Right on Schedule

by Samey90

Rating: teen
Tags: Equestria Girls, Indigo Zap, Sugarcoat, Slice of Life, Dark, Sunny Flare, Thriller, Gore
Length: 5351

Sunny Flare finds a mysterious note about Indigo Zap in her schedule.

Sunny Flare puts all the kinds of notes in her schedule. After all, it's hard to keep track of all the lessons, additional classes, and other activities that fill her daily life. However, one note is not like the others.

For starters, Sunny doesn't remember putting it there...

Pre-read by Bootsy Slickmane

Published 2016-10-04 21:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-04 21:00:01 UTC

Wednesday, April 12th, 8:56 PM

Gentle beeping finds its way through the layers of dreams. I slowly open my eyes and take a look at the watch installed in my bracelets. 6 AM. Which means it’s actually 5:58 – I set the watch two minutes ahead, so I’d move my ass faster in the morning. Rise and shine, Sunny Flare, time to go to school. I sit on my bed and take a look at the bracelet.

Contrary to what Lemon Zest says, they’re not connected to my brain, I can take them off, and I’m not a killer cyborg sent from the future to kill Sugarcoat before she becomes the resistance leader. It’s just some printed circuit boards encased in chrome and nickel-plated steel. Something I first made on vacation with my uncle—an electronics technician—when I was ten. I expanded it since then and I’m pretty sure none of my first attempts at electronics are currently in the case, slowly replaced as my skills and technology improved.

I get up and go to the bathroom to take a shower. Listening to the water pouring down on my body, I think of the changes my bracelets underwent. At first it was just a watch in one of them and a simple tool to make notes in the other, but I was ten back then, and those were times of dial-up modems.

I wrap myself in the towel, jumping on one leg to get the water out of my ear. After drying my hair I go back to my room and put on my uniform. Complete with bracelets. I go downstairs to eat some breakfast before going to school.

“Hello, mother dear,” I mutter, sitting at the table.

“Hello, Sunny.” Mom plants a kiss on my forehead. She keeps doing that, even though I’ll soon be a high school senior. “I’m going to the studio for a recording. Do you want me to drive you to school?”

“No, thanks,” I say. It took my mom a while to realise that I really don’t need a child safety seat anymore. “Indigo’s gonna pick me up.”

“That crazy girl with a motorcycle?” My mother shakes her head. “She’s trouble.”

Oh, please, mom. We all know you have nothing against Indigo personally.

One’d think that it’s that classic story where parents of a rich girl don’t approve of her poor, tomboyish friend. Fat chance. In Crystal Prep everyone’s parents are someone. That, or you’re a goddamn genius, and Indigo is by no means one.

In her case, her father is an ex-footballer. I’ve heard he was very good, but I know nothing about football, so it doesn’t impress me that much. Unlike many sportsmen, he had good advisors and money he earned and invested let him give his daughter the best education one can get. Unfortunately, he’s also a rather direct man and, during the first meeting with other parents, he expressed his opinion on Crystal Prep, Principal Cinch and rich snobs in general.

Apparently, “old bat in desperate need of rutting” was the tamest thing he said, but since my mother and Cinch are distant cousins, it was enough for my bold and beautiful mother to start hating him and his family even more than Sugarcoat’s parents, whose main fault is that they’re dentists and they’re at best only locally famous. Also, they gave birth to a total dipshit, but that’s mostly not their fault, I guess.

“So is every single one of my friends,” I say. “I’m pretty sure someone’s mother says that I’m trouble too.”

“Are you?”

Hoo, mom. I know you’re tracking my social media presence whenever you feel like it, but even you should know that this is a very humble tip of an iceberg. Not that I’m a bad girl—I think of my future from time to time—but if you saw the photos that are hidden in a deep, dark, three-passwords-protected folder on my bracelets, you probably wouldn’t be very happy.

“Gotta go, mom,” I say, swallowing the last bits of my breakfast. After brushing up my teeth, I’m ready to face the world. I walk down the street and sit on the bench at the bus stop. Finally, I have time to check my schedule.

