing the opposite!

“Hey guys, I think I got a way for us to do it best.” Both girls slow their stomping and turn to you as you explain your superior plan. Scootaloo is a bit unsure of it, commenting that it seems a little too complicated. But Apple Bloom votes in your favor, saying that

“We oughta give it a try, see how it works.” Her encouraging eye is enough to sway Scootaloo, who agrees. She calls the outside, and rushes to your left. Apple Bloom’s basically on your right already, so she comes over and slips her left arm through your right, situating herself in the middle of the bin. Immediately you start walking the bin, and you feel good about it right away. The feeling of walking forward in addition to walking alongside others is a definite improvement: back in high school, you’d found it was easier to run with others and actually run (instead of that treadmill crap). You think it’s because others were able to set a pace, a standard for everyone to live up to, and the actual change in perspective of the forward motion gave the motion more purpose, or the appearance of it. Or at least, that’s how you explained it to yourself. Either way, the methodical plan is already feeling superior to your previous, random motions.

Plus, you got to hold Apple Bloom’s arm as you did so. And even though you’d been holding her, playing with her, dancing and being with her for almost every hour this week, it still had that magic. Gosh, she was intoxicating; what would normally be exhausting, what would normally make you avoid somebody for a few days, was soothing. It was good; heck, it was even refreshing after a fashion. Now, you didn’t become some extravert by any means of the imagination; you needed your time alone, your space, just as always. But there was some additional draw on your energy that others had placed upon you; you were always having to try to fit in if you ever wanted connection. There was always the struggle of developing a pretense, figuring out what people wanted to hear and trying to say it the best you can. And not only was that incredibly taxing, it wasn’t usually that successful. Maybe they saw through it, maybe you didn’t do it good enough; fuck, you don’t know. You look down to the sweet girl marching alongside you, then to the rebel on the left. You belonged here; not just with Apple Bloom, but in this world, with these people. Apple Bloom didn’t ask for anything but you, and somehow, these people didn’t either. It was kinda weird to admit, but Scootaloo felt like she was a friend to you; goodness knows, she’d probably be too tsundere to admit it, though. Still, you liked being around her, liked being around all these people. Unconsciously, you’d picked up the pace; the little effect went by Apple Bloom unnoticed, but the greater effect was perceived by Scootaloo.

“What are you trying to do, kill me out here?”

“What?”

“You’re practically running over there!” She has been lagging a bit; she’d held onto your arm too, and you could feel it.

“Sorry, I’ll slow down.”

“Ha! Think I can’t keep up, huh?” Scootaloo does a 180 on you; you’re not sure what exactly she’s wanting right now. Her words surprise even her as they come out. The built up jealousy of Apple Bloom hasn’t exactly worked in favor of the poor girl, and the frustration eventually comes out. Scootaloo hadn’t had a lot of experience with boys; she’d watched her friends and sister with them, but never actually had a boyfriend of her own. But Rainbow Dash seemed to have her share of suitors, so she must be doing something right. Half out of wanting to imitate her for her success, and half just due to being a little sister, Scootaloo did the only thing she knew how to do: pretend she didn’t like Anon, and try to prove that she didn’t need him. The words, after leaving her mouth, don’t feel quite right, but she’s not sure what else to say. And by the time she figures she oughta take the outburst back, it’s too late.

Apple Bloom’s leaned forward, peeking past the front of your shoulder.
She doesn’t say anything, though, instead just watching the commotion. “Um, yes? I mean, no?”

“Pah! I could beat you in your sleep!” Here, Apple Bloom interjects.

“Scoots, Ah think Rainbow’s rubbing off on you a bit.” Instead of responding to the concern, Scootaloo answers what was apparently a challenge. She speeds up, power-walking pretty frigging hard over there. You hadn’t thought she’d had it in her, but you’re starting to slip behind her. You hadn’t thought she’d had it in her, but you’re starting to slip behind her. You call out from behind:

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want me to run!” Scootaloo laughs and retorts:

“And I thought you wanted to! So come on, ya slowpoke!” She pulls her arm forward, grabbing yours with her hand and yanking you towards herself. You stumble, the forward motion not working with the grape sludge too well. Your knee hits the top layer, immediately sinking in; you thrust your hand forward, catching yourself before you get wholly purple. Your shin is now completely sunk, it’s counterpart trying desperately to avoid the surface. You can feel the future juice oozing around your right arm, just as Scootaloo let’s go of your other arm. As it plummets toward the goop, you freeze it in mid-air, hoping to protect the less grapey parts of your body. Unfortunately, in trying to counteract the downward motion, you overestimate your own strength. The right side of your body is anchored tentatively, but the left portion is moving upward, gravity now calling the whole of you home. As your left arm flies into the air, your body tipping past the point of no return, you’ve just enough time to formulate a value statement.

“Crap!” Your back hits the grapey goo, and you can just feel them crushing underneath it. Both forearms are now submerged as well as your shins. You try to lift your torso and legs, not wanting to completely sink into the delicious mudlike substance. It doesn’t really work; those sections are lifted, but not enough to get the back of them dry. You push off with your arms, moving into a squatting position. From there you stand up, wiping as much of the grape goo off your arms and upper body as you can. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo have both gasped and helped you out, though the latter immediately suppresses the concern.

“Shoulda got going if ya didn’t wanna fall.” The challenge brings a rise to you; it probably would have went by unnoticed if you hadn’t just been dunked, but you weren’t exactly thinking straight. The harsh sun wasn’t really doing any favor either. You turn to her, squinting your eyes.

“Oh it is so on.” She smirks back, making you want to win even more. No way are you letting that slide. Not noticing the care your Apple nurse has been giving you, you link arms with Scootaloo and hold out the other one for Apple Bloom to grab ahold of. She hesitantly threads her arm through yours, asking:

“Are you guys really gonna do this?” The calming presence of your beloved does calm you down a tad, the implied stupidty of the situation almost getting to you. You can feel the suppressed exhaustion crying against your choice. But you’d already accepted the challenge; no way are you backing out now. Besides, wasn’t this what friends did? You consider Scootaloo a friend of yours, and part of you thinks that she’s expecting something from you. Naturally, you’re wanting to prove yourself. You nod your head, almost apologetically, and answer.

“Yeah.” Looking to Scootaloo, you set the terms: “Alright, first one to give up or stop to rest loses.” When she nods, you get closer and whisper loudly: “Oh, and if you wanna switch, so it’s easier on you, all ya gotta do is ask.” Taken aback, her voice breaks mid-response:

“Yeah, right! I could do this all day.”

“Guys?” Apple Bloom interjects, unheard.

“Alright, you ready Scoots?”

“Guys.”

“You bet I am!”

“Guys.” The two of you get in running positions, only for your arm to be pulled back at the last second. your balance falters, but thanks to some support from behind, it isn’t a major threat. Apple Bloom’s arm is across your back, her face just in front of your shoulder.

“Uh, hey sweetie, I’m kinda in the middle of creaming Scootaloo here.”

“No you aren’t!” comes a shrill cry from behind. Apple Bloom laughs slightly, then remembers what she was gonna say.

“We should still actually get this done, and both of you collapsing of exhaustion probably isn’t gonna help. So, here’s the deal; we’ll all move to the right after every coupla minutes.” She holds up her phone, which states the time and a five-minute alarm, then places it back into her pocket. She’s still got that are-you-serious look going on, but she gets that you’re still gonna do it. The three of you link arms, and she counts down:

“Alright, three… two… one, go!” Immediately you feel Scootaloo taking off. She doesn’t quite run, but she’s keeping a quick march going. You follow her lead, making sure to keep your shoulders together. You know, this isn’t actually that hard. Sure, the heat is beating you down pretty badly and you’re already a bit tired, but the exercise is much more manageable than you’d thought it’d be. Guess those theories of yours had some credence to them: the even pace and the keeping up with others makes the task much easier. The march continues, you and Apple Bloom holding passing conversations about the weather and chances of success. You can’t keep up the conversations too much, partly because you’re too tired and partly because you’re worried that it’ll make you even more tired than you are now. Gotta save that energy, y’know? Scootaloo keeps to herself, breathing heavily. Here and there apple Bloom leans forward and looks at her, presumably making sure she’s not getting too tired.

A sudden thought comes to you as your girl makes her fourth peep. The means to win was exhaustion; whoever gave up first was the loser. But with Apple Bloom’s change of plans, that wasn’t gonna work: if we all switched at the five minute mark, how could you tell who was the most tired? By how hard they breathed? Nah, that’s too weak. The best way was still to do it by exhaustion, but Apple Bloom’s concern did disqualify that; you wanted to win the overall competition, not just the personal one with Scootaloo. Apple Bloom peeks out at Scootaloo, inspiring the answer. Apple Bloom could be the judge, and if she saw one of you getting too tired, she’d pull you out. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best way to do it. You smile, happy at the second instance of coming up with a superior plan; had you been a little less tired and sunstroked, you may have considered why it was that you needed to perfect the plan. After all, it probably would be better to forget the competition and go with Apple Bloom’s safer solution. But you were set in your plan, and the mental weariness didn’t help you to escape your tunnel vision. Just then, you hear a faint beeping from your right.

“Alright guys, time to switch,” says Apple Bloom.

“Hold on a sec,” you respond as Scootaloo slows to a gasping stop. She does look pretty tired. “I’ve got a better idea.” You explain the issues of the five-minute rotation, and the benefits of the system based on the appearance of exhaustion. A slow gait brings you forward started by one of the other girls upon realization that what you saw won’t be brief. Your best cousin has a pretty sharp eye, so there’s reason enough to believe that even if a contestant tries to hide their exhaustion –and of course, both of you will- it’ll be found out soon enough. Scootaloo, having taken a few deep breaths during your discussion, responds positively.

“Yeah, that sounds fair.” She angles her eyes Bloomwards, expecting her assent. The judge hesitates, then agrees. Part of you wonders if she intentionally did that, subverting the content without either participant realizing. Come to think of it, she could still do the same thing here, just under the pretense of seeing one of you two as exhausted. Nah, she wouldn’t do that; you love your Apple Bloom, but you don’t think she’s as crafty as that.

“Ok,” comes Apple Bloom’s answer after the delay. Immediately Scootaloo, having similar thoughts to your own, asks her to promise she’ll be fair. Too far into the gambit of her sister, Scootaloo’s mind is set on winning, though she’d like nothing more than to collapse on the couch inside. But the competition and technique might very well allow for the trio to do that as soon as possible, and the realization of that spurs her on. “Ok, I promise,” answers Bloom to the question of future fairness, slightly perplexed at the indication of mistrust. “So, uh, do we just keep going?”

“Yup.” Scootaloo confirms the plan, the forces herself forward. But though she’s determined, she’s too tuckered out to mask her weariness past another few laps. Her skills involve bursts of activity: the adventures in the woods, running from the various threats and unpleasant elements of her neighborhood and doing tricks on her skateboard don’t take much long-term strength. And contrary to what some say, being filled with determination won’t always bring you victory. Apple Bloom calls her out, and begins to switch to the furthest ring.

“Wait wait, hold on.” Both you and Scootaloo protest to this, Scootaloo following up. “Anon’s gotta take a turn on the outside now. Won’t be fair if he gets the two easy rings to rest before he takes the hard one.” Apple Bloom shakes her head, then walks slowly back to the inner circle while you take up the furthest one:

“Whatever you guys say. Think this is getting too complicated…” She mumbles. Eh, she’s not wrong. You do have a bit of a tendency to overthink things. But there’s no time to continue the line of thought; as soon as you link your right arm with Scootaloo’s left, she moves forward, and you’re forced to follow suit.

Holy cow, were you going this fast before? You don’t actually do the math in your head, but you do realize that you’ve got a lot more ground to cover, and you gotta do it in the same timespan as Scoots does. The extra distance, which is about two yards, combined with the difficulty of stepping out of the future grape juice, is much more taxing than the middle ring. Luckily, the three of you have done a good job pulverizing the grapes, the constant mashing making them more liquid with every rotation. And the closer it gets to that point, the less sludgy it gets, meaning the less drag on your feet. Still, this is pretty friggin hard, and you pretty much shut down everything in your head except the will to walk. For the next few minutes, there’s nothing but the march.

The exhausting walk goes on for who knows how long. Typically, whenever you’ve had to exercise or walk a long distance, you filled your mind with fantasies. Visions of how you’d be so charming and cool, groups of friends and loves flocking around you kept your mind of the dreariness of what you usually considered kinda pointless. But this time, you don’t even have that to help you out. The pain, like the cry of some awful baby on a plane, snaps your attention right back to it every couple of seconds. The second the burning in your legs seems to fade, a fresh jolt of some acidic burn refreshes your memory. Pretty soon, you find yourself stopped, panting as you lean over and place your hands on your legs for balance. You know it wasn’t long, but it certainly didn’t feel short. You’re gonna guess it was five minutes, give or take.

“Wow, already?” The snarkier of your companions insults your time from above you. You’re still wheezing, but you manage to croak out a quiet

“Shut up.”

“What’s that?” Guess she couldn’t hear you. You lean up, the sudden heat on your face reminding you of the belligerent sun adding to your load. Apple Bloom looks at her phone, and announced your time:

“4 minutes. Sorry Anon…” If anything, you’re embarrassed that you couldn’t last longer. You’re hoping you don’t lose any favor in her eyes. However, there is one small hope you have of reclaiming your manliness.

“Hey, what’d Scootaloo get?”

“About 7 minutes.” Willikers. Alright, you were a pansy, nothing to be said about that. You make your way to the inner center while Apple Bloom takes the outer circle. As she brushes by you, her hand touches your chest, sliding along it while she moves. And despite your already worn body, you feel a small rush of invigoration. Nothing too major, but enough to keep you on your feet for the next bit. Scootaloo, finding herself fin the middle center again, decries the situation:

“Wait, I’m taking the middle again? I just got that!”

“Yeah, but I’m fucking beat over here.” The curse slips out of your mouth, and you hope it passes by unnoticed. The twinge of irritation over the possibility of having to do another slog is enough to make you swear, just for a brief moment. A mildly worried look finds Apple Bloom unnoticing, her eyes on Scootaloo.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going too fast this time.” Scootaloo grumbles a bit, but seeing your less fit body and the wear upon it, she allows you to have the easy task for this. And by the time that the march begins again, she finds the slow pace set by her bestie to be far easier than the previous one. After all, she was forcing Anon to go pretty fast. A small pang of regret comes over her at the realization that her time might not have been so much better than Anon’s if she’d gone at the same pace she did. But, she thinks to herself, it isn’t like she could do anything about it. As far as she’s concerned, saying anything now would just be weird. And so the third set goes, with Apple Bloom steadily marching ahead, Scootaloo trying to do the same amid the occasional worried looks at you, and your trudging along, trying to recover some lost energy. It doesn’t go on too far however, as a familiar face enters through the back gate. The outer girl’s head looks up to investigate the motion in the corner of her eye, and seeing her big brother, violently waves him over.

“Big Mac! C’mon!” The big guy, whose eyes were previously on his older sister and her troupe, looks to yours. AJ, Bailey and Sweetie are gabbing happily with each other, whereas your team is showing off your expert strategy, not to mention having another male member. Preferring the latter to the former, as well as the beaming excitement of his younger sister, he lumbers over to your group.

“Hey.” Apple Bloom speaks up and twists her head to look at him, trying to be heard over the odd acoustics developed from a girl walking in circles.

“Hey Big Mac! You gonna join in?”

“Yup.” He stands there awkwardly for a few moments before spotting the pile of shoes and the hose beside the bin. Making the connection, he takes his boots off and hoses down his feet real quick. Then, just as he’s about to jump in, he stops. The three of you have continued rotating, arms still inked together: he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to fit in. Your tired eyes take him and the situation in, and after a small delay, both you and Apple Bloom realize the unspoken issue.

“Oh!”

“Uh” Before you can say anything more, Apple Bloom’s unlinked herself with Scootaloo, and holds out an arm to her brother. Scootaloo scoots over towards you, both of you now having a pretty small range to walk on. You’re kinda wishing there weren’t this many people between you and your favorite cousin, but you’re a bit too tired to really enjoy it if it did happen. Once Big Mac is amalgamated, the four of you begin once more. Feeling a little rejuvenated by the lack of heavy work, you look up to check the status of the other teams. Looks like AJ’s team is still stomping pretty hard, with the exception of Sweetie. Ah, Sweetie; the common bond of not being as fit as the rest of your team would undoubtedly bring you closer. The women of the third group have kept up their pace, although that’s really not saying much, since they were barely moving in the first place. And the final group, the guys that were madly thrashing from before, are all doing perfect imitations of you and Sweetie. Their faces downcast, their backs slumped, a perfect picture of exhaustion. A small pull comes from your left arm, and you glance over to Scootaloo. Her eyes wide, she asks:

“So, uh… you think you’re gonna stay?” Your first thought was that she was referring to your placement in the circle, and you were about to offer her your place if she was wanting it. Before the words can exit your lips, you realize she’s speaking about you staying in Ponyville. Your affirmative answer similarly freezes in your throat, being replaced with a question.

“Wait, how’d you know?” She shrugs:

“Apple Bloom told me yesterday. Said AJ was gonna ask you today.” Big Mac’s looking over at you and Scootaloo, his interest gained. Unsure of how to respond while under the heavy gaze of the eldest cousin, you stammer out a

“Uh, I guess. I mean, I’m hoping to, but I still gotta see what my parents say.”

“So, you can’t come if they say no?” Her eyes seem bigger as she tentatively asks this next question. Apple Bloom’s eyes had come over, resting on you along with the others’.

“Yeah, sort of. I turn 18 in a couple months, so I could come over then, if they’d still have me.” At the last part, your eyes look over to the Apples with more than a little fear in them. But the anxiety of rejection is cast away by the earnest nodding of your younger cousin, and the more meaningful assent of Big Mac’s nod. He was probably more involved with the planning than Apple Bloom was; if his clout was on your side, you could venture a little more hope. Then again, you don’t actually want the situation to ever come to that; a simple ‘yes’ would be perfect, and you can’t see why it won’t happen. You look back to the purple-haired girl at your side: “So yeah, eventually I’ll be here. Or at least, that’s the plan.” Somehow, you can’t find the strength to be certain; some part of it still seemed too good to be true. Meanwhile, the girl to your immediate left offers you a cheery smile, more appreciative than she wants to be.

“Good. I mean, cool.” You nod, too caught up in your emotions too really think. Again your mind enters sort of single-targeted focus, the object of your tunnel-vision being the impending question. You’re feeling more and more worried about the outcome. What would she say? It was probably gonna be mom, since dad’s always at work or busy doing whatever. And despite spending your life in the same house as her, you still didn’t have a huge grasp on how she thinks. She just does whatever people tell her to do, which, in addition to making her fucking awful, makes her kind of hard to pin down. She had the spontaneity of fashion, as well as its depth; new religions and parenting methods were donned and tossed like dresses. She’d wear one for a while and either throw it away or plumb forget about it when a new one came along.

Is it fashionable to send your son away to live with relatives? The question’s seriousness and importance to you is absurd, drawing a dry laugh from you. Other kids’ futures were decided based on personalities, wealth, race, etc.; yours may very well be based on the preferences of old biddies in drawing rooms. The joke seems less funny when you realize it probably won’t be popular; sending your kid away would probably seem like bad parenting. Heck, if she were a good parent, it probably would be. But who would look up to that? Unless… maybe you could play it off like you’re going to a boarding school; like, make the connections and hope she’ll get that feeling. That’s what old women on the Social Register do, right? Or you could pretend to be off getting work or life experience on a farm. Hey, you could even promise to come back! You’d turn 18 just in time to ‘change your mind and stay.’ Oh, the look on her face if you said that… Alright, that sounds like a good enough plan: you’ll ask her in your dutiful-and-polite-son voice, and if she says no, you can just say it’s only for the summer. If need be, you’ll say you’ll visit. Maybe you should start off saying it’s for the summer? Nah, let’s save the lies for later; fun as it sounds, that could lead into a mess of trouble. You begin fine-tuning the plan, picking the right words and phrases to say, when you feel a shuffling ripple through the stomping unit.

Looking to the left, you see Apple Bloom and Big Mac trading places, citing something about a long time going by. Remembering Scootaloo –and more importantly, feeling a bit less worn down from the easy walking- you offer her your place in the slightly easier spot. She accepts, then moves around to your right. After linking up with her, you turn to the other girl you’ve connected with: Apple Bloom. She said something about this being the final rotation to Big Mac. You think; you’re still a bit out of it from the heat. Still, you wanna have at least one more stay with Apple bloom.

