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Spilling Ink: The Ever After Stories
01: Spilled Coffee and Mild Impurities of the Human Sort
A family friend had once said, “The first place the dead go is the heart of someone else.” Of course, in order for him to say this, some measure of tragedy would have had to befall him. Knowledge is not born from nothing, after all; it is derived from experience, and life has a habit of saying that the more unfortunate and tumultuous that experience is, the richer is the knowledge gained.
Dahlia Quill Apple had that quote stuck in her mind ever since her mother's funeral. Uncle Artifex, as he was often called by the other children of that entire group of Canterlot and Crystal Prep students who had, for better or for worse, banded together throughout the years as one cohesive pseudo-family, most certainly had a way with words, something that he and her mother had shared. This quote, among many others, long had cemented him, within that little group, as the "Wordsmith", though his wife, the former Siren, Adagio Dazzle, made it clear that her preferred term of endearment was far less kid-friendly. It amazed Dahlia that even at her age, Adagio retained her youthful habit of seductive teasing. It had waned with the years, of course, and with a daughter of their own it had further lessened. It seemed that being a parent came natural to Adagio, as she wanted her daughter to be "good and proper," as Rarity had succinctly described it, without the bad habits that the former villain had practiced before she and Artifex had met.
Former villain.
It also amazed Dahlia that that description existed, and not only that, but it was applicable to a surprisingly large number of people that her parents and friends knew. There were, of course, the ex-Siren sisters, Aria and Sonata, and there was also Soul Writer's wife, Sunset Shimmer, by far the most prominent of the group according to many. How strange it was, too, that those girls all shared the trait of being from another world, literally. If Dahlia hadn't seen the portal for herself, she would have been convinced that everyone was trying to fool her.
And with that world came magic. There again was that amazement, that several people were capable of channeling this strange, mystical energy from another realm entirely. And the fact that one of their number—Sunset Shimmer, of course—kept a close eye on it, and was in constant communication with a princess from that same other realm who, apparently, was the avatar of that magic, was by no means anything short of a phenomenon.
That word could describe more than a fair share of Dahlia’s life. But then again, she figured it could be used to describe the life that was not hers, but that had been her mother’s, and her father’s, and everyone else who had known them and who were close to them. Phenomenons of the human sort, like miracles in the mortal form.
I should use that line …
But would she remember it, without writing it down?
She considered this, thinking that line over and over, adjusting it so that it rhymed better, and matching it with an experimental set of notes that only she could hear, all as she stirred her morning cup of coffee. She had poured almost half of the creamer into it, or at least as much as she could without spilling over the cup, because the kind of coffee her father, Big Macintosh Apple, bought and used was, in her opinion, far too bitter for normal consumption without at least drowning it for two hours in a sweeter supplement. She brought the cup to her lips and blew, the cold breath brushing over the brown liquid, and she could smell on her intake of breath the scent of hazelnut and cinnamon. The latter ingredient was a family preference, introduced first by Big Mac’s former girlfriend to him, then to Dahlia’s mother, and now to her. A touch of it here, a pinch of it there, and for some reason you could make damn good coffee that most other people could not match.
Dahlia took a sip, swirling the coffee in her mouth before swallowing. It was sweet and warm—just the right combination of both to satisfy her. She nodded to herself, then turned and left the kitchen to sit down at the dining room table.
Big Mac, her father, sat opposite of her, reading the newspaper. His reading glasses glinted in the morning sunshine, making his green eyes—which Dahlia had inherited, along with his freckles—pop and glow almost with an ethereal glow. He looked over at her as she sat down. He had been eating an egg-and-cheese sandwich on a bagel, and it now sat on his plate half-eaten. He had also taken his own cup of coffee, though, for the life of her, he had added nothing but cinnamon to it.
He noted her scrunched up face, and offered a chuckle. “Yer still bothered by that, ain’t ya?” he asked. He had not lost his traditionally southern drawl even after living years away from the countryside. Once an Apple, always an Apple, he was fond of saying, as was Dahlia’s aunt Apple Bloom.
Dahlia smiled at her father. “Yeah. I just can’t get how you can like it. Doesn’t it, I don’t know, burn your tastebuds?”
“If it did,” he replied easily, ruffling the paper and turning the page, “then Ah’d need to make it even darker than ever.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Sure is, if y’consider adding cough syrup a small sacrifice to pay.”
Dahlia gagged, and Big Mac laughed. His was a deep baritone laugh, quiet and subdued like a soft roll of thunder. “You never kissed Mom with that in your mouth, did you?”
“Ah tried a few times,” he said, looking back at her. There was an amused glint in his grin. “But each time, she’d threaten to throw the cup at me.”
Mom.
The first month after the funeral, it had proven impossible for either Dahlia or Big Mac to discuss her. It was not for lack of trying; there were always instances where her name came up. But back then it was simply too soon to do some serious reflecting without incurring some incredible pain for the two of them. This was most often brought on by their friends and family—they meant their best, and never wanted to hurt them, but it was clear to everyone that there would be no discussion of the late Ink Quill—at least, no discussion that would position her as being “late.” The pain was fresh, after all; you cannot rush through it or peel it off as though it was a Band-Aid.
That had been a painful month. But then, as the saying goes, time began to heal them, and within the next several weeks little moments like this began to crop up. Ink Quill seemed to show up at random, whether in a piece of paper that was flying through the air as a result of an open door, or a soft lullaby playing on the radio which reminded the two of them of her latent talent, though untrained, for singing. And there was, of course, the constant reminder of her success as an author. Between raising a family with Big Mac and writing stories for a living, Ink Quill had managed to accrue a substantial presence in the literary world, and she was lauded for her romance novels as much as she was for her recent endeavors into the children's books’ world. Between the radio, television, and even the occasional newspaper headline (when newspapers were still being read—which Big Mac insisted would be forever in the long run), Ink Quill would not be forgotten.
And with that knowledge, both Dahlia and Big Mac felt the pain begin to recede, and they could talk freely of her. Their mistake was thinking that, with her death, Ink Quill was no more; in reality, she was something much more. Dahlia was by no means a spiritual person, but she knew that, in many ways, her mother wasn’t truly gone. She was there in the mornings, in the chair, usually going over a bit of a manuscript with a blue fountain pen; or she was out and about when Dahlia was going for a walk, humming something that only she heard, and inspiring her daughter with a sense of musicality which had become her own.
Which was why, perhaps, Uncle Artifex’s words had emerged to the forefront of her mind. In them, there was truth; and with them, she knew her mother was still around, watching her, loving her, and never about to leave her side. Her final gift, a song which she would never forget , was a testament to that fact.
“Really?” Dahlia said. “She’d throw the cup at you?”
“Well, she’d threaten. Came close a few times, then Ah got smart and stopped.”
“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person? I always thought Mom was a bit on the reserved side.”
“She was,” he said, putting the newspaper down and stopping to take a bite out of his breakfast. “But, there were some times where she became even fiercer than Gaige.”
“Really? That’s hard to believe. From what I’ve heard, no one’s got a fierce streak like Auntie Gaige.” She smiled to herself, remembering that the pig-tailed girl hated being called “Auntie,” which was why Hazel and Ink had both insisted she be called that. Punishment for being late for Ink’s baby shower, as it turned out.
Big Mac laughed. “All right, maybe Ah’m exaggerating. But trus’ me. When she got goin’, yer mother could make even the most staunch of men run fer the hills. Didn’t even need to shout, fer the most part.”
He paused, thinking. A smile lit across his face, much brighter and youthful than before. “I remember this one time, in our senior year in high school … Well, maybe Ah shouldn’t say. It’s mighty embarrassing, not fer me, nor Ink, but fer the other guy.”
“No way, Dad.” Dahlia put her cup down and leaned forward. “You started this, you gotta finish this.”
“Fine, fine! Your mother would say the same thing.” He took a sip of his coffee, then looked down at it. “You know, funnily enough, it began with a cup of coffee…”
***
But it wasn’t Mac’s coffee, or Ink’s, but rather a local Starbucks who had supplied her with it. She hadn’t even meant to go into Starbucks—in fact, she’d never been up until that point—but a sudden call from her benefactor made a quick coffee break a necessity. Luckily she never went anywhere without her laptop, and, after setting up and letting her benefactor know that she’d call him back soon, she went to the counter to order.
It was a cold Saturday in early January. Snow had come all throughout the week in various spurts, and while the city of Canterlot had managed to clear the roads, ice had made for more than a fair share of delayed openings and closings for CHS. Spring Break had days taken away, much to the student body’s disappointment. That Saturday, however, Ink was not thinking about how disappointing her two-day Spring Break would be, but rather, why her benefactor had chosen to call her at that exact time.
She thought about this as she went back to her seat, and also why she referred to him as her benefactor. Certainly, Mr. Opacare Prose was by no means a close friend, but “benefactor” seemed also a strangely unfamiliar and aloof title. But she could not think of anything else, as he had really been her benefactor of more than one thing: between her foot-in-the-door for the publishing world, as well as helping to pay off her mother’s medical bills, Mr. Prose had done more than enough to earn that title. And now, with constant advisement about her writing, or at least the excerpt she had given him for that Wordsmith Contest—God, that seemed so long ago!—it made sense to her that she should hold him in such a high regard.
But even then, she knew he would have preferred nothing so lofty. During one call, when she had thanked him again for everything he’d done, he stopped her. “Ink,” he said, “really, there’s no need to be excessive about it. You’ve thanked me more than enough.” And that had gotten her to blush, and then to apologize, which had annoyed him, but in the way that someone who means well but then fumbles their own words may mildly annoy others.
She was so caught up in this thinking, though, that she failed to notice the patch of ice that had yet to melt right in front of her. She only noticed when the world suddenly spun back. “Agh!” she cried out.
A pair of strong hands caught her and her coffee. “Whoa, there, girlie! Almost took a nasty spill!”
She gasped for breath, thinking at first that it had been Big Mac who had caught her. Then, almost immediately, she realized it wasn’t him, but some other boy. “Oh! Um, thanks, mister. Gosh, that was rather clumsy of me.”
“Nah, you’re good,” he said.
She noted that his hands were locked firmly around her waist, having somehow traveled from her arms to there. She frowned. “Um, could I—”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall again.”
She wiggled out of his grip and turned to get a better look at her catcher. He was a tan-skinned young man, with milk-chocolate covered hair that was cropped over to one side. He winked at Ink with his green eyes, a smile on his face that, for some reason, she knew she did not like. “Name’s Feather Bangs, sweetheart,” he said, flicking his hair over to the other side.
Ink nodded, frowning. “It’s not sweetheart,” she said.