Funny thing, that schedule. If there’s one thing I got from my mother, it’s an almost obsessive need to write down everything I plan. My memory isn’t that bad, but I just keep writing everything down because I’m afraid I’ll forget something.

I click the button on my bracelet. The screen lights up, informing me that it’s Wednesday, April 12th, 7:00 AM, and the temperature is about sixty degrees. Or sixteen, given that it shows both Fahrenheit and Celsius. Anyway, Indigo better hurry since it’s also a bit windy. I switch to the calendar and take a look at the list of things to do.

Geometry, biology, German, lunch with girls, computer science, meeting of the Philosophical Society at 4:30, gym at seven. Not so bad. I’ll get home before ten, learn till 1 AM, wake up at six tomorrow. Rinse and repeat, survive till Friday, go to Sour Sweet (her parents are away for the weekend), resurrect on Sunday afternoon and so on, until vacation.

I’m about to close my schedule and wait for Indigo to show up, but then I notice something. Right after the gym there’s one more note and I’m pretty sure I didn’t add it. I tap it with my finger and it opens with a silent click.

8:56 PM: Watching Indigo Zap bleed to death.

What? Is that some kind of a prank, or what? That’d mean Lemon played with my bracelets, but it doesn’t sound like something she’d do. I’d suspect Sugarcoat. She’d probably be able to hack into my programs and her sense of humour can best be described as alternative.

I shrug and just delete the note. Not that I have much time to think of it. I can already hear the sound of a motorcycle in the distance and soon Indigo Zap herself appears. She skids to a halt by the bus stop and throws me a helmet.

“What’s up?” she asks. “Still playing with those arm thingies?”

“Always,” I reply, taking a seat behind her. “If it wasn’t for them, you’d be in Canterlot High now, with all the hippies and wimps.”

Undeniable truth it is. Indigo Zap has great ambitions and taking the maths course was one of them. Unfortunately, she’s pretty bad at maths. She’s much better at discreetly reading stuff from the screen though.

“To be honest, some of the guys in Canterlot High are kinda–” She pauses to take a sharp turn. “Anyway, did I tell you that my sister’s gonna get out of jail?”

“Is she going to pass Go and collect two hundred dollars?” I ask.

Indigo shrugs – a difficult feat if you’re riding a motorbike. I should’ve seen that coming – she doesn’t play Monopoly that much. It’s far too easy to make her go bankrupt.

Eventually, Indigo breaks the silence. “It’s been five years.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that story. Since Indigo only moved to the town after those events, no one exactly knows why her sister Lightning Dust ended up in jail. Apparently it involved fast cars and her alternative views on ownership of those.

“You must be dying to see her?” I ask. Interesting choice of words. Guess I’m still thinking about the deleted note.

“Kinda. We’ve never been too close, really.” Indigo pushes the brakes to let a bunch of kids cross the street. “We thought she’d stay there for longer…” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “She apparently snitched on some guy she knew back then. I’m not sure if she’ll even stay there. Maybe she’ll have to disappear.”

Huh. If it’s not bull, then it’s like some situation from a movie. Let’s hope no one comes to work on Lightning with garden shears or something.

After a while, Indigo parks the motorcycle by the school. I give her back the helmet and stretch my legs.

“By the way, I had a weird dream,” Indigo says when we walk to the building. “Sugarcoat and I were in the warzone in some town in the middle of the desert. She got shot with a grenade launcher, leaving only a pair of smoking tennis shoes behind. Then I had to defuse a bomb, but it was difficult with Sugarcoat’s ghost whispering into my ear stuff like, ‘the blue wire, the blue wire’ when I knew it was the green wire…”

“How did you know that?” I ask.

Indigo shrugs. “Dunno, it was a dream. Anyway, I suddenly heard my alarm clock beeping and I was like, ‘fuck this war, I’m going to school’. Then I woke up.”