Gosh, she’s pretty. Her hair’s tied up in a ponytail behind her, presumably to keep it as far from the grapes as possible, and out of her face while she jumps and stomps. Her bow was left behind at the house, for obvious reasons. Even with her height, some of the splash has still gotten in her hair and on her face. You can see little marks where some flew up, leaving little purple smudges on her face. The blots get more numerous and wider at the lower parts of her body. There’s some around her torso and arms, a bit at her hips and thighs, and a ton on her lower legs. Seeing the almost entirely purple lower legs and feet fly out of the matter, only to dip back in again, is somehow captivating. She kinda reminds you of how a kid might play around in mud puddles on a rare rainy day, knowing it might not come again soon. The simple, beautiful girl grins up at you when she notices you staring, wiping some stray hair out of her eyes. She blushes, the few freckles on her perfect face seeming to light up on her rosy cheeks. A little skip in her step develops, and you find yourself treating it like a cue. Your legs find some second wind for themselves, and bring themselves up in a sluggish skip. Scootaloo and Big Mac join you, no so much due to a shared enthusiasm, but more because the union would break apart if they didn’t. A small shout is heard from Bailey’s group:

"Heeeey! We’re done!” The somewhat familiar voice of Bailey shocks the nearly sleeping boy on the porch. It wasn’t clear when he’d come out –you weren’t really in a position to observe or anything- but there he was, sitting on the porch. The kid leaps up, starts walking towards their bin. He’s got a striped shirt on him, and thick blonde hair flowing every which way. He comes closer, and you can make out the freckled cheeks under his thick glasses; he looks like the nerd from some family friendly kid’s movie with a group of spunky kids in it. Stepping up to their bin, he looks for a minute, then sticks his arm in, swirling it around.

“I dunno… feels like there’s still some in there that you haven’t got.”

“Oh c’mon, you know that’s good enough,” replies Bailey, putting her hands on her hips. The kid still looks unsure of himself, but changes his mind soon enough when he looks toward Sweetie Belle. If she said anything, you hear it, but she’s doing this little half-wave thing that seems to hypnotize the judge.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Looks good to me.” Bailey nods, and takes a step out of her bin. You wonder if she had planned that; it wasn’t clear if he would have approved if Sweetie hadn’t done her flirty little pose. It was pretty cute, you had to admit. The last of your ability to focus is expelled upon this thought, the heat and exhaustion beginning to pile up on you again. This time it didn’t seem to matter that your arm was tied to that magical cousin of yours. You weren’t sure how much longer you could do this. Just when you think you’re gonna have to take a break, a squeaky voice calls out from beside you.

“Hey, Ah think we’re finished!” Huh? You lift your head and spy Bailey’s little brother meandering over to you. He gets there, the same unsureness on his voice, and an uncertainty in his tone that matches the previous question.

“You sure you guys are done already?” You aren’t, and look downward. Holy cow, the whole things almost entirely smooth slush. You’re not sure how you got to that point, or where the time went, but this feels pretty much finished. Apple Bloom seems to agree, telling him

“Well, if they’re finished, we reckon we’re probably there too.” The kid looks down, and pulls back in surprise.

“Wow, you did it a lot better than they did…” Apple Bloom cocks her head at this, looking for clarification.

“Really? This was how it was s’posed to be last year.”

“Yeah, but we fixed it up so you didn’t have to get it that much; got a machine to finish it off in the shed. That way it’ll get done a little easier and quicker, not to mention cleaner.” He takes a look at the shirts and shorts of your group, all well splattered by the over-stomped grape pile.

“So, we are done?”

“I’ll say. Probably been done for a while now.” The good news turns into something a little worse, the past few minutes of your slog now invalidated. You’d ask him why the heck he hadn’t spoken up earlier, but you are way too tired for that. For now, the most you can do is lurch out of the bin and towards the hose. You twist the nearby valve, cold water shooting out of it. Your desire to be cool quenched, you point it away from the more sensitive spots of you, where’d it’d begun its spray. As accustomization sets in, you hose down your arms and legs, rubbing off some of the stickier goo. Looking at the nearby sweetheart, you sleepily ask if you’ve got it.

“Nah, you still got a coupla spots left,” says Apple Bloom, who takes the liberty of helping you out. Her small hands rubbing against your chest, back, and other hard to reach areas is a bit too much for you, and you’re glad you’re not wearing tight shorts today. Adjusting yourself so as to not be too obvious with your… expression of affection, nervously check to see if it was noticed. But the girl just keeps on scrubbing the back of your shirt, determination cancelling observation. Eventually she finishes up, taking a step back and placing satisfied hands on her hips as she looks you over. Once she turns the hose on herself and starts wiping off the colorful goo, you know what you have to do.

You set your hands on her, thankfully responding to her helping hand. There’s a bit more on her than there was on you, probably due to the wilder dancing she’d done right at the start. Your hands move to her right arm, sliding up and down the smooth skin, the light action dislodging most of the delicious residue. You add a little bit of turn to the motions, now tracing slight zigzags on the skin, further helping remove the grapes. Once it looks clean enough, the perfectly colored skin no longer smudged, you begin to work on the other arm in the same fashion. Caught up in your work, you don’t notice the brief reverie that captures Apple Bloom. For a good minute, she stops her own motions and simply stands there, breathing in and focusing on your hands. The memory of the two others snaps her into focus, and she launches a feverish assault on the sticky purpleness all over her legs. As you jopin her, she finds it a bit hard to concentrate as your hands slide up towards the limits of the short coverings. Your hands on the smooth skin of her thighs presents a pretty hard challenge for her, the ability to concentrate only barely grasped by a mighty will. Eventually, both legs are finished, and your touch departs.

She hands off the hose to the others, who’ve been waiting patiently with only a touch of discomfort. Their light conversation continues as they begin to wash themselves off with much more ease than the tired boy and girl now walking towards the house.

“Hey, where are we goin’ now?” You ask Apple Bloom, realizing that you probably shouldn’t go into the house soaking wet.

“Usually we just lie on the porch in the sun, but Ah know they’ve got a hammock around her somewhere.” Making your way around to the front, you see two stragglers hanging out right in front of the door. There’s the hammock on the porch, and it’s totally unoccupied.It’s a dark white, but not quiet grey, with little black patterns going back and forth on it. The wind blows softly on it, the cooling air forgotten in the direct heat of the sun. Luckily, the hammock is perched right before the edge of the porch, and the time of the day doesn’t find the brutal light falling on it. The sweet shade over it is enticing, the slight rocking reminiscent of some rustic portrait of the farm. Your hand grasps onto Apple Bloom’s, and you walk forward quickly, eager to get into the sweet folds of the hammock. Quick steps bring the wooden stairs past, and you collapse onto the semi-soft bliss. Immediately the sides envelop you, your balance lost. It takes a moment to get to a place where you don’t immediately need to fear falling off, a faint chuckling there all the while. With your position secured, you look up to your sweet cousin standing over you, waiting to join.

You spread your arms out invitingly, and she sits down on the side. Before any tipping can occur, she falls back on you, keeping her legs on the ground to prevent the floppy bed from tilting both of you off. Finally, she swivels herself quickly, her body attached to yours, with her head right on your stomach. After skootching up just a tad, she lets her head rest right into your shoulder, never having said a word. Her right arm falls over your body, contracting when you shuffle about, as if to keep you from leaving. You shift a couple times, each time her grip on you tightening and a resolute grunt telling you that you aren’t going anywhere. After a few very low-key struggles, you manage to get yourself comfy; it isn’t too hard, considering how weary you are. And from there, your own arms holding onto your princess, you fall asleep in the sweet summer wind.

The dream that comes is shifty, nearly incomprehensible to even your illogical sleeping self. Some vague threat, like great shadowy tentacles wave malignantly from some horizon, grim and awful as Mordor. Apple Bloom, here a brilliant princess, shining like some demigod with Ra as parentage, stood on the precipice of a glimmering white castle, the kind that sparkled like glass in the gentle sun. But clouds crept up from the filthy brimstone bordering the divine kingdom, hordes of unthinkable creatures braying in the distance. The sky was red, filled with black lines of sharp-looking clouds, like some demonic eye spying some new joy to spoil. On that high balcony, the sweet royalty looked as she did on purer days, as if the roiling maw before her either did not exist or did not matter. Around her, the air was somewhat clear, brilliant blues and greens flowing through some final piece of Eden were kept from the imminent corruption. Her hair was filled with white flowers, her eyes closed and crinkling with her dreamy smile.
And in that castle, somewhere more grounded, with traditional stone walls and straw bed, you awoke as if from a vision, desperate to save her. She did not know; she could not save herself. Fearful images on her collapse flashed before your peasant eyes, and you sprinted forward to find her. Your legs found themselves invulnerable, the speedy dashing from room to room, floor to floor lending no agony or tiredness to them. But the might could not be enjoyed, for every set of stairs eluded you, always on the last room you would look, and every minor ascent bringing windows with grimier exteriors. Would that the rotting film be some failure to clean them, and not a true report of the hellish sky bearing down on you. The heights found bring more glorious architecture, the grimy stone of your waking place giving way to rooms and halls of diamond and gold; but still no luck. Finally, as shadows of the abyssal assault begin to creep across the hallways, dimming their vision, you arrive on that noble balcony. It’s empty. Stepping out to the frail edge, the thrashing darkness of the army is found not only within the city walls, but clambering up the spire. The forms are too dim, their movements to jerky, their numbers too large to make out, but one thing is clear: the kingdom has fallen, and your princess is gone. You close your eyes, feeling the rumbling of the nearly complete onslaught. Your memories of a glorious castle are called forth, a happier time longed to hold until the final moments. But as your recall those happy memories of the dreamed past, a thought runs through your head, the verses of some long forgotten poem:

‘That what seemed fair in all the world, seemed now
Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained
And in her looks; which from that time infused
Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before,
And into all things from her air inspired
The spirit of love and amorous delight.
She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked
To find her, or for ever to deplore
Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure’

And upon opening your eyes, you found the kingdom unscathed, the intruders unfelt, and peace restored. The sky shone, the kingdom bustled with cheery commerce, and the castle once more glowed with earthly splendor. And none of it mattered. It was as if some gray film had coated your eyes, the joy of a nation divorced from you, unable to rekindle your spirit. You retreat from the golden balcony, and sit down, your back against the entrance to the castle within.

A sudden motion stirs you, the vivid imagery of your dream torn away as you’re pulled back into the world. The glistening, pointless kingdom gives way to a dim room, a blue sky, and the face of Apple Bloom. She tugs your arm, a smile gleaming before you. On your way to consciousness, the remnants of that poem return to you:

‘When out of hope, behold her, not far off,
Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned
With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow
To make her amiable: On she came,
Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen,
And guided by his voice; nor uninformed
Of nuptial sanctity, and marriage rites:
Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud.’

The moment passes, and soon all poetry of the imaginary adventure are lost, the only thing left in your mind being the pretty face of Apple Bloom. She’s there. That’s the first thing you notice, and the most important. Her sunny face, the color of a peach, looks down on you from above. Her bright red hair moves down the short distance to your face, creating makeshift walls around your face. The border is darker than usual, the water from the hosing causing it to became a dark maroon, and cling to each other. Light flows in where her hair doesn’t fall, illuminating the semi-private space between your face and hers.

Some parts catch some reflected light, and practically shine, white lines and dots spontaneously arising and exiting at her small motions. Her smooth skin glistens, the sun’s job of drying her apparently incomplete. The shade of your small bed must have halted its progress. In the close perspective, her eyes seem huge, wide circles holding secrets you long for. Even crinkled by that constant grin, they hold you steadfastly, a willing prisoner. The amber irises are full of vivid patterns, seeming to shift with her expression and position, and draw your own eyes in a wonderful journey to chart them. A small nose lies between them, diminutive in stature, only adding to her profound cuteness. You wonder what it’d look like if she sniffled; you imagine she has an adorable sneeze, if only to match her button-ish nose. Her cheeks are well defined, swelling with the gleaming smile gracing you. Towards the top, her little freckles mottle the skin, the greatest testament to her pure, joyful youth.

Her cheek, round and jubilent with her perfect smile, begs to be touched. Your hand moves up to her, your fingers lightly brushing her skin. Your fingers place themselves under her jawline, facing up, while your thumb gently strokes her cheek in a small arc. She feels so incredible, the softness of her skin adding to that purity she seemed to exude. Your eyesight travels a bit lower and to the left, stopping to rest on her sweet pink lips. They weren't small, but they didn't have that overindulgent size that belonged to girls that tried to hard. There was no makeup, just that perfect natural look she held. The hypnotic power of that heavily desired part doesn't quite bring a kiss, but instead calls your had down to it. your hand moves to hte left, keeping the same position, but with your thumb placed over her lips. You feel it out, your thumb's arcs moving from corner to corner. Somewhere, your awe had infected her, and her smile gave way to a more intense look. Her mouth slowly opened, inviting your touch into the wetter part; but the moment you accept, and her mouth closes slowly around your thumb, she bolts back. Shocked at the spell she was under, and the fact that you were still in public, she keeps a spot about a foot away from you. And you, in your still dreamy mind, continued to look at her with loving awe.

She’s gorgeous. Her whole form, lit from the sun behind her, looks to be angelic. Each new moment with her was like a fresh breath of air; the memory in those moments apart or in attention lost, was pleasing enough, but the actual watching was something of a far greater caliber. Her grace and tenderness, replete in every action, set to rest every rise that came within you. Each time some vicious memory of your parents ignited you with shivering wrath, she calmed you down without even knowing it. Her radiance alone was something nearly awe-inspiring, and the whole of that glowing beauty made you feel somewhat crude, a low observer of her high beauty. But the moment she touches you, looked at you, it was clear that she could never see you as such. And that appointment to a place beside her, not beneath, made it true: the momentary shades of guilt transformed into self-esteem. She was so amazing just to be with, but had made her friendship so much more dear by that mere effect, no doubt unintentional and accidental, of raising you up beside her. She loved you, and how could you argue with that lovely voice?

She speaks to you, but the words themselves aren’t what you pay attention to. That cute little voice, like some new, intriguing music takes hold of you. Somewhere inside your head, you understand the tone or words, and nod along, not fully part of the conversation. Each note she speaks is lovely, the high pitched voice mixing just right with the accent, making a style of speech you’d never heard. It’s Southern, that’s for sure, but chipper, not a drawl. She doesn’t speak lazily either, the majority of the difference being in the unusual intonations. The natural fluctuations of tone, the rise and fall of speech, are more pronounced, each sentence like some musical adventure.

Somewhere along the line, motion was introduced, and you’re pulled out of your lull. Her hands reach out to yours, two grasping your left, and she yanks you forward. The slowly fading dizziness of sleep had been slowly departing, and the violence of her action brushes off the last of it. The fuzzy haze dissipates, and you remember your situation fully: waiting for grape juice. The anticipation gets you a bit excited, and you remove the need for pulling. You don’t know how long you were out, but it might have been long enough. Stepping faster, you arrive at the door side by side with the best Apple of them all. You start to reach for the knob, then stop yourself. Apple Bloom looks at you with curiosity, asking the reason why. You take a look around your surroundings before you answer her. It’s nice out here.

The air is cool and fresh, the breeze blowing around you like it would in some fantasy of the beach. Trees and bushes lean with its quiet push, and the vague chill is just enough to keep you at that ideal temperature. The feel of it on your skin is refreshing without making a coat or something necessary. The sky is light and clear, only a few clouds spread through it. Evening has arrived, but the day isn’t quite in its final stages: a slight whisper of red above the horizon is all that prophesies the coming dark. Looking out into that immeasurable blue, you find yourself calm and contented, as if floating within it. The lazy mosey of the white puffs seems to reflect and emphasize your own tired pace. Your body feels as if it could belong to that rare kind of elder, the one who moves slowly, not for the brittleness of bodily decay, but because the victories of youth make additional racing unnecessary. You’re where you want to be, and as such, time feels as if it moves slower. The easy freeness of this moment, as opposed to the oppressive fear and defeat that would normally cause you to feel disinclined to move, seems to deserve a longer lifespan. Once you go in that door, you’re gonna have to socialize, speak to everyone, and try to be more energetic. Not that that’s necessarily bad, you just… you don’t want to do it just yet.

Apple Bloom’s hands are in yours, her face looking at yours with a gentle obedience within the usual benevolence. You feel as if you could lead her anywhere, speak any destination and have her go with you. But while you do feel a pleasure in this, like a merchant coming to own some priceless treasure, the simplicity of ownership doesn’t quite apply here. You’re tied to her in a similar way: the responsibility to both keep her from harm and bring her to joy lies on your shoulders, leaving the victorious thrill of ownership oddly combined with the grim joy of duty, of purpose. The tender strings of your heart resonate, filling you with the increasingly common swelling of love. Your hand reaches over to her face, caressing her lovely cheeks again. Answering, you tell her the best you can that you don’t quite want the moment to end so soon.

Her hand rises to the hand on her cheek, softly holding it and pressing it into her soft skin. Her eyes close as she focuses on that simple sensation of your hand on her body. A moment passes, and she answers, wanting to stay in the moment too. But not too long, as her afterthought corrects, knowing that you might very well want to spend the rest of your time her on this porch. She’s not wrong. You turn around, leaving your back to the door. Apple Bloom follows your cue, facing the outside along with you, leaning into your side. The sensation of falling hair, then a lowered head meets your shoulder as she comes to rest on you. With your arm reaching over and lying over her own shoulder, the connection complete, you look out on the beautiful world in front of you.

Apart from the chattering of a house-bound community, there’s not much noise out. Being so far from town, not many cars come along to roar into the atmosphere. It’s a little strange for you, never being too far from some frantic civilization. And the only escape you’d ever gotten was the furious blasting of earphones or a club, which provided no relief from the heart of the matter. Here was, as best you could figure, peace. A bird chirped here and there, the wind chimes struck low keys, like far away silver bells, and that was it. Apple Bloom would speak occasionally, pointing out a close-by bird, or an odd pattern in the roof, the music of her voice completing the absolute beauty of the sound.

Below the sky, with its unfathomable blue and the low key red underlining it, was a horizon of trees of some sort. Grapes were grown on vines, you think, as a childhood book had told you. So this must be some other part of the orchard, or a different house altogether. Well, whatever the case was, you could see the thick green forestry spreading out from side to side, to farther than the eye could see. They were spaced somewhat apart, but the sheer multitude caused by the distance made the grove look thick nonetheless. The vast acres, filled with some mysterious fruit, couldn’t help but impress you. The size of it was one thing, but this was a farm, right up close. Your mother had tried her hand at a garden once, struck by that desire to own nature that comes to so many. But even transplanting dozens of partially and fully grown plants to her expensive backyard greenhouse, she couldn’t bring out more than a few deformed carrots. Of course, never attending to it was bound to yield few results. But here were actual farmers, people that coaxed produce out of the very dirt. The honesty of the work, the actual production of something, was something you couldn’t help but value. They worked, unlike your mother, and the produced something, unlike your father, who did little more than put his name on papers in order to amass wealth.

Out in those distance fields, tall structures could be seen. One was undoubtedly a silo, the great height of the silver monolith resembling nothing else from your understanding of farms. But beyond such, and the odd speck, probably a neighbor’s house, the vision was almost uniform in the sharp cuts of green and blue. The trees ended not too far away, a shimmering green lawn bridging the distance between you and it. Here and there some neon toy laid, tossed aside by the short attention span of a child. Truthfully, the yard didn’t strike you as that interesting. And as you glanced back to the fields and sky, you found your astonishment of them a little strange. It wasn’t that impressive, and you’d certainly seen similar things before. A cold, scoffing cynicism grew in your mind, mocking you for those long moments transfixed by what was clearly nothing. It may have succeeded in wholly overcoming your joy if not for one thing: that sweet breeze blowing against your arms and face.

Like a splash of cold water, you felt woken up. Only rather than some cold reality facing you, the warm, dreamlike enjoyment came back in fuller force than before. Clasping the dear girl to your right, it was so clear that these things, this world, was so much more than it appeared. It was the honesty, the clear simplicity of this whole life that appealed to you, like a Londoner visiting the smog-less countryside of France. You could breathe here; you could live here. And looking down at your Apple Bloom, the meaningfulness of her status as a country girl wasn’t lost on you. She wasn’t constructed from this world alone, but it was probable that the frigid pressure of the city wouldn’t have let her optimistic cheer last too long; even the preppy girls back home would always break down when they thought nobody was looking, the glow obviously little more than pretense. But here, this perfect girl was free to be herself, even under all the tragedy of her parents’ deaths; it made you wonder if you could be you, and who you really were under everything.

You breathe out, having held your breath somewhere along the line. It comes out in a whoosh, then clean new air comes in. Yeah, this was the place for you. Nodding your head in silent assent, almost a salute to this place, you turn around. Society awaiting, you and her had to break off your comfortable connection, to neither’s pleasure. A kiss of condolence and promise meets her forehead, then you reach for the doorknob. Before you can open it, she stands up on her tiptoes and kisses your cheek, falling back right as the door swings open. She enters before you, missing the slight blush on your cheeks.

You’re immediately greeted by a great shock of blue, the walls loudly painted a deep cobalt. There’s a mess of doors and mini-hallways, all leading to the different parts of the house. To your right, there’s some loud conversation, and Apple Bloom has already departed for the source of it. You follow her out of that central station, and find yourself in a living room type deal. There’s a light blue sofa, with two matching chairs by either side of it, and a clear glass table in the center. The material is a soft fabric, and the cushioning is all sorts of cushy. AJ and Bailey sit on the chairs, with the two members of the CMC on the roomy couch. Jutting out from underneath the table is a thick, dark blue rug, with concentric orange circles spreading from the middle to the outer lining. There’s a fireplace on the side opposite to the couch, a good ten feet away, with two wicker chairs in front of it. Big Mac sits in one of these, looking thoughtfully out the window.