“I meant no offense,” Feather Bangs said, “but, well, you see, I didn’t know your name, so I wasn’t sure what else to call you.” And again he flashed her that smile which unsettled her.
“Okay. Well. Thanks for catching me, Feather Bangs.”
“Not a problem…”
He trailed, looking at her expectantly. I suppose it can’t hurt , she thought. She motioned to herself with her coffee. “I’m Ink Quill.”
“Ink Quill! A lovely name, for a lovely dame!” He paused, humming out the last syllable. “Hmm. What rhymes with ‘dame?’”
She gazed at him for a moment longer, before gesturing with her cup to her table. “Um, may I—” Yet without so much as a returning glance, Feather Bangs moved out of the way, allowing her to sit down.
No sooner had she, and no sooner had she opened up her laptop to find the document that Opacare Prose had referred to his in quick call, that she felt the table move. She looked around the laptop, and saw Feather Bangs sitting in the other seat. Her eyes momentarily widened. “Um…”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, again flicking his hair. “You can look. Most people do, anyway, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“Okay…” She looked back at her laptop and entered her login information. Her hand brushed over to her phone and she flicked over to find Mr. Prose’s phone number. She looked up again, and saw that Feather Bangs was still sitting across from her, watching her with a smile.
“Okay, I give up,” she said. “Is something wrong, Feather Bangs?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Well…” He placed a finger on the table, and traced a vaguely curvy shape. “I visited a fortune-teller the other day,” he said, seemingly throwing out the previous topic. Do you know what she said?”
“No?” And frankly Ink didn’t care, but she also didn’t care to tell him that, either. He seemed nice enough, if a bit weird.
“She said, ‘Someone will come into your life who will warm the house you call home.’ Do you believe in destiny, Ink Quill?”
Again with the foregoing of the topic. She was quiet, re-adjusting to the sudden transition. Feather Bangs was looking at her expectantly. “Do you?” he asked.
“Er, I mean, maybe?”
Her laptop finished booting up, and she scrolled over to the documents folder to find her manuscript. Her other hand remained hovering over her phone.
“I believe in destiny,” Feather Bangs said quietly. Then he leaned over, eyes shimmering. “And I believe it is destiny that you and I met today, here and now, during one heck of a cold spell.”
She only really heard the end part, for she mumbled, “It’s not that cold,” but he didn’t hear her, or maybe he ignored her, so caught up in his own zeal.
“So you agree! Then that old hag was right—someone has come to warm where I call home!”
He was leaning so much over that the table was beginning to topple. Politely, she asked him to sit back down before the coffee spilled. He seemed taken aback by this, but only momentarily.
As the manuscript finally opened, Feather Bangs offered a laugh. “Ah, I see the old fortune-teller neglected to say you would be hard to get! But that’s okay. I like it when a woman’s a bit tough.”
She heard the last part and raised her eyebrow at him. He seemed to take that as invitation to continue. “Perhaps you need to be serenaded, before we can warm our homes.”
She only had a moment to begin saying, “Wha—” before the young man before her broke out in song:
“This one's for you Lady Quill!
My love for you is like the most Warm Eggplant,
Oh darling Ink,
Blood is red,
Oh darling Ink,
Your Beautiful Goat face,
How could I look at another when our Warm Eggplant love is so strong?
I love you Lady Quill!”
All heads in the Starbucks had turned to see the commotion. So had Ink. She gazed, open-mouthed, as Feather Bangs finished the “song” with a bit of a head-roll. Technically speaking, he wasn’t a bad singer. But as for the song itself…
Does bleach work on ears, too?
At the very least, she finally understood what he was talking, or, well, “singing,” about, and upon realizing this, she felt a deep wad of pity grow inside of her. Oh, this poor boy. Oh, poor him, poor him.
He had not noticed the stares from the other customers, only Ink’s. He smiled brilliantly at her. “I see you are entranced by my singing skills!” he exclaimed. “Clearly, you are smitten beyond belief. At your word, we shall leave, and make haste for my home, where we can warm our bodies as it was foretold—”
“No.”
He stumbled over his words, but, to his credit, managed to retain a smile. “I… I’m sorry?”
She offered him her own smile, one that was filled with sorrowful compassion and pittance. “I said, no, Feather Bangs.”
He chuckled. “What? What do you mean, no? There’s no need to be indecisive, Ink Quill! It’s our destiny to be one!”
“You might think it is,” she said carefully, tapping her phone a few times in an effort to call Mr. Prose—I might as well multi-task —“but, well, I’m afraid I’m, um…”
And then she paused, thinking. “Well, how do I put this? I guess the best way is to say I’m taken.”
“Howdy, Ink.”
That one voice carried over the silence that the coffee shop held with bated breath. She looked over to the doorway, and saw, standing there in his thick down jacket and his hair just a little bit ruffled, Big Mac. She beamed at him. “Mac! What a surprise!”
“Sorry to come in unannounced,” he said, nodding to the nearby barista. She graciously let him in. “But Ah saw you inside and realized I wanted to let you know in person that dinner plans have changed.”
She frowned. “You mean, they’re cancelled?”
“Naw. They just got moved an hour back. They have a party going on fer some older folk, and needed to open up a slot. So I said they can have ours.” He rubbed the back of his head as he walked over. “Um, hopefully that ain’t a problem?”
“No, of course not.” She got up and stopped him halfway, giving him a quick peck on the lips. But he was taller than her, so she had to stand on her tippy-toes to give him one. She could feel Feather Bangs’ eyes on her, but at that moment she didn’t care. “That kind of kindness is what got me to fall for you, remember?”
“Aw, shucks. Here Ah was, thinking it was my wit.”
“Wit alone?”
“Eeyup.”
Ink giggled. Mac looked past her at the table. “Oh? And who’s this?”
Feather Bangs had gotten out of his seat, but he seemed uncertain as to what to do next. Ink decided to be helpful. “Oh. That’s Feather Bangs. I almost fell over there, but he managed to catch me before I did. Feather Bangs, this is my boyfriend, Macintosh Apple.”
“Howdy,” Mac said, extending a hand.
Feather Bangs furiously smacked his hand away. His face was a mix of shock and anger. “What the—you teasing, lying fiend!” he yelled at Ink.
Mac frowned. “Now hold on, that ain’t a way t’ speak to Ink.”
“I didn’t lie about anything,” Ink said, smiling pleasantly. “You just didn’t let me finish.”
“Wha—but, the fortune-teller, and—and you, coming here, and the cold, and the warming—”
“Maybe someone else will come,” she offered. She looked back at Mac. “Thanks for coming by to let me know about tonight, though. I could use the extra hour.”
“To yourself?”
“Of course not! With you!” She kissed him again. There were a few “awws” from the Starbucks’ customers. In the past, she would have been embarrassed to be showing off such obvious displays of affection, but something about the present moment made her throw aside such hesitancy.
“No!” she heard Feather Bangs say. He slammed his hand on the table, nearly upsetting it. Ink moved quickly to catch her coffee before it spilled. “No, my fortune—it said—it wouldn’t be wrong! It wouldn’t be!”
“I’m sorry, Feather Bangs,” she said.
“You’re not supposed to be sorry!” he wailed. “You’re supposed to come home with me and warm my sheets!”
She felt Mac tense up. He was a gentle soul, so she doubted he would resort to throttling the young man, but she would rather he not throw down in a coffee shop. The other patrons appeared just as ready to fight Feather Bangs, though. And the poor boy was fuming, practically foaming at the mouth. Maybe the fortune-teller had slipped him something. Ink felt sorry for him.
“You want warmth?” she said. “Okay, here.”
And she threw the contents of her cup onto him.
She had, conveniently, forgotten what exactly she’d gotten, so when she threw it onto Feather Bangs, she was more than a little surprised at his resulting appearance. Whatever she’d gotten was not coffee, but rather a colorful parody of it, and it coated his skin in multi-colored hues and long strokes of sugary supplement. Apparently she had also gotten whipped cream with her drink, as now Feather Bangs had a glob of it in place of his nose.
For several tense seconds, no one moved. No one said anything.
Then Feather Bangs screamed and ran out of the Starbucks, coffee deluge trailing behind him, and loud jeers soon followed after. Meanwhile the shop, which had for that moment been tensely watching the events unfold, let loose a series of thunderous applause.
All of this brought Ink down from whatever cloud she’d been riding, and she realized with a fierce blush what she’d done. “Oh, geez. I’m gonna be in so much trouble.” Then she turned to Mac. “Mac, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me!”
He laughed. “What’re ya apologizing for? I was gonna beat him up myself, until you took the shine.” He shook his head. “Whoowee, remind me not to get on yer bad side unless I want Rainbow-Unicorn Special dumped on me.” And Ink’s blush grew even fiercer.
The barista who had let Mac in came over. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said. “We know that guy’s type, and no one here’s gonna let you get punished for dealing with him the way we all were thinking of doing. Here.” She took Ink’s now-emptied cup from her, offering a wink. “Let me make you another. On the house.”
As she was walking away, Ink heard someone clear their throat. She looked around, bewildered, then realized it was coming from her phone. A feeling of dread overtook her. She took the phone and brought it close. “Um, hi, Mr. Prose.”
Mr. Prose coughed. “Uh… I take it this is a bad time to call, Ms. Quill?”
“Maybe a little bit…”
And Mac howled with laughter.
***
“Mom did that? Seriously?”
“As seriously as Ah can be,” her father said with a nod. “Never happened again, and we never saw that boy ever, at least in Canterlot. That particular Starbucks never forgot, though, and Ink became quite the little celebrity ‘round those parts.”
“You don’t say. And his name was Feather Bangs?”
“Yeah? Why? Aw, don’t tell me yer friends with his son or sumthin’ like that.”
Dahlia smiled. “Not quite. He was set to be my music teacher back in school.”
“Really? What happened to him?”
“He was let go after attempting to woo the principal’s wife when she came to visit. Apparently he even tried to break out in song before getting hauled out.”
Mac whistled. “Phew. Small world, many wonders, there, as Ink used to say.”
And that was another way to describe her mother, Dahlia realized. A person, a small world, but filled, no doubt, with many untold wonders.
Author's Note
Feather Bangs's song was created using a song lyric generator, by the way. So of course it sounds bad. Then again, so was he :P
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Spilling Ink: The Ever After Stories
02: Spilled Swing Dancing of the Impressive Variety
There was a knock on the door. Dahlia went to answer it. It was a girl, about ten years her senior, with rich-red hair and a pink bow set on her head. She was wearing orange flannels under a denim set of overalls, and she gave Dahlia a bright, honest smile. “Howdy, Dahlia,” she said. “Mac’s still here, ain’t he?”