“You may want to control your vocabulary a bit, Ms. Zap…”

Feeling my stomach twist, I look up. “Good morning, Dean Cadance,” I mutter. Thank goodness it’s her. If it was Cinch, Indigo would end up as a pair of smoking shoes.

“Good morning,” Dean Cadance replies, looking at my uniform before turning back to Indigo. “I’m happy that you prefer going to school over defusing bombs, though, so I’ll forget about this. And while we’re at it, pull your socks up.”

Indigo rolls her eyes. “I’m gonna pull them down to my ankles anyway…”

“I know, but your uniform must look presentable when entering the school.” Cadance recites this particular rule verbatim, but without much enthusiasm. Crystal Prep has a lot of rules, but also encourages students to rebel, as long as it’s within the rules. Thus each of us can modify the uniform a bit, but showing up without one would probably cause even Dean Cadance to lose her mind.

Understanding this took me a while, but Philosophical Society and German lessons kinda helped. Paradoxes now have no mysteries for me and I also know that we’re like those proverbial German comrades who’d attack a railway station only after buying platform tickets first.

In fact, that’s fine for me. It works, allowing me for some freedom, while providing moral backbone, or whatever it’s called. Not sure how is life without one, but I’m fine with mine.

We go down the corridor. The walls look especially pristine today. I guess a few misbehaving students ended up helping the janitors yesterday. Never happened to me personally, but there was a time when Indigo, Lemon Zest and Sour Sweet were frequently seen polishing the crystals.

Speaking of Sour Sweet, she’s waiting for us by the door of the class. All of my friends chose geometry course this year, so I guess Lemon Zest and Sugarcoat are not far away.

“Hello.” Sour Sweet smiles. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, and I know you’re about to say that you’re watching me sleep regularly,” I reply. “It’d be creepy if you didn’t say that at least once a week.”

Sour’s smile immediately fades. “You’re no fun,” she says. “You know what happens to girls who are no fun?”

“I guess it involves bathroom door being smashed by an axe.” I take a look at the screen of my bracelets.

“You’re correct.” Sour Sweet nods. “I’ll let you live… for now.”

For now and always, I guess. After all, we’re best friends; we wish each other a lonely death in the school restroom on a daily basis, but at the end of the day, we can’t live without each other. That’s not something I can afford to do when dealing with other people.

Speaking of other people, Sugarcoat and Lemon Zest walk to us. Right in time. When I looked in the calendar, I saw that the note about Indigo bleeding to death is there again. I remember deleting it, which means that a certain four-eyed smartass will learn that a right hook to the solar plexus is the best prank in my book.

“Sugarcoat, dear, may I have a word with you?” I ask in a tone I learned from my mother. It seems like a polite question, but it carries a suggestion that even Sugarcoat can’t ignore.

“What’s going on?” Sugarcoat asks. “I’m not giving you my homework again.”

“I’d tell you what I don’t give about your homework, but Indigo already covered that within Dean Cadance’s earshot,” I hiss, showing her the screen of my bracelet with the note about Indigo’s death. “Having fun with this one?”

Sugarcoat fixes her glasses and takes a look at the note. “Most people wouldn’t find it funny.”

“Yeah, but you’re not most people, are you?” I ask, smiling at her like Sour Sweet when she forgets her pills.

“In this case, I agree with the majority.”

“But you still planted it here.” I move my wrist closer to her nose. I didn’t build the bracelets with that in mind, but now when I think about it, they could mess one’s face up if applied with enough force.

“Me?” Sugarcoat raises her eyebrows. “Oh, please. Whatever system you created for it, it’s completely incompatible with anything. If I wanted to hack into it, I’d first have to replicate your OS and I have better things to do in my life that checking out your naked selfies or planting messages about Indigo’s death.”

Huh. I must say she has a point, kinda. The software of my bracelets is nothing you can get in store or download from somewhere. It just grew as I got better at programming, until it evolved into something resembling Paranoid Linux, but with even more paranoia and some more personal quirks. I considered replacing it with something more suiting modern times, but it seems that it was a good idea not to; at least as long as Sugarcoat is around.