There’s an esteemed looking family in a portrait, dressed in fancy attire and frowns, and on the wall adjacent, there’s a large, beautiful picture of a ship sailing on a calm ocean. Beyond you, there’s another picture of a lush forest, with yellow-leafed trees, and pink and lime shrubbery covering the ground, a pale blue sky behind it and a light brown path moving to places unknown. On the final wall is a small picture of a girl in a deep sea diver’s helmet, a ponytail jutting out the back. There’s a small yellow bird in your hand, and a pale pink heart painting above her head on an indistinguishable background. Beside this final, mesmerizing picture is the white door you had entered through, with orange divets. The girls are talking avidly, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo having their hands holding up their cheeks in intrigue. Noise can be heard from the other room, the other guests obviously continuing the party in other parts of the house.

Immediately, the two youngest girls call to their third, wide open arms imploring her to join them on the couch. You make a motion to join your Apple Bloom, but the couch looks a little too full, and a little too full for you. The animated speaking and nearly palpable estrogen makes you look for another option, and seeing Big Mac, you head over to the empty wicker chair beside him. You’re still a little tired from the nap and the serene enjoyment of this ludicrously rustic home, and right now, the quiet mammoth feels like a better companion than five very energetic girls. A small eyebrow raise asks his permission to join, and an almost imperceptible nod opens the chair to you. Entering it, you don’t immediately begin speaking to him, not feeling the necessity of such.

Seconds turn to minutes, just laying in the oddly comfortable wicker chair. For now, you just take a minute to be alone with somebody else, just a minute to relax. Granted, it isn’t really necessary: the nap had removed most of your exhaustion. But you were feeling slow, and Big Mac was somebody who you could just chill with, without feeling like you gotta be more energetic. Truthfully, the moment you’d left the outdoors, your mind had swelled with thoughts of home. The scenic moments spent with Apple Bloom had slowly faded, and the terrors of loss had returned. Despite how calm she could make you, and how hard you’d worked on overcoming those fears, the uncertainty of the situation could still overpower you. You didn’t know what would happen, despite all the plans you could muster. And the fact that the question would come so soon, the discussion with your parents -which you hoped would be the last- was too close to ignore. And what if she said no? This was your last night here, and this was the last activity you could do with them. How much longer before you left, how much longer til you went to bed, and how much longer til you had to leave? You cross your arms, folding and unfolding them several times, trying to dispel a nonphysical discomfort.

Apple Bloom was having fun. The girls had told her that the drinks would be ready pretty soon, pasteurized and chilled. I)t wasn’t the first time she’d tasted this, and she’d be darned if she was gonna let it be the last. This stuff was almost as good as that cider you’d be making soon enough; almost. Not to mention it was made by herself, and that extra bit made it all the more meaningful. She had slipped in between her two friends, each of which was carrying on their own conversation with one of the older girls. Sweetie spoke with Bailey about the latter’s younger brother, stars in her eyes. Scootaloo and AJ were speaking of the upcoming harvest, which she usually helped out with for a good bit of money. Apple Bloom was more involved with this conversation than the first, but part of her kept glancing over to Anon. Didn’t seem like he was doing much, just sitting with Big Mac. She wanted to join him, but she knew that guys needed their space sometimes, and that was something she’d give.

After a couple mildly uncomfortable minutes, Bailey gets up to exit the room, mentioning something you don’t hear to the group of girls. Before she gets to far, she pauses to look at the girls, then at you and Big Mac, nodding. Moments later, she returns with a man and a woman from the stomp session. She and the woman hold six glasses, the man holds three. The ladies go over to their side of the room, serving grape juice to their party, while the man hands you and Big Mac a glass each. He strikes a conversation with a jovial howdy, to which your duo responds with a grunt. His name is Johnny, and he and his wife Justine are close friends of Bailey’s family, and do this every year. Still, he’s never seen the trick your group pulled; he was gonna come up and talk to you about it, but he couldn’t find you. Big Mac mentions your need for a nap, and the two of them share a laugh. Still, he’s impressed with your speed, and reckons that he oughta try that next time. You thank him, feeling genuinely appreciated by the Southerner. His elbow finds the top of your chair, and he stays for a while, just shooting the breeze with the fruit-based team about farm work, life in the Ponyville area, and how it relates to city life.

Apple Bloom’s happy to see Justine here: she wasn’t as close to the Apple family, so they didn’t see each other too often, but it was always a pleasure when they did. Justine congratulates Apple Bloom on winning -apparently your group had finished first without calling it- and a rousing cry of victory, coupled with a fist pump, gains the boys’ attentions. She gives a big thumbs up to you, then sits back down. Justine notices the slight flush, and ask her about that young man, the only person here she hasn’t met. Apple Bloom excitedly informs her of the captivating city boy who’d appeared suddenly, and might stay forever. The whole time, the other girls nod with suppressed smiles, seeing what’s going on here. After the torrent of explanation finishes, Justine turns to you and nods, stating that he looked like he was having fun today, and she hoped he’d be able to stick around. And with that, she bids everyone a goodbye, walking over to her husband and bringing him back to the friends they’d left in the other room.

The conversation doesn’t end after Johnny’s departure, Big Mac quickly filling the gap. He continues asking questions about your life, using as few words as possible. It’s kind of stilted, the whole back-and-forth not flowing well at all. But he’s clearly trying, and he didn’t seem like the kind to fake care. You enjoyed it, trying to spread out your answers as much as possible, so as to not burden him with too much responsibility to speak. He nods, and even lets out a small chuckle at some of the trouble you’ve gotten into. Suddenly, he interrupts you, asking if you’re wanting to stay. You respond in the affirmative, bust didn’t he already know that from the conversation in the bin? He nods, then clarifies: he wants to know straight from you, if you’re going to say yes. You are. That’s good, he’ll be glad to have ya. Unable to resist the curiosity, you put the question of why to him. All he says is that you seem solid enough, but the respectful acceptance in his eyes is all the affirmation you need.

AJ turns to Apple Bloom and the other girls, changing the subject by asking if they think you’ve enjoyed your stay. All three of them nod vigorously, each interrupting each other with confirming stories of your evident happiness. Sweetie Belle speaks of the fun she’d had just hanging out with you at Sonic’s, right after the tubing trip. Apple Bloom cites, among others, the tubing trip itself as evidence of the good times you’d had. Scootaloo, wanting her own tale, speaks of the skateboarding on that first full day, before he messed up. Putting the blame on you for your injuries is enough to get her a thump on the head from the other girls, who say that whole issue was her fault, not yours. The ensuing conflict is sorted out by a chuckling Bailey and AJ, the latter of whom is visibly glad. She explains the situation fully to Bailey, who’d only heard the barebones of it. Bailey thinks it’s great, telling her so. She goes on to say that it’s always good to have some friendly help around, especially a cute cousin; at this last part, she nudges AJ, winking multiple times. AJ, flustered, slaps her hand away, then avoids the snickering looks of the others by turning to Anon. AJ walks over to you, a serious look on her face.

“Hey Big Mac. Can I talk to Anon for a second?”

“Eeyup.” Your oldest cousin stands up and trades places with her, finding himself in the midst of a cloud of girls. Apple Bloom looks straight at you with a hopeful smile, where all the others immediately begin drawing Big Mac into their conversation. You give her a similar smile, then turn back to the girl in front of you.

“What’s up?” She looks off to the side, as if steeling herself, then focuses on you.

“Anon, I want to ask you something.” You know what she was gonna say, but the very clear seriousness, made evident by her careful, accent-suppressed speech, tells you that you should assume the same.

“Uh, ok.” Her green eyes, bigger than you remember, pour into you as she speaks:

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.” The answer is solid and firm, all alternatives unthinkable.

“Do you want to stay?”

“Yes.” She nods, the relief in her eyes visible.

“Ok, I was hoping you’d say so. We’ve been talking it through, and we’d like to invite you to stay with us.” The offer, though already foreseen, somehow feels entirely new when it’s given by the official spokesperson of the family. She proceeds to give you a rundown of the work you’d be doing this summer and during the coming school year, as well as basic information about the town and what it’d be like to live there. You can’t help but grin, bobbing your head as she explains, no promise of hard work or worry of fitting in able to dispel that brilliant happiness of a the brightest future opening up before you.

“Ya think you can handle all that? We’ll try not to make it too hard on you, but we still gotta a lotta work to do here.” Instantly you assure her that you can.

“Absolutely, you can count on me.” She gives you a little smile, then methodically moves on to the next portion of the plan:

“Perfect.” There’s a small moment between now and the next stage of her plan, a moment of relief and satisfaction for the first success. “So, now we gotta figure out how to get your parents to say yes. Ah know they’re not exactly on your side, so Ah’m not real sure on how we oughta bring this to them. You got any ideas?” Immediately you jump on the opportunity to explain the multiple of plans that have been coursing throughout your mind during the day. You explain the initial circumstances of you being only a little way away from adult age, and the eventual freedom you’ll have. Following that minor bit of stage-setting, you expound upon the central plans, involving a politeness, a pretense of coming back, and likening to a popular boarding school where you’d learn real world skills. She raises her hand to the back of her neck and scratches lightly:

“That all sounds fine and good, but Ah’m a little against bein’ dishonest with her. Promising to come back and planning otherwise… seems a bit wrong.”

“True, true. But remember who these people are, AJ.” You almost grit your teeth as you try to defend your plan. “These aren’t caretakers, and they’re only parents because they banged, not because they raised a kid. They lost their right to any power over me a long time ago, and the way I see, the power they currently have might as well be stolen, seeing as it certainly doesn’t belong to them. This isn’t a peaceful attempt to transfer rights; this is reclamation. And I’ll take that power from them any way I can.” Your fists clench as your impassioned account of the injustice done to you pours out. AJ only looks sorrowful, and places one of her hands on your right fist. The tender appeal, the familial touch reaches you, calmness beginning to work its way through fiery veins.

“Anon, you don’t have to convince me that they’re bad parents. But they’re still people, and Ah don’t want you to ruin any relationship you might with them in the future.” She shakes her head, the confusion on your face telling her that her point isn’t being made. “What Ah mean is that… Ah don’t know. They’re still your parents, even if they’re bad ones. Ah don’t think you should burn that bridge if you don’t have to.” Another fire rises in you, a louder retort of the lack of parenthood in your mother and father prepared, but then you figure it out. She lost her parents for good, and was trying to protect you from that. You breathe in heavily, not sure of what to say. No way are your parents and you ever going to be fine, but maybe you could at least meet her halfway.

“How about this: I’ll use it as a last resort.” She looks up, the sad look on her face slightly brightening at the partial success. “I still have to get out of there, no question about it. But I’ll do my best to be diplomatic, and be honest until there’s no other option.” She still looks hesitant, but understands your position.

“Ok,” she says, accepting your compromise. The two of you sit still for a while, the weight of the moment falling heavily on both shoulders. You and her glance at each other every once in a while, you seeking strength and she seeking to provide. Closing your eyes, you just breath in the warm air, the happy sounds of a fading party. AJ’s voice comes through the sweet darkness, still sounding somber.

“So, when are you gonna ask?” Before, the call was just a plan, hanging harmlessly in abstraction. But AJ brings it into the plan, giving it a repulsive reality. The hideous importance of it is only matched by the dread of it: so much hangs on that conversation, and every moment between you and it threatens the precarious hope placed upon it. You have to get rid of it as soon as possible; concerns over timing are too far from you, the need to do it soon and to avoid that train tomorrow forces your answer.

“Soon as I can. Left my phone at home, so I’ll do it when we go back.” You pause, not sure of the intended timeline. “Uh, when are we going?” The seriousness of the situation is not lost on AJ, as well as the understanding that if you wait for too long, courage might fail or the parent called might be bothered by the lateness.

“We can go now. It’s kind of wrapping up anyway.” You nod.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” She stands up, a slight smile on her face from her happiness at being able to give you this small blessing. She motions over to her family, but only Big Mac sees and responds. He gets up slowly, like a lumbering giant waking from a mythical slumber. Apple Bloom, so engrossed in the conversation with her fellows and Bailey, doesn’t notice the motion or Big Mac. You head over, both to deliver the message and to say your goodbyes to the CMC.

“C’mon, Apple Bloom, we’re heading out.”

“Awww, already?” The partially suppressed tragedy in your face is all the answer she needs. Sensing something important’s up, she gets up and walks over to you, her side touching yours. She brings a cheerful goodbye to her friends, which you follow up:

“Alright, it was great meeting you guys.” Scootaloo pipes up with visible concern.

“Wait, are you leaving-leaving?” she asks, doubling the word, like when kids define love as ‘like-like.’

“Yeah, this is my last day. I’m heading out tomorrow morning.” You didn’t intend to say this, knowing that you might not have to, but some part of you can’t bring yourself to accept the reality you so desperately long for. Here, Sweetie Belle includes herself in Scootaloo’s concern. Weird; you didn’t really think that she had liked you that much. But the worry can be seen in her eyes as she asks:

“But I thought you were staying? You’re gonna come back, right?” You drop a heavy sigh, trying to cling to your hope.

“That’s what I’m hoping to do. Still, it might not happen. So, uh-“ your rhetoric is rapidly failing, the smoothness you try to present falling apart. You take a second to make sure your voice doesn’t crack, then continue: “Uh, if I don’t, it was great meeting you guys.” Both of them rocket off the couch, wrapping you in tight hugs. Sweetie Belle says nothing, letting the hug speak for itself. Scootaloo augments the message with a caring insult:

“You’d better come back, you big dweeb.” There’s a pause between the two clauses, the insult obviously tacked on to avoid appearing too mushy. You’ve actually come to feel sort of close with Scootaloo. She wasn’t your best friend, and you still didn’t know a whole lot about her, but you’d had quite a bit of fun on account of her. She was pretty cool to hang out with, and was actually pretty sweet if you could see through her front, which was usually pretty easy. Hugging both girls you promise an eventual return and future adventures. The four of you walk to the front door, but you can’t quite bring yourself to exit.

Turning back, you see the two younger girls staring at you, their heads popping over a deep blue couch. Scootaloo’s hands are on the edge of it, her mouth resting somewhere between where her thumbs are. Bright lavender eyes stare at you, wide as ever. Her gaze, even under you catching her is constant; she attempts to hide a little bit, but only ducks down an inch or so, wanting to keep you in view. Her hair is messy, the rampant exercise unsettling an already casual style. The little crinkle in her eyes tells you that she’s smiling, though she’d never admit it. Your perfect cousin aside, you really hope you’d get to come back, just for a good friend like her.

More overtly sweet, the well-named other girl is simultaneously less embarrassed and less cutely affectionate. Sweetie Belle wasn’t as fun to be around as Scootaloo was, but she was still pretty cool. The few moments you’d gotten to spend just hanging with her, she’d been pretty chill. And it was apparent that she was a nice girl, definitely somebody who could be counted on. Her left arm lies horizontally on the top of the couch, the hand touching her right elbow; her right arm extends upwards, the hand holding her chin. She doesn’t look bored, just a little sleepy; the smile, below cool green eyes, is a friendly one. Raising her head, she frees her hand, allowing it to wave goodbye to you. Scootaloo imitates Sweetie, proudly lifting her head up; but instead of waving, she merely nods and smirks at you. Yeah, that was more or less the goodbye you expected. You raise your own hand in goodbye, an earnest thankfulness in your smile. Then you turn, and exit the house.

Somewhere between the easy relaxation after your nap and now, the air had become heavier, weighing on your shoulders like some thick mantle. You don’t say much on the car ride home, only looking out into the evening sky. It’s not dark, though you feel it ought to be; a brilliant sunset, a little early, goes unappreciated into your sight. In the backseat with Apple Bloom, her hand finds yours, squeezing gently. The stress of the situation, the inevitable confrontation is tearing you apart, such that even these beautiful things can only seem tragically temporary. The soft warmth in her hand keeps you from really falling apart, but the ravaging torrent within you remains untamed. The bumps in the road toss you up and down. Just a little bit longer. You squeeze Apple Bloom’s hand back, tightly. Just a little bit longer.

The crunch of gravel welcomes you home, and you hop out. The tension, the coursing adrenaline within you, blinds you to everything but the plan, and you leap out of the car. Arriving at the door, you impatiently tap your foot, waiting for the key-bearer to allow entrance. AJ walks up and opens the door without the key, having kept it unlocked. You don’t pause to thank her or wonder why: there’s only the need for your phone, and the need to get past any of the obstacles. Some part of you wonders if you’re being rude, grieves over the probability that you are. But every moment that passes is a moment where your world is hanging by a thread, able to fall at every second. Bad news is better than the wait; and so you rocket to your room, and fish your phone out. Dialing the first four numbers, Apple Bloom enters your room.

You ask her if she’s gonna be there for the call, hoping she will be.

“Yes,” she replies, bringing a warmth to you. You dial the fifth number, then stop, distracted by your cousin. “Hold on.” You complete the stoppage, setting the phone down at your side. “I don’t think you should call your mom just yet.” Right now, you feel like an old man, beaten down before you’ve even begun. Exhaustion sets upon you, the phone an unliftable weight right now. Meanwhile, the sad eyes of Apple Bloom seem older, but in a different sense. Heavy with wisdom, she sits down beside you, and takes both of your hands in hers. She seats herself more fully on your bed, crossing her legs in front of her. She asks you to do the same, and you mirror her position. Both arms rest on knees, hands meeting in the center to connect the two of you. Her head leans forward, not for a kiss, but to press her forward into yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit there, holding your Apple Bloom, breathing heavily.

You try to follow her relaxed breathing, but find yourself hyperventilating. Her hand moves up to your face, caressing it, not unlike the way you touched her earlier. She whispers to you:

“sh sh sh sh sh…” her voice fading off, the tone calming you down. You try again to breathe in as deeply and even as her, and eventually succeed. She opens her eyes and lifts up your chin, and you open your eyes in response. “Anon, I love you. It’s gonna be ok.” You hold onto that embrace, just trying to relax. Your breaths slow, matching the cadence she’s set. Her warms breaths fall, partly dissipated, on your chin and upper neck. It’s shocking how that feeling, so small and hard to be noticed, can feel so intimate. The small warmth of her breathe somehow cuts through all the other sensations, cutting through the thick haze so steadily renewed in you. You look into her eyes sadly, letting her calming gaze capture you.

“This is something my sister taught me,” she informs you, the corner of her mouth lifted up in a small smile, proud of her knowledge. “Just breathe slowly for a minute.” You protest, not yet giving her your full trust.

“But, I gotta…” She puts her finger to your lips, this time with a big smile.

“No no no no no, ya gotta do what Ah say.” The playful way she goes about it ends up being the right thing to do. She’s glad to see your returning smile, knowing that she was gambling on it being welcomed, instead of an annoyance. This isn’t a moment you thought you’d welcome fun, even in such a small portion, but somehow, it’s just the right thing to distract you from the crushing pressure of the moment. Your smile is a weak one, but genuine.

“Alright, Apple Bloom. What do I do?”

“I want you to feel your feet.” She says, moving to a Buddha-like position, with her legs crossed. Her eyes are closed, so she misses your confused expression as you grab your feet with your hands. Awkwardly, you stay there and hold them for a few seconds. Having no verbal confirmation, she opens her eyes to see you, with crossed legs and feet grabbed. The sight is a little silly to her, as her snickering suggests.

“Sorry, Ah didn’t mean –“ she chuckles, trying hard to stop and continue the serious teaching “-Ah didn’t mean that. Ummmm…” She closes her eyes and touches her lip with her forefinger, trying to remember. Then, eyes opening wide: “Ah mean, just try to describe the feeling of your feet. Like, are they hot or cold, comfy or uncomfortable, stuff like that.” Her head nods, the excitement of teaching crossed with the attempt to be coldly didactic, resulting in a very unconventional teaching style. “Try curling your toes and uncurling your toes.” You think real hard about the sensations of your feet, trying to come up with the words to describe it.

“Um, I guess they’re a bit cold. Not cold enough for socks, just a bit chilly. Big toe kinda hurts, probably from my shoe. It doesn’t fit super well.” You say whatever you can think of, not entirely sure what you’re supposed to be doing in the first place. She, however, is fully aware of her success: you aren’t thinking of your family at all. Adrenaline decreasing, your mind is now focused on both your feet and coming up with mundane observations of such. Seeing her nod happily, you feel encouraged, and keep up the odd assignment.

“Alright, good. Now, um…” She can’t remember the step after this. Going along with the general theme, she improvises: “Tell me about the room. What’s it like?” It’s slowly dawning on you that she’s trying to distract you. Again, you attempt to go along with her, partly due to its success, partly because it’s her.

“Well, the air is nice and cool. It smells like… apples, I guess. We’re both sitting on the bed, which has a comforter on it. The comforter’s, um, got little pictures or drawings or whatever of apples on it… My cell phone’s in my hand.” You take a moment, shaking your head to get away from the subject that pulls you closer to the edge. “The walls still have those apples on it, that weird papery wallpaper. The floor’s red and green, with a maroon rug over there. The lights evening, I mean it’s coming from the evening, I mean-“ you stop yourself, the stress reducing your words to a jumble. “The evening light’s coming through the drapes, giving a soft amber glow to the room. Kinda like your eyes.” She lights up, grinning at the attention; your face flushes at the same moment, like an embarrassed kid after having revealed a crush. “Uh, my phone is vibrating,” you say, partly out of observation, partly in response to the sudden resurgence of the phone’s importance.

You hold it up to your face, checking the words on the bright white screen. It’s just one of your acquaintances, hitting you up for a night out. One small “no” texted back, you looked at your Apple Bloom, more grim than before.