Dahlia giggled. “Course he is, Apple Bloom. You know he loves to take his time in the mornings.” She stepped aside, allowing her aunt inside.
“Y’sure we know the same Mac?” Bloom replied. “Ah seem to remember he liked to get up early an’ get everythin’ done before the afternoon hit.”
“Getting old changes a man,” Mac said from the dining room. He got out of his seat and walked over. He grunted as Apple Bloom charged into him, giving him a big hug, as though they were still kids. “ ‘S nice to see you, Bloom. Yer lookin’ good fer yer age.”
“Aw, shucks. Ain’t nothing to gettin’ old. ‘Sides, yer lookin’ still a bit lively.”
“Thank Dahlia for that. She keeps me goin’ with the vitamins and all.”
“Yeah, because you, Dad, don’t take them when you should.”
“The gummies are awful and y’knowit.”
“It doesn’t matter what I know, the doctor said you have to take them.”
“All right, all right,” Bloom said, still chipper. “You guys just about done cleaning up, or can we get goin’ while the sun still shines?”
They put their dishes in the sink, and Dahlia volunteered to clean them while Mac went to grab his cane. Bloom went with him. As they were gone, Dahlia found herself thinking about her aunt.
Arguably, other than herself and Mac, Apple Bloom had taken Ink’s death the hardest. That was, perhaps, not a source of surprise; Apples were known for their fierce devotion to family, and those who were welcomed into it could count on a loyal foundation for life, if not beyond life. Bloom had long considered Ink her second sister, and rumors suggested she had been cheering for Ink and Mac long before they had started their relationship. Yet this was not the source of the immense pain she had felt; the truth was, although it happened in a different month, the year that Ink died was also the year that Granny Smith passed away. The Apples had thus known both people for a majority of their lives, and in no uncertain terms were they grief-stricken, Bloom most of all.
She had taken a longer time to move past both deaths.
It was a bright and crisp October day when they went out. Apple Bloom’s car was parked outside. Dahlia’s was currently in the shop, and Mac had sold his beloved pickup truck a month before due to faulty controls and it finally getting old. They got in, and Bloom started the car. As she petered out of the driveway, Mac told her that they had been talking about Ink that morning.
“She did that?” Bloom said after he had repeated the same story he had told Dahlia to her. “Huh. You know, Ah knew she was feisty, but Ah didn’t think she was that feisty.”
“She had a streak, that’s fer sure; might be from hanging out with Gaige.”
“You think Gaige taught her that?” Dahlia said. “That’d probably put a smile on her face.”
“Among other things,” Apple Bloom intoned, turning onto the freeway. “Heh. Guess there’s always more to a person than you’d think.”
She was quiet for a bit. The engine’s soft rumbling filled the silence.
They came to a red light and stopped. Dahlia looked at Apple Bloom from the rearview mirror. She was frowning, chewing on her bottom lip, the way she always did when she was entertaining a particularly straining thought. On her dashboard was a little stuffed plushie—some sort of weird monster-ball shape, with a single eye on its face—that, Dahlia recalled, Ink had won at a carnival and had given to her many years ago. She still had it, and evidently took good care of it.
“Ah remember…” And Apple Bloom’s voice faltered. The pain was still there, Dahlia saw, and in seeing it, her own pain cropped up from the recesses of her heart. But she didn’t push it away; she let it be, and so the pain maintained itself a good distance in her.
Mac put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The light turned green, and Bloom started off again, turning left down the main highway. She was still frowning. But, through perhaps sheer will, she began speaking again. “Ah remember, this one time… well, Mac, do you remember? Cuz you probably do. The, uh, Spring Fling Dance?”
Mac’s face, for some reason, turned a shade redder than usual. “Oh, God, Bloom, that mess? Course I do.”
His reaction erased the frown on the younger Apple’s face, and she actually let out a decidedly youthful giggle. She glanced back at Dahlia. “Whatta ‘bout you, Dahlia? You ever hear about that dance?”
Dahlia shook her head. “The only dance Mom and Dad ever told me about was their wedding one.”
“The better one,” Mac muttered. He seemed like a boy, deeply bothered by some untold secret, and seeing this, Dahlia was filled with curiosity.
“Well!” Bloom laughed. “Ya see, Dahlia, there was this dance that CHS set up—”
“For gosh’s sake, Bloom, d’ya have to bring it up?”
Dahlia looked at Mac. He was covering his face with his hands. “Is it really that bad, Dad?”
“No,” he groaned, “but it’s pretty embarrassing.”
“For Mom or for you?”
“For both!”
Dahlia returned to looking at Bloom. She and her aunt shared a grin. “Well, then,” Dahlia said, “I think I’d definitely like to hear this.”
Mac groaned again, but otherwise did not protest. The grin on Bloom’s face became mischievous. “So, this dance, right? CHS was hosting it, but the thing is…”
***
The thing was, the whole process of preparing for the dance was a mess .
The blame could have been set on anybody, really. You could say it was the Student Party Planner Committee’s fault, since they were the ones mainly in charge of budgeting and scheduling the dance, but then it was also the Math League’s fault for not communicating that they needed a certain amount of days to set up and prepare for the annual competition, but then it was also the new student secretary’s fault since he had failed to communicate to either group the discrepancy until it was too late due to “missing” a few days of work, resulting in him being fired—if you unraveled the knot enough, all the clubs and organizations and most of the faculty members would become involved, almost universally in a negative way.
But once blame had been shifted around enough, heads could finally come together and actually start the planning process. Catering was ordered; music was planned, with the school’s local DJ, Vinyl Scratch, supplying the beats, as per usual; decorations were bought, brought in, and were ready to be set up; and Pinkie Pie managed to make contact with a few somewhat unscrupulous people in order to bring in what she called “a super-loco light show extravaganza,” whatever that meant (no one wanted to ask, fearing these Yakyakistanians and their fierce demeanors, though all wondered how she had managed to win over their self-proclaimed leader, Rutherford). So at first it seemed that despite the initial difficulties, the dance would be yet another popular success at Canterlot High.
That is, until Superintendent Discord decided to weigh in.
“A swing dancing competition ?” Soul Writer clarified once that superintendent had finished his proposal. “Are you crazy, Mr. Superintendent?”
“Of course I am, boy,” Discord replied with a wicked grin. “It’s in my name, after all. Yes, a swing dancing competition, for all students and participating faculty members. The prize? Tickets for a Mediterranean cruise!”
“But… why?” asked Cheese Sandwich.
“Why not? I have these tickets to spare, and I certainly don’t want to go. It smells like fish and dead empires over there.”
“That doesn’t really answer the question!”
“I don’t really have to answer, do I?”
“Come on, Discord, silly!” Pinkie said, casually throwing in his first name as though they had known each other for their entire lives; he, to the relief of everyone else, appeared more amused than insulted. “We all know you wouldn’t be doing this just for the heck of it! You’ve got to have an ulterior motive of some sort!”
“The little pink lady knows me too well,” he said, chuckling. “Maybe I’m getting predictable with old age.”
“That reminds me,” Soul said, “how old are you exactly?”
“It’s impolite to ask a woman how old she is, Soul.”
“But you’re not a woman.”
“Don’t assume my gender!” Discord cleared his throat. “Anyway! As to Pinkie’s observation, the truth is I’m in dire need of pranking your lovely principal and her sister—it’s been far too long, you see, and I believe it’s necessary for a healthy heart and soul to be pranked at least thirty times a year.”
“Thirty?! That’s it?!” Pinkie exclaimed.
“I said at least, didn’t I?”
“Wait, wait,” Swift Justice said. “You want to prank Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna with… a swing dancing competition? How?”
“I’m glad you asked, my dear boy!” He took Swift by the ear and dragged him in close, ignoring his protests. “There’s a thing you should know about those sisters. Celestia loves swing music. But Luna? She hates it. Among all the things those two have clashed over, that, though minor, remains a huge stickler between them. They’ll argue, they’ll clash, and in the end, Celestia will end up trying to prove to Luna that swing dancing is the most fun anyone can have.” Using his fingers, he mimed one dancing, and the other, somehow, looking disapprovingly at the other. “Now, Celly will dance, and dance, and dance, but then—and here’s the kicker—she’ll be so caught up in what she’s doing, that she’ll fail to notice what’s on the floor—and what else would that be but a strategically placed banana peel?—until it’s too late and her sister has the imprint of a glass shoe laid over her features.”
All the students there gasped. “What?!” Soul cried. “Why would you even suggest that?”
“You ask as though you don’t already know the answer.”
“I don’t, though!”
Discord looked at him, then pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “morally stuck-up kids.” “Look,” he said, glaring at Soul, “I’m not as young as I used to be. And that means that the kinds of thrills that are available are quickly waning. Sometimes, though? Sometimes you’ve gotta make your own fun, while you still can.”
Soul was still visibly perturbed, but Pinkie had been moved to tears by Discord’s short speech. And the other students were persuaded as well, on the simple truth that most of them were seniors, were graduating, and thus, had every inclination to prank their principal and vice principal.
Pinkie, still in tears, moved over to Discord, and placed a resolute hand on his shoulder. “Okay, D,” she said, clenching her other hand into a fist and staring off into the distance, “you’ll get your prank. Tell us what we need to do.”
Discord smiled. He rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. Now, here’s what I’m thinking…”
So it was that the Spring Fling had some of its additions adjusted, its features changed, without too much protest, as most were kept in the dark. The only real issue was convincing Vinyl Scratch to not play her typical wubs; she agreed to play swing music only when her request to play “at least electric swing every three songs” was granted. Those in charge of ordering food were instructed to also order a bowl of bananas, “with as much green as a blade of grass,” Cheese Sandwich had instructed oh-so-poetically. There were some confused murmurs, but these were quelled, and soon the Spring Fling preparations were finished. The event would commence, with or without a few intended hiccups.
All of these details were learned after the fact, but Apple Bloom had the fortune to at least know some of the specific changes. She knew this because Diamond Tiara, who had recently lost her bullying streak, was on the Party Planning Committee, and so had discussed what was being done with Bloom and her friends at lunch one day. There wasn’t much she could fully disclose, on account of not being present for when Discord had showed up, but she had heard enough to say definitively that this event “would be, at the very least, a very memorable one.”
Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo had exchanged looks, agreeing silently that it might very well be.