“Okay,” I mutter. “You’re lucky this time.”

“Next time we’ll invite you over for a dinner,” Sour Sweet says. “As the main course.”

Before we enter the classroom, Lemon Zest takes off her headphones. “What was that about?” she asks.

“Nothing in particular.” I take a seat in the classroom and for the next ninety minutes my mind is completely focused on Riemannian geometry. I doubt I’ll ever use it, but it does wonders to my imagination. Once I’m able to imagine and understand quantum physics, my career possibilities will be endless.

Afterwards, I walk to the German class. Most of my friends preferred Spanish or French, but I always valued the efficiency and precision of the land of dichter und denker. Unfortunately, that means I’m stuck with Sugarcoat, although I prefer working with her over, for example, Fleur. She didn’t choose French because it’s her native language and she prefers challenges, but it doesn’t stop her from ranting in it whenever she forgets a word or messes up the cases.

“Wer ist klein?” Sugarcoat asks, looking at the pictures in her book.

“Der kleine Hans ist klein,” I reply, ignoring Fleur’s rambling. “Wer ist blöd?”

“Fleur, most definitely.” Sugarcoat rolls her eyes. “Verfluchte Hure.” Sighing, she looks into the book. “Wer ist dick?”

“Deine Mutter. And, if you don’t mean German, you can also be one.”

“Oh please.” Sugarcoat groans. “I didn’t put that note in your schedule, did I? Get off me.”

“Then who did that?” I ask. “Maybe they’re planning to kill Indigo?”

“Who? Some Asian teenager with too much time on his hands?” Sugarcoat shrugs. “From what I know, she doesn’t have any enemies.”

I think for a moment. “Her sister may have. She gets out of prison soon.”

“Ah. Social margin.” Sugarcoat nods. “Nah, those would be rather straightforward. Why killing Indigo when they can catch her, poke her eyes out, break her bones, eat her tongue, record it on a tape, and send to her sister. Alternatively, they can just do that to her sister, but I’m not sure why. It was just a car, unless she did something in prison.”

I wince. “Well, actually…”

“I’m sorry, when I hear German, something happens to me and I can’t stop thinking about guts...” Sugarcoat smiles, causing me to move away from her. “But unless her sister pissed off the Triads–” She turns her head and notices what I noticed a few seconds ago. That is, our teacher standing in front of us – a short, pale woman with an unexplained taste in leather boots.

“If you like speaking German, then speak it!” she yells. “Raus!”

”Sag mal, Sugarcoat, was ist für Lunch?” I ask, walking into the cafeteria.

”Keine Ahnung, meine Freundin.” Sugarcoat shrugs. ”Soll ich unseren Freundinnen fragen?”

Indigo, who is already sitting at the table, gives us a weird look. “Girls, you know that lesson is over, right? You don’t have to speak German anymore.”

“Aber wir möchten Deutsch sprechen, meine ungepflegte Freundin,” Sugarcoat replies, taking a seat. “Das ist die Sprache des Weltherrscher.”

“Did she just offend us?” Sour Sweet asks, putting a tray on the table. “Or did she say something nice for a change?”

“Nah, she just dreams of power,” I reply, sitting next to her. “That’s all she can do.”

Lemon Zest rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Everyone knows French is better. Not to mention that I prefer our teacher to that little creep you have…”

“Yeah. Too bad he doesn’t like schoolgirls…” Sour Sweet mutters. “Or girls in general.”

The discussion about languages continues, but I hardly listen to my friends, staring at the screen of my bracelets. The message about Indigo bleeding out is still there, even though I deleted it, like, ten times already. Maybe it’s some error? If so, it’s very specific. I mean, I probably typed Indigo’s name in the calendar countless times, but it popping up in such–

“Hey, Sunny! Do you and your arm thingies need some alone time?” Indigo looks at the screen over my shoulder. “Bad news, girls. She doesn’t have porn there.”

Sugarcoat and Sour Sweet look at each other. Then Sour Sweet grabs her wallet and gives Sugarcoat a note.

