Mirrors, Truths, And Tea-Parties

by MxGoat

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Drama, Romance
Length: 18749

I've never really liked mirrors, honestly. They always seem to enjoy mocking me, forcing me to accept just who and what I am.

Ever since I was a little colt, I’ve always hated mirrors. There’s just something about my reflection that feels fundamentally wrong for some reason. Until recently, though, it has never been this bad—never bad enough to actually smash one.

It’s somewhat confusing, really. I mean, why would anypony punch a pane of metal and glass? What is it about myself that gets me so put off? It can’t just be how I look, right? It has to be something deeper than that.

I couldn’t have known that on the first day of school it would only take one off-hoof comment about tea parties during Thaumaturgy class for everything to unravel—my loneliness, my general awkwardness, my academic and motivational issues, and my hatred of my own reflection.

It would turn out that I'd have to make a choice—a huge decision rooted at the very core of my own identity: am I Snails or am I Spice?

⁂

This fan-fiction will inevitably cover controversial topics in later chapters, namely in the form of social commentary. I will seek to paint the most neutral, nuanced, and accurate pictures of these issues as possible. That being said, my criticisms are rather aggressive and controversial in it of themselves, so if you're interested in just having your beliefs parroted back at you, this is not the fan-fiction for you.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-25 00:02:08 UTC

(1) The First Mirror

“Alright, everypony! Now that we’re all situated, let’s start with some introductions! Why not…hmm…how about, when I call your name, share something about yourself, like…your favorite color, or a hobby, or a secret so secretive that not even you knew about it! Here; I’ll go first! I’m Amethyst Star, but you can all just call me Sparkler or Miss Star. I like transformation magic!”

At the front of the classroom, behind a large, wooden table, stood a widely grinning unicorn. Everything about her was purple. Her mane and long, bushy tail were two-toned—striped amethyst and plum. Her eyes were shaded a mixture between purple mountain majesty and wisteria, and her fur coat was colored a cheerful heliotrope. The only things about her that weren’t some variant of lavender were her teeth and the emblem on her flanks—an image of three gleaming, Bahaman sea-blue and sky-blue gemstones. In front of her eyes, floating in a field of glowing, hot-pink magic was a white plane of paper.

She began reading names off of the sheet, starting with Apple Bloom, the red-maned, yellow-coated filly at the front.

Apple Bloom smiled. “Hi, y’all! I’m Apple Bloom and I like oranges!”

I took a moment to process what she had just said and then raised a hoof to my muzzle, giggling at the irony of the statement. I’ve heard that the Apples and the Oranges were distantly related, but I’ve also heard that the two families hardly get along these days, so the thought of an Apple liking oranges was pretty hilarious to me.

Sparkler’s eyes moved down the list and she called out another name. “Diamond Tiara!”

I had hardly paid attention to what she had said. I didn’t care about it. Diamond Tiara had been a huge jerk during elementary school, and though she had eventually turned a new leaf, I still hadn’t forgiven her—especially after she had pressured the Cutie-Mark Crusaders into publicly humiliating Snips and me, and many other ponies through the school newspaper. She was a bad egg.

The next name to be called was “Dinky Doo!”

The periwinkle-coated, maize-maned, golden-eyed unicorn named Dinky popped off of her chair, probably from nervous impulse. I hardly knew her, but after three years of observation, I could most certainly say that she had some kind of stage fright. It seemed that she was always jumpy whenever speaking among large groups of people. She stuttered, “I-I-I like my mom!”

Everyone turned his or her head to stare at her blankly, myself included. She slowly sat back down, blushing madly. Her shaking hoof trailed along the top of her desk, painting small, invisible circles onto the hard surface.

“…Don’t we all?”

“N-no. Everypony calls her a retard. Well, guess what? She’s not!” Dinky exclaimed. “She’s not!”

Everypony flinched. They had not been expecting that much volume from such a normally shy, quiet filly. What had gotten into her? I mean, I hardly knew her, sure, but I knew enough about her to be able to say that an outburst like that was certainly weird.

Miss Star raised an eyebrow at her. “…Alright…then.

“…Tornado Bolt?”

A grey Pegasus with green-yellow irises and a fluffy, Byzantium-colored mane and tail rose from her seat at the back of the classroom.

“My name’s Tornado Bolt, and I’m gonna be a storm chaser!” she declared.

Star cringed. “…Isn’t that a little…dangerous?”

Beaming, she nodded. “Oh, you bet it is!”

“You are aware that all weather in Equestria is managed by Pegasi, right? The chance of an unintentional, moving storm is really low.”

The filly smirked. “Who said I’d be chasing Equestrian storms?”

“…I…see.”

A few more names later and…“Snailsquirm?” asked Miss Star.

I stared at her for a moment before saying, “Hi. I’m Snails.” I paused. What would I say? I had hardly thought about it before. Oh well. I might as well get this over with sooner than later. “I like tea parties.”

It felt really good to say that. It was true, too. I’ve always enjoyed conversation over tea. Who could blame me?

The entire classroom burst into laughter soon afterward.

I began to sweat. My face turned red. I pulled my hooves over my head, but they didn’t stop the laughing.

Why am I so stupid?

⁂

The bell rang, signifying the end of first period and the beginning of the second. I was relieved.

Elementary Magic was a nightmare. Ever since I had made that particular statement earlier today, everypony looked at me differently. It was unnerving! I was almost never the center of attention! Even less was I on the receiving end of the positive kind.

I remembered the time Snips and I had been glued together, flank-to-flank, by gum and shuddered. That was embarrassing.

I thought to myself about the irony of my name as I speedily made my way to my next class. Snails were hardly ever speedy. I bet there are some exceptions, but, usually, ‘snail’ is a synonym for ‘slow.’

Though I had bumped into several ponies along the way, I had successfully made it to Room 12 and took a seat at the back of the classroom, in a corner, safe from the towering presence of the black chalkboard up front. I had arrived a couple minutes early, so I had a little time to kill before class began.

I figured that I might as well doodle while I wait and reached into my saddlebag for a leather-bound notebook and a mechanical pencil. Opening the notebook to a fresh page, I mindlessly began to draw.

Time had passed by quickly and, soon, class had begun.

After I had put the notebook away, the first pony that I noticed was the teacher. He was a stallion with a messy, coffee-colored mane and tail, a fawn-colored fur coat, light azure eyes, and a white-collared, malachite-colored bowtie around his neck—and on his flanks was a picture of a wooden hourglass. He stood at the front of the classroom, apparently looking over some notes before he began.

The second pony that I noticed was Dinky Doo sitting at a desk at the front of the room, eagerness plastered on her face. Why?

The third pony that I noticed sat just left of me. It was Tornado Bolt, and she was looking directly at me. When our eyes met, she grinned. “Hey. What’s up?” she asked. I was not prepared for that.

I stared at her for a moment, an eyebrow raised while I did so. Letting my face relax, I quietly sighed. “Nothing much. I may have just ruined whatever social life I could’ve had, though. You know…the whole…tea party thing.”

“That was kinda funny,” she chuckled. She looked around for a moment before leaning in and whispering, “Just between you and me, I like tea parties too. Don’t tell anypony, though.”

I blinked and shook my head. “Oh. Uh…don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Huh. She didn’t seem like the type of pony who’d like those kinds of things.

…She also wasn’t making fun of me. Why not?

The tapping of a hoof against chalkboard pulled our attentions back to the teacher in front. “Alright, class; let’s begin. My name is Time Turner. Welcome to Classical Mechanics!” he said. I internally groaned.

Turning back to face me, Tornado Bolt poked my shoulder. “Hey, meet me at lunch later.”

I silently nodded.

She hoof pumped. “Awesome! My name’s Tornado Bolt, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Snails,” I said.

“Alright; just as a refresher, who can tell me what velocity is?” Turner asked.

Dinky’s hoof immediately shot up into the air. Her speed was quite impressive.

Time Turner pointed at her. “Mhm?”

“The velocity is the fluxion of the displacement,” she stated.

What’s a fluxion?

Turner raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“The time derivative,” she clarified. What’s that even supposed to mean? What’s a derivative? Is that even a word?

This was going to be a long day.

The teacher nodded. “…Indeed.”

⁂

Luckily, for me, second period wasn’t all that bad in comparison to the first. Sure, there was Dinky constantly using words I had no idea even existed until today, like fluxion, fluent, integral, derivative, Lagrangian, Hamiltonian, scalar, and vector (whatever those mean), but I managed to get out generally unscathed. It seemed it was somewhat the same story for Tornado Bolt. Weirdly, though, she always giggled whenever Dinky used one of those big words of hers.

I stepped into the lunchroom and stared at the rows and rows of tables and seats. It was packed! How would I be able to find her in this mess?

I felt something solid touch my back and ruffle my mane.  “Hey, Snails!”

I squeaked and quickly spun around. It was Tornado.

“Oh, uh…hey, Tornado Bolt.”

She grinned. “Hey, I’m not that scary! C’mon, I’ve got a spot.” She motioned me to follow her. I nodded.

She led me in the opposite direction, away from the lunchroom.

“Uh…where are we going?” I asked.

“Oh! We usually eat outside.”

“…We?”

She looked back at me and said, “Me and Dinky.”

“Oh. You’re friends with her?”

“Besties!” She smiled.

We soon were outside, walking through an ocean of wet grass blades, towards a large maple tree planted in the middle of the school grounds. Underneath the shade of the big, orange-and-yellow-leaved tree sat Dinky Doo.

As we got closer to her, I noticed that she was sitting on top of a large, red blanket, and that next to her sat an open metal lunchbox and a half-eaten sandwich. She smiled and waved us over. “Tori! Over here!”

Was that a nickname?

“Dinky!” ‘Tori’ exclaimed. She leaped towards her friend and hugged her tightly.

Dinky giggled, a mild blush covering her face. “N-nice to see you too, Tori.”

They tumbled in the grass for a little, laughing all the while, enjoying their jolly lives, leaving me sitting on the red carpeting, alone. They eventually stopped their roughhousing and returned, and when they did, Dinky looked at me curiously.

“Who’s this?” she asked. She paused. “…Wait. You’re that guy that likes tea parties, right?”

Great! The fact that I like tea parties would be forever emblazoned atop my name. I’d no longer be Snails; I’d be that one weird colt in class with the unexpected, feminine hobby.

“Y-Yeah, that’s me,” I said.

“This’s Snails. I met him in second period,” Tornado added.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, then, Snails.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other in silence without any idea of how to start a conversation. Then, Tornado spoke.

“So, I like magic”—I raised an eyebrow at that—“and weather.” Tornado pointed at Dinky. “Dinky here likes physics and reading,” she said, Dinky nodding in agreement. “What do you do for fun, Snails?”

“Aside from tea parties,” Dinky giggled.

I looked at the two for a second before I said, “I read comics and draw.”

“Oh cool!" Tornado said. "Can I see?"

“U-uh…n-no! I…um—” I nervously tapped my front hooves against each other “—I don’t like other ponies seeing my drawings. They’re…embarrassing.”

Tornado tilted her head. “Why’s that?”

“Oh…um…I don’t like them. They’re chicken scratch,” I lied. I liked my drawings, even if they were just chicken scratches.

“Oh. Sorry for asking. I’m sure they’re not all that bad.”

Dinky frowned, but, as soon as I had noticed, her face turned flat, leaving me more confused than ever. Why did she make that face?

“Um…thanks, I guess.”

I decided to change the subject before things got awkward again, and, luckily, Tornado had provided me with plenty of ammunition in that regard.

⁂

Third period was Literature.