“I think I oughta make the call now. Don’t worry, I’m feeling better.” At the mention of the inevitable call, her face falls slightly, but she maintains a hopeful visage for your sake. A hand reaches out and softly grabs your hand, the one with the phone in it. Her earnest eyes are the precursor to one final request.

“Can we pray about it first?” Your heart heavy with doubt over the success that once seemed unstoppable, the notion doesn’t seem like the worst. It’s not like it could hurt. You nod your head, and allow her hands to grasp both of your own. The phone falls to the bed, the soft *pomf* initiating her compassionate words:

“Father God, please bless the request of my cousin. Please give us success, please let him stay with us, please let him stay with me.” The words are earnest and clear, the heartfelt plea clear in what you usually thought was an emotionless, mechanical ritual. “Please let him stay with us, God.” Bluster and pomp are left behind, only the simple need of a young girl remaining in the words. The heartbreak hidden in each syllable suddenly takes a change for the brighter, the hope in the next portion surprising you. “And if you don’t allow him to stay, thank you for letting him be here at all, God. Thank you so much for introducing me and the rest of us to him, and for giving me this awesome, amazing, perfect week.” At each adjective, she squeezes your hand, the sound of the words noticeable altered by the smile of the grateful Apple. “And if he goes, please let him come back as soon as possible. In Jesus’ name, Amen.” She opens her eyes at the same time as you, nodding her head and gulping. Tentatively, you pick up your phone, and dial your mother’s number. You hit ‘Call,’ and the phone begins ringing.

The phone rings, the chiming sound echoing inside your head. It rings again, the tension increasing tenfold. Knowing you’d need some stability in the coming moments, you reach out your left hand to grab the delicate hand of your cousin. Another ring, this one feeling as though it vibrated through the very center of you, the gentle calmness of Apple Bloom nearly obstructed by the violent tension. The fourth ring cuts short, a snappy

“Hello?” greeting you. The voice sounds rude, like the mouth releasing it was unalterably contorted into a sneer. It’s the usual tone she uses, the sharp sound present both in giving Christmas gifts and passive-aggressively putting down waiters. This time it’s seems real, however; the dreamlike joy of the Apple family and their simple kindness providing a new juxtaposition for the poisonous voice. Those years of hopeless permeation in their family had numbed you to the sound, but spending a week with a girl who spoke like a chorus of angels no longer permitted the dull accustomization. The seemingly small detail puts you off enough that you fail to answer, spurring a very unwelcome repetition, this time with confusion spliced with the impatience. “Hello?”

“Uh, yeah, hi mom.” You sputter out, the words less a greeting and more a plea for the tonal offence to stop. Unfortunately, as you should have remembered, the attempt to gain control of the conversation and lessen her role only results in the opposite.

“Now sweetie, what did I tell you about proper English? If you’re going to call me so late -you know I’m very busy this time of day- then you can at least start your sentences with actual words. If you don’t mind.” The offense at the critique, so absurdly placed in this pivotal conversation, almost matches your childlike fury at her hypocrisy. Lecturing you on proper English while her sentences overlap each other, and the miniature lecture ends in a fragment!? Unconsciously you squeeze Apple Bloom’s hand, but her returning squeeze helps bring you to a calmer place. You speak your part, hoping the obedient son shtick can help you out here.

“Yes, mother. I’m sorry.”

“Very good. Some people’s-“ the voice trails off into some story about somebody’s kid speaking poorly, or ostensively so, and an unsubtle implication that you’re lucky to have her as a mother. Assuming this role of listener feels as though you’d stuck your head in some cloud of poison, with the consciousness not oppressed by dizzy faintness consumed with the wish for clean air. Oh goodness, to be off this phone! Your response comes a moment late, but the imperfect timing is granted mercy by your mother’s self-involvement.

“I’m lucky to have you as a mother, Mom.” Never have your words felt so fake. Before, you were a prisoner, inspired to rebellion solely by hatred of the prison; now, you had experienced freedom, and with it, a deeper hatred for the jailer that now held it hostage. It isn’t clear if she’s noticed it or not, the continuation of her role also feeling ludicrous.

“Why, I’m so happy to hear you say that. You know, I try very hard to help you out whenever I can -and goodness knows what a thankless job mothering is- so it’s nice to have some recognition every once in a while.” She stresses the final clause, especially the word ‘once,’ the appreciation a blunt ruse to hide her accusation of your failure to provide sufficient praise. Blood boiling, your hand tightens on Apple Bloom. Never before has an uninjured appendage commanded your attention with such strength. It’s as if your whole being has been consolidated in two places: your ears and mouth, stuck in the most horrifying struggle, and in your hand, holding on for dear life. All else has disappeared, the tense acting of your conversation and your hand, drawing the lion’s share of your strength from that of Apple Bloom, holding the entirety of your attention. You murmur out another attempt at honeyed persuasion:

“I’ll try to remember to thank you more often. I really do appreciate it, Mom.” Years of experience have taught you that you have to work for it: it’s as if upon hearing that she was loved, she asked you to convince her. A proper-sounding

“Mm-hmm” comes as a response, signaling her acceptance without granting you grace for the implied failure. A small silence follows before she permits the conversation to return to you: “So what did you call for? I’m really very busy.” The words came slowly to you, the careful practice of today’s planning hard to reach from within the real situation.

“I-I was hoping to extend my stay a little longer.” You abandon the thought of asking to stay, having realized that this woman would never willingly allow you to leave. The whole dramatic tale of unlucky sons and her woes as an underappreciated mother remind you: she needs somebody to make her feel important. Beyond the compliments of the social elite, a more personal support system was necessary, and you had been designated the author of her prominence and goodness. You’re cursing yourself, wishing you could have spoken with your father instead. Absolute negligence might be a better hope for release than a relationship where negligence was only dropped for the occasional parasitic refreshment.

“Whatever for?” She asks, a note of honest curiosity in her query, revealing a total innocence to your situation. It doesn’t quite dawn on you, the truth too horrible for your weary mind to grasp, but she might actually think your home is a decent place to live. You default to what was going to be a last ditch effort, trying to play it off as a learning opportunity.

“Oh, I just want to stay for the summer.” In your feverish revulsion, grasping for anything that could offer escape, you’d picked the dishonest defense before testing out any of the other arguments. “You know, to learn a little bit more about the country and whatnot. There’s a lot of interesting stuff around here, and I…” You don’t know how to continue. Normally, you just let conversation go whichever way felt best, with a minor order enforced to it. But here, with all the stress, you were losing control of the thoughtful plan you’d hoped to simply recite to her.

For a few moments, only silence comes from the receiver. Unbearable seconds, feeling as though each stretched into a minute or an hour, slumped past as you anxiously waited. Your appeal had been awful, just horrendous. Already your mind was exploding with things you could have said better, practice you could have done. All self-judgments stop when you hear her voice again, the fake hesitancy in her tone telling you the answer before the words did.

“Well, that sounds… interesting, I suppose. But I still need you for that family outing we have with the Rogers’, remember?” Fuck! The failure reverberates in your ears, showing itself to Apple bloom through your stricken expression. There is some hope though; maybe you could come back afterwards? Quickly, you jump on that chance, unable to keep your plea in for one second.

“Ok, but could I come back after that?” Another agonizing second, then a short chortle. It retained that haughty crackly sound of an older woman while trying to mimic the happy sound of a younger girl. The titter was something Apple Bloom would have done at something silly; but coming from your mother’s awful voice, it gave ripples of cringing disgust instead of life.

“Oh, ha ha ha,-“ She starts again, so thorough in her imitation that she includes the inability to piece together a sentence due to it’s hilarity. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, wanting to stay down there.” The haughtiness that typically stayed in the subtler regions of her tone had now come to the forefront, the emphasis on ‘down there’ rife with disdain. “But I’m afraid I have to say no. There’s plenty for you to do up here, and frankly, I think it’s a bit selfish trying to distance yourself from your family like that. Think about it, Anon, you’re nearly an adult; are you really going to take away the precious little time your father and I get to be in your life? Soon you’ll grow up and go off into the world, provided you don’t go to work for you father -which I still wish you’d do- and where will we be then?” Her sorrowful tone, rich with disgusting pretensions of tragedy, turn back to jocularity with offensive dishonesty. “No no,” she says with the same laugh in her words, “you’ll come up tomorrow and stay for the rest of the summer.”

You press the disconnect button on your phone at the end of this sentence, despite the intonation clearly showing that she wasn’t done. You were done with that, with that phone call. Who the fuck cared if you got chewed out tomorrow? Your hand trembles as you raise the phone up and hurl it at the wall. It strikes the edge of the wooden clothes cabinet, spidery lines suddenly present on the screen. The thunk of the impact was loud, but not loud enough for you. You wanted to crush something, to break something til nothing but dust was left. Fuck! Your hand rips itself away from Apple Bloom, the situation completely nullifying her once-helpful touch. There was no connection now, the connection was fucking gone for the fucking summer! Fucking shit! You stomp over to the cabinet with the intent of picking up the phone. But another stroke of rage pulses from within, and you kick the cabinet as hard as you can. Apple Bloom calls out, her voice failing to completely reach you.

Her right hand finds your shoulder, stopping the heaving for a moment. Your stomach is churning, the pit you’d felt all day increasing until the pain became physical. Your shoulders and muscles felt solid, as if they were locked in place. Desperately trying to pay attention to Apple Bloom, you forced your rigid limbs to a halt. The raw energy coursing through you strove to make you move again, pleading with you to keep letting your anger out. But your cousin’s hand was on your shoulder, and though it took all your might, you kept steady. The result was a constant twitch in more than one muscle, fresh spasms of anguish bringing you to quickly locked down motions. Her hand rubs you softly, as if she hoped to massage the tension away.

“Anon.” The voice is bittersweet, the name you once loved to hear her speak has a greatly lessened effect. Every perfect connection with her was now tainted by tragedy, the noxious reminder that she would be gone soon. “Anon.” She still sounded so pretty, and you were still so honored to hear her speak your name in the gentle, breezy way; but there was a clock now. “It’ll be ok, Anon. Can you look at me?” She still stands behind you, slightly to the left of your back. You hadn’t turned to face her, and the cabinet prevented her from moving in front of you. She tugs on your shoulder, trying to get you to turn around. You oblige her, but keep your face down, not looking at her. When she places her hand on your chin, hoping to bring your chin up so your eyes can meet her, you stop her with a small shake of your head. Fists clenched, arms tight at your sides. Several times you open your mouth, wanting to say something comforting to her, but nothing comes out. She places both hands on your chest, leaning into you. “Anon, it’s ok. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done. Your phone had been turned up loud enough for her to hear, and she could tell that no argument would’ve been useful against her. Your mom was too caught up in her own world to even listen to your request.

But Apple Bloom, still an amateur at resolving situations of this magnitude, couldn’t have said anything worse. Because she was right: there was nothing you could have done. The phrase runs in a loop in your mind, stinging like the spurs of cowboy boots. It whips you into a frenzy, the absolute indomitability of your parents, the inescapable vanity of trying to fight against them. Your body, which had begun to calm down under the touch of Apple Bloom, began to shudder and shake once more. It didn’t matter. You clench your fists. It didn’t fucking matter. Realizing the worsening situation, Apple Bloom places both of her hands on your cheeks, lifting up your eyes to hers. You can see the pain in them, partly for the failed hope, but more for her agonized cousin.
The shock of seeing those tormented sad eyes brings you to a similar that you’d been last night. There’s two paths set before you: you could calm down, gently surrender to the moment and do what you can, or fall off the edge. It isn’t so much a choice between the two as it is the choice to engage in the former, with failure to do so resulting in the latter. Grimacing, you try to reach out to her, to calm yourself and take the situation with her by your side. You unclench your hand, trying to bring it up to hers. If you could just hold her hand, you could be saved. But before the staggering motion can come to completion, that mantra runs through your mind like a flash of lightning: It’s no use. It's no use, you couldn’t keep yourself here, you never had a chance. The injustice of your powerlessness overwhelms you, two fists appearing once more as your face takes on a spiteful sneer. Your hand reaches hers, but only to brush it off, separating the two of you. Looking away, you missed the flash of hope that you’d come around and the crestfallen expression that replaced it when she realized the opposite had occurred.
In your haste to leave the room, your head hits a high shelf, the wooden edge solidly colliding with the upper right portion of your forehead. A stream of curses follows the shower of bright colors that fills your vision. You slam your fist into the underside of the shelf, knocking it upwards a good half inch. Above the clutter of the objects on top of it, you hear the frightened squeak of Apple Bloom. Right now, the only message that penetrates is that you’re upsetting her. Awake enough to wish otherwise, you storm out the door. It sounds like she said something as you closed it behind you, but you don’t hear. The only thing on your mind is the desire to get out, to keep yourself away from the Apples for the time being. The rage has removed itself just enough for you to know that you can’t be unpleasant to these people, but at the same time, you’re not gonna be able to completely curb your hate. It’s coming out one way or another, and if you keep cool til you’re alone, then you’ll count it a success. AJ steps past the top step of the stairs, the already present concern on her face magnified when she spots the fury on yours. She says something to you, but you push by her, an outreached hand falling off as you bustle by. Your pace increases as you spot the back door, and you’re nearly in a sprint as you push it open.

There’s no destination besides the absence of that house, the escape from something too good to last, and thus the escape from the loss of it. The lights of the sky even seem dimmer, as if dulled by the failed attempt to cling onto this one good thing. The sky is a darkened red, like the rusted remnants of some discarded piece of metal. Parts of it even seem to flake of, spots of brown and red still visible within the portions of black that mostly hold the eastern part of the sky. As you look onto the swelling blackness, an unthinkable maw enclosing the flickering light of an ending day, a chill sets itself in your bones. Without a jacket or coat, the rising coldness of the night threatens to place one more agony upon you. Still, the heat remains in you, and you cross your arms and continue walking briskly on this dusty road.

The stores of energy carrying you forward are running out, the options of sprinting and running soon coming to be out of order. Absent-mindedly, you rub your arms up and down, trying to keep the creeping iciness off. The burdens of heat loss and exhaustion soon set in, the high emotions and energy not meant to last too long. Your pace slows to a walk, the pace almost a crawl. The sunset presses on without your consent, the explosion of colors oblivious to you. It’s a small thing, the continuance of nature’s paths without regard to your plight, but for some reason it bothers you even more. It’s like a reminder that things aren’t going to change: your parent’s lives, the Apple’s lives, the CMC’s lives were all gonna keep going the way they were going. Without you. You clench your fists again, a fresh burst of anger rising up, only to sputter out a moment later.

It’s getting colder, and you’ve already walked pretty far. You should probably go back. The order to turn around comes, but to no avail. Instead, your body stops, slumping slightly. You just… A sigh makes its way across the otherwise silent scene. You just don’t want to go back there. Another small gust of wind blows past you, not unbearably cold, but warning of future bursts that may very well be. Sharp necessity grants your order the strength it needs, and your body responds to the reiteration, turning around and beginning to move home. Aching legs carry you slowly forward, trying to conserve the little energy the scant motivation provides them with. You don’t really think anything; you just keep walking.

The yielding dirt road compresses under your feet, the solid smoothness giving a lighter feel than that of stone walkways. To your right and left are vast fields of ominous trees, twisted into nightmare shapes by the low light and strong wind. They shudder and twitch, just enough to remind you of those horror films where monsters lurked in dark groves, shaking the plants within. The redness of the sky dwindles with the fallen sun, only a sliver of it left above the yellow hills. Purples and blues now surround the deadened red, like massive bruises on the sky itself. Now and then some dust will blow in your face, the old road still subject to decaying, leaving its constituents flying around. But most of this goes unnoticed. Your arms grip yourself tightly, fending off the rapidly increasing cold, and your eyes are fixed on the ground. There’s no room in your mind for the strangely beautiful scenery now, the odd art passing you by completely.

The house, growing steadily in front of you the whole time, comes within a couple dozen yards. The main section of the property arrives with its large hedges and recently cut lawn. The warm house is filled with lights, beckoning from the glass sliding door. You recall the failure to calm down, and when you pushed past AJ. The situation was bad enough, but you’d gone and made it worse. It wasn’t a big deal, but your tired mind didn’t have the strength to reason its way out of the shame. With a deep sigh, you open the door and step inside. It’s warm, and has that inviting smell you’d noticed the very first time you’d set foot in this house. Bitterly enjoying it, you trudge over to the stairs, passing the dining room as you do so. Apple Bloom, just finishing setting the table, spots you. She immediately sets the dishes she’s holding down, and runs over to you. Grasped in a big hug, you still can’t bring yourself to fully enjoy it, and you halfheartedly return the motion. She doesn’t say anything, instead just silently hugging you, squeezing your torso for all she’s worth.

From the clamor in the other room, you can tell that the other Apples are still getting ready. AJ steps out, asking why Apple Bloom didn’t finish setting out the plates. She stops when she sees you, the concerned look in her eye breaking your heart. Even if you hadn’t come to care for her as much as you had your youngest cousin, AJ still felt like a sister to you, a good one. Morosely, she tells you that dinner’s gonna be in just a few minutes now if you wanna get washed up. You want to, really badly. But something in you, some dumb part of your mind keeps you from accepting.

“Uh, Ah- I’m not really hungry.” You say, wishing you could take it back even before you’ve finished speaking. You hope she’ll ask you again; next time you’ll say ‘yes.’ But instead of reoffering the choice, AJ decides to respect your decision, nodding her head.

“Ok, then.” She heads back into the kitchen to finish up preparations, thinking that you just need some space right now. It’s not unreasonable for her to think that’s what you could use, even if you need the exact opposite. Looking down, you see the wide eyes of Apple Bloom staring into yours. Feeling broken, completely off balance, you don’t what else to do but kiss her forehead lightly, then return to your room. She wants you to stay, and you want to stay. Why won’t you stay? Every step you take away from the room you argue with yourself, with nothing but the fact of your departure to rebut. Nothing compels you to leave beyond the already present motion in your legs towards such, and a growing fear of the embarrassment if you were to turn around now. You’re already chosen, even if you regret it, and you’re finding it impossible to stop. Besides, showing up now, after you’d already said no would be… too much for today. It isn’t a good argument and you know it. So why can’t you turn around and go back? At the door to your guest room, you pause. You can still go back. Your gut clenches and you grimace at what you’d imagine their reactions to be, and you twist the handle and go inside. Every step forward had felt like it was too late, and the previous step your last chance; but the closed door behind you held a finality that none of those steps had held.

In stomach-churning discomfort, you sit on your bed and get out your DS, both actions further cementing that hateful resolve to not go down to them. Were they waiting for you? Probably not. Still, it is possible. You shake your head, hoping to ignore the tiresome questions; maybe if you stopped thinking about them, you’d stop feeling this regret. Mindless thumbs pressed buttons, making some numbers go up and others go down. A minion defeated here, a hastily fought boss beating you a moment later. You weren’t thinking straight; but that was kinda the point. Another round with him nets you a victory; some confetti pops out of the corners, and smiling NPCs congratulate you. And you could not give less of a fuck. The absolute meaningless of this victory, which had taken a good hour to achieve (counting previous attempts from earlier this week) sets your mind straight for the first time since you’d disconnected tonight’s call. This was your last fucking night, and you were spending it with fucking Mario. Immediately you close the DS and throw it to the bed stand, rushing downstairs. Didn’t matter if you were late, didn’t matter if you were embarrassed: you couldn’t spend these last few hours alone.

You fly downstairs, the loud thumping heralding your imminent entrance. Arriving at the dining room, you find it empty, only a couple dishes of food remaining. Walking over to the kitchen, the only person that greets your eyes is a lone Apple Bloom. She turns slightly, wondering if her sister had come back. Seeing you, a smile little smile appears under sad eyes, as if she wasn’t sure if she should be happy or sad at the moment. The previous hope at regaining a connection, which had lifted your spirits somewhat, was dashed upon realizing that you’d deserted her twice tonight. Striding up to her, you begin to hug her, stopping when you notice the dish that occupies both hands. Making a small noise of displeasure, you awkwardly take it out of her hands and complete the hug. The silly fumble and the expression you’d made must have been funny, because Apple Bloom begins giggling into your chest. Comforted by the small shaking and that perfect laugh of hers, you begin to smile, just a little bit.

“Sorry about leaving.” She doesn’t say anything, instead answering with motions: you feel her head move again, nodding into your chest, while her arms squeeze you all the tighter. You squeeze back, needing this connection more than you realized. It still seems strange how soon she could heal you, how the singular act of acceptance of her light could bring you out of the depths. Of course, you still weren’t fine; but you were a lot better than where you were. Loosening your arms, you allow the hug to come to a halt. It doesn’t, the sweet girl still holding onto you as tightly as ever. She shakes her heads as much as she can while remaining on your chest, and murmurs a cute little “Uh-uh,” like an adorably petulant child refusing to let go of a teddy bear. A soft chuckle exits your lips, and you bring your arms around her one more time, just taking in the feel of the girl. Letting your head sink down a bit, her hair nearing your face, you notice how good it smells. You hadn’t noticed it before, but every hug had brought along that sweet scent.

She finishes hugging you before you’re done breathing it that heavenly smell, but you let her go this time. There’s plenty of time for hugs later tonight, and hopefully a cuddle or two. Smiling at her, your broken heart mended for the time being, you offer to help.

“You, uh, need some help with the dishes?” She grins and nods, handing you the dish you’d fumbled out of her hands.