I laugh in the most fake way possible, before turning to Indigo. “You’d better take a look at this.” I show her the note.

Indigo furrows her eyebrows. “What? Are you planning to kill me?”

“Of course not,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “This appeared in my schedule today. At first I thought it was her.” I point at Sugarcoat. “But she says my bracelets are inaccessible from the outside.”

“And you believed her?”

True. I believed her quite quickly. But on the other hand, there are many things one can say about Sugarcoat, but not that she lies. If anything, she’s a little bit too honest.

Speaking of Sugarcoat, she straightens her glasses and clears her throat. “I’m gonna use a pointless metaphor you’ll understand. Imagine the whole internet as roads leading to different places. Those are computers, mobile phones, and other devices. I could go anywhere, but for some places, I need keys. Do you follow?”

“Yeah,” Indigo mutters. “So… You don’t have a key to Sunny’s house?”

“Worse. Her house is on Uranus,” Sugarcoat replies.

“Where?” Indigo looks back.

“Pluto,” Sugarcoat says quickly. “It’s small, cold, no one can get there, and no one loves it. Not even its mom.”

“I love you too.” I crack my knuckles. Someone is definitely getting a swirly after the lunch.

Sugarcoat doesn’t seem to notice. “Even if I had a rocket to get there, it’s only inhabited by worms that don’t speak in any language known to humanity and I wouldn’t be able to change anything.”

“So, maybe someone does have a rocket?” Indigo asks. “Like, men in black, mafia…”

Yeah, sure. Men in black would choke on my safety measures.

“Or maybe Sunny’s bracelets got so intelligent they plan her schedule ahead of her?” Lemon Zest raises her eyes from her food in a brief moment of lucidity between one song and another.

“That may be a thing,” Sour Sweet says. “Or maybe Sunny does plan on murdering Indigo and gutting her.” She looks at us. “What? She’s so innocent, but maybe her other, darker personality–”

“Why would I?” I ask. “If anything, I’d murder Sugarcoat. Also, there’s only one girl with two personalities here.”

“Also, it’s not like we’re gonna even be together at 8:56 PM.” Indigo waves her hand. “How’d she see me, even if I bled to death?”

“We’re going to the gym today,” I say. “And we’ll be going back home somewhere around that time.”

Indigo scratches her head. “So, you can just screw destiny and skip the gym.”

“Me? Never,” I reply. “It’s just a note. It’s not like I never changed my schedule before.”

“We know,” Sour Sweet says. “You can, for example, kill Sugarcoat after all.”

I sigh. “Keep on talking like that and I’ll start planning your murder. How about Sunday, six o’clock in the morning?”

“Make that ten. I have a dentist appointment at nine.” Sour Sweet smirks. “I’ll also prepare something special for you…”

Even though I felt pretty confident, I still spent the whole computer science lesson checking various systems of my bracelets. I’m more or less allowed to do that – the teacher considers me a prodigy or something. Besides, Sugarcoat and I are the only girls in this class and since my attempts to stuff her head in the toilet bowl proved unsuccessful, I don’t really feel like talking to her.

Same goes for the meeting of the Philosophical Society, actually. Sour Sweet talks about how various philosophers approached the topic of death, even Indigo Zap says something, but I keep playing with the buttons and making changes in the programs. Also, I’m trying not to think about Indigo bleeding out. How does it even look like? I think there’s about five litres of blood in the body, so...

“Flare?” Fleur asks, dragging the ‘r’ in my name beyond all the limits. “Vould you like to add something?”

“About death?” I raise my head. “It must suck.”

Fleur rolls her eyes. ”J’en ai ras le bol de ce imbécile…” she whispers.

“See?” Lemon Zest leans over to me. “That’s why it’s better to know French.”

“Fuck off, Lemon,” I whisper back. “Pardon my French.”

At least no one bothers me until the end of the meeting. Right after it ends at six, I walk out of the classroom and rush down the corridor without looking at anyone or anything.

“Sunny?”

I turn back to see Indigo Zap following me. Oh yeah, we go to the gym in an hour or so.