Like Elementary Magic, on the first day, everypony just talked about themselves—what they liked, disliked, what they wanted to be when they grew up, what their special talents were, and what their cutie marks meant. Unlike in Elementary Magic, though, I did not mention that I enjoyed tea parties. In fact, I consciously made the effort not to, and I’m glad that I did so, lest I bring on even more attention than before. I was already a social outcast, and I didn’t need public ridicule as a cherry on top.

At the most, my contribution to the conversation had been: “My name is Snailsquirm, but Snails works fine. I’m not quite sure what my cutie mark means. I like snails because I can easily relate to them. I don’t like being paid attention to, so please stop staring at me like that.”

When I had said that I had no idea what my cutie mark meant, all three of the Cutie Mark Crusaders’—Apple Bloom’s, Sweetie Belle’s, and Scootaloo’s—eyes lit up like a professional fireworks display. I didn’t want to get to know why. As I said, I hardly ever get good attention, which is why I often try to avoid drawing any towards me when possible.

Of course, I’m not always like this. For instance, once, Rainbow Dash and Applejack gave me a spot on the Ponyville buckball team, which I gladly accepted with little question. It seemed, for some reason, that I was really good at it, even though I had never played it prior, and so I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to have fun every once and a while.

I think that the reason for why I mainly only draw bad attention to myself is slow-mindedness. See, I’ll often say or do things without thought, being expected to make a split-second decision, and then regret it soon after, often humiliating myself in the process. This, combined with my cutie-mark, eventually lead to the widely accepted meme that I didn’t think at all. I often joke about this, though everypony thinks I’m absolutely serious when I do so. I do think. I just do it slower than most ponies.

Now that I think about it, that might’ve been why I had said what I did in first period. I just ‘didn’t think about it.’

Oh well. What’s done is done.

⁂

Ponyville was often calm in the evenings, so my trip home had been typically uneventful. Rose was out watering her roses before supper; Derpy Hooves and Time Turner were walking into a café, talking about ‘double coverings,’ ‘Clifford algebras,’ and ‘spinors,’ whatever those were; and Applejack was closing up shop after a long day at the market.

Throughout my walk, I thought back to my lunch with the two fillies. Tornado was really welcoming and was very talkative, and seemed to put the interest of the conversation above her own personal interests. She seemed to have the workings of a perfect social butterfly but, for some reason, she didn’t have many friends despite the abundance of extroversion and enthusiasm that she so clearly had—probably because Dinky and she were good friends.

Speaking of Dinky…I felt that she, too, had held a welcoming air but, also, had surrounded herself in an aura of reserved suspicion, as if she knew that I was keeping a secret or something. She was quiet most of the time, generally only speaking when adding onto something that ‘Tori’ had said, and she often took momentary glances at me, turning her gaze away whenever I looked back at her directly, pretending to be looking at something else.

Why?

I shook my head. I was almost home. I’d have time to think about that stuff later.

When approaching the house, I noticed the rows upon rows of green leaves protruding from the ground, lining the garden out front. I grinned. The carrots were almost ready for harvest. Mom was going to have a field day soon.

Passing through the garden, leading to the front door, was a gravel pathway that had been worn away by years of frequent use. Mom was a busy mare, so she hardly had the time to repave the path. I wouldn’t complain, though. Gravel always scratched and dug into my hooves—something that I have never taken comfort in.

The two-story house itself was typical Ponyville property—well…minus the cedar roof. The majority of Ponyville houses had hay roofs.  Mom said that they required too much maintenance for her tastes. I could see why that’d be true. I mean, what happens when it gets wet?

I opened the door and stepped inside, the door closing behind me as I entered.

Mother hollered a cheery “Welcome home!” as my saddle and saddlebag slid off of my back and onto the floor. Mom was always that type of mare—the happy-go-lucky kind who would never even once think badly of you and always would be glad to see you regardless of the situation. “How was your day?” she asked me.

“It was…”—what was it? I mean, on one hoof there was the entirety of first period, but on the other were Tornado Bolt and Dinky Doo—“pretty good, actually. I made some new friends today.” Overall, it really was a good day, especially if you forgot about the whole ‘tea party’ incident.

“Oh? I’m so glad to hear that, Dear!” she said. There was not even an ounce of sarcasm in that statement. Mom was a very essentially minded pony. She hardly ever paid attention to the nitty-gritty details—only the ones that really mattered in the moment. For example, what was important to her in this instance was that I had managed to make a couple of new friends, not the personalities of those friends. See, I’ve always had troubles making companions and socializing, in general, so to hear that I had succeeded in doing so was obviously very good news to her.

I feel like she’d be the kind of pony to say that ‘as long as it doesn’t hurt anypony and you’re happy with it, it really shouldn’t matter.’

I bounced in place, my hooves clip-clopping against the wooden floor. Dinky had said that she’d bring tea with her this time. “Yeah! I’m gonna see them again tomorrow!” I said. I could hardly wait!

“Something to look forward to, then?”

I nodded with fervor.

I looked into the kitchen to see Mom’s long, curly, pumpkin-colored mane and tail, dark-cream-colored fur coat, and pistachio-green eyes—and the triple-carrot cutie mark on her flanks. She was standing in front of a burner, stirring a pot of liquid with a wooden ladle.

I sniffed. I could feel my mouth fill with a little more saliva than usual—not a coincidence. Whatever she was cooking smelled amazing. “What’s for dinner, Ma?” I asked. “It smells really good in here.”

She turned her head to look at me, her lips pulled up into a calm, tiny smile. “Minestrone.”

It had been a long time since Mom had last made minestrone, so I had forgotten what hers had smelled like and how it had tasted, but I remember it being really, really good. “Awesome! When’ll it be ready?”

“In a bit, Dear. Until then, why don’t you go do your homework or whatever else you teenagers do after school?” She winked.

“Alright. Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, Dearie.”

I cantered up carpeted stairs and turned left, into my bedroom, closing the white door behind me.

The room, to say the least, was very bland—so bland, in fact, that it probably would seem suspicious to some. The only objects accompanying the grey walls were an oak desk—with an oak chair—covered by only a few loose papers; a window with light-green drapes; a bed with sheets a darker shade of grey than the walls, yet not dark enough to constitute as gray; a brown bedside table with a lamp and alarm clock; and a large, well-cleaned mirror. There were no posters, no paintings, and no blemishes of any kind.

I made my way across the clean, white-carpeted floor and to the desk, sitting down on the chair and reaching into a drawer, with my purple-hued magic, for a piece of paper and a fountain pen.

I have one other hobby that I didn’t mention earlier because, quite frankly, it’s highly personal and it’s not that notable. I like to write, occasionally. I’m not very good at it, but, regardless, I still like to do it. It helps get my feelings and thoughts out in ways that drawing cannot do for me.

I laid the sheet of paper down on the desktop, touched the pen to the page, and began to write.

⁂

Trapped

By Snailsquirm

Whenever I think about ‘it,’ I can’t help but want to vomit. It’d certainly be a lot more pleasant than consistently mulling over it—over the jealousy, the sadness, and the helplessness.

I’m doomed to these feelings for the rest of my life, it seems. They certainly have not faded with time, at the least. If anything, they’ve only gotten stronger and far less tolerable.

How can I say it? What will their reactions be? What will her reaction be? What will happen to me when I do? I’ve never been able to answer these questions because I’m too scared to find the answer. I’ve always been too scared to find the answer. What am I supposed to do?! I’m just some slow-minded, dumb high schooler!

Meanwhile, the uncertainties of those questions are killing me from the inside out.

I sometimes find myself thinking that perhaps I could just end it all, but I always end up shaking my head aggressively to that. That would be the worst kind of betrayal. What would that do to Mom? What would that do to Snips? It would kill them, that’s what. It would bring far much more harm to others than it would bring relief to me. It’s not worth it.

There is no solution. I’m trapped. I’ve always been trapped. I will always be trapped.

⁂

I set the pen down and sighed. Nothing more would be written today. I had nothing else to say. Even if I had more to write, I wouldn’t, because, honestly, I didn’t feel like writing anymore.

I lifted myself out of my chair and settled my hooves on the floor. I then made my way to the bed and collapsed on it, sighing once more, this time with more volume than before. For a long, agonizing five minutes I laid there, staring up at the sky-blue ceiling, asking myself about just what had gone wrong with my life. I had a loving mother, a nice home, a decent education—I should be happy, right?

I groaned and turned over, noticing my reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure why, but I slid off of the bed and teetered over to it, staring at it blankly. Looking back at me was a skinny, long-necked, long-legged, big-eared, amber-coated unicorn colt with impossibly dark-brown eyes and a short, naturally messy, grass green mane and tail. His face was covered in freckles and on his flanks laid an image of a purple-shelled, pink snail.

As I looked back at myself in disbelief, I couldn’t help but feel revolt as I drank in the little details—the pimples; the angular figure and face; the bold shoulders; the boxy hips and hooves; the firm stance; and the bushy, pronounced brows. That wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me. That couldn’t possibly be me!

Soon, my disgust grew into anger. How dare it twist my face like that?! That wasn’t me and it knew it!

“Why?” an almost unnaturally low voice croaked. The mirror didn’t answer. That only made me more furious. “Tell me!”

There was still no answer.

In an instant, I saw red, and before I knew what I was doing, my hoof had crashed against the reflective surface, sending long, thin cracks speeding through the surface and causing the occasional glass shard to fall to the floor or bury itself into my flesh. I screamed. My hoof was now covered in blood.

I collapsed to the now sullied carpet and whimpered. I was wrong. The mirror wasn’t lying. Mirrors can’t lie. Mirrors are inanimate objects.

So…why did I punch it?

A pot was dropped. The thumping of frantic hooves against carpet rushed up the stairs. The door slammed open and in came a worried, squealing Mother. “Snails?! Oh my Celestia, Snails!” she gasped.

…Why am I so stupid?

(2) Running Away From Your Problems

Fourth period was mathematics.

I suck at math—and when I say that I sucked, I mean that I am, without question, one of the worst ponies at the subject in the entire school. I’m so bad at it that I got a failing grade last year. I had to take it all over again this year to make up for that.

I’ve never understood it well. I suppose that might be because of how they teach it. Do you know where the quadratic formula comes from? I sure don’t. It seemed like instead of being taught how these things worked, I was just forced to accept them without question, becoming a living calculator in the process—albeit, a very bad one. How is that, in any way, education?

Luckily, to my surprise, Dinky was in my Algebra class this year. Even more, she apparently was an avid opponent of this method of teaching.

“The square of the length of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the lesser sides.”

“Why?” Dinky asked.

Dinky had integrated herself into a position of ‘quality control,’ making sure that the teacher—it was Time Turner again—didn’t avoid important details and actually taught what he was supposed to. She did her ‘job’ well, so I didn’t complain.

It somewhat surprised me, though, that Dinky seemed far more confident in her physics and math classes than in any other. Like I said before, she was well known for being reticent…yet, what I saw in Classical Mechanics and Algebra completely contradicted that. During those two classes—and those classes alone—she seemed to be one of the most outspoken students in the room.

Regardless of Dinky’s enthusiasm, though, I found myself easily bored. My mind never has liked, and will never like numbers—they hurt my head—so I turned my attention elsewhere: to my aching hoof.

Punching the mirror had been a stupid move on my part. Sure, I was all patched up now—Mom had done a pretty good job at cleaning and bandaging the wound—but I could still feel the throbbing pain in my hoof, and it was hardly forgiving. When it was resting, the pain was only a small discomfort, but, when I tried to use it, I couldn’t run, jump, or even walk without the stabbing feeling interrupting my movement mid-stride, causing me to limp everywhere.

I don’t like limping. It brings me closer to my name than usual. I can see the Foal Free Press title now: “Snails—Closer to a Snail than You May Think!”

Ugh.