“Yeah, could you get this? You can wash, and Ah’ll dry. Or we can do it the other way if you want.” You think about it: the few times you’d had to do it, you found drying easier than washing. Which means you’d let her take it.

“I can wash.” She nods her assent and the two of you begin the conveyer belt. Partly through the comfortably silent work, you ask her: “Hey, why is it just you tonight?”

“Well, Ah didn’t help with cookin’ it, and we got a rule: everyone’s gotta help. So since I missed out on the first part, Ah get the second.” You nod, continuing to clean a plate. Made sense; these people were pretty fair about how they did their work, from what you’ve heard. Without noticing, you’d begun to think of the Apples as different people than you, family more distant than immediate. Of course, the dedication to the simple task and cheerful girl, as well as the weariness that dwelt deep within you, kept you from fully realizing the distance you’d begun creating. It was just another defense mechanism, something to make the departure less painful. But that wouldn’t happen for a bit; right now, you were busy hanging out with Apple Bloom. You didn’t talk much, and neither did she. The simple connection over cleaning was enough. After all, it’d been a long day for both of you.

Your face is a mix of glum and hopeful, mouth falling downwards in a depressive slump, but your eyes opened wider than befits the sleepy gaze of a fully crushed person. When your hand caught a touch of Apple Bloom, or when she entered your sight, the corners of your mouth turned up in a desperate attempt at your earlier, carefree joy. The work wasn’t done quickly, an ever-present feeling of age fiercely cutting down your maximum speed. Apple Bloom moved at the same rate, though this could have been due to her mimicking you instead of a personal exhaustion. One by one the ceramic plates and glasses passed into her hands, followed by a load of utensils. Both you and her double-teamed the pots and pans used to cook the spaghetti they’d had tonight. Gosh, you wish you’d had some. Finishing up, you take a look around the kitchen, asking if there’s anything left to do. She says there isn’t.

She informs you about the imminent prayers going on, and waits by the door for you to finish drying your hands. You do, and gingerly place the towel on the protruding bar of the oven. Apple Bloom’s leaned up on the side of the wall, a soft look on her face. Her mouth is curved in a closed-lipped smile, smaller than usual, but somehow more endearing and serious for it. The mild freckles on her cheeks still stand out from the mild puffiness that comes from her smiling. Were you only to look at the bottom half of her face, you might conclude that the visage is that of a content girl. But her eyes alter the whole. The look she gives is some odd combination of that blank, thousand-yard stare and the piercing kind of look used when somebody sees the very center of you. It’s distant and present all at the same time, as if she were looking at a trophy from some long-past competition that she hadn’t won. Her eyebrows are raised in the center, the watery eyes below fixed on yours. She always looked into your eyes. Like the smell of her hair, this was something you’d only realized once she’d become a rarity, made exclusive by the inevitable departure.

You don’t like that look. It’s old, like you; the expression of a hurt woman doesn’t belong on this poor girl’s face. She was supposed to smile, to dance around and sing with eyes happily crinkled by a gigantic smile. For a moment, a cold hatred for your mother appears, not on account of her pulling the Apples away from you, but for pulling you away from Apple Bloom. Instead of igniting you, the selfless fury cooled into a quiet bitterness, a more serious antipathy than you’d ever felt before. But before you can dwell in the dark feelings a moment longer, the continuous gaze of the frozen Apple Bloom draws your thoughts away from the villain in the city. You have got to do something about that expression. On your way to initiate a hug, her eyes widen, having being broken out of her train of thought. Her arms raised partially along with yours, both of you stop moving upon hearing a loud call from upstairs.

“Are y’all almost finished down there?” Apple Bloom opens her mouth, about to say ‘yes.’ But you’ve got an idea. Covering her mouth, you shout your own answer.

“Just got a few more, give us a minute!”

“Ok!” Apple Bloom looks confusedly at you, but then you give her a big hug. She thinks this is what you made time for, and is thankful for the moment alone. Pulling away a moment later, she places her hands on your chest, a gratefulness changing her smile for the better. About to say something else, you interrupt her by laying a kiss right on her lips. The sight of her, standing so sadly in the doorway had rekindled a bit of the fire in you, a dire urgency in your desire to make her feel better. But when your lips meet hers, what was supposed to be a light, chaste little kiss turns into something far bigger. The desire for her happiness is augmented by your need for her right now, a deep need echoed by her. The two of you, connected by this spire of dependency, find the answer to the invading loneliness in each other’s passionate embrace. Your tongue slips into her mouth, her own dancing along with it. Braver than before, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, eager to know every surface and contour. The make-out session, somewhat sloppy from her inexperience and your rustiness, is still exactly what both of you needed.

A bump into a shelf sends some plates rattling, the loud clanging reminding both of you that you gotta get upstairs. Not wanting to get caught, she starts to hustle towards the door. You’ve still got her arm in your hand, and you hold her back, just long enough for a smaller, goodbye kiss. She grins, looking somewhat happy for the moment, and returns the kiss. Then she dashes upstairs, with you slowly following. Despite how much she’d just filled your heart, you couldn’t really keep it beyond the end. With the disappearance of her lips, the feeling of her body pressing into yours, that heaven had faded quickly. A small residue was left, a small yellow feeling resting in your gut, preventing the coming waves of sorrow from pulling you too deep. Thankful for this, you lurch up the stairs and into a room filled with Apples.

Apple Bloom and AJ sit on one side of the bed, Big Mac and Granny on the other. Granny sits on her older rocking chair, the only one not on the floor. A chubby, sleeping dog is by her side, snoring softly. You’d forgotten her name. Finding your place between AJ and Apple Bloom, both girls sidle up to you. Apple Bloom holds close to your side, catching you in a half-hug. AJ reaches out and grabs your hand, which lied on the floor. The smooth, warm skin is a wide contrast to the scratchy carpet, and surprising; you hadn’t expected this familiar a form of affection from the bold, strong girl. She looks to you with traces of both sadness and hope in her eyes.

“You alright?” She asks, her quiet voice oddly comforting alongside the full-bodied care of your younger cousin. Sandwiched between the reckless care from the girl who’d grasped half your body and the smaller, more mature affection of a long-suffering older girl, you feel strangely cared for. It warms your dull heart, but not enough to bring out tears. Nodding, you whisper a faint yes, as if you needed both to convince her. She gives your hand a small squeeze, then lets go, the small gesture exactly what you’d imagine an actual sister to give in your time of need. Looking at you, then to everybody, AJ speaks to the latter:

“Ah think everyone’s got the same low today, so let’s just go over our highs.” She’d thought about having two good things be reported, but figured it might be a little much. “I’ll go first. My high was getting to see Bailey again today. Been a long time since we got to spend some time together, and it was real nice having that.” She wished she’d done more with Anon that day so she could paint him as her high. But the only thing they did was have some pancakes together and share a van; it’d be way too see-through if she’d said that. She nods to Big Mac, who seems to understand the silent message. She really was gonna miss you; a stream of memories flew past her as she waited for Big Mac to compose his thoughts. It was pretty obvious that you’d bonded with her younger sister more than her, but she didn’t mind too much. You treated Apple Bloom well, and that was enough to make AJ like you. You’d been fun to hang around, that is, when she could actually find the time to spend with you. And from what she’d seen, you were a good worker, which was more important than she’d wanted to admit. Despite her accustomization to loss and your short stay, the news of your departure still resulted in a sharp pain.

“Mine was getting to see Anon’s grape-stomping plan.” You look up, confused at his choice. In an unexpected display of loquaciousness, the man actually explains himself. “Was a pretty long day today, had way tu- too many chores.” He gets caught up in his words, and his cadence is all wrong. ‘This is why I don’t go off like they do,’ he thinks to himself. But he did like you; you were a nice enough guy, and he was hoping to get to play some cards with you. He was pretty disappointed when you declined to play cards with him and AJ last night, but there was so way he could say that. Mustering his resolve, he continues speaking: “Kinda thought it was gonna be another huge load of work, but you guys-“ he points to you and Apple Bloom- “had it figured out, and did a lot of it. Pretty clever,” he adds, wanting to turn the blessing towards himself into a compliment for Anon. You’re kind of taken aback by the amount of words you’d just heard him speak, but you take the compliment.

“Thanks, man.” You’d imagine, correctly so, that Big Mac didn’t hand out compliments a whole lot. Granny passes, waving her hand to the right as a sign. She hadn’t done much today, beyond a little sowing and so forth. And as it was, she was pretty upset when she’d heard the news. All week long, she’d been watching you, especially upon hearing that you might want to stay. An old-school shipper, she’d been planning on making you a brother of her grandchildren, having come to believe you were a respectful, kind, young man. Though part of it was wish-fulfillment, she did see the good in you, and how it was brought about by her youngest. The news was still upsetting to her, and unlike the other Apples in the room, she hadn’t laid it to rest. It’d been a long time since she’d spoken with the Orange side of the family, especially her nephew. But if there was one thing Granny had prided herself on, it was that she didn’t give up. If you were to ask her, she’d tell you that that attribute was why she was still here today. Seeing that familiar hand wave, showing that her grandmother was deep in thought, Apple Bloom took her turn.

“Um…” She was expecting some more time, not having settled on one. She thinks of a number of events, each one feeling like it’d be better. Finally picking one, she speaks up.

“My favorite part of the week was Anon,” she begins, changing the game to encompass your whole stay. I loved that first day, when he was all awkward around me and Big Mac. I loved when we went on the woods adventure, even though he ended up getting hurt at the end. I didn’t really expect you to come hang out with me and my friends, but I was so happy that you did.” At this point, she detaches from you, and begins standing. As she tells the stories, and all the things she loved about them, her hands become a flurry of Jim Carrey-esque gesticulations. The rest of the family, you included, had begun to smile at new stories and the parts remembered. As she wildly expounded upon the week’s events, the three listeners had forgotten, just for a moment, that you were leaving. And right before you crashed, you looked so cool! And when I almost fell, and you came running over to me…” You’d forgotten about that. “I know it was just a little thing, but it really meant something to me. I loved hanging out with you Wednesday morning, and being pirates and zombies at the pool. I loved just hanging out with you then on the towels. And I loved when you opened up to me and AJ when we took that walk later.” She looks over to AJ, who nods with a grim smile. “I loved playing all those games with you on Thursday, and I wish I’d been able to hang with Scootaloo later so I wouldn’t have had to leave. I wish I could have been there for your cooking.” She says forlornly, forgetting the game she was currently playing. “But I loved our date! It was so romantic and so amazing, and we shouldn’t ever let that be the only one!” She’s tempted to go into the details of the date, and that one part she was especially fond of, but nobody knew but AJ, and she only had a vague idea. “I loved making you breakfast these last two days, and our awesome tubing adventure! And then afterwards, when we got to hang out at Sonic’s, then watching Aladdin with you…” Her eyes are partially glazed over, overflowing with the pleasure of revisiting this beautiful week. “And I loved our coffee date this morning, and stomping grapes!” Out of particulars, she switches to more general highs: “I loved hanging out with you, and getting to know you! I love that you love us Apples, and that you love my friends. I love that they love you too! I love that you love me, and I hate that you’re going!”

Her voice had been rising on these last few lines, finally breaking on that last hateful fact. She sits down, the descending motion looking like a fall, and leans heavily on you. A cold, bitter feeling had begun to creep into her, a more comfortable option than the pain the presented itself. Her feelings mirrored yours more closely than you knew: both you and her were filled with a turbulent sea of feelings, the crashing pandemonium beginning at that phone call. Above the rapidly shifting emotions, three were the strongest, and had been rotating through the night: there was that empty, cold feeling of loss; the excited, trembling feeling of fear and anger, and a peculiar feeling of enjoyment and gratitude for the time you’d spent here and continued to have. They teetered back and forth, the feelings of both you and her never being far from despair, and never far from happiness. But right now, as she clung to you tightly, nothing predominated; there was only the static-like blur of unformed, unidentified emotions all clashing in some uproarious battle. The only thing that was clear was that the holding was good, maybe even necessary to avoid completely breaking down. Never having been in such a piercing situation, there’s the odd feeling of innocent confusion, a childlike voice in the clamor asking ‘What’s going on?’ After a minute of just holding her, you look up to see the pitying face of AJ, and the closed eyes of the other two Apples in earnest prayer for your protection. An odd thought strikes you, though somewhat fitting in the situation. You look around the room and clear your throat, drawing the attention of the diligent, older Apples.

“My high, is all of you.” AJ and Big Mac let out small laughs, the introduction to your turn absurd in the face of the distressing emotional baggage of the previous minutes. But you press on, hoping to turn this situation into one with a lighter spirit. “When I got here, I was in pretty bad shape, even if I didn’t really know it. Although,” you laugh, though it sounds more like a scoff, “I guess I’m kinda in bad shape now.” AJ and Big Mac repeat their sad smiles. “But still, even if I have to go, coming here was the best thing that could have happened to me. I’ve never felt so loved. I never felt like I was actually part of a family.” You start to tear up a bit, your emotions settling on a combination of sorrow and deep gratitude for the time being. “You guys are so important to me. I wish I could thank you for everything you’ve done, but fact is, I don’t even know how much that is. It’s like this feeling deep in my bones, like something I never knew I’d lost had been found.” You look from face to face, eventually stopping on the one person that meant most to you: “All I can do is say thank you for everything you’ve given me. Thank you.” You want to go in for a kiss, but you manage to only give her a hug.” The connection between you and Apple Bloom only lasts a second before the rest of the family, even Granny, converge on you. They wrap you in their arms, and your heart nearly explodes. Failing to keep your tears back, you say in a broken voice. “I love you guys. I love you.” And they feel the same.

Soon the family hug comes to a close, everybody moving back to their original positions. But the warmth you’d received stayed with you, like a single candle lit by the presence of another. The only body left holding yours is Apple Bloom, for whom your touch had just become a precious commodity, much more so than before. Her crimson hair spills over your shoulder, curtained over her face. The wavy locks tickle just a bit, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. You smile gently at your family, knowing that when it really came down to it, that’s exactly what they were. The care and comfort they’d just given you mingles with all the pain, both disappearing in the somewhat pleasant synthesis. All that’s left is this weird, sort of nostalgic feeling. Good, but sort of hollow. You shake your head, trying to clear it: you don’t need to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Holding onto to Apple Bloom, you watch as her brother and sister file out, offering you quiet goodbyes, and promises to see you in the morning. Wanting to both get up and stay attached, the two of you simultaneously choose to go with both options. You hold her tightly and begin to rise, and she immediately goes along with it, trying to keep your bodies as close as possible while standing. The motion itself is a bit awkward, the odd motion reminiscent of three legged-races, but you do manage to do so. Walking side by side is similarly a challenge, ending up pretty close to that race, with outer feet stepping, then both middle feet. You don’t want to let go though, so you keep it up. As you pass the stairway, a harsh grumbling in your stomach reminds you that you still need to get some food in you. Turning to her, you start to tell her of your new plan, stopping at the first word.

“Hey-“ She reads your phrase like it was supposed to stand alone, only being tipped off when she sees your awestruck, gentle stare, directed at her gorgeous face. She looks so beautiful, so divine standing next to you in the dark. It’s almost more than you can bear, this odd burning for a girl you’ve been looking at for a week. But the passion’s there, like a slowly moving river of magma from deep within. Your gaze is as soft as your feelings, your body still, wanting nothing more than to give the young beauty the appreciation she deserves. “Gosh, you’re pretty,” you say, stumbling over words you mistakenly think are necessary. She knows what you’re feeling, having experienced the same several times over this week. She stands up a little straighter, and greets your mouth with her own. The kiss is short and light, and she pulls back very little, her mouth nearly touching yours as she whispers:

“Ah love you.” You’re overcome again, but this time it doesn’t last as long. The hunger pang rouses you out of the sleepy awe, and you manage to finish your sentence:

“Hey, I’m gonna go get a little something to eat.” You’re kinda afraid to ask her to come with, knowing that she was probably full. Instead, the offer remains implicit. She just smiles, and says:

“Ah’ll join you. Didn’t eat much at dinnertime anyway.” You feel cared for and guilty at the same time, realizing that you were probably responsible for that. Having that kind of influence over someone so amazing is definitely pleasant, but you’re reminded by the guilt of your duty to make sure her smile is protected. Grinning, you pull her gently, and the two of you walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, hand in hand. She hums quietly as you walk, and you strain your gears to catch the tune. But by the time you reach the refrigerator and she stops, you still haven’t gotten it. You go to turn on the lights while she bathes in that yellow light of the fridge. She pulls out a massive dish, the kind of thing you’d bake a pie in. You briefly wonder if you’ve guessed right, and a brief look under the wrap on it tells you that you’re almost right. What lies within is a huge, deep dish pizza. Your face lights up in pure glee when you see it, almost having had an affinity for Chicago style pizza. Apple Bloom cuts out two slices, one more generous than the other, then pops them in the toaster oven at a low heat.

“Why not the microwave?” you ask, confused at her choice of appliance. She answers casually:

“That’s make it all mushy; the toaster oven can heat it up without doing that, just takes a bit longer. Haven’t you ever microwaved pizza before?” You have, but you weren’t sure that the rule would apply to deep dish pizza. But there’s rarely any reason not to trust Apple Bloom, so you just nod and accept her rationale. You notice the lack of contact, and your hand reaches over, coming to rest on top of hers. She turns her hand over, then laces her fingers with yours, afterwards giving you that nourishing smile of hers. You pull her into a hug, wanting to have and give a little more affection than what hands are capable of. She sighs contentedly and rests her head on your chest. You can just feel the weight of the day on her, and her a little kiss on her exposed forehead, just to make her stay a little better. There you stay for a little while, waiting for your food to heat up. A small beep wakes both of you from your standing half-slumber, and she serves both of you right up. The two of you sit down at the dining table, her at the end and you at the seat next to her, and dig in.

You eat voraciously at first, a deep hunger calling you to ignore everything but this one task. But as you move along, you find that this kind of pizza fills you up pretty dang fast. It was a big slice, sure, but you’re slowing down with a quarter to go! Apple Bloom finds herself in a similar predicament, the meal clearly deceptive about it’s quantity. As your pace slows, she and you start to talk. Not about anything important, just little recounts of the week past, both shared memories and those from the rare separations.

“Hey, remember when-?”

“Okay, so while you were out-“ The stories aren’t much, ranging from slightly humorous to flat out lame, but the encroaching lateness and good company makes them shine. The time stretches on, eventually leading to stories of your lives before now. You laugh at her stories of trying on dresses with Scootaloo, so tomboyish she had once sworn only to wear denim dresses, since they were, according to her, ‘basically jeans.’ She enjoys your stories of your dumb friends, mostly out of relief that you didn’t do all the probably illegal crap they pulled. There’s moments where she closes her eyes and laughs, and the room just lights up with her. There’s one particular moment where this happens, and you see her with her head thrown back, letting out that adorable, cracking laugh of hers, and it feels like time’s stood still. You don’t remember the joke you told, or the joke she responded with afterward, but that moment... it’s one of those few that you know you’ll never forget.

The two of you go on like this for an unknown amount of time, the passage of which too far from your mind to notice. It could have been 15 minutes or hours. But eventually, you notice the pitch blackness outside, and come to understand that its descent hasn’t been recent. The only thing you know about the time is that it’s too late. You’ve got an early train in the morning. Breathing a deep sigh, signaling that the moment is over, you stand up with a groan. You’re not feeling as weak as you did before, thanks to that divine support of the Apple family. That doesn’t mean you’re in good shape -not by any means- but you’re ok. Ok enough to get to bed, at least. Apple Bloom gets up in silence, moving close to you. She knows you’ve gotta go, but won’t do you the disservice of sending you to bed with an empty hand.

The feel of her little hand in yours, so soft and small, yet with surprising strength, means the world to you. Life feels like it could just flow into you through that hand. You squeeze it three times, and she returns the secret message, and you walk up the stairs. The house is dark, and neither of you bother turning on any of the lights. Both of you know the way back, and you don’t want any screaming bulbs to rip you out of this comfy darkness. At the beginning of your stay, you probably would’ve been scared of moving through a huge house without only small moonlight to guide you, but any fear it could have imposed is long gone. This feels like your home, a house filled with love, thankfully including you. You had the silly feeling that, like its tenants, the house loved you; you belonged here, right inside it. And as the warm air gently wafted through, giving you a sensation similar to being under warm covers, and the fuzzy carpet kept your bare feet from getting the chills, you realize you’ve never been quite so cozy as you are now. The feeling is so strong that you find yourself forced to stop, pulling Apple Bloom into a tight hug. Everything is so perfect here at the end of your world, and you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy every last moment you’ve got. you realize you’ve never been quite so cozy as you are now. The feeling is so strong that you find yourself forced to stop, pulling Apple Bloom into a tight hug. Everything is so perfect here at the end of your world, and you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy every last moment you’ve got in this heaven, with your angel. She holds you close, hugging you so tightly.