Without a reply, I open the school door. Maybe if I slam her face with it, she’ll leave me alone. Though, of course, she can bleed out too early then.

“I mean, I appreciate your care,” Indigo says, following me. “Like, you seriously think I may die today and that makes you pissed, but you really don’t have to yell at everyone around… more than you usually do, that is.”

What? I yell at other people? Seriously? Well, maybe. I wouldn’t have to do that, if they weren’t that incredibly dense. Or if they weren’t trying to act smart like Sugarcoat. Or being too afraid of realising their potential, like Twilight.

Indigo clears her throat. “Seriously, you need to chill out. Life doesn’t revolve around your arm thingies, schedules, and stuff like that.”

“I’ll chill out when you shut up,” I say. “Someone tampered with my creation, so no wonder I’m a little bit pissed.”

“Ah, so it’s not about me, but those things?” Indigo grabs my wrist and pulls it towards herself. I hiss in pain – given how skilled she is in martial arts, there’s no way she twists my join like that by accident. “Of course. What was I thinking?” She rolls her eyes.

“Let me go, or I’ll kick your knee so hard it’ll bend the wrong way,” I mutter. “Of course I care about you. Like, we’re friends, after all, right? We do stuff together and things like that.”

“Sure.” Indigo lets go off my wrist. I take a step back and rub it. It went surprisingly easy, I must say. I wouldn’t believe myself, if I were her.

“You know you can’t lie your way out of a paper bag, right?” Indigo asks, turning away. “To think about it, I guess a bus ride to the gym will be a great occasion for you to think about our friendship.” She rushes to her motorcycle and kickstarts it before I can reach her, leaving me in a cloud of dust and fumes.

I sigh and walk to the bus stop. This day just got much worse.

One may wonder why we go to the gym in the town when we have one at school. Well, there are two reasons for that. For starters, I already spent too much time in Crystal Prep and sometimes I’m really sick of it, not to mention that the school closes earlier.

Also, there’s that big dude from Canterlot High who plays violin. Indigo saw him during the Friendship Games and fell in love hopelessly. Since she can’t play violin due to a bad case of tin ear, she at least stalks him in the gym. Being a good friend, I tagged along.

When I arrive and change my clothes, Indigo is already struggling with the weights. I’m pretty sure she does that just so the guy can have a perfect view of her butt. He doesn’t seem interested, though. I step on the treadmill and turn it on, speeding up as I go uphill. Soon, my t-shirt is drenched in sweat and my calves start to hurt. I grit my teeth and run, throwing all the thoughts out of my mind.

After I’m done, I jump off the treadmill, wipe my forehead and take a sip of water. Then I go to the machines, working on my thighs, back, and chest muscles.

Indigo watches me from a safe distance. She appears to be talking with her boyfriend-but-not-boyfriend about best ways to gain muscle mass, but I know she’s keeping an eye on me. Maybe it’s her conscience, or maybe, despite all the evidence to the contrary, she plays for the other team after all.

Eventually, she approaches me by the lat pulldown machine. “Hi,” she says. “I was thinking…”

“Doesn’t happen too often, huh?”

Indigo sighs. “I’m trying to mend fences here, so shut up for once.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I was being kinda a bitch today. But I promise I’ll try to be nicer.”

Indigo smirks. “Just go back to your usual level of jackass instead of being an exceptional jackass, okay?”

“Sure. Are we cool?”

“Yeah, we’re cool.” The corners of Indigo’s lips move upward slightly. “By the way, Bulk Biceps and I are gonna meet on Saturday. You can write that in your calendar.”

Ah, so his name is Bulk Biceps. Funny name, kinda. “Good luck,” I say, blinking. Indigo smirks and goes back to Bulk.

The rest of the exercises turns into a hazy blur of panting and sweating. Indigo and I meet again in the showers and, after making ourselves presentable, we go to the parking lot.

“You know, we’d better wait a few minutes,” I say, looking at my bracelets. The display tells me that it’s 8:50 PM. Not that I’m superstitious or something, but… Well, I don’t want to take any chances.