I frowned. Last night had been odd—very odd. Sure, I had felt those feelings while staring at my reflection before, but…I had never lashed out like that. I had never yelled at or questioned a mirror like that before. Usually, I’d just look at myself, feel bad, and then move on to writing, or drawing, or reading comics like I often would. This time, though, I had hurt myself, and I had hurt myself badly.

Why?

I had been asking that kind of question a lot recently. Why had Dinky eyed me as she had done at lunch yesterday? Why hadn’t Tornado Bolt made fun of me when she had the chance? Why did she want to spend any time with me at all?

I often refrained from asking ‘why’ questions. They were hardly answered, and, when they were, the answer would often just fly overhead, leaving me far behind, very confused. These new ones, though, had to be asked. Ponies don’t suddenly want to hang out with you, especially if it means that they would have social awkwardness stapled to their names because of it. Ponies don’t suddenly start looking at you weirdly, either. There were reasons for these things, and, for once, I wanted to know them; I needed to know them before I could fully come to trust the two fillies, and stop those feelings of mine.

I decided that I’d ask Tornado about it later.

⁂

History is my best subject—not because I’m good at it, but because of how it’s taught. Often, history teachers just make you remember stuff and recall it later, which is a fairly simple thing to do, even for me. Very rarely do they make you analyze a document or anything like that.

Remember how I mentioned how slow-minded I am? Well…I suck at thinking—analyzing, especially. Remembering things doesn’t need much thinking at all, though, which is probably why I haven’t flunked out of high school yet.

I’m not even all that good at remembering things, either; I’m only somewhat average at it, it seems. It isn’t like I’m passing history classes with flying colors or anything like that—I usually pass them with grades somewhere between a B-minus and a C…but, luckily, that’s a decent enough grade for the school and, more so, for myself.

Oddly enough, my Equestrian History class, fifth period, was also being taught by Time Turner—weird, right? I could see why he’d teach both math and physics, considering there’s a fairly sized connection between the two, but history’s a completely different subject. Also, where did he get the time to teach three different classes?

Then again…his name is Time Turner. His cutie mark is an hourglass. Hmm.

I’ve got nothing. Please, help me.

…

“Snailsquirm!”

I jerked in my seat. “Huh?”

Time Turner was looking at me with pursed lips and an expectantly raised eyebrow. He didn’t look very happy with me.

My ears drooped. What dumb thing had I done, now? “Y-yes, Mister Turner?”

“I said, ‘What is the E.U.P.?’”

“E.U.P. stands for Earth, Unicorn, Pegasi Guard.”

“I’m not asking about what it stands for. I’m asking about what it is.”

“Oh. The E.U.P. Guard of…the E.U.P.…is…is…” I started, lifting my good hoof to scratch away the itching in my mane. “Uh…isn’t it…military? I don’t know.” My eyes darted left and right, drinking in my surroundings. Everypony was looking at me. I looked down at my desk, trying to hide my face from the judging gazes of the teacher and my fellow classmates. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Needless to say, the itch only intensified.

⁂

As the bell rang, the entire class stood up, myself included, and lined up behind one of the two classroom entrances, slowly funneling out into the hallway.

While I was waiting, I swore that I could hear a couple grumbling stomachs from nearby. That was normal. It was lunchtime, after all.

I smiled.

After slowly dragging myself to the front of the line, Mister Turner stopped me.

“Excuse me, Snailsquirm. I noticed you weren’t paying much attention in class today. What’s up?”

My face went flat. Oh dear. A teacher approaching me on the second day of school was not a good sign.

“I—um…I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay, Snails. You’re not in trouble or anything. I’m just a little concerned. It’s not a coincidence that you weren’t paying much attention in math earlier today, either, I presume?”

I blinked. Wasn't he angry with me?

“N-no, I don’t think so.”

“Is there any particular reason for it, then? I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

Last year was a hard one. The majority of my grades that year were in the D-zone, minus Art and History, in which I had gotten a B and C-plus respectively—and, as I had mentioned, I had failed Algebra, resulting in some makeup work. Mom wasn’t all that happy with me about that.

“Um…Snails?”

I had taken two of Turner’s classes that year, so he was, at least, well acquainted with my habit of almost failing classes. Apparently, that wasn’t a very common thing for teachers to see—a student’s academic mess spanning almost every subject. I felt sorry for him. He shouldn’t have had to put up with that kind of thing.

“Snailsquirm!”

I shook my head out of thought. “Huh? Oh, uh…sorry. What did you say again?” There I went again, prancing through my own ‘la-la land’ as if my life depended on it. Stupid Snailsquirm.

He looked at me inquisitively.

He had seen this behavior before since it was commonly displayed during class time, but he had never seen it outside of that. When he had pulled me aside after periods in the past, I had usually paid much better attention to him. It was the same story for many of my other teachers.

“Why don’t you pay attention in class, Snails?”

I had an urge to say that there wasn’t a reason for it, but I chose not to; instead, I said nothing.

“I mean, you don’t have to say it if you don’t want to; I understand some things are personal. I just don’t want you to plummet as you did last year. I can’t help if I don’t know the problem, though.”

“…”

“Snails…please, let me help you.”

“…I-I don’t know,” I sighed.

⁂

Under the shade of the maple tree, we sat, the calm breeze of autumn slipping between the hairs of our manes, building a sharp contrast to the warmth of the paper cups resting in our hooves; it was a pleasant feeling, especially considering the condition of my own.

Beside Tornado sat a stainless steel kettle, wisps of steam rising from its spout. True to her word, Dinky did bring (mint-flavored) tea, and it was anything but bad.

“Yesterday, I came home from school and Mom wasn’t home. Apparently, she and Time Turner went to some local café, or something along those lines, to catch up on some things they’ve been working on—a G.U.T. or something,” Dinky said. “She rarely lets me use the chalkboard walls”—Tornado Bolt clenched her teeth and shivered at that. I’m not sure why, though. Also, chalkboard walls? What?—“so…well…”—she smirked—“I ended up absolutely covered in chalk from horn to hoof.”

“Did Derpy find out about it?” Tornado asked.

“Actually, yeah!”

“Oh no! What did she do?”

“She came home later that night and screamed because there were hoof prints all over the floor and walls.”

“…Dee, that’s hilarious!” Tornado laughed.

The two turned their heads to look at me, grinning expectantly. I was visibly shaking, my bandaged hoof over my mouth, trying to hold it in.

I fell over, belting out my own noises of amusement at the top of my lungs. The volume of it was actually kind of impressive.

“Now, now, it’s not that funny,” Dinky said.

I didn’t stop. Instead, with breathlessness building up in my stomach, I just flailed.

“Please, Snails, you’re gonna hurt your hoof again!” Tornado added.

Of course, she wasn’t wrong. I slammed my hoof down on the ground and cried, “Agh!” It shook with throbbing pain. “Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow!”

Tornado immediately moved over to me, worry plastered on her face like over-applied makeup—or, like my mother. “Oh, Celestia! Are you okay? Do you need me to get a nurse?”

“N-no, I’m fine. Thanks.”

She sighed. “Phew; that’s good.”

“How did it even get like that?”

I glanced at Dinky. “I punched a mirror.”

Tornado raised an eyebrow at that. “Why?”

I couldn’t’ve told the truth—that would have just raised more questions—but I couldn’t’ve said nothing, either, because that would’ve been suspicious, so I had opted to lie instead. I didn’t like doing that, but it was the only option I had. “…It was an accident.”

Unfortunately, for me, her curiosity only doubled from that. “What happened?”

“…”

“Snails?”

“…A-alright…maybe I…lied. I just don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

“Oh, okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

I was surprised that she wasn’t angered by that. Getting lied to sucks, especially if a friend is the one doing the lying. She considered me a friend, right?

I noticed Dinky in the corner of my eye.

She was frowning again.

⁂

“Snails, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mom.”

She frowned.

What was up with all the frowning recently? First, there was Dinky, and now there was Mom, too.

“Today, I got a letter from one of your teachers. He said that you weren’t paying attention, both in and out of class,” she said, firmly. “Also, last night, you punched a mirror.”

“…Yeah?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

“You wailed.”

“That…was a scream.”

“No, that was certainly a wail, Snails. I know a wail when I hear one.”

I huffed. “Mom…please?”

“Snails, please.”

“…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Talk about it anyway, Snails.”

“I-I—you can’t make me!”

What was I doing? Why was I yelling at Mom like that? Was that a tear on my face?

Ignoring the pain, I ran.

⁂

Figuring that maybe something sweet would help take my mind off of the pain in my hoof, and the recent encounter with my mother, I decided to stop by Bon-Bon’s Confectionary. Those weren’t the only reasons for going there, though. I knew for a fact, based on previous visits, that Tornado Bolt often assisted Bon-Bon with the shop, whether that involved getting materials from the market, running the cash register, or organizing the merchandise. If I wanted to talk to her alone, it would be a good place to start looking.

The shop wasn’t all that large; it was actually somewhat small—cozy, even. That would make sense, though, considering that it, quite literally, was the owner's home.

I decided on buying a prepackaged bag of black and red licorice. They were my favorites.

Much to my dismay, Tornado was not at the register this time; there was a mint-colored, golden-eyed Unicorn standing in her place, juggling lollipops with her hooves.

Over the years, the mare had earned the title Looney-Lyra because of her numerous consistently odd behaviors. She’d walk into town on two hooves, sit in strange positions, jump up and down repetitively while wearing a really weird, insane expression, and she’d often reminisce about sitting on benches with joy. On top of all of that, she’d casually play around with really bizarre transformation magic as if it was nothing. The only pony who could rival her peculiarity, in any manner, would be Pinkie Pie!

I placed the bag of licorice and the necessary number of bits on the counter. “Hey, Lyra, do you know where Tornado Bolt is? I need to talk to her.”

“Long time no see, Snails!” After setting down the lollipops on the counter, she tallied the coins with her hoof and nodded. “What’s that about Tori, again?” She popped open the cash register and dropped the bits inside. “Oh, right. She’s with Bonnie right now, I think. Something about needing ingredients for some new taffy flavors.” Shrugging, she finished, “They’re probably at the market right now.”

Smiling, my eyes still red, I picked up my newly bought plastic bag of sweets and levitated them into my saddlebag. “Thanks, Lyra.”

“Anytime.”

⁂

The marketplace, as it usually was on a weekday, was active with ponies of all shapes, sizes, and goals. Parents often walked in the dirt streets with their foals, searching for supper and, after school, teenagers moved in conglomerations, browsing the various available products, wondering just what to buy with their allowances.

It was a zoo of shops, focuses ranging anywhere from charms to books to woodworks and more—and, like a zoo, it was organized into categories, one of which being the food district.

The food district, while diverse, was small. Ponyville only had one farm, being the Apple family’s apple orchard, Sweet Apple Acres, so the majority of merchants dealing with foods cooked them, grew them in their own gardens, or foraged for them, which removed the necessity of large kiosks for their wares.

If Tornado and Bon-Bon were looking for ingredients, they’d probably be here of all places. Now, I just had to look for them. Of course, that meant searching through the crowd of other Ponyville citizens to find them, which would be a little difficult.

I started by asking the store owners if they had seen the two lately. For a couple of minutes, it had given me no results, but then I had run into Applejack and she lent me a helping hoof. Eventually, we had found them, and Applejack had returned to her stall to sell more apples.

Gently, I tapped Tornado on the back.

“Hmm?” She looked over her shoulder and blinked. “Oh, hey, Snails!”

“Hi,” I said, rubbing my hooves together awkwardly.

“So…what’s up?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, okay. One sec.” She poked the cream-coated, hot-pink-and-navy-blue-maned confectioner known as Bon-Bon on the shoulder.