But there was nothing they could do but wait for the Spring Fling dance to come around. In that time, dates were secured. Sweetie Belle had an enormously easy show of it—her occasional air-headedness and impulsivity aside, privately she was the sweetheart of the sophomore class, though she chose, to none of the Crusaders’ surprise, to go with Button Mash (an odd choice, considering 1) he hadn’t been aware of the Spring Fling dance at all, somehow, and 2) he hadn’t been the one to ask her; she’d done the asking). Scootaloo had her fair share of admirers, mostly from the school’s soccer team, and she flitted between one and another, entertaining one idea before moving on to the next. Eventually she decided, in her typical brusque but well-meaning manner, “Rumble will do.” Diamond Tiara would go with Snip, and her best friend Silver Spoon would go with Snip’s best friend, Snails. Somehow this was no surprise.
That left Apple Bloom. She wasn’t sure who she would be going with, nor, really, if she wanted to go with anyone. She had found her way out of the starry-eyed “romance talk” that most girls her age had become entrapped in a long time ago (Scootaloo was less likely to admit it, but it was clear she was still caught up in its splendor). Reality had set in, though not unjustly nor cruelly. Apple Bloom was by no means unpopular with the general sophomore male population, but she could brush aside the mix of emotions and hormonal fog that came with the territory much more easily than most others. In other words, she was a down-to-earth girl, far older in mind and spirit than she let on, and silly high school romps weren’t the center of her attention.
Of course, that made her look at the current “high school romps” going on around her. Soul and Sunset, Clyde and Rarity, Swift and Pinkie, Gaige and Flash, Artifex and Adagio, Ink and Mac—the list went on, and as far as she could tell, these were not romps so much as they were fully committed, fully realized and loving relationships. So maybe what she meant was that she wasn’t—and decidedly couldn’t—be focused on getting into one in her sophomore year. By all accounts, and by the evidence her sister’s friends gave her, it was best to, at the earliest, wait until her junior year to start worrying about going out with someone.
Thus, as the Spring Fling approached, she had not only failed to care, but she had also failed to try and hook up with someone, as Scootaloo, ever herself, put not-oh-so-eloquently. She couldn’t care less. Besides, helping out with preparing the event took up most of her time—among the orders, the sweetest non-alcoholic apple cider that Sweet Apple Acres had to offer was among the most highly requested. And as always, she threw herself into it with as much gusto as a girl of her stature could.
The night before the event, they were loading crates of the beverage onto Big Mac’s truck. As Applejack and Mac handled the heavy lifting, Apple Bloom and Ink—who had stopped by at the request of Mac—carefully looked over the order manifest. Ink made a confused noise in the back of her throat. “Twenty-five crates? Does the school really need that much?”
“They typically do maybe ten or so,” Apple Bloom said, “but ah guess they decided they needed more.” She suspected it had something to do with Superintendent Discord, but she kept that thought to herself.
“Huh. Go figure. At least nobody’s going to get blackout drunk.”
“Amen to the ‘no blackout’ thing,” Applejack said, grunting as she heaved another crate onto the truck’s bed. “Rainbow’s bad enough on even a little bit.”
“You’ve seen her drink? Wait, she drinks?”
“It’s more like she takes a sip, then loses it. She’s a lightweight.”
“It’s true,” Apple Bloom said. “Ah’ve seen it. She’s the worst.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Ah don’t see the deal with drinkin’ anything of that sort, but Ah guess she’ll do her and all that.”
“She’ll be doing none of that at the dance,” Applejack said firmly. “Ah’ll make sure of it.”
“Speaking of the dance,” Ink said, turning to the elder Apple sister, “are you thinking of taking anyone?”
“Me? Naw, can’t say I have.”
Apple Bloom saw a mischivous glint in Ink’s eyes. “Really? What about that gray-skinned boy you’ve been chatting up lately? What’s his name? Straight Ledge?”
“Straight Edge,” Applejack corrected. She’d pulled her stetson down just a bit, and if Apple Bloom wasn’t mistaken, she was blushing.
Mac looked over, surprised. “What’s that? You mean, somebody’s finally caught Applejack’s eye?”
“Don’t be implyin’ what yer implyin’, boy,” Applejack said. “We’re just friends.”
“Sure,” he said. Then he gestured to Ink. “But then again, so were we at first.”
Ink smiled at him. “I’m sure this ‘Straight Edge’ is a nice boy, Applejack. There’s no need to feel embarrassed.”
“He’s a punk,” she muttered. Yes, Apple Bloom was correct; she was definitely blushing. “And… and he may or may not have brought up the dance a few times recently…”
Ink let out a decidedly girlish giggle. “And you may or may not have said yes, then?”
“Consarn, Ink. Quit yer teasing before I deck ya.”
“Mac, defend me!”
“Sorry, Ink. No one gets to tease my sister before Ah do.”
“Mac!” Applejack protested. But he and Ink were already consumed by a laughing fit, and would not respond to any of her gruffled remarks. “Oh, forget you both, then. Why doesn’t Apple Bloom get this kind of treatment?”
Apple Bloom opened her mouth to respond, only for Ink to interrupt: “Because she isn’t interested in anyone. At least, anyone that we know of.”
“Thanks, Ink,” Bloom said.
“And if she was,” Mac said, “y’know we’d be on her in a second. You just happen to be at the right place and time.”
“Ain’t I the luckiest girl in the world,” Applejack mumbled.
Their laughter eventually died down long enough for them all to finish loading the order onto the truck. “I am excited for this, though,” Ink admitted; they were still on the topic of the Spring Fling event, which, Bloom supposed, was no surprise, considering it was happening tomorrow. “It’s the last dance of the year. The last one before we graduate…”
“Shucks, when you put it that way…” Applejack said.
“Well, I’m not saying that, because of this, you should go out with that boy,” Ink replied, looking at Applejack with a teasing smile. “But I am saying… well, wouldn’t it be nice to go out one night, at a party with all your friends, and dance awfully with someone else?”
“You can’t dance, Ink?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Not a single step,” Ink said. “For the record, neither can Mac.”
“It’s true,” the eldest Apple rumbled. “Makes it perfect, really.”
“Couldn’t your friend Artifex teach you?”
Ink shook her head. “Maybe if it was less sporadic dancing—like ballroom, I guess. I’ve seen him and Adagio dance before—that seems to be what they’re good at. But swing dancing? I’m willing to bet he takes one look at the dance floor and says, ‘No way.’”
“Five bucks says Adagio tries to make him,” Applejack said, to which Ink surprisingly said she’ll take her up on that offer.
“Well, at least we’ll be dancing awfully with each other,” the lavender-skinned girl said to Mac, looking back up at him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Mac smiled. “It counts for the whole, silly thing, Ink.” And he kissed her on the top of her head.
Then, seemingly without warning, the entire conversation shifted into silence. Apple Bloom could almost feel the weight press upon them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. They came around the truck and leaned against the hood, looking up at the stars. All of them: Applejack, Big Macintosh, Apple Bloom, and now Ink Quill. They were looking up there, shoulder to shoulder, thinking, perhaps, about the future, or the present, or the past, but thinking together, being together.
Apple Bloom looked at Ink, and saw something new in her—and yet, strangely, it seemed to make all the sense in the world to see her like that. Like this was where she belonged—with Mac, and with them.
Then Applejack raised both her arms, stretched them to the sky, and let out a big yawn. “Whoowee! Well, Ah’m beat. And Ah’ve still got a lotta homework left to do, ugh.”
“Yeah. And I guess I’d better get going, too,” Ink said.
“I’ll drive you back,” Mac said.
“If it’s no bother.”
“Of course it’s no bother, Ink.”
He and his girlfriend wished the other Apples goodnight—Ink even gave Applejack an extremely tight hug. They’d come a long way from their initial misgivings for each other, Bloom suddenly realized.
As Mac and Ink drove away, Bloom continued to think: they’d all come so far…
She blinked, then smiled to herself. When did she get so sentimental?
***
The night passed, and the day afterwards passed, too, and soon it was evening, and the Spring Fling event was in full sway. All the decorations and banners were set up; Vinyl came in and prepped her music; the food was rolled in and placed on the tables; and on one of those tables was placed, totally inconspicuously, was a bowl of grass-green bananas.
Then the students began to trickle in. Less of a show as the All Hallows’ Eve Event, since it was constrained only to the population of CHS, they all arrived quickly and without much fanfare, but still with great excitement, dressed in their best spring wear, and no doubt slowly coming to the realization that this was the end of an era for more than several prominent members of the student body. Some would be going off to college. Some, to trade school. And still some would, perhaps, be visiting a distant homeworld for the first time in ages. Some had plans, and still some others decided life would be best spent flying high on instinct and intuition, the only maps guiding them the ones they drew in their hearts.
Some members of the faculty also arrived, among them being, most strikingly, Principal Celestia, Vice Principal Luna, and the now two-year-veteran Language Arts teacher, Mr. Solil, who was wrapped comfortably around the slender arm of the younger sister. Their relationship had recently lost its secret nature, but even still, it came as a surprise that they had now been dating for almost an entire year. The two sisters, all pleasant and all smiles, welcomed the students to the Spring Fling dance, and expressed their hope that they would all enjoy the dance until the very end.
And so the festivities began.
Tucked away in one corner was Apple Bloom. With her were Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, Diamond Tiara, and Silver Spoon, as well as their dates. They were watching the event with excitement, though the five girls knew more than the boys about what was planned.
“Boys,” Diamond Tiara said, batting her eyelashes, “would you be a dear and get us girls something to drink?”
They all scrambled away, practically on each other’s heels. Scootaloo let out a low whistle. “Wow. You’ve practically got them eating out of your hand, DT.”
“Oh, that was nothing. I'm sure that if Sweetie Belle tried it, they’d respond much faster.”
Sweetie Belle blinked. “Really? You think?”
“Well, yeah. You’re the most endearing out of all of us.”
“I thought Apple Bloom was the most endearing.”
“If she was, wouldn't she have a boy with her?”
“I told you, DT,” Bloom said, “Ah ain't interested in anybody.”
“That's a shame,” Silver Spoon said with a sigh. “Because from what I've heard, a lot of people are interested in you.”
This brought on several giggles from the fellow Crusaders, while Apple Bloom merely grumbled to herself. Boys. All hormones and no brains. Well, at least the ones in her grade. If Big Mac was like that… and with Ink…
She scrunched up her face, banishing the thought to places best left to non-memory.
“Hey, look over there,” Scootaloo suddenly said. She was pointing to the back of the large room. “Who’s that person darting behind Vinyl?”
Sweetie Belle stood on her tippy-toes to get a better look. “I think that’s Pinkie. In some sort of stealth suit.”
“Who’s that she’s dragging behind her?”
“I think that’s Soul.”
“And who’s that behind him?”
“Looks like Swift,” Diamond Tiara said. “He looks confused. Both boys do.”