“You don’t want me riding a motorbike when I’m scheduled to die?” Indigo shrugs. “Don’t worry. You’ll ride with me and your calendar doesn’t say anything about you dying.”

“Yes, but… Let’s wait, okay?”

Indigo rolls her eyes. “If you say so…” She paces down the pavement to keep herself warm. I follow her example; it’s slowly getting dark and I have nothing but my school uniform on me. Also, some guys are standing by the gym, smoking cigarettes, and I didn’t just burn almost a half of my daily calories intake to succumb to passive smoking.

We cross the street, watching the windows of the closed shops. From time to time, I look at my watch. 8:51, 8:52… Unless a meteorite falls on Indigo’s head, she’s most likely safe.

Finally, the last number on the electronic display changes to six. I look at Indigo and sigh with relief; it doesn’t seem like she’s bleeding out. Just in case, we wait till 8:57.

“See?” Indigo smirks. “I’m still alive and kicking. Now let’s go home, I need to hide everything my sister can steal easily.”

She walks down the pavement and crosses the street to get to the parking lot. I’m about to follow her steps when bright light nearly blinds me. I jump back; screeching of the brakes fills my ears, followed by breaking glass and snap that makes my stomach twist.

“Holy shit… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

I open my eyes to see some young guy with a green beanie getting out of the car. His face is pale; he’s looking at me with wide eyes, still repeating how sorry he is.

“Shut up and call an ambulance, you idiot!” I scream, rushing to Indigo. I take a glimpse at my bracelets. 8:58. Of course. Two minutes ahead. I drop on my knees and look at Indigo. Her eyes are closed, but I can see her chest moving slowly.

Frantically, I try to lift her, as if my touch could heal her. Indigo’s clothes are stained in blood, but there isn’t actually much of it. She opens her eyes and she looks at me.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. Some blood escapes her mouth. “I won’t die. The hour… Also, I have a date on Saturday, remember?” She chuckles, causing more blood to stain my clothes. So much… This can’t be… I place my hand on her stomach and from its hardness, I immediately realise that blood is gathering there.

Indigo hisses. “It hurts… What are you doing?” She coughs and retches. “Don’t cry, Sunny, I’m fine.”

My vision blurs. I can barely hear some people talking around us. The sound of sirens nearly tears my ears. At least someone called help. I grasp Indigo harder. You need to survive Indigo, the help is coming. Please, don’t give up just yet. Not when they’re so close. Please, Indigo. Why are you so pale? Indigo?

Indigo?

The next thing I remember is someone putting a blanket on my back. The world around me sharpens again and I slowly realise that I’m sitting on the pavement, hiding my face in my hands.

“What happened?” I ask nobody in particular.

“They took her to the hospital,” someone replies in a shaky voice. “She should be fine.”

I shudder, in spite of the blanket. Please, let it be true. I now recall that someone pushed me off when the paramedics arrived. Indigo was just lying there, surrounded by them, silent. Way too silent.

I want to scream. Or to rush to her across the town. How am I going to tell that to the rest of the girls? When I think about them and imagine their reactions, my stomach twists and I throw up on the asphalt.

I’m still heaving, trying to catch a breath, when I hear an engine of another car. It stops next to me and after a while, someone helps me up. Who they are, I don’t know. I can’t even bring myself to pay attention.

“Thank goodness you’re fine, Sunny…”

“Mom?” I ask. She hugs me, helping me to sit inside of the car.

“What happened?” She sits at the wheel and looks back at me. “Are you hurt? Do you want to talk to a doctor?”

“Yeah…” I mutter. “Indigo… The car… They say she should be fine.”

My bracelets click, as usual when I’m adding a new note to my schedule. I look at it automatically and suddenly the world freezes around me. No. This… No. This is not happening. Not happening, right? This can’t happen.

Friday, April 14th. 1 PM.

Indigo Zap’s funeral.

I drop on the backseat of the car, as my consciousness finally leaves me.