“Hey, Ma, why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll catch up with you later. I gotta talk with my friend about something.”

“Hmm?” Bon-Bon nodded. “Oh. Alright, Dear. Have fun!”

“Thanks, Ma.”

With that, we made our way in the opposite direction, towards Sugar Cube Corner.

⁂

We were sitting in a corner of a not-so-crowded Sugar Cube Corner.

We had each ordered milkshakes not so long ago and had been sipping them ever since, looking at each other in silence, without any idea of what to say to the other pony.

Awkwardness seemed to be my spiritual guardian, following me everywhere I went, regardless of who or what I was talking with. Of course, I had to eventually tell it to back off a little and let me take care of myself sometimes, but I usually lacked the confidence to do so. Luckily, Tornado had decided to spare me the trouble and do it herself.

“So…what’d you wanna talk to me about, again?”

“Tornado, why do you talk to me?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

That made me pause. Why wouldn’t she? Oh…right, because I botch my entire social life on the first day of school, like tea parties, am plagued by awkwardness wherever I go, make stupid decisions, like not paying attention in class, punching mirrors, running away from Mom, talking, breathing—help me!

I shook my head and breathed. Snails, get yourself back together.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was “I…uh…well, it’s just that…it’s just that…”

Ugh.

I tapped my good hoof on the surface of the table.

Curiosity had been etched onto Tornado’s face. My guess was that she hadn’t worked out that I hardly ever could think straight, but—

“Uh, Snails? Everything’s okay…right?” she asked.

“I…sorry.” I shook my head again. “It’s just that…well…you just suddenly came up to me and was like ‘let’s hang out!’ and stuff, and I’m not sure why you did that. I’m just some random colt.”

She stared at me, for a moment, as if to ask if I was being serious. “What you said in first period took guts. For a colt to say he likes tea parties in front of the entire class—that takes some serious bravery.” She pointed at me. “You aren’t just some random pony, Snails. You’re a pony I respect.”

Well, at least that explained it. I don’t see why it took bravery, though; it was just a slip of the tongue.

“But…that was just a mistake; I didn’t mean to say it.”

Grinning, she proclaimed, “Well, then I’d like to see what you’re like when it isn’t one!”

I looked down at the tabletop and took a sip of my milkshake. “…I didn’t think about it, though. It just…slipped out. It wasn’t brave or anything; it just…happened. I just panicked and said the first thing that came to mind.”

“Look, whether you meant to say it or not, I still want to get to know you. You’re interesting.”

I gave her an incredulous look. “…I’m not interesting. I’m just a colt.”

“A colt who likes tea parties, thinks his drawings are bad, when, even from a glance, I can tell they are not; a colt who obviously has confidence issues, who comes to school the next day having had ‘accidentally’ broken a mirror with his hoof; a colt who had obviously been crying, who searches the market for me, after school, to ask a question he could’ve asked earlier, during lunch break. Snails, you are interesting.”

“U-uh…”

“You didn’t just come here to ask me why I hung out with you, did you, Snails?”

Oh, thank you, Tornado. I had almost forgotten about that, actually.

I nodded. “Yeah. I need to get away from Mom for a bit.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“She insisted I answer a question.”

She tilted her head. “…What question?”

“She asked what’s been wrong with me lately—stuff like why I smashed the mirror yesterday.”

“…And?”

“I don’t know! I’m scared and I don’t even know why.” I sighed. “Nothing feels normal anymore…not even my own reflection.”

She raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t question it, much to my relief.

“…I dunno. I just…don’t want to be home right now. Can we just…hang out for a bit?”

Smiling, she nodded. “What do you wanna do?” she asked.

⁂

I had spent the rest of the day at Tornado’s house—which just so happened to be Bon-Bon’s Confectionary.

She had a square-shaped room on the second floor that was, quite literally, the complete opposite of my own. The walls, which were absolutely covered in Wonder Bolts posters, and the ceiling were purple—not an intense purple; a purple that was very easy on the eyes—and the warm flooring was made of cork. Like the walls, the floor was covered, but instead of posters, in candy wrappers and plastic bags, different colored pens, papers inscribed with strange, multicolor symbols, and books about odd Equestrian weather events.

In a corner of the room, next to a window and a small table, sat a comfy bed with a blue-gray cover and white pillows, which was where we sat for the majority of the time because the floor was too hard and would hurt our tailbones.

We talked about many things, including, but not limited to: our parents—(hers were Lyra and Bon-Bon, which somewhat confused me)—our favorite candies—(she liked taffy)—school; the meaning of life—(I said that there wasn’t one and she said that hers was happiness)—and life in general. I wasn’t completely attentive, though; I was too busy staring at a pretty blue dress in her closet that I absolutely wanted to wear sometime.

Looking back, that’s a very weird thought for a colt to have. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.

Eventually, she noticed that my attention was turned towards her wardrobe more than it was towards anything else, and she giggled and asked, “What’s up?”

I just shook my head, as I often did when coming out of deep thought, and replied, “Oh, nothing.”

Everything went smoothly until I had to go to the bathroom.

Going to the bathroom was a bad idea because it resulted in me encountering another mirror, this one much larger than the one I broke before. I didn’t lash out at it or anything, as I did to the other, yesterday; instead, I was met with a falling feeling in my stomach. I paced around the room anxiously, whimpering, with a small amount of salt dripping from my eyes as it had done earlier. Legs giving way, I fell over onto the circular light green rug that had previously been just underneath my hooves.

“Snails? Everything’s alright in there, right?”

I didn’t respond.

After a minute, Tornado opened the bathroom door to see me pathetically burying my face into the mat. Eyes wide, she immediately went over to hug me. She propped me up off of the floor, pulled me in towards her barrel with her wings, and wrapped me in a hoof, stroking my mane with the other.

“Snails…what’s wrong?” she pleaded. She was concerned for me; I could tell from the tone of her voice.

The most coherent thing that I could say in that moment—which wasn’t very coherent at all—was spoken in short gasps in between whimpers: “I-I…m-mirror…d-drawings…n-no! I-I’m…no-not…s-sto-stop…h-help…Ma-a…p-pl-please…d-dress-es—n-no!”

After a few long minutes of her hugging me and dragging her hoof through my mane, I had calmed enough to the point of sleep.

(3) Ink & Paper

The next morning started out with the beeping of an alarm clock—a different beeping than usual. I opened my eyes to look up at the purple ceiling; that was different from usual, too. I looked down at the bedsheets; they weren’t usual, either.

I reached my hoof out and turned off the alarm on the bedside table. I slid out from under the bedsheets, hooves plopping on the cork with a dull thud, a shiver of pain running up one of the front limbs. Taking a long look around, I recalled the night from before.

This was Tornado Bolt’s room. I had stayed the night, slept in Tornado’s bed, without my Mom’s permission.

I bolted down the stairs. If I still had the time, maybe I could visit home for a bit, just to ensure her that I was okay. She was probably worried sick about me.

When I reached the bottom step, the first thing I noticed was the smell of pancakes. Somepony was already up, making breakfast. The second thing I noticed was that I was directly behind the cash register.

The house was probably not soundproofed whatsoever because I could hear Lyra talking upstairs—though, her voice was a little muffled. “Hey, Tori, it’s time to get up!”

“But I don’t wanna!” Tornado groaned.

“Yeah, me neither. Think we can get away with sleeping in another hour?”

“Absolutely not!” I heard Bon-Bon shout from the kitchen. “You two are unbelievable!”

“Aww! C’mon, Ma!”

“But Bonnie!”

Bon-Bon giggled. “Come on, you two! You’ll miss breakfast!”

“Don’t care! Sleep’s more important!” Tornado said.

I grinned. Tornado had a very active family, apparently. That didn’t surprise me, though. Her mom was called Looney-Lyra, after all.

Bon-Bon stepped out into the store, a plate of pancakes on her hoof. I’m not sure how she had developed the strength or balancing skills to do that, but it was pretty impressive. “I made pancakes!” she sung.

“Never mind! I’m getting up! I’m getting up!”

After laying the plate down on a circular table, she turned to look at me and smiled. “Good morning, Snailsquirm! Did you sleep well?”

Extending my magical field from my horn, I kneaded my eyelids and yawned. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry for staying on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s fine! I called Carrot Top last night. She’s alright with it.” She chuckled quietly. “She’s just glad to know you’re safe.”

“Oh, thank you,” I exhaled. Looks like I wouldn’t have to run home after all.

“Oh, and since you’re here, do you want to have breakfast with us?” she asked. “I’m sure Tornado would be thrilled by that.”

“Uh…I don’t wanna be a burden or anything…”

She waved my hesitation away with a hoof. “Oh, nonsense! Here, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get the rest of the plates.”

“Well…okay, then,” I acquiesced and sat down in one of the seats. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Still smiling, she strode back into the kitchen, leaving me to my own devices.

Soon, startlingly quickly, Tornado and Lyra came bursting down the stairs. Panting, they both sat down at the table, Lyra to my right and Tornado across from me.

They were both tapping their hooves together underneath the tabletop; I could tell because of the light click-clacking noises they were making. I noticed that Lyra had started first, implied by the movement of her shoulders, and wondered if it was some kind of inherited impulse shared from mother to daughter.

Speaking of Tornado, she, ruffled mane, tail, and all, bowed her head at me and said, “Hey, Snails, how’re you doing?”

I shrugged. I didn’t have much to say, and the little that I did have to say I didn’t want to, and wouldn’t express. “Fine, I guess.” I stopped, considering that there might be more nuance to that question. “Why?”

“Well, it’s just that you were acting really weird last night.”

Lyra gave me a questioning look as if to silently ask ‘what’s she talking about?’ She didn’t say anything, though.

“You were crying in the bathroom and you said something about mirrors and drawings and dresses, and you were pleading for something but I couldn’t understand much of what you were saying. It’s obvious that something’s wrong.”

“Sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m just curious.”

I’m not sure just what brought me to do it—maybe it was what happened last night—but I decided I would tell her. “…Alright, I’ll talk about it, later…alone. Meet me at the maple tree after school.”

She beamed. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

Bon-Bon tapped back into the room with plates and silverware. “So, what’d I miss?”

Oh, nothing much—just the beginning of the end of my life.

⁂

The school day went by really quickly.

I remember, in Elementary Magic, Tornado and Sparkler’s discussion about chase-discord and the applications of its essence to unbalanced magical wells. I hardly understood anything that the two had said; they were going far too fast for me to follow.

I wish that I could think at a normal pony’s pace; is that so much to ask for?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Classical Mechanics went almost the same as it did on Monday with the exception that I didn’t make any new lunch-pals. Tornado and I sat at the back of the classroom while Dinky was at the front, talking more about Lagrangians and Hamiltonians and derivatives. It had been just as confusing as the last time, so I had just doodled until the end of the period.

Everypony, in both classes, of course, just nodded, an indicator of their understanding, which made me nervous because, quite frankly, if they could understand it and I couldn’t then I’d just look absolutely stupid during the exams.

I don’t like it when ponies call me slow or stupid. Yeah, I know I’ve called myself stupid and slow before, but I don’t like it any more because of that. I just don’t like the idea of having either of those qualities. I also don’t like the idea of the general public having that perception of me, but it’s already too late to fix that now.

Sorry, I’m getting off topic. I do that sometimes.

Anyways, with the first two periods out of the way, in came lunch break with Dinky and Tornado.

Today, we were all pretty quiet. Dinky had asked something that was a little unsettling, which pretty much killed all conversation soon after. Needless to say, it was completely unexpected, and I was anything but prepared for it.

“Snails, I know you lied about your drawings, and the mirror. Why?”

I stared at her dumbly. “Uh…—“

“It’s personal, Dinky,” Tornado interjected. I had to thank her later. How did she know that the drawings were personal, too, though?