But everything has to come to an end, you suppose. You stop the hug, and continue moving towards your rooms. Reaching them, she bids you a small farewell, almost too quiet to hear. Seeing her slumped shoulders as she turns to go to her own room, you realize how much this has affected her. It wasn’t like you to notice when others cared for you, and any confessions of liking or needing you were always met with surprise. You just didn’t know your own value. But seeing her now, you realized that you weren’t the only person losing a loved one. In that instant, seeing her unsteady hand grasp her doorknob, your heart was torn in two. No previous relationship’s end, no rebuffed love had ever hurt you like this. You wanted to rush over there, to grab her, kiss her passionately, and stay together for the night. But before your leg can even twitch, your mind stops it with that awful question: why? Isn’t it over? What would even be the point? She turns the knob and opens the door. Say something! Help her! Touch her! Your mind is ablaze with impassioned cries, all doused with hateful doubt. She enters the darkness, closes the door behind her. And all at once, the doubt vanishes, the poisonous voice switching its sabotaging argument to another: it’s too late.

After all this time, after all that help, you hadn’t been fixed. Those jolts of success, bringing you to proud pedestals, after you had succeeded in leaving your room to go be with your family, had deceived you. The conqueror of fears was only a little excursion: you couldn’t overcome that social anxiety without an hour in your room, or without waiting until dinner was over. How could you have thought you could reach out now, when you needed to more than any other time? Even if you wanted to help now, her door was shut. That small hopeful part of you tried to tell you it wasn’t too late, that you could still go in; but the bitter weight upon you overpowered it, the voice becoming no more than a small squeak, serving only to testify to your cowardice.

Heavy with failure, you turn towards your room. Alienated from the house, you suddenly feel a dark chill rushing into you. It might have forced you to fly under your covers, but the oppressive despair forbids any kind of major exertion, and you merely slump towards the bed. You crawl in, the slow motions are dark reflection of the happy, lazy boy you’d felt like during the trip. And there you stay, trying not to cry. When sleep finally finds you, only a small drop of liquid rests on your cheek.

Sunday

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The Following Week

The next day goes predictably, with you lounging about in your room, trying not to go out. Your mother entered in late in the evening, angrily complaining about your father’s minute rebellion and accusing you of disobedience for not telling him to take you anyway. Apparently these parties of hers were family events, and she was some kind of hero for trying to keep the Orange family name high in the Social Register. Towards the end of twenty minutes, your anger had built up to the point where you couldn’t keep it in.

“Shut the fuck up!” You rose from your bed, taking a menacing step towards her. Your mother wasn’t exactly tall, and the illusion of towering over her wasn’t that difficult to achieve. Your eyes narrow and your mouth bares teeth in a hateful sneer. There’s more you want to say, but the terror in her eyes seems like it’s enough to get her out, which you consider an acceptable end. All your previous attacks had been passive-aggressive at best, and during the start of her lecture, you’d just looked vacant, so the sudden ploy at intimidation had caught her completely off guard. She mumbled something more about disrespect and fled the room, the middle-aged dilettante having no way to defend herself against open aggression. It wasn’t really a choice this time, which stood out to you. Usually, you had the patience to bear it; it was something you were used to. But this last week, which was just so incredible and amazing, somehow made everything here worse. Life had been real for a week, had been vivid, instead of this plain, forgettable drudgery. How could you tolerate any of this after what you’d just been through? You knew how good it could be now, and you knew that you could be happy; accepting a life like this wasn’t even an option. Part of you feels guilty about the attack, but its small enough to ignore. She’s had it coming a long time now; and if she was gonna keep you here, it wasn’t gonna be as the perfect son she’d envisioned. That much, at least, you had control over.

You think of texting Apple Bloom, or maybe calling her. But the thought of it scares you too much to try. She wasn’t here, and it was killing you. And if you did talk to her, what would come of that? It’d be great, sure, but wouldn’t that only worsen your situation? Why would you remember her if it only served to remind you how shitty everything here was? You were alone again. You were stuck at this house again. With a pit in your stomach and a massive headache, you reach for your phone and turn it off.

Fumbling with her ticket, she presented it to an angry old man, who hastily waved her on. She’d never been on one of these Greyhound things, although she had used public transportation from time to time. The air was cold and dry, so she pulled her coats tighter around her. They didn’t help much, but getting on the shaky bus seemed to do some good. A few more passengers step on, and the bus takes off. The trip takes most of the day, and multiple times she pities Anon for having to spend almost a full day on this lonely bus, being driven away from his real home. She wasn’t sure how much this trip would help, but she was certain it’d be worth it nonetheless. Things hadn’t been quite the same since he’d left, which was what really prompted the trip. The bus creaked to a stop, and the driver announced her stop. As she got up, a youngster grinned and offered her a hand, but she declined. Stepping off the bus, she hailed a cab, and told him the address. It drove wildly, and a few times she was worried that she’d crash before her quest ended. Finally, the crazy vehicle stopped, and she handed him a wad of cash, then escaped into the darkening streets. Not necessarily safer, but at least she wouldn’t be flung from side to side inside a metal deathtrap. She looked at the mountainous building in front of her, one Goliath among many. Checking the address she’d been given, she confirmed that this was the right one. Walking in, she asked the first secretary she found where she could find Mr. Orange. When asked for ID, and being told it was standard procedure, she confirmed that she was indeed the Ms. Apple that had made the appointment. The secretary had given her a confused look, the southerner not looking like his usual clients, but told him he’d be ready shortly. A few agonizing minutes later, and he was ready for her to come up. She entered the elevator, the pure, sterile metal making her long for the gentle, organic life of her hometown. A small ding preceded the opening of the elevator doors, and she walked out of it and into the office of Anon’s dad.

The way you’re stuck to your bed is reminiscent of a sick person; nothing could force you out of it except the occasional meal. There’s nothing you want to do, nothing that seems worth it. You know Apple Bloom would probably encourage you to get up and go out, but you just don’t have the strength without her and her family. Besides, you don’t want to think of her right now.

The days pass quickly, as soon as you find something to occupy your time with. You were already something of a hermit before your vacation, but now it was worse than ever. Whoever texted or called you was getting a dead line, and you intended on keeping it that way. You blew through Far Cry 3 and finished a couple different runs through Pokémon Emerald and Leafgreen with only a couple cursory visits to the kitchen. The solitude you’d achieved by thrusting your mother out, though it had been a long-standing goal, just felt lonely. The vacation had ruined the things you’d normally enjoy; now that you knew what actual happiness felt like, merely getting by no longer had any hold on you. Right now, the only thing you were focused on was drowning yourself in these games; anything that couldn’t make you forget about your predicament replaced with a game that could do better. This might have gone on forever if a persistent knocking at your door hadn’t forced you out of your cloudy daze. The loud knocks don’t quit, and start mixing with the doorbell. It’s pretty early in the afternoon, a time when both parents are out, so it shouldn’t be for them. When you get down to the door and open it, one of your more obnoxious friends appears in the space.

“Anon, my man! What’s going on!?” He’s got some people behind him, which you guess are your friends too. You mumble a hello to them, and he extends his hand for a high five. Your hand meets his, then he does some other weird thing, after which you realize is your dumb secret handshake. He gives you a ‘what gives,’ expression, and you toss him a bored apology.

“Uh, sorry man, I’m a little out of it.” Immediately he puts on this huge grin and tells you:

“Well, of course! You just spent a week in Hicksville!” He turns to his friends -your friends- and seemingly talks to them. “I know I’d need some time to recover if I’d been forced to spent all that time with a buncha hillbillies!” They laugh at that, except for this one girl in the back. The girl you’d had kind of a crush on before you’d left. She just stares at you, a concerned look on her face. Not really sure of how to respond to that, your feelings for her having disappeared a while ago, you glance over at the speaker. His hand finds your shoulder and grasps it, hard. “Come on, man, I know just what you need. And before you can say or do anything, you’re pulled out of your house. With a sigh, you turn and lock the door, then go and follow the raucous troupe; you don’t want to go, but you don’t want to stay either. There’s just not enough strength in you to make a decision for either; you’re pulled along, and that’s that.

The first place they take you to is The Bee’s Nest, a club you used to frequent. The music’s loud enough that you can’t really hear anything, and the servers are cute enough. Or, they were. You’re becoming less and less aware of the girls around you, with their heavily painted faces and clothes that barely hang on. Stuck in your mind is a picture of Apple Bloom on your last date. She had on those jean overalls with that plain white shirt underneath, and barely any makeup; nothing you’d see any of these girls wearing, but still so far above anything they had to offer. There was a fake bar in this place, which pandered mostly to high schoolers, and so didn’t have much more than a couple sodas to offer. You slump down on it and order a coke from the bartender. The dude’s tall and big, some football player from your high school. He doesn’t say a word to your order, fetching it in silence; kinda reminds you of Big Mac in that way. Your thoughts turn to the Apples, and then to the smallest member of the clan. A sneer of frustration crosses your face, and you barely keep your fist from pounding the table. Why couldn’t you just stop thinking of her?

You go out to the floor and try to dance, but nothing really comes to you. If anything, you look dumber than you normally do, and retire early. Luckily, the friends accompanying you were terrible too, and so you didn’t end up with any spotlight. As you left, they followed your lead to the bar. A drink or too passes, and a few of them try to make conversation with you. This is just as awkward as your last set of motions, and pretty soon, they don’t really try. The leader of the pack, the one who dragged you out here, signals for every to head out, and the lot of you find yourselves outside the pulsing metal doors.

“Alright, I think my buddy Anon here needs something a little stronger to get over that trip. I mean jeez, who’d a thought he’d be that traumatized?” He puts an emphasis on every syllable of traumatized, and everybody laughs, except you and that girl, who keeps up her worried expression.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna bail a little early tonight.” He face looks downright tragic at your denying his request, which is honestly kind of shocking.

“What? Come on, man, this is your welcome back party! You can’t ditch that?” Jeez, you didn’t expect your presence to matter this much to them. It’s not enough to make you stay, but you do come up with an excuse in the hopes that he won’t be too offended.

“Man, I got sick over the trip, and I’m still not much better. Let’s catch up some other time, when I don’t have like, one foot in the grave.” You try to make it sound as natural as possible, but it still feels robotic in your ears. Luckily, the guy takes it, and renames the party in your favor:

“Alright, everybody! Back to my place for the Get-Well-Anon party!” They whoop and cheer, excited about the probably illicit substances that await them, and start off. Except for that one girl who’d been looking at you. Before you turn and head home, she reaches out and grabs your hand.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is wavering, as if she’s nervous.

“Yeah, just a little…” You don’t finish the sentence. There just doesn’t seem to be a point. She doesn’t look satisfied with your answer:

“Um… ok. Hope you feel better.” You nod, giving her a weak attempt at a smile, and she turns and runs to catch up with the group, but not without looking back over her shoulder. You probably should have been nicer to your friends today, maybe made an attempt to have fun. After all, these were the people you were stuck with. Heaving a deep sigh, you make plans of what you’d do next time. Coming home, still in that depressive haze, you notice a package with your name written all over it in bright red. The letter attached says it’s from Apple Bloom.

Without hesitation, you rush upstairs to open it. Even if your parents weren’t here, your room still felt like the only place you could have this present. Your footfalls are heavy on the exotic carpets, still bearing shoes that couldn’t care less about the dirt they spread. Finding your door, you slam it shut in your excitement, then hope that wasn’t sufficient cause for a lecture. Shaking off the mild dread, you bring the package over to your bed and tear into it. The bright red wrapping paper gives you no difficulties, unlike the thick line of ribbon that encircles the package multiple times. After failing to untie the knot, pull off the string, and bite through it, you head over to your desk and grab some scissors. Freeing the present from the shiny trappings, you’re left with a plain brown box with duct tape over the opening folds. Geez, how much protection did this box need? You use the cutting edge of the scissors to open the box, and open the brown flaps.

Inside the somewhat large cardboard box is something purple, with what looks like white lining. It’s cramped within, the object having been squished in there in order to make it fit. Your first guess is a cushion of some king, maybe a stuffed animal. As you grab ahold of it and pull it out, it becomes apparent that it’s a small, rectangular pillow. The main body is purple and the white fuzzy stuff is indeed its lining. The back is plain, with nothing on it. The front has a huge pink felt square in the center of it, concentric to the whole. In the middle of this is a shape which, after some staring, looks to be a combination of an apple and a heart; in reality, it’s a lumpy looking heart with a stem and two leaves coming out the top. Its color is a deep crimson, like her hair. Four letters -well, three and one sign- are stitched into the center of this with thick white string: ‘AB + A.” Apple Bloom and Anon.

Your grin, wider than you have in these last few days spent in the city. You hug the little pillow, pressing it tightly into your chest. You can almost feel her here, her presence alive in her gift. Small tears manifest at the edge of your eyes, warning of an incoming deluge. Fuck, you missed her. Unable to count the blurry days that have passed, all you can say is that it’s been far too long. Memories of her golden eyes, that rosy, curly hair come alive with the pillow, which somehow smells like her. You squeeze it even tighter, trying to fight back the despair coming down on you. A sniffle emerges against your will, and you breathe in deeply, trying to calm yourself down. Before you’d left, there was a strength you’d drawn on, not necessarily coming from her. You can take this. You can be strong, if only for her. Sitting up straight, you blink back your tears. There’d come a time when you saw her again, and when you did, you didn’t want to be some wreck that couldn’t live without her. You had to be something she could look up to, like she’d done during that vacation.

Just as you’re wiping away the final traces of wetness from your eyes, a knocking comes from your door. Your heart sinks; this is almost certainly about you slamming your door. Hoping to deal with this in a calm way -blowing up at your parents isn’t going to work every time- you take a few deep breaths before answering.

“Come in!” The door creaks open, revealing the face of your dad. His eyes are wide with that inquisitive, slightly mocking expression he often wears. But this time it seems a little softer, as if he were sad about something. It’s a little confusing; never seeing your dad, you never really saw him cry. Whenever something upsetting happened, he would just shut himself up in his office or room.

“Hey, son.” The voice matches the tone of his body language: quiet and slightly morose. Geez, what could happen that would make him act this way around you? Was someone dead?

“Is someone dead?” You ask, mostly sarcastic. His face takes on a bewildered look, before giving an astonished:

“What? No! Why would you…” He stops his query midsentence, dropping back into that weary look from before. “Nevermind. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” Moving over to the bed, he sits down on the edge of it. He opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes find the embroidered pillow you’d just received. “Oh, was that the present in the mail? Gosh, that sure looks like something.” Suddenly irritable, you push the pillow off the bed, out of sight.

“What do you want, dad?” Your eyes are probably a little puffy, and you’re not exactly in the mood for having your life pried into. Especially when that part of your life is the best girl you’ve ever known and the prier is your absentee father. His typical absence usually protects him from all the barbs you’ve prepared, and so he’s a little taken aback by the sudden venom. For the second time, he turns his attention back to whatever somber subject he’d been preparing for.

“I, um. I’m not really sure how to say this, so I’ll start from the beginning. Your mother told me that you wanted to stay at Sweet Apple Acres. Is that right?” You nod slowly, narrowing your eyes in your suspicion of something being up. What’s he after? Your dad continues on, taking the vague head bobbing as a yes. “Ok. She also told me that she said no, because we need you in our life, and that there was nothing for you there. Is that true?” A part of you wants to tell him everything, how there was so much good there, and how you finally found a place you could fit in. But you’re still wary of him, so you hold your tongue. Instead, you try and get some more information out of him.

“Why are you asking me this?” He looks at the wall and sighs, scratching the back of his head.

“Uh, the thing is… your mother is not always the most truthful person. And when I picked you up, something seemed different about you. I can’t really say what…” He drops off on this last word, looking down at his knees for a moment, then starting again. “But I don’t know. My point is… No, what I came up here to ask you was: do you want to go back down there?”

“Yes.” Your plan of not showing your hand disappears at the entrance of that question. The words come out of your mouth faster than you can think, and you almost cover your mouth in shock after you’d done it. Instead, you just stare at him worriedly, hoping desperately that this won’t be used against you. All your dad does is look back at his knees and chuckle.

“Heh. Guess you really liked that place, huh.” You nod, unable to say anything more. Is he going to reverse the decision? You’re not brave enough to hope for that, even though you couldn’t want anything more than that. Your father looks at you directly, casting off the apparent sorrow for seriousness. “You great-aunt came to me yesterday. I guess she goes by Granny Smith now.” He shakes his head, trying to push off the old memories of his aunt and focus on the matter at hand. “She said you should be living back with the Apples. Now, I was pretty shocked at that.” He smiles a little bit, a humorous look on his face: “It isn’t every day an elderly lady walks into your office and asks for your kids. But all joking aside, she made a few good points. We talked for a while about you-”

“What’d you say?“ You can’t help but interrupt. He shakes his head.

“Just grown-up stuff. Don’t worry about that. Anyway, she gave me a different story than I’d heard from your mother. And I don’t mean to insult her, but my wife can be a little oblivious to people around her.” He grimaces as he says this, obviously feeling more bitter than he’s showing. But then he cheers up, just barely, and looks at you candidly: “So I wanted to ask you about this. Do you think it’d be better if you lived with your great-aunt her grandchildren?” The understanding in his eyes is too much, and all those emotions at the gate pass through. You start telling him of how great it was being there, how you felt like you’d had caring siblings, and the friends you’d made. You try to keep from saying anything that would suggest you don’t consider him and your mom as family, but the implication does come out. The stories of all the fun outings you’d had, all the good moments, and the affection you’d had, fill the air while your dad nods his head. You finish with the comfortable morning you’d had in the rain, breathless from the desperate outpouring of the events.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I figured something like that had happened. I think your great-aunt might have reported it a little better than your mother, to be honest.” The promise of going back is still hoped for, but his failure to address it cause it to flicker. For a few horrible moments, you wonder if you poured your heart out for no reason at all. But then he addresses it. “Truth be told, having you come back here wasn’t your mother’s call. That’s something that’s up to me. And while I probably would have done the same as her, you should have called me.” You suppress the urge to tell him he probably wouldn’t pick up his phone. “However, after hearing from your great-aunt, I’m beginning to think that she may be right.” He gets up and walks over to your window, wearing a troubled expression.

“About what?”

“About your home being with them. It wasn’t an easy thing to hear, but it sounded like you really found a place with them. And as for here,” he gestures to the house, “I know it isn’t the best home. I, um.” He stops, trying to find the strength to go on. “I know I haven’t always been there for you. In fact, I’ve missed out on a pretty good chunk of your life.” He looks into your eyes, all the practicing of this conversation failing him now. “What I’m trying to say is, I know I haven’t been a very good father. And I know what your mother can be like. So, since you’ve only got a few months before you’re a fully-fledged adult, I don’t see anything wrong with letting you stay down there. I expect you’d be moving out on your 18th anyway, and I don’t see any point in keeping you here any more than you want to.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. All you can do is stare up at him in shock. No way is this happening to you. He seems to understand your reaction somewhat, giving a weak nod. At that little affirmation, the dream come true, you dash forward and give you father a voluntary hug for the first time in a long time. Your dad had resigned himself to a life without a son, and so didn’t expect any kind of affection from you. Upon the grateful squeeze, he laughs softly, and tentatively returns the embrace. It ends a moment later, both parties happy for the gifts given them. Then he stands up, brushing off his pants and clearing his throat.

“Alright. Well, I’ll go give them a call and tell them you’re up for it.” The moment he leaves, you reach down and pick up the pillow, squeezing it tight. You’re going back! You’re going back! Unable to contain one iota of excitement, you leap off you bed and engage in the silliest dancing you’d ever done. You pump your arms in a cheerleader-like victory, offering silent ‘Woo!s” to the room. You’re going back! You take the edges of the pillow and start doing a makeshift two-part dance with it, the same kind of swing you’d done with Apple Bloom in the park. You’re going back! Another few leaps of joy bring your energy low enough to realize you’d left your phone off. What if they tried to talk to you? You dive over to the drawer with your phone in it and extract it. Turning it on, you find more than a few messages left from strange numbers. The first of each announces their names as AJ, Apple Bloom, and even Big Mac. You read them all, texting back Big Mac and AJ, then preparing to call Apple Bloom. Before you can hit “call,” a text from your father comes through:

“They’re coming up tomorrow to get you.” Muting another victorious cheer, you go back to Apple Bloom’s number and hit ‘call.’

“Anon?”

“I’m coming back!” She gives a girlish scream in response, prompting you to hold the phone away from your ear for a moment.

“No way!”

“Yeah! My dad just said I could!” You can barely talk through your smile, which stretches from ear to ear. It almost hurts to be this happy.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! When are you coming over?” Her excitement is palpable, and you can tell that her smile is just as wide as yours. You tell her you’re coming over tomorrow, and she immediately begins telling you everything you’re gonna do with her over the summer. The way she lists everything makes it sound like she’s planned this before, and merely reciting it now. You can’t remember what made you shut off your phone, remove yourself from that beautiful voice. The notes work their way deep within you, the silver bells the most perfect music you’d ever heard. Each word brings you a deeper peace, granting you a fullness you’d never felt before now. For now, there was no threat of losing her: you were going to be with her, and nothing was gonna stop you. She tells you all the plans she’s made during the summer, and your schedule begins to grow with activities you can hardly wait for. Swimming in the old swimming hole, meeting Sweetie Belle’s sister, going camping at a nearby forest, maybe even trying something they call Mooncider. Your heart beats so quickly, the moment still seeming like some thin dream to be popped in a moment. The minutes fly by, your heart soaring above the clouds and resting the brilliant sunshine of her words. You can barely concentrate on what she says with how excited you are, the feeling going beyond any kind of high. The sweet tones of your favorite girl start to lull you to sleep, the daydreams of a future spent with the Apples nearly becoming true dreams. Then she has to go, citing an early morning ordered by AJ. You bid her a goodnight, and tell her you love her.