“Well, it’s Pinkie. Can you blame them?”
“Look,” Scootaloo said. “She’s gone past Vinyl and now she’s doing some sort of cartwheel across the back. What’s she up to?”
Apple Bloom followed her with her eyes, and saw Soul and Swift struggling to keep up. Somehow none of the other people at the event noticed; perhaps the music and dancing kept them all busy. Pinkie paused by a rack of tables that were carefully lined up against the wall, before turning to Soul and Swift and making some quick motion with her hands. Judging by their bewildered expressions, the meaning was completely lost, and Pinkie’s annoyance was palpable.
Then, out of the tables, as though a stick-like figure melting out of the cracks, Superintendent Discord appeared. He waved Pinkie over, and the two entered into a hurried and whispered conversation. Soul and Swift looked on helplessly. The former kept glancing over at Principal Celestia and Vice Principal Luna, as though he meant to warn them with his eyes, but then Pinkie returned and dragged him by the ear over to the chaotic faculty member. Swift stayed behind, rubbing his own ear in sympathy.
Diamond Tiara let out a low cackle. “Oh, boy. Looks like the fun’s about to start.”
Then, the music cut. Vinyl coughed into a microphone, the feedback causing everyone in the room to wince. “Er, sorry,” she said, offering a sheepish grin. “Um, now that I have your attention…”
She cleared her throat. “Well, everyone, you’re probably all aware that we usually have some sort of small competition at all these events. And this time’s no different! However—” She paused; Apple Bloom saw her glance off to the side, towards what seemed to be Pinkie Pie’s direction. “—this time, instead of a lame, dollar-store gift prize, we’ll be giving out tickets to an all-paid Mediterranean cruise!”
Awed sighs and intrigued looks carried themselves through the gathered students. Superintendent Discord and Pinkie were watching approvingly.
“Now, to get these tickets, as I’m sure we all want them, it’s really simple—if you’ve seen the posters, you’ll know that part of tonight’s theme is swing dancing! So, in light of that, we’ll be holding a swing dancing competition for everyone here. The rules are simple: you’ll pair off, and line up at the front of the room. Then, I’ll start playing a specially designed swing track—” She appeared to gag at the thought, before recovering swiftly; “—and four pairs will come ahead, and start dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Our esteemed judges of the SPPC will evaluate each pair. And the winning pair will win these tickets.”
“Oop, that means me,” Diamond Tiara said.
“You’re a judge?” Scootaloo hissed.
She turned around, offering a catty smile. “Of course I am! At least this way, I’ll be close enough to the fun when it goes down!”
“But what about your date?”
“Oh, him. Just take my cup for me, and everything will be fine.” She hitched up her dress skirt and began quickly walking away.
Scootaloo’s shock melted into a grumble. The boys were starting to come back, though their progress had slowed with the excitement Vinyl’s announcement had generated.
No one appeared as excited, however, as Principal Celestia, who clapped her hands together, absolutely delighted. Meanwhile her sister appeared less than amused. The two began to whisper fiercely—clearly they were bickering about the matter.
In the midst of this, pairs were already being gathered up, and a line of them was forming at the front. The Crusaders and Silver Spoon, being near there, could see clearly who would be entering the impromptu contest. Most were simply fellow students, agreeing to split the prize between themselves, and having no other relationship between them beyond just friendship and camaraderie. But predictably, there were the famed couples of Canterlot High whose stories were, in some ways, legendary. Among them were Big Mac and Ink, and Flash Sentry and Gaige.
Treble Mix suddenly appeared at the wub machine. He whispered something to Vinyl, and she nodded, getting out of her seat and taking his hand. It was clear what had transpired: she may have been the DJ, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to try for those tickets herself. And with an explosive personality such as Treble’s, Apple Bloom reasoned she’d have a good chance of succeeding.
She could hear, too, Ink and Gaige already beginning to squabble; they were close enough to be heard. “Come on, Ink,” Gaige was saying. “If you throw the whole thing now, I promise, I’ll send you some nice pictures from the cruise.”
“Not a chance, Gaige! Mac and I are going to win those tickets if it’s the last thing I do!”
“What?! What kind of best friend are you, that you won’t sacrifice yourself for me?!”
“I could ask you the same thing! What do you need with a cruise, anyway? It’s not like Deathtrap can come with you! He might short-circuit along the ocean, and then what would happen?”
“Baka! As if I’d take Deathtrap! I’m taking Brad here and you know it!”
“And if you get seasick?”
“Then I throw up in Brad’s hands! What’s it to you?!”
Mac and Flash, on the other hand, seemed only amused at the girls’ antics. Apple Bloom found herself smiling and shaking her head.
As the line grew longer, Bloom turned away and looked across the rest of the room. A noticeable crowd had gathered to the sides, watching eagerly. Perhaps most eager was Principal Celestia, though that was a title that could be contested easily by Discord, who stood at the opposite side of the room, watching carefully. None seemed to pay him any mind. Soul and Swift were nearby as well, but they looked about as nervous as sick puppies.
That left Pinkie. Where had she gone? Somehow she’d vanished from Discord’s side.
Then the music shifted. A decidedly upbeat, but clearly sporadic tune began to play—the first track. The first four of the pairs came forward, nervous bundles of energy. None had probably taken a proper course in swing dancing; their initial movements were stiff, their eyes uncertain, eyeing one another up as well as the crowd and the oncoming pairs. But soon they were getting the hang of it. It was a matter of following the beat and feeling the passion rise in you. Perhaps none were professional dancers of any sort, but at the very least, they managed to make flopping and flailing look almost graceful and coordinated.
All the while, the crowd cheered, the other pairs clapped and laughed, and Apple Bloom almost forgot about the underlying nature of the competition.
That is, until Pinkie’s head appeared in a ceiling tile above.
She was holding something in her hands. Apple Bloom squinted, trying to get a better look at it, but she could not see what it was. Abruptly her view was cut off by a squealing Ink and an incited Gaige as they pushed forward onto the dance floor, their boyfriends at their heels. Following fast behind them were Vinyl and Treble—more than one boastful word was exchanged between the Mix siblings—and then, the final pair, stepped confidently into the circle. It was Celestia and Luna, the former almost like a giddy schoolgirl, the latter still unsure of what to make of her sister. It appeared she had been dragged onto the floor. And with the eyes of their students on her, she did not appear capable of waltzing away, as it were.
“Get ready to bite my cruise-riding ass, Ink!” Gaige called, glaring daggers at the other girl.
“Not unless I get those tickets first!”
“And what if I get them?” Treble added, in a slightly hopeful tone.
Both girls turned to him, glaring. “Then we’ll pry them from your cold, dead body,” Gaige said lowly. And Ink nodded, in apparent and sudden agreement. Bloom could practically see the fear drip out of Treble’s pores, and the hesitant smiles on Mac and Flash spoke more than a million words could have.
Oh, brother, Apple Bloom found herself thinking.
“Now, girls,” Celestia called, “it isn’t nice to speak such crass things.” She paused, getting them all to look at her. There was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Especially since you’ll all be biting my ‘cruise-riding ass,’ anyway.”
“Tia,” Luna moaned, “don’t incite them!”
The song changed, and they began to dance. They were quick and sharp and fluid, like flexible waves of song and passion—no effort was to be spared. It was then that Pinkie struck. The ceiling tile opened once more. She leaned out, glanced around, then brought forth her prize—a fresh, green banana peel. She dangled it a bit, before letting it drop in the center, right behind Principal Celestia.
She almost stepped onto it. Almost stepped onto it, and had she stepped on it, she would have surely slipped and kicked her sister upside the chin, sending the two of them flying, fulfilling Discord’s master plan. Unfortunately, not even he could have predicted the series of sudden and almost-instantaneous events that followed immediately after the peel landed.
Gaige, in a fit of competitive brashness, suddenly pulled Flash ahead of her, trying to disrupt Ink’s dancing. But Ink was already swinging away with Mac, and Treble and Vinyl ended up in the way. Desperately, Gaige tried to pull Flash away, and was at first successful, keeping the two pairs, for the moment apart. Unfortunately, the combined momentum upset her balance, and she had to step quickly and turn to avoid falling. In doing so, she nearly hit Luna on the hip with her boyfriend. Yet luckily for them, the Vice Principal was a far quicker and graceful dancer than one might have supposed, and she managed to reroute her sister and herself away from the twirling pair. In doing so, they had left the peel behind.
That still left Gaige spinning nearly out of control. Another step, another swing, and this time she fell, pulling Flash with her. In doing so, they became obstacles in the path of Vinyl and Treble, who, moving too quickly themselves, lost their footing and tripped over the fallen pair.
Then it was only Ink, Mac, Celestia, and Luna still standing; but neither pair had noticed what had transpired. But they could feel the physical disturbance erupt around them, and each tried to adapt and move away from it.
Only, Ink misjudged where everyone else had fallen. As Celestia and Luna successfully piloted themselves away, she stepped close to Treble. Realizing the short distance, she twisted, and found herself almost tripping over Gaige. Mac attempted to right her, only for her to turn again and step back another step. The combination of uncontrollable momentum and disorientation from the constant turning and twisting made her dizzy, and she took another step in a certain direction—
“AGH!”
She stepped right on top of the peel, and her leg careened itself ahead of her, nearly taking Mac’s head off had he not stepped in just the right way so as to accidentally avoid her kick. The heels she’d been wearing loosened their grip around her feet, and went vaulting through the air as she fell.
From there, a series of further mishaps followed.
Artifex and Adagio were off to the side. Had Apple Bloom been near to them a few minutes prior, she would have heard the former villain ask her boyfriend if he wanted to swing dance, and she would have heard his slightly terse, if dry reply: a quick tap with his cane against his leg, a bit of a head-tilt, and a low, “No way.” Then Bloom would have heard Adagio laugh, and implore the boy to give it a shot, granting Applejack the victory for her five-dollar bet.
Instead, what Apple Bloom saw was Ink’s shoe rocket into Artifex’s face. He crumpled in an instant. Adagio, who was standing right next to him, found herself on the receiving end of his cane, which launched itself up and at her, knocking her down as well. She had been holding onto a cup of punch, too, and so that went flying, the contents spilling out up and behind her—and who should be behind them but Applejack, talking to that gray-skinned boy whom she said was her friend, into whom she was slowly leaning, her lips coming close to his—only to be interrupted by Adagio’s drink splashing noisily across their wide-eyed faces.
Silence. Absolute, stunned, breathtaking silence.
Followed by low groans, and Celestia and Luna looking around, confused and worried.
Followed further by Discord laughing his ass off.