Oh, right…last night.

“But he—!”

“Dinky,”—she frowned—“he’ll open up when he wants to.”

Dinky crossed her front hooves and, defeated, she huffed, “Fine.”

“…Sorry, Dinky,” I mumbled.

She just glared at me as if to say ‘this isn’t over yet.’

We finished our lunches in silence and headed to our third-period class.

⁂

Nothing much had happened during third period today. There was one particular thing that really interested me, though: Diamond Tiara and the Cutie-Mark Crusaders were being very talkative with each other about something, and they were blatantly excited about it, too. That was somewhat surprising to see, considering that Diamond Tiara and her friend, Silver Spoon, had aggressively bullied the Crusaders in elementary school, poking fun at their ‘blank flanks’ as if they had some kind of disease. They were pretty ruthless to them, shoving them into mud ponds, framing them to look like they were passing notes in class, and, apparently, they had even forced them out of their own treehouse and then chased them around town. It was so bad that the Crusaders had even written their own song about it: Bad Seed.

Their excessive talking, of course, had frustrated the teacher—the previous Ponyville mayor, Miss Mare—a bright-hazel-coated, blue-eyed, grey-maned pony with an image of a scroll on her flanks, a frilly green ascot hanging from her neck, and a pair of brass-framed glasses resting on her muzzle.

She had a certain venom in her voice when she said, “Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara, I’d like to talk to all of you after class, today. Until then, please stay on topic.”

I hoped that she would never see me zoning out in class as I usually did.

During the period, I decided to think over what I’d say later today. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

I didn’t have a set plan, or anything, but I’d rather go in with at least a little bit of an idea of what the conversation would be like—then I wouldn’t panic and say something I’d probably regret later on in the future.

I looked down at my saddlebag. I could start with those, maybe. It’s worth a shot, I suppose.

No.

Maybe the mirrors would be a good starting point?

No. …Ugh.

The first, though…maybe that’d work.

Yeah, that’d work. I’m sure of it. I mean, it’d be a good starting point because it is the starting point.

I found it funny that this all started with a mirror in elementary school. I found it even funnier that I had managed to remember that years and years afterwards. I only have an average memory, so it’s a little weird, at the least. I suppose not everything has to make sense. I mean, nothing makes sense now, so why should it ever?

Yeah, the first mirror would work. Then I could drag in everything else.

Everything would be fine, I told myself. Everything would be fine.

⁂

It was time.

The school day had ended and I had slowly made my way to the maple tree.

The entire time, I had been shaking. I begged for it to stop, but it wouldn’t, which only made me even more anxious than I already was. Here I was, progressing towards a tree, about to confess my insanity to a pony I had just barely met. I wondered how she would react.

I had to remind myself that she was a kind pony. I told myself that she’d probably accept me; she didn’t seem like one who’d intensely judge someone—but looks and first impressions can be very deceiving. Even the kindest of ponies are capable of feeling anger and disgust.

Maybe she’d run away?

Maybe she’d make fun of me.

Maybe…she’d punch me.

Under the maple, it was cold—but not the usual, dynamic kind of cold one experiences when outside in autumn without a coat; it was a stagnant kind of cold: fear.

Shivering, I told myself not to surrender to it—to think happy thoughts—but my stomach twisted regardless. I thought of running far, far away, but…it was too late for that; Tornado Bolt’s mane had already appeared at the edge of the hill, followed by the rest of her soon after.

She was here.

“Hey, Snails,” Tornado said. She quickly noticed my twitching, trembling, and hoof biting and my messy mane and standing-on-end fur and winced. “Um…are you alright? You look like a mess.”

I nodded violently. I didn’t need her worrying about me; things like that only made me feel bad. “Y-yeah! I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!” Then, I realized that I was lying and shook my head. She wanted honesty, and it would make me feel even guiltier for not giving her at least that. “N-no, actually; I’m really…really scared.”

She tilted her head. “You’re…scared? Of what?”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m just scared, I guess.” I poked the ground with my bandaged hoof and circled it in the dripping grass; the pain was kind of calming. “L-look…just…p-please…promise you won’t talk with anyone about what I’m about to say. It-it’s embarrassing and…really personal.”

She nodded aggressively. “Cross my heart and hope to fly”—with her right hoof, she drew an invisible cross over her heart. She then lifted what seemed to be an imaginary cupcake and jammed it into her open eye—“stick a cupcake in my eye. I won’t tell anypony; I Pinkie Pie swear.”

I sighed, an awkward smile on my face. “A-alright…thanks, Tornado. It means a lot.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal.”

“N-no…it’s a huge deal to me. This’s the first time I’m telling anypony about this stuff, ever.”

She grinned, though in a much calmer manner than usual. “Snails, saying it’s no big deal is my way of saying you’re welcome.”

Well, this was awkward. “Oh…uh…alright. …Sorry.”

She shook her head, seemingly amused with me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I figured it might be a good time, if any, to finally talk about what we came here to talk about—“Uh…well…anyways…so…uh…”—but I couldn’t find the right words.

Ugh.

Tornado reached into her saddlebag, pulled out the blanket from before, and laid it out on the ground before sitting on it. “Something tells me we’re gonna be here for a while.”

I sat across from her. “…Y-yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Snails; I don’t mind it. Take your time.”

For the next five minutes, we just sat there as I thought of a good way to talk about this, but I really couldn’t. I knew that I wanted to start with that first mirror but I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it.

For some reason, the fear returned, my heart pounding, and I choked on its intensity. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

Tornado’s face fell towards the ground. “…Oh.”

I really wanted to punch myself—with my bad hoof. I felt like an idiot.

⁂

I’m not sure why I couldn’t say what I wanted—what I needed to say. Actually, that’s wrong; I knew precisely why: I was afraid. The reason I was afraid that much, though, was a complete mystery to me. Regardless, I had a solution in mind.

Slamming the door behind me, I darted through the kitchen, past my mother—she seemed disappointed by that—then upstairs, flying straight into my bedroom, sliding into the chair at my desk. I aggressively pulled open a cabinet, grabbed a pen and a stack of blank lined papers, pushed the pen down, and, rushing, I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and continued to write even after my horn started aching from over-exertion.

The finished product was not easily readable. My hornwriting was unusually large and messy—as if it was from a crazy pony—and it grew more and more unsteady over time. Occasionally, my pen slipped out of my magical grasp and fell to the table, leaving behind long, unintentional streaks of ink across the paper; I wrote as if they weren’t there at all.

When it was done, it was nine-pages-long and double-sided, yet I didn’t feel as if I had been excessive with my words. Regardless, I decided to refine it—to shorten my sentences and remove any unneeded information. After another two hours or so, I had rewritten it, reducing it to five pages and replacing the large chicken-scratch with smaller, more legible print.

I smiled. I had to thank the creators of written language sometime. Ink and paper would never betray me, even when my mouth does.

Reaching into another drawer, I pulled out a stapler and used it to bind the papers together, then, after putting the stapler away, rolled them up and put them in my saddlebag.

Apparently almost ready to go, I moved over to my bedroom window and pulled open the curtains and sighed. The first thing that I noticed was that it was currently nightfall. The second thing I noticed was that apparently the pitter-pattering noises were not imagined; it was raining outside—and by raining, I mean pouring. Not only would I have to use a light spell with an already tired horn, I would also have to hold an umbrella overhead—with the same tired horn—at the same time.

I made my way back downstairs and to the front door, lifting an unopened umbrella from my saddlebag and stepping outside. Opening the umbrella and igniting my horn, I began my ice-cold walk to Bon-Bon’s Confectionary.

⁂

When I finally arrived at the Confectionary, it was around seven o’clock P.M. By then, Bon-Bon had already closed up shop for the night. I wasn’t there to buy any treats, though; it didn’t bother me all that much though, even if some more licorice would’ve been a nice bonus to the visit. They would probably answer the door regardless, which was more than good enough for me.

I’m not sure why I wasn’t quaking as I had been before; maybe I was just too worn out for any more of that. Maybe it was because I just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Don’t get me wrong; I was definitely uneasy but not enough for me to grind my teeth or chew my hoof, and certainly not enough to shake like that—at least, not out of anxiousness or fear. Instead, I was shivering because I had been mindless enough to not bring a coat to protect me from the frigidness of the rain-cooled, nighttime air.

I lifted my un-bandaged hoof and knocked on the door. I didn’t get any response the first time, so I did it again.

“One sec!” I heard Bon-Bon say. Just a moment later, the door inched open and a cream-colored muzzle popped through the crack, accompanied by the face and head of the confectioner, and then the rest of her body. “Oh, hi, Snails. How’re you?”

My horn lit up and pulled the papers out of my saddlebag, levitating them in front of me. “I’m fine. Can I talk to Tornado? I have something I need to give her.”

“Sure. One minute.” She turned around, lifted her hooves to her muzzle, and shouted, “Tori! Your friend’s here!”

“Who is it?!”

“It’s Snails! He wants to give you something!”

After some thumping noises, presumably from her hooves hitting the carpeted stairs, Tornado joined us at the doorway. Her work now done, Bon-Bon trailed back into the house, leaving the two of us alone at the doorway.

“Hey, Snails! What’s up? You said you had something to give to me?”

“Yeah.” My horn lit up and pulled the rolled-up packet of papers out of my saddlebag and floated it over to her. “Sorry about earlier.”

She grabbed it with a hoof and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I understand you’re not ready to talk about it yet.” She tucked the papers away underneath one of her wings. “So, what’s this all about?” she asked.

“It’s…what I meant to say earlier. I wrote it down for you.”

“…You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.”

⁂

I became very well acquainted with my bedroom ceiling over the last couple of hours. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t sleep at all. Sure, my eyes burned, and sure, my muscles ached, and my brain was tired, but I just couldn’t close my eyes, I couldn’t go thoughtless, and I couldn’t stop moving.

Every couple of moments, I’d roll underneath the covers of my bed into a different position. One moment, I’d be sleeping on my stomach, and then I’d shift to rest on my sides, and then on my back, and then back on my stomach and on my sides.

If you’ve ever been sleepless before, you’d know that there’s a huge urge to get out of bed and do something. It’s like a tickling in the back of my brain saying ‘C’mon, Snailsquirm, do something with your life!’ Yeah, that little jerk of an urge was currently throwing a temper tantrum in there, screaming ‘I want it!’ and throwing rocks at the wall and all of that.

I climbed out of bed and over to my desk. I had already written enough before—enough so that my horn hurt—but I still wanted to do more and more. Of course, I was an idiot, so I bought into that desire and brought pen to paper once again.

“Entry 1: Monday,” I began.

⁂

I awoke to the very unwelcomed screeching of an alarm clock. I lifted my torso off of the mattress and silenced the alarm with a hoof.

I felt terrible—even worse than before. There was a constant pounding in my head which got significantly worse when my eyes were opened; my muscles, I swear, had a complete opposition towards obeying me, and burned like mad whenever I tried moving them; my nostrils were full of snot, which ran down my throat, absolutely coating it, causing it to itch.

It was too hot underneath the bedsheets, so I pulled them down and off of me; I was surprised that I wasn’t already in a heat stroke.

I turned my head to look at my still-broken mirror and, with a hoarse voice, I groaned. I looked like crap; my mane and fur coat were messy, gleaming with droplets of sweat, and there were visible bags underneath my eyes.

Unsteadily, I raised a hoof. I tried to stabilize it, but that only made it shake more. I sighed.

I felt a ticking sensation in my nose and a raised my front leg up to cover my face and catch my sneeze, which resulted in a layer of mucous covering my elbow. It was gross. I rubbed it off onto the bedsheets.

I lay back down on the mattress.