“I love you too.” And then the click signals her departure. Inside, you’re about to explode with joy. Immediately you start over to your dresser, tossing great heaps of clothes on your bed. You sprint downstairs to the laundry room and pick up two big suitcases, then rush upstairs just as fast. In a rush greater than any dose of candy could give you, you fill it up with everything you’d need, then set them by the door. You’ve still got way more energy than you know what to do with. There’s not much you can do, so you just collapse on your bed and play some video games. It’s nothing more than a placeholder, something to bring you from one moment to the next. But for now, that’s completely fine. All you want is for tomorrow to come. Eventually the excitement wears off, the resulting crash leaving you sleeping with a Venusaur shining brightly on your chest, waiting for instruction.

You wake up in a daze, still not fully cognizant, but still noticing some weight lifted off you. When you get out of bed to brush your teeth, you notice the packed suitcases at your door. A new rush and ecstasy blows through you upon the recollection of yesterday’s events. The majority of the day is filled with restlessness, playing video games while glancing at the window every few seconds. The continual lack of Apples in your driveway is distressing, each failure of them to appear creating a sinking feeling in your gut. It’s not anything major, just a small voice telling you that they won’t show, that it’s not gonna happen. You struggle to fight it off, sacrificing the day’s hours to your games with as little thought as possible given to it. Every nerve feels like its lit up with energy, even after hours of waiting. Occasional trips for food are unwillingly taken when the hunger pangs grow stronger than the need to keep your driveway in view. Each time you pop something in the microwave, and rush back upstairs when it’s over. The electricity within you never fades completely, the image of Apple Bloom always starting you back up whenever you’ve grown somewhat complacent. And then, right after coming back from the bathroom, there’s a van in your driveway. Voices from below report of your dad’s presence, along with AJ and Granny Smith. Still no sound of your favorite cousin of all. You speed downstairs, and engulf AJ the moment she enters your sight. She returns the gesture, squeezing you for all you’re worth. Once she lets go, you can see her huge smile, happier than you’d ever seen her. You turn to Big Mac, and offer him a firm handshake. Even though you feel more vibrant and energetic than ever before, you still manage to refrain from hugging the guy; he’s definitely not that kinda guy. Instead, you grin and vigorously shake his hand:

“Welcome to the Big Apple, Big Mac.” He responds to the hearty handshake, chuckling softly at the terrible pun. Before you can do anything more, he pulls your hand and wraps you in the burliest hug ever. It ends after one bone-crushing moment, the big lug laughing at the pained sounds you’d made. Unable to hold off, you ask where the other members are.

“Where’s Granny? And, uh, Apple Bloom?” You try not to forget the former in all your excitement to see the latter.

“Granny’s staying home; travelin’ ain’t too good for her. And Apple Bloom’s out back, waiting for you.” Rocketing out the back door, you see Apple Bloom standing by one of the young oak trees. You looked at Apple Bloom as if for the first time. The teenage girl couldn’t have been more than a couple feet away, one or the both of you closing the distance without notice. It was her eyes that caught yours, the first aspect to capture you. They were large, the wide, inimitable position that accompanies honest hope. The color wasn’t yellow, not quite; the hue was darker, but the shining, naked excitement that made its home in those eyes brought out a gleaming gold to them. Within those sparkling amber pools resides two dilated pupils aimed directly at you. The pale white encircling the hypnotizing circles, by some trick of the eye, seemed to borrow the light hues of the gold within and tan without. The eye itself was carefully and exquisitely lined with the thinnest black trim and curled lashes barely accentuated, the light makeup providing a perfect frame for her perfect eyes. Staring into the two perfect globes, you felt as if you had met some molten image of an Egyptian God, the sandy tones recalling a stylized drawing of Cleopatra. Only these eyes were not bound by the haughty half-glare of the proud ruler, but the open, embracing gaze of a friend. As she continued her responding stare, the open, almost awestruck form of her eyes settled into a more elliptical shape, crinkled at the edges, as a great grin crossed her face.

Your sight lingered on those royal visions before slowly falling to the nose below. The perfection of a nose had never been a subject to cross your mind, your interests lying aside the sphere of art. But here you found what you would call such, the small, adorable nose shocking you with an appreciation for a usually overlooked aspect. The sides and lower edges did not have the deep inclines that framed craggier, harder faces. Instead, her soft, pale skin transitioned seamlessly into the smooth nose, speckled with little brown freckles.

The thin, creased lines framing the ends of her cheek, accentuated by her full smile, pointed towards the sides. These drew your attention to the full cheeks, raised by the abundant ecstasy written on her entrancing countenance. They held a faint rosy tinge, perhaps from a blushing confession of her happiness to see you, perhaps from a touch of rouge in preparation for your reunion, perhaps both. They were almost puffy, two rounded orbs pushing out. But these enhanced the childish innocence and perfection of her face, rather than making any detraction. This was not the emaciated face of a camera-distorted model, warped into something impossible; this was the face of a real girl, a living girl. These were the warm, thick cheeks of a healthy young girl, the kind you could embrace and kiss, and who could do the same for you rather than sitting frozen on a page.

Looking to the sides of her face, you noticed the slightly larger ears poking out of the thick hair that fell alongside her plump cheeks. They were relatively big, not massive, but still more than expected; this bothered you little, the slight imperfection only confirming the reality of the vision before you. She looked down for a moment, brushing the hair on her right side behind her ear. The lobe at the bottom was unattached, and held a small hole, earrings foregone for this event. Pulling yourself away from the suddenly present image of brushing her hair back yourself and placing your lips on that dangling skin, the silken strands themselves fall into notice.

The brilliant crimson of her hair was revealed in full as it bathed in the light of the evening sun. The thick curls, turned into ringlets for this occasion, bounced at any motion of her head. The undulating shadows cast by other threads created differences in the complex patterns, a range of dark pink to deep crimson emerging in the diversity of illumination. The thick spirals settled one on top of another, swirling like the wind of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It flowed down both sides her head, alighting softly onto mostly bare shoulders. A heavy bundle of twirling reds keeps falling onto her spotless forehead, noticed and brushed away in moments, then falling back no sooner than it takes for her to have faith in its stay.

Moving downward, the crimson mouth arrests your attention like her eyes did. Her mouth was small from side to side, yet could still stretch widely to grant you the massive smile she now had on. The lips themselves were moderately large, still looking puffy during the smile. You could see that she’d colored them a deeper kind of pink, not the passionate crimson from your date. Still, the shiny curves beckoned you, the smooth “m” of the top setting your heart aflutter. Visions of your thumb sliding across that perfect red line, your own lips falling towards them cloud your mind; had you been alone, you would have recreated that moment here and now. Instead, you take a step back, intending to say something, but instead falling under the spell of the rest of the sweet country girl.

She wears a small red dress, the color matching that of her irises. Thin straps, about half an inch wide, hug the tops of her shoulders, hiding beneath that glowing red hair. It’s lined thinly with white, and goes down to mid-thigh, flaring out just a bit after the waistline. Below this you can see tight white shorts hugging her legs to just above the knees, the shapely forms beneath evident. Over the waistline, she wears a little white belt with a golden buckle. The dress itself isn’t form-fitting, but is close enough to see the curves of her little tummy and the push of her fair breasts against it. Tall white socks reach close to her knee, ending in ruby red shoes to rival Dorothy’s.

She stands just beside a tree, whose shadow blocks the full deluge of the setting sun. The sunshine is cut by the curved trunk of the mighty tree. As such the light fell on half her body, the other half lit only by reflections of the former rays. The two parts, shining and glowing, were partitioned diagonally, starting at her right ear and ending just above her left knee, with the higher part being the shaded area. It was just so that you could see the skin of her left shoulder and arm aglow, the golden hue matching her eyes in color and gleam.

She was beautiful.

This was the girl that was so full of life, she could be mistaken for some deific incarnation of life itself. Her every smile sang like the birds of the morning, the glint of her eyes shining with the brightness and hope of a young child. With every motion she seemed to radiate with energy, the forward momentum of a carefree nature or a determined young man. She was electric, like a bolt of lightning. Only she stayed. She was here, and she was present. Though she was so much, so beautiful and so full of life, she was just as human as you or anyone else was. And that only made her more so! She was not some abstract theory, some ideal dreamed by a poet or a superman created in the furrowed brow of a philosopher., She was a real girl, a living, breathing beauty that you could touch and hold and kiss and love!

This was the girl healed you, mended you. And though you weren’t perfect, it was as if a bandage had been placed over your heavy wounds. The first steps to healing, so desperately needed after years of being untended, laid ragged on the side of the road. But though so long had passed, and so many had passed you by, one had finally come to you. And that gentle girl, the healer who had noticed you, had been perfect. The streams of anger and hurt still ran in you, but the turbulence had largely fallen; the roar had become a groan, occasionally a whisper. And as you look inside yourself, you know that it was going to be alright. You’re on the mend. But no way would you allow this to be one-sided. True, she just didn’t have issues so raw and vile, but there were problems for her that were just as important. You are going to do whatever you can to protect that smile; you never really thought of yourself as that important or interesting, but you had the willpower going for you, and that’s something to trust in. She picked you; you are going to live up to that, and earn your appointment. Looking into those eyes, those that set your heart on fire, you foresee a challenge in your future to never let her down. And you won’t.

The silent gazing continues, the smiles slowly fading; not for any loss of happiness, but for a new, more intimate kind. Your eyes meet, almost somber looks taking into the importance of this moment and each other. How long had you known this girl who had touched you so thoroughly? Barely a week ago, you’d been hanging by a thread, a patchwork Frankenstein waiting for the one thread to break, followed by an instantaneous unraveling. And then the Apples had come into your life, piecing you back together. AJ and Granny Smith had helped you, you’d even developed a solid, though distant, relationship with the silent Big Mac. But Apple Bloom was the one who’d pursued you, who taken and healed you to such a degree. You wished vainly that your quiet gaze could show her how much she meant to you, how much you cared, and how thankful you were. You doubted it; but you were going to be this girl’s steed, knight, cousin, friend, and whatever else she needed to make her life complete. It wasn’t just that you owed her, but that you wanted to; this girl deserved the best, and you were going to be the one that makes sure she gets it.

As you stand looking at her, for almost a minute, you remember the others inside. Your gaze falters, turning from your gorgeous cousin to the door. Perhaps you should re-enter, start packing or saying goodbye. But as your eyes return from the door to your cousin, it’s evident her eyes haven’t left you since she’d first begun looking at you. No, you won’t. This is the person you want to, need to be with right now. And this is the girl you’re going to be with right now.

Her arms raise, a jerky movement showing the restraint she’d placed upon it, into an empty pre-embrace. She smiles crookedly as she offers a hug, not being familiar with this kind of moment, and deciding a hug is the best way to resolve the sad look in her cousin’s eyes. She was right. Without hesitation you closed the distance, your legs lowering so your arms might go below hers. In place, you hug her tightly, then extend your bent legs, lifting the girl into the air. She lets out a cute “eep!” and buries her head into your neck. Not finished yet, you lift your left leg up and rotate it 90 degrees, then begin spinning her counterclockwise, pivoting on your feet. Her legs float up as you increase your speed, enough to make the excited girl laugh at the unforeseen display of affection. You join her, throwing your head back and laughing.

As you slow, and set her down, she leans into you, still grinning and giggling. But hey, you’re grinning like an idiot too. Looking down at the girl holding onto you, the good news finally catches up with you, engulfing you in the purest joy you’d felt in years. For it wasn’t just the joy of connection with your family, your real family, it was freedom. The whole trip, there’d been this fog hanging over you, never too far from the back of your mind; it constantly reminded you: “you’re still going back. You still belong to the Oranges.” But now that cloud was broken, a future expanding out before you. You were going back to the Apples. You belonged to the Apples. Even if your last name remained, it didn’t matter. Looking into the gorgeous eyes of Apple Bloom, you knew what you were when it came down to it.

You were an Apple, to the core.

Monday

Ugh. The Greyhound bus pulls up to the stop, your earthly Charon come to collect. The brakes scream like a river of dying souls as the dingy mammoth shudders to an unseemly halt. You pick up your handful of bags - just the necessities, some books, and your Nintendo DS- and head towards the hateful ferry.

”Dearie, please,” comes the voice of your mother. You turn back to the sight of your mother, dressed up like she was going to one of her banquets. She’d come to see you off to your relative’s home. Although it was more likely that she was just making sure you got on the bus. After all, you certainly didn’t want to go to some orchard in the middle of nowheresville. You were a city boy through and through, made for the streets and clubs of Manhattan and you were being sent on a forced vacation to some distant relatives, though you couldn’t remember even meeting them.

”Don’t just run off without saying goodbye to your mother.” You turn towards her with a venomous glance. Appearances were always so important to your mother; the image of the perfect family being the totality of her goals. However, she did hold the key to your trust-fund, and wasn’t afraid to hold it ransom. Fear of poverty and vitriol were unable to come to peace, and you ended up saying

“Goodbye Mother dear. I’ll miss you,” with your glare still directed squarely at her. She stares back blankly. So caught up in her own act, she heard the words without the context.

“I’ll miss you too, Sweetheart. And so will your father.” Ah, your father. He had long upheld the tradition of being absent, but only recently begun shedding the tradition of explaining why. Reports of meetings, traffic, sickness, work, and so forth had been substituted for your father’s presence until you had lost your desire for it. Your mother looks at her watch, a genuine expression crossing her face for once. In horror, she exclaims

“Oh dear! I’m going to be late for my banquet!” and without another word to you, she turns abruptly and waddles out to her car. Your turn, always eager to part ways with any experience with your mother. At least there’s one positive side to leaving Manhattan. The conductor is staring at you, impatiently tapping his foot while he waits for your ticket. You slap your ticket in his hands, looking at him with the disdain you’d be taught to have at a young age. The old gremlin hands you your stub back and mumbles something you don’t care to listen to. And with that, you board the bus

The ride is uneventful. You sleep most of the way, play video games for the rest. Hearing the driver announce Ponyville as the next stop, you begin packing your things. Half awake, you drag your bag to the doors, and wait for the bus to stop. That familiar, harpy-esque screeching returns once more, as if the bus aimed to grant you one more gift to remember it by. You grimace, and ignore it until the bus lurches to a stop, almost tipping you over. The door opens, and golden light fills the entryway. You take a step outward into the folksy little station, your mouth curling upward at the dead station in front of you.

You had come from a living world, buildings and stations thriving and bustling with people. Here, in this sparsely populated little town, was just a few old folks, looking bored as they waited to die. Among the few people, you spotted a group you presumed to be your own. A tall, dark skinned man with a great brown backpack hugging his shoulders, golden hair stuck out in all directions. Next to him, a small girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, whose most distinguishing feature was the massive red bow on her head. She held a great white sign, with black marker spelling out “Anon Orange,” and was hopping up and down

Uh. Wow. She’s looking around frantically, as if she couldn’t find her target. There was only one other person exiting the bus, an old Mexican lady. Clearly her powers of deduction were sub-par. The man with her had been looking at you since you got here, making up for her. You stick your hand and wave it in the air, just so the girl would stop whisking her head back in forth. She spots your signal, and drops the sign as she sprints towards you. You don’t have time to process just what’s happening until you feel her small body colliding with your very tired self. You stagger backwards, losing three steps before gaining your balance. As you straighten yourself up, you feel two thin arms squeezing you with a strength they have no right to. You look down at the constrictor, and the bow brushes your chin as she leans her head back. A pair of golden eyes, holding shades of light red to orange, meet yours, and a big, white-toothed smile opens to say

“Welcome to Ponyville, Anon!” If the attempted tackle hadn’t shocked you out of your drowsy state, the sheer volume sure did

“Uh, sure, alright,” you respond, a pained expression join forces with pushing arms in an attempt to force off this invader. Neither succeed, although she does loosen one arm to point to the dark man, who’d appeared soundlessly in front of you

“I’m Apple Bloom! An this here’s Big Mac!” He nods at that, his eyes directed towards you, with an expression either serious or vacant. Finally, she drops off you and takes a few steps back, continuing her wide grin. You take a deep breath, never having missed air before this moment. After a few wheezes, you’re situated again. “Are you okay there?” Apple Bloom asks you, her head cocked to one side. Man, what is this little girl’s deal?

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine,” you mutter, trying to cut off any connection with this overenthusiastic kid before it starts. Big Mac’s got his left eyebrow raised slightly, proving that he is not, in fact, a statue.

“C’mon,” His deep voice matches his dark, heavy look. You don’t have a lot of time to consider it, what with him turning on his heel and moving away. He moves purposefully, neither hurrying nor strolling. Apple Bloom perks up at the sound of his heels on the hard stone floor, and jumps towards him, each motion of her legs closer to a bound than an actual step. You bring out your trademark grimace as you mournfully try to match their quick pace. Though Apple Bloom’s chokehold woke your mind up, your body is still trying to sleep. That, along with your heavy bags, marks the attempt to keep up as impossible, which you’re sure will define this next week . Ugh

You’re halfway to the door when the two Apples reach it, looking back to see you heaving, dragging your luggage behind you. You glare at them, furious at their desertion of you. Big Mac huffs, then leans back against the wall, patiently waiting for you to catch up . Apple Bloom, however, speeds towards you at a similar pace as before. You shut your eyes and brace yourself, hoping not to be flung to the ground this time. Instead, your feel nothing but a slight weightless on your arms as two bags are lifted from you. Her dazzling smile expectantly waits for you to open your eyes, and greets you as you do so. Her high voice, thick with the accent of this town, pips up once more

“I got em, Anon! Don’t you worry! She turns to her older brother, unmoved: “I got it, Big Mac! Don’t you worry!” He nods his head, not worrying. With the extra weight lifted, you manage to shamble slightly faster, and manage to greet the patient farmer at the door. He opens the door for you, letting you stumble past him, a bounding bow in close pursuit. A tattered old truck sitting in the center of the mostly vacant parking lot, which you assume is your destination. Along the way, your eager cousin, unable to contain her no-doubt illimitable energy, she charges forward to the truck. She tosses the bags into the bed, and, seeing that the two slower member of this party are only 3/4s of the way there, she jumps up on the side and begins kicking her legs and whistling. You turn to Big Mac, asking

“Is she always like this?” Big Mac looks towards you, a slight glare encouraging you to shut up. You gracefully comply. You toss your bags in the back, and walk to the passenger’s side. Absent-mindedly, you open it and get in, shutting the door behind you. You forget that there are three passengers, only to be reminded of the matter when Apple Bloom opens it and pushes to into the middle seat. You find yourself squeezed between the two Apples, the cabin being intimately tiny. This couldn’t get worse, you think, silently sulking. Things get worse immediately when Apple Bloom reaches past you and turns on the radio

“Go get it out boy! Say I’m the only one that makes you this crazy!” Oh no, please no, no country please. Apple Bloom jumps a little bit in excitement when she hears the sound, and chimes in with her high-pitched voice. “Come on, tell me how boy! How I’m the only thing you’re thinkin ‘bout lately!” Your iPhone’s in your pocket, along with earbuds. You try to reach them, each new verse increasing the frantic attempts to access your pockets. You can’t get into them, due to the close quarters of the truck. However, as a blessing in disguise, Apple Bloom stops when she notices your hand working its way between your thigh and hers, which have been pressed together. The blessing doesn’t last long:

“Anon, why are ya touching my leg like that?” she asks innocently, while Big Mac whips his face you-wards, his furious eyes burning a hole in your head

“I was looking for my headphones! I was trying to get into my pocket!” comes your panicked cry. You may not be from around here, but you know not to cross the silent, strong types. You scootch closer to him, trying to increase the visibility of the situation, which you point at

“See! There’s like, no way I couldn’t touch her leg!” He glares at you even harder, while Apple Bloom just looks at the both of you questioningly. Then, miraculously, he pulls back and lets out a soft chuckle

“I know. Real tight in here.” You exhale most of your terror and move back over, your life spared for the moment. The rest of the ride passes with silence form you and Big Mac, and unending crooning from the littlest farmer. The scrappy little truck pulls up to a giant barn, followed by Big Mac turning it off . This causes the radio to stop, along with the chipper sing-along; you’d be raising your hands in the air with the biggest cheer if there were room. Your cousins hop out of the car, and your sides feel like they expand, free from their imposing bodies. You follow them out, only to be greeted by the most horrifying of gargoyles. Green-tinged skin, wispy white hair, and a gnarled hand… that’s coming right for you! You instinctively take a step back, narrowly avoiding the grossest hand pat in the world

“Well howdy there, Anon!” The old lady creaks, her hand receding to its previous place by her side. “Boy, I haven’t seen you since you were this tall,” she exclaims, holding up her hands to show about a foot in length. This must be Granny. You’d hoped she was the kind of old person that sat in their room and wouldn’t communicate unless it was to instruct you to turn that racket down. Because old people, as scientists have proven, are way super icky. True to your beliefs, your own great aunt was threatening you with her affections, the withered hands ready to spring on and ravage your cheeks with pinches. With a truly forced smile, more of a grimace, you nod along as she recites some pointless family story. Apple Bloom had been awestruck by it holding onto every word, whereas Big Mac was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. In all your pretending you listen, you didn’t hear her tell you that they were going down to somebody’s house to pick up AJ.