***
“Course, it came t’ light who’d planned everything. Pinkie almost fessed up immediately right when she realized that everything had not gone accordin’ to plan.” Apple Bloom laughed. “God, I’d never seen Principal Celestia look so mortified and also on the verge of breaking out in laughter.”
“Vice Principal Luna was pissed,” Mac noted gravely. “Threatened to have Discord fired then and there. Ah was surprised when Mr. Solil managed to calm her down.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “And Ink was absolutely horrified about what happened. Wouldn’t stop apologizing to Artifex even as school came to an end.”
“Though, that was when we found out that Applejack’s friend wasn’t just a friend,” Bloom said. “So, Ah mean, it wasn’t a total loss. An’ nobody was really hurt.”
“Just mah pride,” Mac replied. “And Ink swore never to dance again—least, not for a long time. And certainly not t’ swing music.”
Dahlia was sitting in the back, leaning forward intently. “That does beat my year’s senior prank,” she mused. “All we did was put up silly string, and then clean it up immediately afterwards.”
“Better that than bruised joints an’ empty hands,” Apple Bloom said.
“You’re kidding. You mean, someone actually won ?”
“Oh, yeah! Those were real tickets, through and through; Discord didn’t lie about those. Ah think Cranky Doodle actually was the winner. He and his wife, Matilda. Didn’t know either of them could dance, but hot dang, they were good .”
Bloom turned the car right. She pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car, letting out a sigh. “Well, there you have it. The Spring Fling event. It’s… honestly one of my favorite memories of back then.” She smiled at the rear-view mirror. “Definitely one of my all-time favorites.”
Dahlia smiled back at her. She understood perfectly why.
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Spilling Ink: The Ever After Stories
03: Spilled Swimsuits and Beach Trips of the Memorable Sort
Author's Note
(insert obligatory beach chapter notification here)
03: Spilled Swimsuits and Beach Trips of the Memorable Sort
After Bloom had parked the car, the three of them got out. “Mac, you got the list?” she asked.
Mac nodded, saying, “Eeyup,” before going through his pockets. A frown slowly developed on his face. “Er… eenope, Ah guess.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Dahlia said. She pulled the list from her own coat pocket. “Got it right here.”
They had driven to the supermarket to pick up some items before tonight’s gathering, but also to perform the weekly task of shopping for groceries. Apple Bloom took a cart from the long row that a worker had shoved together previously, and they went inside. They broke off from each other to set about picking out the items, with the senior Apples pairing up and Dahlia going her own separate way.
She picked up a red plastic basket and went toward the bakery section, where they had stacked muffins and croissants and warm loaves of bread upon creaking, wooden tables that looked far older than she was. She lingered there for a few moments, carefully selecting a box of muffins from the display, before moving on. But she had not taken a few steps before bumping into someone.
“Oof!”
Dahlia recovered the quickest. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she said, looking up at the person whom she’d bumped into. She paused at his face. “Wait a second…”
“Dahlia?”
Her eyes went wide, and a smile broke out on her own face. “Cousin Scree Mo!”
The slightly older boy had no time to react, as immediately Dahlia took him between her arms and gave him a quick noogie. “Agh! Dahlia, quit it! My hair!”
“Are you kidding me? I haven’t seen you in so long; do you think I’m going to miss an opportunity to mess with you?”
Nonetheless, she relented eventually, and stepped back to regard the boy. Aside from his hair, which was shorter than it was the last time she’d seen him, he was still the same. Slightly on the pudgy side, though not in an unpleasant sense, he wore a simple black T-shirt with a gray skull slashed through the middle. His face still retained its likeness to a baby’s—he appeared five or so years younger than he really was, a fact that he often complained about to no avail. It was hard to believe he was Dahlia’s senior by almost a decade, and it didn’t help that he was the same height as her. He had also lost the paleness of his youth and had tanned a fair amount—he had gone on a beach trip recently.
For a moment, he glowered at her, and she simply smiled at him, holding on to her basket. Then the moment passed and he smiled back at her. “When is a Dahlia not a Dahlia?” he said cryptically. “One of these days, you’ll need to stop giving me noogies.”
“Once you get taller I will.”
“Ouch, kid. Ouch.”
“Oy! What the hell were you screaming for?”
Dahlia’s smile became even bigger. “Is that—”
Scree Mo nodded in reply.
From around a tall shelf of baked rolls came them. First there was a blue-haired man with the same colored eyes being pushed ahead, looking somehow simultaneously in pain and in pleasure. Behind him, the one pushing him, was a shorter woman, with two orange pigtails and green eyes, who was glaring at Scree Mo as though he had committed a grievous crime. “Sheesh!” she said. “Isn’t there a better place to practice your screaming?”
“What, like the bedroom?” Scree Mo easily replied. He’d gotten much sassier since his youth, Dahlia thought, remembering Mac’s stories about the shy kid who’d held a torch for her mother for the longest time.
The pig-tailed lady was about to respond when her eyes glanced over at Dahlia. They flashed with recognition, and then were followed with a groan. “Oh, hell no—”
“Hellooo, Auntie Gaige!” Dahlia said brightly, practically skipping over and hugging the much older woman before she had a chance to react.
“Ack! Baka, I told you not to call me that!”
“That’s odd, it sounds like you’re not happy to see me!”
“Of course I’m not—ack! Flash, what are you doing?”
“Getting in on this huggable reunion, obviously. Besides, at least now I’m not getting pushed around.”
“You jerk! You like being pushed around and you know it! Scree Mo, I see that look in your eye, don’t even think about it!”
“Will do, cousin.”
The hug went on for far longer than was evidently comfortable or acceptable by Gaige. She squirmed wildly in their grip. “Gah! At least let me get a good look at you, Dahlia—out of this hug!”
Dahlia let her go. Dusting herself off, Gaige fixed on her a glare that could melt stone, but Dahlia unflinchingly remained smiling. Slowly, the glare worked itself into a far more gentler look. “God, look at you, girl. You’ve grown.”
“You haven’t,” Dahlia answered easily.
“Sharp, but I’ve heard it all before. It seems only yesterday you were a bright-eyed brat who thought she’d make it big by blowing out her vocal chords.” She let out a low whistle. “I dunno what’s in your genes that’s keeping you looking young.”
“Could be the fact that I’m only twenty-five.” A pause. Then the smile became a mischievous curling of lips. “Auntie Gaige.”
Gaige bristled, but managed a crooked grin and a wink. “Making it real hard not to smack you upside the head, you know that?”
“Speaking of vocal chords,” Scree Mo said, “how’s that coming along for you? I understand you’re planning a new release soon.”
“A single,” Dahlia replied. She shook her head. “But lately I’ve hit a major block with it. It’s like the words won’t come anymore. I’ve sort of put it aside for now, anyway, and besides, I’ve been busy with other things.”
“A block, huh?” Gaige said, but she said nothing more of it, looking past Dahlia instead. “Oh, is that Big Mac?” Then, before Dahlia could confirm, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “OI! BIG MAC!”
Mac turned his head, caught sight of Gaige, and began walking over with Bloom behind him. Bloom was less than pleased. “Gaige, we’re in a grocery store. For gosh’s sake, ya shouldn’t be yellin’ like that across the way!”
“What? I was worried he wouldn’t hear me.”
“Who wouldn’t be able to?”
“That’s the point.”
“Howdy, Gaige,” Mac interrupted, before the two could start up an argument. Then he nodded towards Flash and Scree Mo, themselves providing a similar manner of greeting. “Fancy seeing y’all here. You shopping too?”
“Ya think?”
“Yeah, we are,” Flash said, lifting up a red plastic basket. In it was an assortment of sweet cakes and goodies. “For tonight, you know?”
“Eeyup.” Mac looked at Flash, then at Gaige. He made a motion with his hand over his face. “Er, you two have, uh, somethin’ on ya.”
“What is it? Is it a spider? I HATE SPIDERS!” Instantly Flash flung his hands up to reach and grab his face, but he had forgotten the basket in his hand, and all of the items therein were sent flying and they crashed to the floor. All of the sweet items there became a jumbled mess of sugar and cream.
“FLASH! YOU IDIOT!” Gaige yelled.
“IT’S NOT MY FAULT THERE’S A SPIDER ON ME!”
“There ain’t no spider on ya!” Mac said. But Flash was too busy half-sobbing, half-gasping for breath. Mac sighed and shook his head. “Ah almost forgot about this.”
Finally they had calmed down enough to decide that the best course of action, of course, was to join Dahlia’s family in their shopping. Neither party protested, mostly because Gaige’s insistence was stoic, and no doubt no one would be able to contest her.
As they continued through the grocery store, ticking off items off their lists, Dahlia and Scree Mo caught up with each other. The first thing she did, while the older folks argued over the correct way to weigh a pear (“You have to weigh it on its side!” Flash insisted. “That way, you don’t miss a single ounce!” To which Mac would retort, “Flash, it’s a pear before an’ after you weigh it. It don’t change a bit of itself just cause you weigh it one way or the other! It ain’t physically possible!”), was squint at the older man. “What?” he asked, once she had gotten his attention.
“Are you gonna tell me now?”
“Tell you what now?”
“You know! About her!”
“Her—Oh!” He looked at her, then smiled snidely. “Of course not.”
He was elbowed below the ribs as a result. “C’mon, you’ve gotta! Especially since I’m the only one you’ve mentioned her existence to! Not even Auntie Gaige knows!”
“That’s because,” Scree Mo said between breaths, “if she knew, she’d probably scare her off. Or kill her. I know she will because she told me that once.” Then he stood, straightening his back, giving Dahlia an easier smile. “Look, I won’t tell you because I know you’ll tell Gaige at some point.” She pouted at him. “But, here, I’ll show what she and I have done recently.”
Scree Mo pulled out his phone and swiped through a few pictures. “Here. We did this about a month ago.”
“What is it?”
He pointed to the picture. It was of his hand in some unseen girl’s, their wrists wearing matching colored wristbands. “Promise bands,” he said. “They were selling them at the Renaissance Faire. So we bought a pair and what they did was they asked for an inscription on the middle gold piece—that long one right there—and they’ll inscribe it using a thin hot poker, barely a millimeter thick. You can write whatever you want. We ended up deciding to write the same thing.”
“Which was?”
He flicked to another photo, which was a zoomed-in image of the gold piece. She read it out loud: “Ideas strung together / On wings made out paper / Take flight in open skies / To roost in your eternal heart.” She paused. Then she looked at Scree Mo again. “That was—”
“From our collab,” he said, smiling still. “Seems so long ago, doesn’t it? But apparently she was there, at the concert. Somewhere up front. I do vaguely remember her, actually. Point is, she loved that line, and wanted it inscribed, and so there it is. So I have you to thank for it.”