After a long period of staring into space (in a very not-so-literal manner), I heard my door creak open and Mom step inside. In her hoof was a small loop of rope attached to a small glass of water. “Morning, Snails. Not going to—Oh…Dear, you look really…really bad.” She made her way to my bed and, after setting the glass cup on the bedside table next to a half-empty bottle of pills, placed a hoof on my forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I coughed freshly produced phlegm into my leg and croaked, “Y-yeah. Sorry, Mom, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go to school today.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anything you need me to get you?”

“Could you get me something to eat? I’m pretty hungry. Oh, and…some aspirin.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

“No, not really. Thanks, Mom.”

“Mhmm!” She left the room, presumably to make breakfast.

I looked back at the bedside table, the bottle of pills, and the glass of water. Regardless of whether or not I was going to school today, it was still a good idea to keep a solid routine, so I sat up and unscrewed the bottle’s lid with a magical field, raised a pink pill-capsule to my mouth, and gulped it down with some water.

⁂

The rest of the morning was very, very slow for me. Mom brought me a couple books to read, but I had a hard time focusing, so I primarily just looked at the ceiling some more, instead. Ceilings are usually not very exciting things to watch—especially colorless ones—so I was about as interested as I would be while seeing paint dry.

The evening was a different story, though.

Around four o’clock P.M., I heard a rapping of hooves against wood from downstairs, and then the opening of a door. I heard a familiar, but muffled voice ask Mom something. Mom gave her own, not easy-to-understand response, and then the door shut. Soon after, I heard the sounds of hooves against wood, tile, wood again, and then carpet, followed by the turning of a doorknob.

It was Tornado Bolt. She had a small cardboard box tucked underneath a wing and a cozy-looking magenta scarf wrapped around her neck.

Standing next to the bed, her hooves were shifting underneath her as if she was continuously failing to find a good resting stance. She raised a leg to scratch her other’s cannon, her eyes darting around the room before focusing on me again. Grinning awkwardly, she said, “Hey, Snails. I heard you’re sick.”

“…Mhmm.”

We both went silent.

What was she doing here? After everything I told her, she ought to be at least a little freaked out, right? Also, why did she have a small cardboard box tucked underneath one of her wings?

Tornado glanced around some more and scratched her neck. “So…I read it. …I—” she exhaled “Here; I brought you something.” Lifting her wing, she put the box down next to me and stared at me with a small, sheepish smile.

I looked at her with a questioning expression. What was in the box and why was she giving it to me? Why did she come to visit me if she had clearly read it? She couldn’t want to be my friend still, now that she knows how messed up I am, right? I’m just a slow-minded colt who hates his reflection, fails at school, stares at other ponies’ clothes, and lies compulsively.

“Go ahead; open it.”

Hesitantly, I nodded and slowly peeled off the masking tape that had previously kept the box from opening by itself. I peeked inside, greeted with the sight of a blue, rippled surface: fabric. I lifted it out of the container and internally gasped. It was a dress—that dress—the dress from before—the one I was staring at earlier.

Its design was simple. I don’t really have many words to describe it but what I can say is that it was two-toned, covered in pictures of navy-blue flowers jumping off of a light azure background.

“I—I…don’t understand.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

“…Why?”

“I think you’d put it to better use than I would. It just kinda sits around; it doesn’t really go with my mane and coat that well, so I don’t wear it all that often.”

“I—uh—uh—I don’t—uh—” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Why are you giving this to me?”

“We’re friends, right?”

We kind of were. I didn’t know her that well but I trusted her enough to at least tell her about this stuff. Not even Snips had heard about this yet.

“Mhmm.”

“And you wanted to try it on, right?”

I nodded.

She grinned. “Well, now you can!”

I stared at the dress for a moment, just drinking in the situation.

When I had written the letter yesterday, I was scared because I hadn’t expected Tornado to react with kindness; I had expected her to shun me—to stop talking to me altogether. After all, who wants a mess? In that moment, though, as I held the dress high with a field of my magic wrapped around its neckline, I recognized that my fear had been nothing but silly; Tornado didn’t seem to be that kind of pony. If she didn’t judge me for liking tea parties, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t judge me about all of this other stuff either.

Everything would be fine.

My lips pulled up into a calm smile. I put down the dress and reached out with my hooves, wrapping her in a hug.

She squirmed, obviously uncomfortable from the gesture. “Eww, sick hugs!”

I let go of her. “Uh…sorry about that.”

“What was that all about, anyways?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

She blinked. “Uh…alright then.”

There was a brief period of time in which neither of us said anything after that. We just awkwardly stared at each other. I didn’t have much to say to her except one—something important and brief. “…Hey, Tornado Bolt?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She cocked her head sideways, towards one of her shoulders. “What for?”

“Thanks for hanging out with me and listening to me and not freaking out and…stuff.”

She waved my words away with a flick of a hoof. “It’s no big deal. That’s what friends are for, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for being my friend.”

Maybe it was because I hadn’t had many friends other than Snips before, or maybe it was because I finally had someone that I could talk to, but it felt really good to be able say that to someone other than Snips for once in my life. I finally had another friend.

Tornado gave me an insincere grin of sorts. There was a tiny bit of empathetic sadness behind her eyes that I could tell she was desperately trying to mask but couldn’t completely.

“Right…so…I’ll just go.”

“Mm. Okay. Thanks, Tornado.”

“…You’re welcome.”

(4) The Second Mirror

Thursday was spent in bed. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, considering it was still only the first week of school and I had already taken my first absence. That definitely wouldn’t look good to the teachers. At least I could say nopony got sick because of me. I wouldn’t have to worry about taking notes, too; that was a plus.

However, there was a problem with taking sick days, too: there was nothing to do. Sure, I could always pick up a book, but I don’t really like to read very much; I think that’s because I have a hard time focusing on all of the words.

I turned my eyes and head towards the large tower of comic books in my closet. There’d probably be something for me to read in there.

I levitated a comic out from underneath the stack. It was an issue of The Power Ponies: the one where The Maneiac tries to use a giant hairdryer to do…something to the entire world—I forgot. I liked that issue. With it raised up to my face, I opened it to the first page and began to read. While it was a good issue, I already knew what would happen—I had already read it a billion times before, as I had done with the rest of my collection—so I quickly grew bored of it. I set the comic down on the bedside table, next to my alarm clock, and fell backwards onto my mattress.

For a while, I just stared up at the ceiling; it was just as plain as usual—nothing new—nothing interesting. After rolling over onto my barrel, I buried my face into a pillow, and, a minute or so later, I groaned and kicked at the bedsheets with my hind legs, creating ripples and folds in the fabric and down comforter.

Having had given up on entertaining myself by reading, I turned to writing, remembering that I hadn’t written a letter to Snips for at least two weeks. With my magic, I grabbed a quill, an inkwell, and a couple a sheet of paper from my desk. After dipping the quill’s tip in ink and flattening the sheet in midair, I brought its tip to the white surface and began to write.

Hey, Snips.

I think a black cat’s been stalking me. School just started on Monday and I’ve already managed to humiliate myself in front my entire thaumaturgy class, injure my hoof—it’s nothing serious. Don’t worry about it—get concerns from my teachers, fall asleep in somepony else’s house, and get a cold.

On a more positive note, I’ve also made a new friend. Her name’s Tornado Bolt. She’s Lyra and Bon-Bon’s daughter, apparently. I think you’d like her a lot. She’s pretty cool. At the very least, she’s got ambition; she wants to be a storm-chaser when she grows up.

Remember Dinky? I’m not sure why, but she’s been acting really strange the last couple of days. She’s been raising her hoof a lot more during class, correcting teachers, and she even shouted (something about her mom not being stupid). She’s also been giving me weird looks during lunch for whatever reason.

Oh; right; I forgot to mention that! Tornado, Dinky, and I get together for lunch underneath the big maple tree on the school grounds, now. Apparently, Dinky is close friends with Tornado Bolt—“Besties,” Tori said.

Enough about me, though. How’re you? What’s going on in the big city?

Your friend forever, Snails.

P.S.: Sorry I haven’t written in a while.

Without anything else in mind, I sat there for a good ten to twenty minutes reading over what I had written, searching for subjects to add upon and mistakes to fix. Satisfied with my work, I left the letter on my bedside table to dry, removed any excess ink from my quill and dispensed it back into the inkwell, then returned the inkwell and quill to their cabinets. I then laid my head back down on a pillow and sighed.

Now I really didn’t have anything to do—nothing to write, nothing to read—so I decided to stare at the ceiling for a few more hours. During that time, I had fallen into some kind of trance, which had only been interrupted by the sounds of knocking on wood from downstairs, followed by the squeaking of a door-hinge and two muffled voices. I heard the door shut, some more muffled talking, and then the creaking of floorboards—the stairs.

My bedroom door opened. Tornado Bolt was standing underneath the doorframe, wearing a pumpkin-colored scarf and a brown saddlebag with brass-looking, lyre-shaped clasps. She waved.

“…Huh?” I shook my head. “Oh; hey, Tori. What’s up?”

Tori stepped over to the bed. “Nothing much. Mister Turner gave us some homework today. It’s math.” Oh great. She dropped her saddlebag to the floor, reached inside, and gave me a rolled up piece of paper. “So, feel any better?”

I scratched my nose, causing a small amount of snot to leak out and coat my hoof. “Th-thanks…and…yeah, I’m a little better—still sick, though.”

“Well, at least it’s progress.”

“I guess.”

A moment of silence passed between us.

Tornado looked around the room before asking, “So…do you want me to stay or should I go let you get some rest?”

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this yet, but ever since Snips moved to Manehattan to apprentice to be a mane-stylist like his dad, I haven’t really had anyone to talk with face-to-face. It was nice to have somepony to do that with again. I’m also an only-foal, and even though Mom loves me—I love her, too—we don’t do very much together, so it gets kind of lonely at home sometimes, especially when I’m sick.

It was an easy choice. “Uh…s-stay, please,” I said.

Tornado smiled and sat down by the bedside. “Alright. So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Uh…sleeping, reading comics…umm…eating…yeah.”

“Sounds boring.”

I nodded. “Yeah…. There’s not very much to do around here.”

“What about the dress?”

“Huh? Oh…uh…”—my gaze fell to the bed as my hoof trailed up and down my left cannon—“I haven’t tried it on yet.” My ears drooped. “…Sorry…,” I mumbled.

“Hey”—I glanced back up at her—“it’s no biggie. If anything, it gives us something to do, right?” Beaming, she clopped her hooves up against each other in rapid succession, and let out a high-pitched, “Eeeeee! This is gonna be so much fun!”

“H-huh?”

She coughed into her hoof and grinned sheepishly. “If you’re okay with it, that is. You’re okay with it, right?”

What was she talking about? Why did she make that noise and why did she become so excited all of a sudden? “…Uh…with what?”

“Well, I was hoping that maybe you could show me how it looks on you sometime.”

“It?”

“The dress.”

“…Oh. U-uh…maybe?” I hesitated. In my head, I had a scene of me, in the dress, staring into my still-broken mirror whilst standing next to Tori as she frankly noted how ugly I looked.

“Aw, c’mon; it’ll be fun! I think you’d look nice in it. And even if you don’t, at least we’ll have something to talk about later; right?”

“…I…guess….” I blinked. “Wait…do you really think it’d look good on me?”

“Mhmm! That’s one of the reasons I decided to give it to you, actually.”

“Uh…well…uh…alright then.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

She jumped up and down. “Eeeee!”

I stared at her.

“Well, what are you waiting for? C’mon!” she said.

After sparking my horn and pulling the dress out from underneath the bedframe, I pushed my sheets away and crawled off of the mattress, my hooves making small taps as they made contact with the floor. As I stepped over towards the broken mirror, Tori’s grin widened; it widened a lot.