If you’d been listening, you’d know that she was just finishing up band practice, and needed a ride. She had asked if you wanted to come, and said that if not, you could just stay home and unpack. You, hearing only the tone, and recognizing it as a question, responded with an over-exuberant yes. She smiled wide, showing off every one of her snaggly teeth, and began marching down to the truck. She opens the door for you, and a pit opens up in your stomach. Instead of climbing in, she just smiles there, barely moving. Apple Bloom had charged in, eager to ride next to you again, but Granny pulled her back out with some terrifying secret strength, reminding her that there wasn’t much space. This ride managed to be even worse than the ride up here, merely through the awkwardness of riding with Big Mac, who didn’t say a word.

You arrive at some weird-looking house that’s all shimmery, as if it were made out of crystals or glass or something. It’s standing alone, almost in the middle of the street, like a one-house cul-de-sac, with other houses forming a perimeter around the street leading up to it. You hop out of the truck once Big Mac brings it to a halt, and look up at it. If the sun weren’t directly in your eye, you may have gotten a better look instead of a piercing pain. Shutting your eyes and looking down, the sound of a car door slamming informs you of Big Mac’s exit. Without the distraction of the titanic house, your ears pick up a faint rumbling, or something like that. Hard to put a word to it, especially with it being so faint. Blurry eyed from the ray of sun, you follow the hazy form of Big Mac as he ascends the steps and enters without even knocking. Come on man, have some manners. The open door no longer blocking the sounds from inside, you can clearly hear the frenetic clamor of a garage band. You wipe your feet on the welcome mat and follow Big Mac down a series of halls and stairs, each heralding greater volume as you close the distance. He opens the final door, and you’re met with a cascade of noise and teenage girls jumping about

Big Mac finds a seat near the door and sits, hands in his lap. Already tired from the train ride and the family, you sit down sullenly beside him, not at all happy to listen to this. It’s not that bad, as you happen to notice through your burgeoning headache. You’re just a bit too exhausted for this now. Your head falls into your hands, and stays there through the end. As the music crashes to a close, a voice tells everyone that that was almost as awesome as its owner. Some more clamor, this time with voices, some crashing of instruments, and then a pat on your shoulder. Your head transports itself to your left hand, your left elbow supporting itself on your knee, and you mumble a concise

“Euuugh... sup?” A smiling girl, bending over so that she’s eye level, asks you how you were doing. The cowboy hat on her head tells you that this is your cousin Applejack

“You’re Anon, aren’tcha?” she asks in a lazy Southern drawl

“Yes, that would be me”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet ya! I’m Applejack! Didn’t much expect you to be here at band practice, but I cain’t say I’m unhappy about it!” She beckons the girls over to you, and your spirits rise as a torrent of cute girls assemble before you. A litany of odd-sounded names match the odd-looking girls, and you smile your biggest at each of them. Maybe something good can come from this trip after all. Your meetings seem to go adequately, with the pick-haired one offering you a more radiant smile than the rest.

A brief round of goodbyes pass, and you’re back to the truck, an extra member tagging along. A phone number marks itself as the singular piece of luck you’ve scraped up in this unfortunate trip. Applejack sits close next to you, making you feel a bit uncomfortable in a different way than the others. Apple Bloom had been too spritely, Big Mac too imposing, Granny too old. But Applejack was nice to you, flashing a gorgeous smile constantly, her light laughter filling your eyes as she told hilarious stories about her bandmates. She had this strange combination of girliness, like that of that pink girl, while being distinctly grounded, or down-to-earth. You were liking her a little too much, considering her being related to you. It wasn’t a full on crush, nothing like that. Just a bit of affection you weren’t too overjoyed to entertain. And so it was that you mimicked Big Mac, and silently wandered off inside your own head. The truck stopped, and you slide out of the car, Applejack in short pursuit

“Here, lemme help you find your room.” You thank her, and look into the bed of the truck. Your shit!

“My shit!” Applejack looked almost as shocked at your wording as you were at the disappearance of your luggage. Your eyes darted over to Big Mac, as you worriedly asked “Where’s my stuff?”

“They got it,” came his typically short reply, as he pointed towards the house. You breathed a sigh of relief, and began the march up to the house. You find Applejack behind you, her lips pursed and her eyes stony. What’s eating her?

“You know, you really shouldn’t be swearing, anon. Ah get that that’s what they do back up in the city, but that ain’t how we do things here.” Oh man, was she serious, you say to yourself, keeping yourself from laughing but not smirking. She continues looking at you with those uncomfortably cold eyes. Huh. Guess she was. You nod, and toss out a meek promise not to ever do it again. Though you can tell she doesn’t completely buy it, she seems somewhat satisfied by the words. You make it into your house, and almost start off to your room before remembering you don’t know where your room is

“Hey, where’s my room?”

“Anoooooon!” comes a small, chipper voice. Oh geez, it’s friggin Apple Bloom again. The small, sunburnt body of the smallest Apple comes stomping across the banister above you. She runs hallway down the stairs, grips the railings, and vaults to the bottom with a loud “Oof!” and a frightening stomp

“Apple Bloom!” her elder sister chides, “Ah told you not to be jumping down those stairs! You could hurt yourself or someone else!” Apple Bloom might have heeded the advice, but in her temporary shame, she looked away and saw a suppressed smile on your face. It was a pretty cool jump, after all; AJ had almost jumped in the air. Your approval accidently given, Apple Bloom shook off the look of embarrassment. She nodded obediently to AJ, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. AJ begins to lead you upstairs, but Apple Bloom chokes out a quick “wait!” She cuts herself off abruptly once AJ turns to look at her. She looks at her older sister, her eyes widening to an absurd, heart-melting degree. Her small hands reach up to her mouth, making a prayer-like gesture

“Pleeeease, please please please-” she whines, adding another plea to the mysterious wish. Her older sister glances from her to you, then back at her. A comic smile crosses her lips, and she nods her assent before turning back to you

“Apple Bloom asked if she could help you unpack. Would you be alright with that?” you shrug your shoulders, not really caring for the idea, but ready to accept help with your luggage. Apple Bloom jumps in the air, and grabs the bag you’d lain at your feet, then rushes upstairs. More awake now, you move up the stairs at a greater pace than your typical saunter. A wide, vacant hallway greets you, with no trace of Apple Bloom. Her sweet voice calls out from one of the bedrooms.

“Ahnon! Ah’m in here!” You follow the voice into the room furthest back and to the right. Oh good heavens

Apples. Apples everywhere. Apple rug set over a soft red and green floor. Apple drapes and apple wallpaper. Apple blankets and sheets on the bed with apples carved into it. Apple girl lying on the bed, your non-apple possessions strewn about. If there was ever an apple-obsessed serial killer, this is what their house would look like. You walk over to the bed, still trying to take in all the apples. Your littlest cousin sets down the shirt she was refolding and scooted over to you

“Anon, Ah’m real glad you’re here.” The girl’s exuberance had been slowly turning from annoying to perplexing, impelling you to ask

“Why?”

“Well,” she starts off, matter-of-factly, before lying down on her bad and tracing apples on your blankets, “This place can get kind of boring.” Not trusting your ability to respond without sarcasm, you lift your eyebrows
“Ah know, it doesn’t seem like it,” she explains, buying your ruse of surprise, “but there’s just not that much to do!” She sits straight up, her frustrated pout threatening to melt your heart, “And the worst part is, the only thing anyone around her wants to talk about, or do stuff with, is apples!” She stand up on the bed and begins acting out caricatures of her kin

“Come on now, sis,” she says with her chin thrust forward and her hands on her hips, “We all gotta work together. That’s what being a family’s all about! That’s why you can’t keep blowing up parts of the barn with your friends crazy experiments!” You tilt your head and widen your eyes in confusion, but she moves ever onwards. She hunches over, closing her eyes and waving a shaking finger in front of her

“Now now, little Apple Bloom, back in my day, we never wore awesome clothes or when tree-surfing.” her voice, now creaky and labored, groans “We only wore lame clothes and married whoever our parents wanted us to.” She straightens up, pushing her mouth downwards to make a morose, bored-looking face. Then she just looks at you for a few seconds with blank eyes, followed by an “Eeyup,” in her deepest voice. Which of course is not even close to deep. Then her legs collapse under her, and she falls on her behind, sighing deeply. You feel like you oughtta be defending her family or something. That’s what you were taught to do

“Apple Bloom, that’s wrong,” you say, looking sternly at her. In the face of her disappointment and regret, you tell her “It’s more like this.” You open your jaw and let it hang, and soften and unfocus your eyes as you look at her but appear as if looking through her.

“Eeeyup,” you drawl, emphasizing each syllable by tilting your head down, then up. And your little cousin bursts out laughing beside you

“No no no, he’s like this!” She stands straight up, stiff as a board, and does even better . A couple more minutes of impressions, and Apple Bloom is positively glowing. Even more than before, if you could guess. Still, this time her exuberance doesn’t bother you. Laughter, high-pitched, squeaky and touched by her accent, rings through the room. You find yourself joining her, a rumbling chuckle turning into an uproar. You hunch yourself over to an absurd degree, you face almost meeting your knee and tell her in the most crackly, witchy voice you can muster

”Why you little-un ain’t oughhta bein laughin at your elders! I youghta be paddlin’ yer hide!” Snickers keep erupting from you during your performace, but Bloom doesn’t seem to mind, judging by her gasping for air through her laughing. A hard knock interrupts the two of you. The two of you shut up right quick, fearing you’d been caught

“Reckon they heard us?” a meeker Bloom whispers to you

“Not sure how they couldn’t,” you respond, suddenly aware of how loud you’d been. “Except maybe Granny.” Bloom snickers at that, then sits up straight when the door opens. The stern face of Applejack enters, gazing at the two of you with a squint Clint Eastwood could only dream of having.

“Hey, Applejack, what’s up?” You say coolly, familiar in the circumstance of keeping secrets. You try to control your scowl, which always arose in the face of authority figures. A partial success, as your mouth had moved to a state of neutrality, but your eyes .

“Oh, just wanted to see what all the ruckus was about,” she responds, looking at you evenly, then over at Bloom. Bloom gulped guility, ruining what might have been a good cover. AJ’s eyes glanced over the room
“Noticed you two ain’t unpacked yet.” You grin facetiously,

“Well, there was a lot, and we just got kinda intimidated.” Applejack looks over at your three bags, then back to you. You didn’t know eyes could get that narrow. Then she shrugs, and with a big sigh, offers to

“help y’all out.” Dinner’s gonna be pretty soon.” The three of you make short work of your belongings, with a minor hitch in the process

“Cool,” Bloom says, holding a pair of your Neon Genesis Evangelion boxers in the air, stretching the elastic waistband. You blush furiously, and swipe them out of her hands while she laughs at you. AJ’s points a “you serious?” look your way, then goes back to putting your jeans in the dresser. You harrumph, and stick your nose in the air. Ain’t nobody gonna insult your rad boxers. No sooner do you finish than you hear a triangle clanging like a frantic church bell. You guess that’s it

“Alright, let’s go on down,” AJ says, walking towards the door. Bloom had started to ease open your underwear drawer, when she’s caught

“Apple Bloom!” her sister cries, a partly incredulous, partly infuriated look crosses her face

“Aw,” she pouts, then shuffles towards the door

“Stop looking at my bloomers, Bloom.” She chuckles at this, before stopping when her sister’s look returns. As the two of your exit, AJ follows. You hear her mutter, barely audible.

“…and that is not how I sound…” Heh. The three of you head down the stairs, the loud creaking announcing your arrival. A sumptuous smell shocks you as you hit the landing. You dart into the dining room, eager to find the source of this spellbinding scent. An incredible spread meets your eye, the perfect welcome to a first meal. A straight up roast turkey sits pretty in the center, surrounded by potatoes and stuffing. A tray of butter accompanies the steaming mashed potatoes. The whole meals lies in glittering metal dishes, intricate patterns traced upon the edges. A loaf of garlic bread, a gravy train, and a great bowl of yams fill the rest of the table in. Your face must have reflected the awe you felt, because you’re seeing AJ grinning at you out of the corner of your eye

“We figured, since this is the first time we’ve seen you in years, we oughtta welcome you in style.” You nodded and thanked her over and over, more touched by the inclusion than you’d like to admit. The rest of the Apples have already been seated, and you join them. Bloom sits next to you, of course, her chair surreptitiously scooting close to you. The lot of you load up your plates, faces eager in anticipation. Before you dig in, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and notice everyone’s heads bowed. Their hands are joined, two being offered to you. Oh yeah. You’d done this a long time ago, before your mother decided it was unfashionable. You grasp the hands beside you, and bow your head as well.

“Bless us, oh Lord, in these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through
Christ, our Lord.” comes AJ’s voice, followed by a resounding “Amen!” It’d been a long time since you’d been a part of this, but you felt a little comforted by it, though you’d expected the opposite. And then you dig in. Pile of food after pile of food is shoveled into your mouth, your appetite greater than you’d noticed. A bottle of sparkling cider makes its way to you, and you make good use of it. After the greater portion of the meal is concluded, you sit back and sigh, occasionally munching on more. Granny speaks up, her toothy smile less disturbing to you

“Well, how’d ya like it?” You can’t help but return a grin

“It was absolutely fantastic! I can’t believe you did this for me!” Your favorite Apple pipes up next to you, a graceful smile warming your heart.

“That’s how we treat kin round here, Anon.” You reactively smile at the kindness, but it feels like a whole is gaping within. Here was basically a straight up Thanksgiving meal made just for you, for no other reason. And your own parents never lifted a fucking finger on the actual holiday. By the time dessert comes around, you just aren’t in the mood. This was nice of them, but you still barely knew them. You were just the shitty kid of the world’s shittiest parents. You brush off somebody’s concern over your imperfectly hidden melancholy. You tap at your food for some minutes, then quietly excuse yourself. A DS awaited, ready to take you out of your uncomfortable life. As you slunk away, a small hand touched your back. You twitched, hesitating at deserting the owner’s outreach. Then you walked up the stairs.

The quietness of your room was somewhat soothing. The conversations of families, others and your own, was never your favorite sound. But your room was the solitude, the perfect escape. And boy howdy, you wanted nothing more than that. You grab your DS off the dresser, and boot it up. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some legendaries to capture. A couple of hours later, you’re the proud new owner of a Latios. A low knock at the door told you Bloom was coming

“Yes?”

“Hey, Anon.” she says tiredly, her usual spiritedness giving way to an easy contentment. She enters, dressed in baby blue pajamas, her signature bow missing. She smiles at you, her eyes half-lidded. Hnnnnng. She crouches slightly, then hops onto your bed with a small *pomf*. Her legs dangle off, not reaching the ground, while her thin arms are placed at either side of her, hands holding onto the blanket. You turn your DS off, and place it on the nightstand. We aren’t done just yet

“What’s up?”

“We’re about to do our midnight prayers. I’m coming to getcha.”

“Oh. Uh, alright.” You can’t really see any harm in it... She looks up to the sky, and your eyes follow. The inky black sky had been steadily swallowing the yellow glow that had persisted throughout the day. A handful of glittering stars, bunched together like excited faces of parents at a graduation, had sprung up from nowhere. The perfect blackness that surrounds them, giving them their tremendous luster, shocks you. There was always so much light in the city, you’d never really got a good look at them. The sight transfixes you, your full attention set on finding good ol’ Orion. Practically a tradition for you. Her fingers interrupt you, tugging at your sleeve

“Anoooon,” she says, drawing your name out. You turn to her, a pair of golden eyes meeting yours. When did she get so close? “Come on, let’s go.” A knot in your stomach appears alongside that warmth she gave you. It isn’t helped when she grabs your hand and leaps off the bed with a teensy “hup.” You follow her, not wanting to break the connection. A conversation-less walk ensues, your cousin humming softly, the bounce in her step almost hidden, but not quite. And you, following gratefully, capable of being led just about anywhere by this strange girl. Bloom opens the door to the master bedroom, the three remaining Apples all kneeling by the bed. You take your place beside them, feeling a little out of place, but not wholly. You plunge your mind for memories of the small nightly prayer, but come up empty. Fending off thoughts of Metallica, you close your eyes and listen

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. This I ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.” You rise, preparing to return to your gravely injured Snorlax

“Wait, Anon.” AJ’s looking at you, a benevolent visage making you less inclined to exit. “Ah don’t mean to keep piling all these traditions on you, but we’ve got a couple more; you can join us if you’d like. If not, we won’t be offended.” Bloom nods eagerly, and Big Mac graces you with a single, solemn tilt of his head. “At night, we say what the best and worst parts of the day was.”

”High-Low?” you blurt out, flashbacks of your childhood bringing back the name. The Apples beam, their guest becoming a little more familiar

“Yeah, I’ve heard it called that,” Applejack informs you. “Would you like to go first?”

“Yeah, sure. Uhh…” You have to think for a minute. “Well, the early morning was pretty rough, and the bus was trash, so I guess getting here was my low. “And as for my high… definitely that dinner. Boy, that was the best thing I’d had in a long time.” Granny shows joy in another yellow crescent at the compliment, then speaks up

“My low was gittin that consarned turkey outta the ov’n without no help from my own flesh and blood,” a terrifying gaze petrifies the younger generation of Apples “and my high wus gittin that there compliment from my great-nephew over there.” Big Mac’s turn next:

“Low, missing out on seein’ Cheerilee. High, food.” AJ follows him up, having her low be “that gosh-dern Rainbow hogging all the spotlight during practice, like she always does! But my high made up for it: always love meetin’ new family, and Anon sure seems great!” Visions of the dinner return: the joy of being wanted mixed with the bitterness of not having your own parents compare resulting in a complicated expression. You’re interrupted by Bloom throwing her arms around you

“My high was Anon! Ain’t got no low!” You try to suppress a smile. You do not succeed. All Apples except for the one currently hanging on your neck stare at your grin. The discomfort of being the center of attention allows you to force the smile back down. A less genuine smile takes its place, and you pat Bloom’s arm. Maybe they wouldn’t see the difference in smiles, but you’d rather be in control . You were hesitant about showing affection and happiness around others: after all, experience had taught you that the worst moments came soon after. Nobody could blame you for protecting yourself. Nobody. Still, you appreciated the kindness of the family about you, even if you didn’t really belong. It’d be rude to reject their favor, so you let out a polite laugh, pretending to have a good time since you weren’t willing to actually have one. Your distance may have been spotted, judging by the focused look AJ shines on you. Like a flashlight, her eyes seem to be searching you, aiming to bring your secrets to light. Naturally, you turn from her, trying to keep your eyes and face from facing her. What would happen if she knew, you couldn’t say. But you were beyond even considering the possibility: hiding was what you did and what you do. Bloom continues holding your neck, but loosens her grip in order to crawl up your back. Her knees clamber up your back, then split to either side. Her feet slip outward, then wrap around you, meeting each other around your stomach area. Her head rested on your left shoulder, her face immediately to your left. Your turn slightly to the left, in order to see her out of the corner of your eye.

“Sup.”

“Yeehaw,” she yawns back, with a feeble attempt to raise her right arm in the air, presumably to make the motion of twirling a rope.

“Need a ride?” Her head lolls up and down twice in a sleepy nod Then she turns away, and slumps back into the crook of your neck. It stays there, bobbing slightly with her breath, as you put your arms under her legs to support her, and stand up. It isn’t the most graceful motion, but you manage to do it without Apple Bloom falling off. Before you get to the door, you realize a major problem in your course.

“Hey, where’s her room?” you ask, turning towards AJ. Her radiant face the perfect physical expression of the word “d’aww.” Eyes wide open, mouth slightly ajar in a half-wondrous, half ecstatic look. Ignoring your question, she informs you of how cute you’re looking right now, giving the almost sleeping girl a piggyback ride. You face flushes, and you cough away the embarrassment. You repeat your query, disguising your own small joy with inquisitiveness. Your semi-curt tone breaks her out of her stupor

“Uh, it’s on the back right of the upper hallway, right across from yer room.”

“Thanks,” you huff, and adjust Bloom for the ride. Feeling comfortable with her position, you set off. The stairs presenting a bit of difficulty, but you managed to get Bloom to her room, safe and sound. Standing at her door, you shift her weight to your left while your right hand frees itself to open the door. The creak startles you, even though you should have expected it. Your hand freezes where it is, not wanting to wake the sleeping Apple on your shoulder. Carefully, you try again, the squeaking being more drawn out but less loud overall. Still, you cringe, wishing this house could just shut up for half a second. You had a dozing little girl on your shoulder, and darnit, you didn’t need every stair, loose floorboard, and knob trying to wake her up! Making your way through her room in the low light, you find her bed in the luminescent moonlight. Apple-themed blankets and pillows covered that one too, to nobody’s surprise. You realize it’d be real rude to just dump her on the covers, leading you to decide to tuck her in. It’s only polite, you tell yourself. Again you tilt her to the left, balancing out your weight as your right arm extends to grab the blankets. You grip them tightly, and move them down the bed, sliding your body along them so as not to shake your precious cargo too much. Repeating the process with the sheets, the pure white of the mattress cover is exposed. Turning around, you bend your knees until you feel Bloom make contact with the mattress. Twisting your arm around, you hold her limply up as you turn around, then gently lower her onto the bed. Well, she’s lying down now, but perpendicular to the bed. You slide your arm under her back, and lift her feet in the air, swiveling her into the proper position. Finally, you lift the blanket over her feet, then spread it over her body. Satisfied at the comfy looking girl, head just above the blankets, you tiptoe to your room, and collapse on your bed.