Dahlia blushed. “But it’s so cheesy, don’t you think? I wrote that when I was, like, a baby!”
“Five years ago you were a baby?”
“Basically an older baby, yeah!”
“Well, I don’t think it’s cheesy. And she didn’t, either. So that has to count for something.”
“All right.” Dahlia took a breath. “Well, since you aren’t going to tell me who she is… well, what else have you been up to?”
“Not much,” he confessed. “Between playing with the band and her, there hasn’t been many things of interest as of late.”
Up front, the older folks had turned down another aisle and were comparing the prices of various coffee grinds. None of them could agree which was better, but at least this time they weren’t wholly arguing it out.
“Oh, wait!” Scree Mo said. “There was the beach thing. Yeah, that was funny.”
“Where you got the tan?”
“Where else? But that wasn’t the funny part. You see, at one point, Gaige lost sight of Flash. So she was looking all around the beach for him, when, out of the blue, she caught sight of someone with his hair and color. So she stomped over and plopped right down next to them, complaining about how she ought to wrap a leash around his neck and pull him close—”
“As you do.”
“As you do, yes. And she’s going on and on, getting madder and more… er, suggestive, I guess, with her threats. Finally, she turns her head to ask him what he thinks of all that—and you know who she sees?”
He paused, before letting the joke come to fruition: “Some old dude and his wife giving Gaige the stink-eye!” He laughed. “Oh, man, they were pissed! And she was so embarrassed she got up and ran away and hid in the car all day until everyone came back looking for her!”
Dahlia also joined in on the laughter. “Oh, wow! That’s terrible! She must hate the beach now!”
“Yeah, well, Gaige doesn’t like to bring it up. Says it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever done.” A pause. A wicked gleam in Scree Mo’s eyes. Then: “Next to Flash, of course.”
Dahlia turned bright red and had to stifle her laughter. Meanwhile, Scree Mo roared with his. Then his laughter was cut off by a strange choking noise, and when Dahlia looked at him, she saw that his body had been jerked back, and his throat was locked in an vice-like elbow grip perpetuated by, who else, Auntie Gaige.
She glowered at him. “You know, Scree Mo, I seem to remember we agreed never to mention that incident in public. You remember, don’t you?”
“It seems to have slipped my memory,” he replied between gasps.
She let go. “Eh, whatever. I guess it was gonna come out eventually.” She looked at Dahlia, then smirked. “You think I hate the beach? Ha! As if! The beach was probably the best place I’ve ever pulled a prank on someone.”
“Really? Now I have to hear this.”
“Oh, yes, young grasshopper. Gather close, because it’s a tail that you aren’t apt to forget. Your dad doesn’t even know about it, either!”
“Ooh, even better. Tell me more, Auntie Gaige.”
“If you keep calling me that, I just might not!”
“Whatever you say, Auntie Gaige!”
“... you’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Girl, I’m adorable. Tell me!”
“Fine, fine! Look, it all began the first day of summer vacation…”
***
The bus drove on to the tar-black pavement. It slowed, coming to a stop somewhere just behind the white lines marking the parking spaces, most of which were filled with small cars or large SUVs or, for some reason, a boat. The brakes hissed, steam rolling out from underneath. A moment passed. Then, the door opened, and out thundered an incredibly excited group of girls.
“HELLO, SEASIDE DELIGHT!” Pinkie Pie shouted at the top of her lungs. “GET READY, BECAUSE THIS PLACE IS ABOUT TO BE INVADED BY THE BIGGEST, BADDEST, MOST BODACIOUS BEACH BOOTIES YOU HAVE EVER SEEN!”
The sea roared back as though answering her challenge. “AW, I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF THE BIGGEST, BADDEST, MOST BODACIOUS BEACH BOOTIES—mmph!”
“I think the ocean gets it, Pinkie,” Sunset Shimmer said, a hand clamped over Pinkie’s mouth. “And I’d really appreciate—we all would, actually—if you didn’t get us kicked out before we’ve even set foot on the beach.”
“Ooh, right. Sorry.” Pinkie gave a sheepish smile.
“Well, I, for one thing, understand Pinkie’s excitement,” Rarity said. She raised a hand over her eyes, though such an action was unnecessary, due to the large silk hat and stylish pair of red sunglasses currently protecting her. “It seems like a lifetime ago that I’ve been able to go to the beach.”
“I hear ya there, Rares,” Applejack said. “There ain’t nothin’ like the beach on a hot summer day.”
“I can’t wait to hit the water!” Rainbow Dash said. She was holding a surfboard in one hand and a kite in the other. “I’ve been wanting to try out this kite-boarding thing for months!” She looked at Applejack, then smirked. “Race ya to the beach!”
“Yer on, Dash!”
The two girls took off without once looking back at the others. Sunset giggled. “Well, at least they’re having fun.”
She felt someone sidle up to her, and she couldn’t help but look at them and smirk. “Is it anything like being back home?” she asked.
“Almost,” Adagio Dazzle replied in a murmur, casting her eyes over the ocean as one would at an old lover. “The smell, the air—it’s very much like Equestria. But something different about it, too. Kind of like spice, I suppose.” She breathed it in, then breathed out. “I guess that’s one other thing to like about the human world. It’s similar, and yet also different.”
“You said it, Dagi!” Sonata Dusk exclaimed, popping up next to her. “But I bet anything that Equestria’s tacos can’t top this world.”
“Sonata!” Pinkie called. Somehow in the span of time that they’d spent talking she was already halfway across the beach, almost catching up to Rainbow and Applejack. “Come on! You promised me you’d show me the proper way to make a sand angel!”
“Coming, Pinkie!” And she took off as well.
Sunset looked behind her. “What about you, Aria? What do you think of the beach?”
“Beats the apartment,” the twin-tailed ex-siren replied. She almost smiled, or maybe Sunset was mistaken her usual grimace for one, the sun partially blinding her. “I’m just happy to finally get out of the house.”
“You could have gone out anytime you wanted,” Adagio chastised.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to then.”
“ARIA!” Sonata called. “YOU SAID YOU’D COME WITH ME!”
Aria rolled her eyes (not that Sonata could have seen from how far away she was). “Fine, fine, I’m coming. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Begrudgingly, she stomped off towards the other pair of excited girls.
“Are you sure that’s going to be enough, Fluttershy? It hardly seems like much.”
“Don’t worry, Twilight. I actually don’t burn very easy. I think it’s the Italian in me.”
“If you say so.” Twilight Sparkle—their Twilight, Sunset mentally corrected; that is, the one from the human world and Crystal Prep—looked uncertainly at the horizon. “Just be careful, okay? The day’s supposed to be a hot one, and I don’t see a single trace of cloud cover at all.”
A white hand then grabbed her by the shoulder. “Oi, quit your whining, girl!” Vinyl Scratch said. “It’s just a little bit of sun. It won’t kill you!”
“Actually, Vinyl, skin cancer remains the deadliest and most invasive form of disease that you can get on the beach—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, and they drown puppies every now and then, lighten up! It’s summer! Enough with the nerdy stuff, and let’s go have some fun!”
She gave both girls a wink, and, though they were still uncertain, began the trek across the sandy dunes.
Lastly, two other girls came off of the bus, clutching towels around their bodies and holding a few canvas bags. One of the girls winced as she met the air. “Well, geez. If that isn’t hot, then I don’t know what is.”
“Pussy,” the other said. “This isn’t that hot.”
“You’re already sweating buckets, Gaige.”
“Shut up, Ink, you know what I mean.”
“Not really, actually.”
“Baka, don’t you sass me in this conversation. You know I am the sass queen and I will kick your ass at this game!”
“It’s not a game, Gaige, and if anything, either Sunset or Adagio are the sass queen. That’s not a title you can just take!”
“If Hazel were here, she’d argue that I could, and did, and therefore am!”
“Well, she’s not. She’s on vacation with her family in Norway.”
“Baka! I know that! I was just making a point!”
“Well, it's a bad point, you—”
They somehow entered into an intense bickering that powered them past the remaining four girls and down the sandy dunes. They watched them go, before breaking out into snickering.
“Well,” Rarity said, taking hold of the brim of her hat, “I suppose that’s a sure enough sign as any to find us a spot before every other place on the beach becomes full.”
“Agreed,” Sunset said. She, Adagio, and Rarity gathered their things and began walking.
Vinyl looked back at the bus. “You guys gonna be okay while we find us a spot to put all the stuff?”
A hand shot out of one of the windows in a thumbs-up gesture. Vinyl grinned. “All right. See you soon, babe.”
Then, in an almost offhand, unconscious manner, she undid the towel wrapped around her body, then flung it out to the side, before sauntering down the beach, grinning to herself, knowing someone was going to be very happy.
A few minutes passed. The bus had not moved. Then, gradually, a slow and steady stream of boys—young men by that point—emerged from the dark interior within, and somehow, unconsciously, they spread out single-file along the length of the bus, shoulder-to-shoulder. They carried with them bags and umbrellas and extra bottles of sunscreen and all sorts of beach assortments that wasn’t necessarily theirs but that they carried nonetheless with reverence and dignity. They scanned not the horizon, not the ocean, but the receding figures of the girls who had gotten off before them.
One of them, no doubt the self-proclaimed leader, stood before the thrown-aside towel. He bent down, then, as though it was a holy object, carefully bundled up the towel in his arms. He looked back at the beach, at the light and curving form of Vinyl Scratch. No doubt the others were looking at their girlfriends with similar eyes.
“Men,” Treble Mix said. “We are damn lucky.”
“Damn straight,” was the unified cry, and then they paraded onto the beach.
***
Their bickering had about died down by then, and when Flash and Mac had finally caught up to their girlfriends, they found that at the moment they were searching for a good place to set down their stuff. Other groups had gotten here before them, and for the most part most places were full. In the end the group from Canterlot High ended up crowding together, though not to their despair, but to their joy, as it meant they could share supplies and also talk amongst one another without needing to walk the extra distance.
Still, Gaige was insistent. “I don’t wanna sit next to everybody,” Flash heard her complaining to Ink. “I did that enough on the bus.”
“Come on, Gaige. They’re our friends. You really want to make this into a big deal?”
“It is a big deal! I thought the beach would be bigger!”
“It’s a beach, Gaige. If anything, it gets smaller the more times stretches on.”
“Oh, don’t talk to me like some romantic poet. You know I hate that time period.
“Heya, girls,” Mac called. He was standing in a spot just shy of the dark sand. “How about this spot here?”