My face reddened. “U-uh…could you—” I made a circular motion in the air.

“Oh; right. Sorry!” She twirled around to look at a window.

In that moment, my mouth felt incredibly dry—I can only compare it to a desert, really. My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the veins in my head pulsating. My front legs felt a little uneasy, too; my barrel, arhythmical in its motions, was swaying back and forth. I’m not sure if that was because of the injury or not, though. I mean, it didn’t hurt all that much anymore but—ugh…I got off track again; sorry.

I swallowed. I was really going to do this. I, Snailsquirm—a colt—was really going to do this.

This was so surreal.

With my eyes squeezed shut as I pulled the blue article of clothing over my head, I gently pushed each of my forelegs through the sleeves. I then pulled the hemline down my form to drape down near my hind legs.

I just stood there for a minute, my eyes closed, just wondering what I was doing with my life.

I felt something hard grab my shoulder. “Huh?!” I jumped and my eyes snapped open to focus upon the image in the mirror.

During the time that I had been trancing, Tornado had turned around and laid her hoof on me. She was smiling. She had a kind of sparkle in her eye; it was weird.

I took a deep breath and stared at myself. There I was—an awkward, tall, lankly, mustard-hued abomination in a flowery (excuse the pun), blue dress. Strangely, though, I didn’t feel that compulsion to punch something. Instead, there was a pleasant tingly sensation in my stomach—it’s hard to describe.

“Turns out I was right,” she said. “You look cute, Snails.”

“Huh?” I blushed. Did she really think that? Was I really…cute? No; that doesn’t make sense.

“With a little touchup, you might even be able to pass. I mean, you’d look like a tomcolt, but you’d pass.”

“…Pass…?” What was that supposed to mean?

“You look almost like a filly, Snails,” she clarified.

I blinked. After a moment, my head began to spin. My flank hit the floor. I closed my eyes and raised my hooves up to my temples. Somehow, years and years of suppressed dreams were coming back to me. Ones of me telling Ma, ones of me telling Snips, ones of me telling myself, ones of me going to school with a smile, ones of me reading comic books on lazy summer afternoons with my friends…ones of me being normal…ones of me being myself for once in my life.

“…Snails?”

Something clicked for me in that instant. I’m not sure why, but it all made sense now. The drawings, the crying, the glass smashing, the jealousy, the dress—it all made sense. I let my hooves drop back down as I turned to look at Tori.

“…Tori?” I asked. “How do I pass?”

“Well…your mane could use some work…and your posture…and your voice…maybe a little makeup.” She tilted her head at me.

“Why?”

I turned my head back to the mirror and raised my hoof to the hard, broken glass, taking a good, long look at my reflection. “…I wanna be a filly.”

For what felt like an hour, we just sat there, neither of us saying anything to the other, just staring at my reflection as if it were the only thing in the room.

Then Tori hugged me.

I cried.

(5.1)

By Friday, my hoof had mostly healed—it still itched a bit, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore—and I had gotten over my cold, so I had to attend school again.

Good job, Snails; you’re almost done with your first week.

Fridays are weird for me. Unlike every other school day, all of my classes are packed into that one day, so my schedule ends up looking kind of like this:

Friday: thaumaturgy (9:00 A.M.—9:45 A.M.), physics (9:45 A.M.—10:30 A.M.), literature (10:30 A.M.—11:15 A.M.), lunch (11:15 A.M.—11:45 A.M.), math (11:45 A.M.—12:30 P.M.), history (12:30 P.M.—1:15 P.M.), learning strategies (1:15 P.M.—2:00 P.M.).

As if that didn’t make the day bad enough, each day is about five hours long, and lunch is about thirty minutes, which mean each class period, on a regular school day, is around an hour and thirty minutes, but because every class is packed into Friday, on that day, each class period is about forty-five minutes. Guess what that means? The teachers rush. Of course, this is a major problem for me: Since I already struggle following what they’re saying on regular school days, following them on Fridays is near impossible for me.

I guess that doesn’t really matter all that much, though, does it? I bet you’re just wondering what happened today. After all, yesterday was what Pinkie Pie would call “a doozy.”

The day started with me crawling out of bed with a stretch and a groan. My room was just as bland as it usually was, minus a couple notes and the unfinished math worksheet from yesterday on my desk. I levitated one of the notes up to my face. It was a reminder to help FIuttershy with the animals tomorrow. I put the sheet down and turned to look at the still-broken mirror.

I was still wearing the dress.

I stared at myself for a solid minute or so.

Do I really want to do this?

Yes.

Am I even ready to do this?

I don’t know.

Do I even know how I’m going to do this?

Absolutely not.

I sighed. I couldn’t go to school with it on—that would be suicide!—so I pulled the dress back over my head and stuffed it away underneath my bed where I had hidden it earlier, revealing the very colt I had become so well acquainted with over the years. I stared at him some more.

“What am I doing?” I asked. “What’s wrong with me?”

I shook my head again and made my way out of the bedroom, into the hallway, and down the stairs, the flooring creaking underneath my hooves as I went. After passing the bottom step, I walked into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for something to eat.

There were only oats. I don’t like oats.

In the corner of my eye, I spied the answer to all of my problems: the refrigerator. Inside of it was a bag of freshly picked carrots. I took a few of them and sat down at the dining room table to chow down.

I’m not sure if I’ve made this clear yet, but Mom is a carrot-farmer. She farms carrots and then sells the majority of them at the marketplace. She does keep a few for us both to eat, though, and the ones that she does…I have no words to describe then with—other than lip-smackingly amazing. They are so lip-smackingly amazing, in fact, that she basically holds a carrot monopoly over the entirety of Ponyville.

I lifted the next carrot to my mouth and chomped…air. Looking down at my hooves, I frowned; I was all out of carrots.

My ears drooped and I slumped in my chair, laying my chin on the table, my lips in a small pout. That’s what happens when you eat Mom’s carrots: post-carrot funk. I’m not even exaggerating at this point. They’re just that good.

I dragged myself out of my seat and planted my hooves back on the clean, white-and-black-tiled floor. I stood there for a moment, licking my lips, and then went back upstairs to finish getting myself ready for the day.

The bathroom was pretty trivial: It had a simple, white-tiled floor; a small sink and countertop with cupboards; a one-pony-sized bathtub with a shower nozzle and curtain; and a toilet. I grabbed my toothbrush—a simple, transparent, ruby-toned brush with white bristles—and a tube of toothpaste, and squeezed some of the paste onto the brush’s fibers. Then I raised the brush up to my face and got to work.

That was the second time that I looked at my reflection that morning.

My mane was a mess—a genuine rats’ nest—an unmanaged grass lawn in the middle of summer. While I usually would have left it alone, I decided against it this time. Instead, I reached into another cabinet with my magic and brought Mom’s hairbrush up to my head. Now I was brushing both my teeth and my mane! Who knew that I could double task?

After another minute or so, I spit out the toothpaste and left the hairbrush on the counter for Ma to use later. I turned the sink on and used it to rinse my toothbrush, and then shut it off and stuffed the brush and toothpaste away, back to their original resting places.

A wide grin spread across my face. I looked so organized!—so clean!—almost as if I had my life together!

My smile dropped. If only.

I went back downstairs and grabbed my saddlebag. Today was going to be a long day.

⁂

As I said before, first period was Elementary Magic with Sparkler: a good forty-five minutes of stuff that I would never come to understand in the slightest. There were a couple of runic equations written on the massive forest-green chalkboards at the front of the classroom—I couldn’t read a single one—and accompanying these equations were diagrams that equally didn’t make any sense. As a result, for the majority of the period, I ended up staring at the seemingly inconspicuous bundle of thickly stemmed, yellow-toned flowers on my desk.

There was one moment in class that really got me to look away from the bushel, however.

Sparkler was standing at the front of the classroom, holding her own collection of flowers to her right with a sparkling, purple magical field. Her bottom eyelids were dark and sagging, her eyes were visibly red-tinted, and her mane, tail, and fur coat were all unusually frizzy.

She spoke with a kind of strained, almost-unexcitable voice, “Now, we’ve gone over chase-discord’s thaumic stabilizing properties, but who can tell me what else it can be used for?”

Tori’s hoof immediately shot up, almost forcing her to jump out of her seat. You could even hear a little bang from when her stomach hit the edge of her desk.

Miss Star sighed, pointed at her, and said, “Yes, Tornado Bolt?”

“It’s a fairy-bane.”

Sparkler nodded. “Indeed. So, remember, class, if you have any bones to pick with the Unseelie Court, having some chase-discord on you at all times would be a good idea; it’s poisonous to them. It also repels any glamour that may be directed towards you.” She turned her gaze back towards Tori and smirked. “Please consult your local changeling if you have any further questions; she’ll probably be able to give you a pretty realistic hooves-on demonstration. She might even spare your life—if you ask politely.”

At this point, I was almost drowning in my own confusion. I think the rest of the class was, too, because almost everypony had gone silent enough for me to easily hear Tori’s pencil fall from her desk right next to me and weakly bounce across the floor once or twice before rolling underneath my chair.

Sparkler cleared her throat and continued. “Now, chase-discord is not only a fae-bane, but it is also…”

Tori glared at the teacher, her teeth grinding, her face burning red. I swear I could see steam fuming from her ears and nose! She looked like a volcano that was about to erupt! “I swear…someday…I will crush your stupid fucking neck,” she growled under her breath.

I blinked. “Huh?”

“Oh; sorry, Snails; that wasn’t directed at you.”

“Oh…uh…okay.”

Well…that was new.

⁂

Physics class was incredibly weird today. By the way, that was an understatement; it was beyond weird; it was dreamlike.

Time Turner wasn’t there today, so we had a substitute teacher instead. She was a light-blue Unicorn mare with an azure-colored, silver-striped mane and tail, goldenrod eyes, and had a picture of a wooden hourglass on her flanks.

“Hello, class. Name’s Minuette. Turner’s a little sick today, so I’ll be subbing for him in the meantime.”

At first, I thought that she’d be just a regular substitute. Maybe she’d play us a movie or two and just sit down and read a book or something. Then I noticed that both Dinky Doo and Tornado were bouncing in their chairs like pogo sticks. Then I noticed that half of the classroom was grinning and pumping their hooves, whispering, “Yes!” The other half of the classroom was shivering with their eyes bulging wide open and their pupils the size of pinpricks. Then…Minuette continued.

“He told me to blow your minds this morning—said I should completely destroy your entire worldview.” She smiled, rubbing her hooves against each other like a maniac. “I guess I can try.”

I sighed and began reaching down towards my saddlebag for my notebook.

She looked at me—I stopped—she looked at me! Oh dear Celestia, am in trouble already?!

“No need to take notes, by the way. None of this’s gonna be on the finals,” she said. “After all, nothing particularly ‘classical’ will be happening while I’m here.”

I heard a continuous, loud, hammering hullabaloo. At this point, half of the classroom had joined Tori and Dinky in becoming humongous, equine bouncy balls. The other half was wheezing.

I sat back up in my seat and nodded cautiously.

She nodded back. “Alright. Are we ready to begin?”

The entire class squealed.

I just simply blinked. “I…guess?” I said.

She rubbed her hooves some more, then lit her horn.

Everything turned red for a moment. In less than a blink, the room’s size exploded beyond comprehension. I could see everypony’s—including Minuette’s—skin rippling, stretching, compressing, almost rhythmically. Floating underneath us were massive (also rhythmically stretching and compressing) globules of vibrating, point-like objects emitting packets of other point-like objects, some of which being received by other point-like objects in the group, causing them to change behavior in some manner. Sometimes, what looked like an impression of some kind would pass through these globules, causing groups of point-like objects to congregate even more than they already had. Around these globs of stuff were other point-like objects, all of which vibrating in seemingly random positions that changed whenever you blinked—which was right about now.