Gaige turned to look. She paused, holding her bag close to her. Then she nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
Flash grabbed the mat from his own bag and set it down while Mac propped up an umbrella. They set their items on the mat. Then they looked out onto the great big blue.
“God, that looks sooo good,” Ink murmured.
Gaige smirked at her. “Thirsty, are you?”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”
“I sure do.”
Still, the ocean looked refreshing. It was practically calling to her. Without another word, Gaige lifted her shirt and tossed it to the side, and grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from her bag. She spread it over her front, then glanced at Flash. “Oi, baka,” she said, as sweetly as she could, “put some sunscreen on my back.”
Flash stared.
“I think you broke him, Gaige,” Ink said.
“Nah, he’s just being an idiot.” She turned to face him directly. “Flash, didja hear me? I said—”
Flash, meanwhile, stared. He stared and was lost in the staring, mostly because Gaige, in her infinite wisdom and glory (“Aw, Jarvy, you flatter me so! Stop it.”) had forgotten to tell him that, under the suggestion of her brother Treble Mix, she had foregone her typical swimsuit attire—a very simple two-piece, mind—and had instead decided to go for something a little more eye-catching.
She wore a red halter top, with slightly darker frills coming down off the edges in an upside-down V formation and highlighted by bits of white. A similarly colored sash hung from her left hip down, and it was set in place by a tight knot. With her hair having grown, and this time having removed her pigtails so that her hair dangled limply and loosely down her back, she appeared even more striking to the starstruck boy.
A sharp breeze blew on past, ruffling up her hair. She tilted her head, having fallen silent, looking at Flash with concern. “Flash?” she called. “Um, you okay?”
Treble’s words flowed through his mind, and slowly, a grin stretched across his face. “More than okay,” he said stupidly.
Gaige shuffled in place, her face flushing. “Flash,” she whined, “quit it! You’re embarrassing me… Just put the sunscreen on, would you?” She turned away.
While Flash was… occupied, Mac, meanwhile, was trying his best to stifle a conscientious chuckle. The poor boy was in way over his head, but he wouldn’t say that, not while Gaige was around to hear. He instead grabbed his own bottle of sunscreen and, after putting some of it on, turned to Ink. “Want me to… to…” He felt his mouth slip open, and somehow he could not find the strength to close it again.
Ink giggled, her cheeks turning red against her lilac skin. “I, um, take it you like it?”
Ink usually was more of a modest dresser than perhaps her peers, but today she had decided, apparently, to be a little more daring. She wore a light-blueberry-colored monokini, an empty V stretching halfway down from her neck, and curling inwards around her hips and waist in an hourglass shape. The sides had been cut off, revealing her lilac skin. She looked at Mac, her hands tied together shyly behind her back. He felt his own face burning, and his own, stupid grin slyly growing across his face.
Ink undid the knot in her hands and brushed one through her hair, letting out a nervous giggle. “I know it’s not what I’d usually go for, but I saw this at the mall while I was out shopping with Gaige and Hazel recently, and I thought, it would look perfect, and, um, I hope it at least looks good, and oh God you’re staring at me, this is really embarrassing, maybe I should have gone for a halter top like Gaige—mmph!”
He’d stepped forward and silenced her with a kiss. She looked up at him, mildly miffed. “Cheater,” she murmured.
He grinned. “Normally I wouldn’t mind when you go off and ramble. ‘S cute an’ all. But trust me, Ink, you look perfect.”
She blushed again, then leaned in close and wrapped her arms around Mac. “Thank you,” she said. He could feel the heat of her face against his chest, and his smile grew wider.
“All right!” Flash exclaimed once they were all ready. “So, what’s first? Swimming? Surfing? Frisbee? Catch?”
“I’m up for catch,” Mac said. “You got—”
“Right here!” And he held up a special floater ball, colored pink so that it would stand out among the ocean.
“How about we make it interesting?” Gaige said. “Let’s play in teams. Flash and Ink, me and Mac. The goal will be to stop the other team from getting the ball.”
“Why Flash and me?” Ink said.
“Because it’s less predictable, obviously.”
So it was agreed, and they all made their way into the water, screeching as the cold waves struck their skin. Soon they were in waist deep, and the game began.
They were not particularly very good at it, on account of several things: first, the tides were at their highest, and though they were not far from land, the waves that pushed into them were big and strong and flattened hair and blocked sight more than a few gracious times; second, as Mac quickly found out, throwing a ball while submerged in water up to his ribs was a difficult task, and the arc he made with it was awkward and flimsy, and more than once ended up missing Gaige’s outstretched hands. Wading in and out and between the waves was also a strenuous activity, with the four of them slow and unsteady in their gait, spitting water out and carefully stepping around unseen shell bits and crabs and pieces of seaweed that tried to wrap themselves around their ankles.
In the beginning it was hard for any one side to earn an advantage over the other. But soon Mac adapted, and he and Gaige were able to keep the ball away long enough that Flash and Ink spent more time catching waves than the ball itself. Still, Gaige’s height (“Hey!”) proved equally troublesome, and more often she was sent hurtling down under the water, bobbing back up and shaking the seafoam out of her hair, glowering as Ink laughed at her.
“Maybe you should wear platform shoes,” Ink teased. Gaige attempted to splash water at her, but Ink managed to move away just in time.
Sometime into the game, then, the tables turned. Mac, who had been up until now the best thrower there, was caught off-guard mid-throw when a wave, unheard of and silent in its path, crashed into him. The ball sailed up haphazardly. The wind took hold of it and tossed it to the side, allowing Flash to grab it in his hand, squeezing the excess water out of it. “Ink!” he called. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here!” She raised both her arms and waved, before Gaige darted in front of her. “Hey! Move it, shortstack!”
“Shortstack?! When did you develop such a backbone?”
“Ever since I started hanging out with you, remember? Flash, over here!” Ink ducked to the side, and Gaige followed in front, blocking just enough of Ink that Flash hesitated.
“Baka, if you throw and make it, I won’t sleep with you!” Gaige threatened.
Flash turned a deep red, then shook his head. “That’s not— that’s not playing fair, Gaige!”
“Fair? This is catch ! There’s no fairness in it! You gotta play dirty, you gotta play tough, you gotta—SONOFA! INK!”
“Sorry, Gaige! I didn’t mean to step on your foot, I swear!” But she was already paddling away, leaving Gaige to hop around on one foot. She looked around for Mac, and saw he was trying to clear the water from his eyes, having been completely submerged under the previous wave.
It was up to her, then.
She looked for Ink, and found her a short distance away. A wave interrupted her and Flash and made both of them hesitate. Gaige looked at Ink, then at her bathing suit, then at Flash. A slow, terrifying, and utterly sinister idea crept into her mind, and she quietly began swimming after her, ducking beneath the water so that neither saw her coming.
“I think we’re clear, Flash,” Ink said. “Throw it!”
“You sure? I don’t see Gaige, but that usually means she’s up to something.”
“She’s short, she can’t get up to anything, just throw it!”
Oh, she’s so dead .
Gaige peeked up behind Ink so that Flash couldn’t see her. Looking behind her, she saw a wave fast approaching. The timing could not have been any more perfect.
She reached up and took hold of Ink’s swimsuit just as Ink called, “Now, Flash!”
He threw it.
Ink reached out to grab it.
The wave struck, knocking her forward, and at the same time Gaige tugged and swam furiously away, letting the wave mask her presence.
“Ugh! Pffta!” Ink coughed as the water began to recede. “God, that water is disgusting!” She looked around for the ball, and found it off to the side. She grabbed it. “It’s all good, Flash! I got it!”
She looked at the boy, beaming. Then her smile slowly fell, and she tilted her head, confused. “Flash? What’s wrong?”
Gaige watched from a short distance away, giggling.
What Ink saw was a very red-faced Flash—his flushedness had completely disrupted his usual tangerine skin-tone, stretching seemingly all the way from his feet to the very top of his head. A small part of him—a voice, really, small and terrified—was screaming for him to turn away, to avert his gaze, but he found he could not. Frozen in place, he stared. He felt something warm drip from his face, warmer than the flushed cheeks. He knew it was blood before it had even hit the water.
“Flash?” Ink started forward, then stopped. She felt, suddenly, very cold, and very exposed.
She looked down. Slowly, she realized what had happened, and a scream shredded from her throat just as quickly as she crossed her arms around herself and turned away.
The scream brought Flash out of his foggy mind. “I-Ink! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—you just—”
“STOP LOOKING YOU IDIOT!” she yelled right back.
“I didn’t mean to—”
But Ink stopped listening. She had a sneaking suspicion as to what had just happened. She looked around, and saw Gaige chortling loudly.
Gaige’s laughter died down when she saw the fire in Ink’s eyes. “Uh, heh heh… um, it’s just a prank, bro? Ink? Honey? Bestie?”
Meanwhile, Mac had recovered. He looked around for his friends, and saw Flash still looking at Ink. He was confused for a moment as to why they were all red-faced. Then, he caught sight of… and he could not complete the thought, his own mind succumbing to a primal anger that erupted in a war cry.
“EERRUUUGGHHH! FLASH! YER A DEAD MAN!”
“B-BIG MAC! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, I DIDN’T MEAN—”
But he had to start swimming away, heading towards shore, while Mac cut through the waves like a shark and tore past Ink and Gaige.
Gaige let out a nervous bout of laughter. “Um… I don’t suppose you’ll leave me be? Ink? INK!”
She screamed. Ink screamed. Flash screamed. Mac screamed.
In the end the game was never completed, and no one could say who was the true winner. Not one of the players were, really, lucky.
***
By the end of Gaige’s tale, the faces of both Dahlia and Scree Mo were bright red. “Auntie Gaige,” Dahlia murmured. “That… wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“I don’t think any of us could have expected that,” Scree Mo said. The memory of his old crush came surging back, and he suddenly felt a near-overwhelming urge to head into the cleaning solutions aisle and down a couple gallons of bleach.
Gaige laughed at the two of them. “Ah, pansies. Come on, it was all in good fun! I mean, sure, I had a mean bruise for a bit from Ink, but, hey, we all thought it was funny afterwards.”
Then she winked. “Besides, your mother, Dahlia, well… I may not be interested in buying, but I know a good piece of merchandise when I see one.”
Dahlia’s face somehow grew even redder. Then, when Gaige said, “You’ve got your mother’s looks and assets, girl, don’t you worry!” she thought she might faint.
“Wait.”
That was Big Mac. He was in front of them, and slowly turned. He had an unreadable expression on his face. “Gaige,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Ya mean to say… that was you ?!”
Gaige paused. “Um… yes? Ink never told you?”
Mac glared at her. Gaige giggled, nervous again. “Oops?”