One of these point-like objects flew out from these globules and directly towards me. I flinched, anticipating an impact as my body was rapidly being stretched in its direction—like putty—but, instead, the object changed its path about five hooves away from my face, emitting an impression (which passed right through me, by the way) and shooting up towards the ceiling, pulling my head with it until, halfway to its destination, my face snapped back to its (relatively) normal position.

I blinked. I felt as if I was going to fall over. “U-uh…um…what was that?” The pitch of my voice was dramatically increasing and decreasing in a sinusoidal manner as I spoke.

“The W-boson just wanted to say hi,” Minuette giggled, her voice’s pitch also sinusoidal in nature. “Don’t worry about it too much. It can’t hurt you in here.”

Her face stretched some more as an impression passed right through it. She grinned “And that, Snails, was a neutrino.” She pointed down at the globules below us. “And those are atomic nuclei, consisting of quarks and held together by gluons. The particles orbiting them are called electrons.”

“When that W-boson decayed in your face, it emitted an electron and a neutrino. The particle that flew up there”—she pointed up towards the ceiling—“was the electron. The thing that passed through you was a neutrino.”

“Uh…”

She looked away, towards the rest of my classmates and made a motion in the air with her hoof. “Welcome to the quantum realm, class!”

Tori bounced on over to me with what possibly was one of the biggest grins I’ve ever seen on her—ever. “Isn’t this just awesome?!” she asked.

“Uh…”

It was. It was really…really cool.

For once in my life, I actually paid attention during class. It was glorious.

⁂

It was raining during lunchtime, today, so Tornado, Dinky, and I didn’t meet up underneath the maple tree this time. Instead, we met up in the school’s cafeteria.

Tori was acting really odd today. She was a lot more reserved than usual. Instead of trying to initiate any conversation between us three, she had her head buried in an enormous, yellowed, leather-bound tome, and was quickly scanning rows of text that were so small that they seemed almost unreadable to the equine eye.

Even Dinky noticed that there was something up with her. “Was it Star again?” she asked.

Tornado wilted ever so closer to her book.

Dinky laid her hooves on top of Tori’s. “Tori, please; you can’t hide yourself in your book whenever Amethyst decides to be a jerk like that. The Invasion is over; it’s all in the past. She’s just being stupid.”

Tori sighed. “Yeah; I guess. I just—I get so angry sometimes! I’m not sure why. I don’t even know her. I shouldn’t even care, but…I do. I mean, she can insult me all she wants, but pull Sweetie  into it and…ugh!”

Dinky opened her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again. Then she closed it again. She shook her head. “Tornado, do you think what Sparkler feels about her should matter to you?”

“I…no.”

“Then just do what Snails always does: don’t think about it—ever. Ignore her.”

Dinky, it should be noted that when I said that, I was more joking about my thoughtlessness if anything and hiding that joke behind a layer of partial-irony and ambiguity to make Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy think that I was talking about (performance?) anxiety, all the while being genuine about both possible interpretations of what I said.

It’s hard to explain. Sorry.

Anyways…I tried to hold a perfect poker face.  I think I did a pretty good job at it, actually. “It works”—it used to. “It’s what I always did when Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon tried to get on my nerves.”

“—Until they brought Snips into the equation. Then you screamed like a foal,” Dinky added. She shook her head. “I don’t get why you got so angry with them about that. Even in comparison to Tori, it seems hyperbolic.”

Tori raised an eyebrow. “Snips?”

“His coltfriend—a little olive-colored pony—orange mane—scissors for a cutie-mark.”

“I—wha?” My face warmed. “He’s…he’s not my coltfriend!” I looked away. Rubbing my cannon, I muttered, “We’re just friends.”

Dinky snickered, “Sure—and that kiss underneath the mistletoe was completely and utterly platonic in nature, right? No homo?”

What had just been faint warmth in my cheeks grew to a sweltering inferno across my entire face. “Sh-shut up.”

⁂

In case you’re wondering why I ask “Why am I so stupid?” so much, the weather forecast had said that a rainstorm had been organized for later today and yet I hadn’t once thought of packing a raincoat or some boots this morning.

Tornado had been smarter; she had packed a three-pony umbrella which she offered to share with Dinky and me after school got out. Unlike Dinky (who had packed her own umbrella and coat just like everypony else with at least half an I.Q. point), I eagerly accepted. It would make the trip home a great deal more tolerable. After all, having a few shivers was a great deal better than having a bunch of them alongside a soaking-wet fur coat; one situation was a recipe for needing a warm bath and the other was a recipe for needing a hot bath and a couple more mind-numbing days in bed.

Shortly following a flash of light in my peripheral view, I heard an ear-splitting boom. I jumped and quickly turned my head to the left, towards the direction of the sound, and a blast of air hit my face like a cannonball. Lifting a hoof to block some of the wind from obscuring my vision, I noticed a plume of black smoke slowly rising into the sky. A mare with a thick country accent yelled in the distance, “Goddess, damn it!”

“Think we should drop by my place for the time being? As cool as this is, I don’t want either of you to get fried out here,” Tornado said.

Dinky shook her head. “Mine’s closer; we should hang out there instead.”

“Snails? Any objections?”

I shook my head. “We already passed my house.”

Tori blinked.

Squinting at me, Dinky asked, “Then why are you still here?”

I shrugged.

Tori nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

⁂

Soon, we arrived at Dinky’s place. It was a modest, single-story house with a typical straw roof and the normal Ponyville brown, yellow, and pink color scheme. Extruding from the rooftop was a short chimney that was currently exhaling clouds of charcoal-colored smoke into the atmosphere. At the front of the building, a little dirt path led through a wall of shrubs to a white door. We dragged our muddied hooves across a rug situated at the base of the front door and stepped inside, leaving our umbrellas at the entrance.

The first things that I noticed when I entered were the equation-littered black walls of the hallway. Beside the walls sat buckets of chalk and an equally sized bucket of water with a wet rag hanging over its edge. Dinky’s earlier mention of “chalkboard walls” made a lot more sense now; they were literally made of chalkboard—or at least painted with the stuff.

“Mom, I’m home!” Dinky shouted. I flinched. I still wasn’t used to her yelling yet. Well…really, I wasn’t used to her at all.

A middle-aged Pegasus mare stepped into the corridor through an archway to my left. The mare, Derpy, had a messy, blonde mane and tail, a grey coat, and golden eyes that had somehow managed to direct themselves in completely different directions. “Hey, Dinks! Hey, Tori! How was school?” she asked. Upon noticing me, her head tilted slightly leftward. “Who’s this?”

“Hi; I’m Snails.”

Tori added, “He’s a friend.”

Derpy smiled. “Oh. Well…welcome, Snails! My name’s Derpy. It's nice to meet you!”

“Y-you, too,” I replied.

She stared at us for a moment before nodding and saying, “Well...why don’t you three get yourselves acclimated while I get you guy and gals some tea and muffins? I’ll be right back.” With that, Derpy disappeared back through the aforementioned archway, apparently into the kitchen.

Tori followed behind her and said, “I’ll help with the water!”

“Oh; thank you, Hon. The fireplace is rather inefficient at boiling things, I’ve found.”

That just left Dinky and me behind in the hallway…alone…with each other. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t mildly afraid that she might hit me in the face or something, however irrational that fear may have been—which it was; it was very irrational.

At least it was somewhat justified, I guess; Dinky was looking at me weirdly again—frowning, specifically. I still didn’t know why that was. Was she angry at me?

“I know that Tori told me not to ask earlier, but why did you lie to us about the drawings?”

My ears perked up. “H-huh?” Was that what all of the strange looks were about? Lying? “Oh…uh…it’s”—I looked away from her and mumbled, my ears now drooping back down towards the ground—“it’s kind of personal. Sorry.”

“You could have just said that to begin with; you never had to lie.”

“I—uh…why—why does it matter?”

“That…that’s irrelevant.”

I sighed. “I…I was worried that if I said it was personal, it’d only make you gals more curious.”

Her face relaxed. A tiny, barely noticeable smile had replaced her previous, supposedly negative expression. “Admittedly, it does pique my interest—I think it piques Tori’s, too, though I feel that she knows a fair bit more about it than she lets on—”—how did she know about that? Was she a psychic?—“but did you really think that we wouldn’t respect your wishes not to talk about it?”

I awkwardly rubbed and scratched at my crest. “I—uh—well…y-yeah.”

Dinky blinked. “Don’t worry about it; we won’t bite, regardless of whether you tell us about it or not. Trust me; I would be lying if I said that we didn’t each have our own fair share of secrets, too.” Her smile grew to a size that, while still modest, was a lot more visible to the naked eye. “I think we got off on the wrong hoof. How about we try this again?” She reached her hoof out towards me and said, “My name is Dinky Diamond Doo. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Snails.”

I wasn’t really sure how to take that then. It seemed like her mood had turned a complete one-eighty at the drop of a hat. Was simply explaining myself enough for her to change her perspective completely? “I—uh…what?” It seemed odd, at the least; very rarely are ponies quick to change their minds. I shook her hoof anyways, though. “It—it’s nice to meet you, too.”

We stood there for a few minutes, an awkward silence permeating through the air (neither of us really having anything to say, I guess). It was only broken by a loud bang and Tori’s panicked yelp as something metallic clattered against what was presumably the kitchen floor. “Ah!! …I’m so—so—so—so sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

“Oh; it’s quite alright, Hon. There are plenty more where that came from.” Derpy Hooves giggled. “Accidents are more than a little commonplace here so, naturally, I have more than just a few spares lying around.” There was some more clanging, this time sounding of metal against metal instead of metal against tile. “Ah; here you go! Just make sure not to break this one, alright? It’s a present from my niece.”

“Okay; I’ll try.”

Dinky drew my attention back towards her by tapping my wither. “We should probably get ourselves situated. They’ll probably have the tea ready soon. Well, unless they blow it up again.”

I nodded. My legs were starting to ache from all of this standing.

There wasn’t much to be seen in the living room—okay, that’s wrong; there were some things. While there wasn’t a lot of furniture, there were a couple of wooden tables, a wooden cabinet or two, and a cotton sofa to sit on. The real spectacle was to be seen in the various pictures littering the room. There were dozens of them covering the pink-multitoned wallpapered walls, the tables, and one or two were even on top of the overhang of the cobblestone fireplace. The majority of them were poorly shot but served their purpose regardless, all depicting moments shared between Dinky and Derpy Hooves Doo. One of the pictures, showing Derpy holding baby Dinky at a hospital, had a huge segment of it ripped out, which I couldn’t help but mull. I didn’t ask about it, though.

As I settled down on the sofa, Dinky galloped back out into the hallway. I heard some rustling and clanking, then a series of quiet clacking noises. A minute later, she stepped back into the room and said, “Sorry; I had something I needed to write down before I forgot about it.” She sat down next to me and shuffled positions for a while. I think she was trying to find a comfy manner to sit, I guess. Then she exhaled. “I’m sorry for teasing you about Snips earlier.”

“I-it’s alright.”

She shook her head. “Still, it wasn’t cool of me. It has to be pretty personal to you, right?”

“Other than the whole…”—I slid my hoof forwards and backwards against the cushion—“…uh…m-mistletoe thing? Not—not too much. Everypony already knows I don’t like it when Snipsy’s mistreated.”

“He didn’t go crazy when you were on the receiving end, though.”

“No; he—he’s always been the more…emotionally stable…of the two of us. He…had his own ways of reacting to that sort of thing. ”

“Oh? How so?”