Author's Note
This is a companion story written to show a different perspective than that of the first story, The Farmer's Daughter. It isn't required that you read that first (or at all, but you should 
)
The Fashionista
A snobby brat. That was what Applejack could call her. A brat that always seemed to look down on her in every interaction. She was rude, shallow, and uptight. She was all of these things and more; but Applejack simply called her "the fashionista".
Applejack had tried to befriend her, just like she tried befriending anypony. She liked talking to ponies and, frankly, she liked being liked. It shouldn't have irked her as much as it did to be brushed off as a nuisance by this pony, but it kept her up at night. What was she doing wrong to make the fashionista dislike her so much?
And why did Applejack care?
The fashionista, despite her sour attitude, was beautifully gifted artistically, a trait which Applejack found incredibly annoying. She had an eye for detail, pointing out small things in assignments Applejack never would have noticed, and even things about Applejack herself. She would often catch the fashionista doodling intricate patterns in her notebooks and the margins of their homework papers.
Bright MacIntosh was a fan of the fashionistas parents. Upon meeting them, Applejack was shocked at how, well... normal they were. A bit goofy and... oblivious, but they were kind and considerate, and oh-so different to the stand-offish personality of their daughter. When Applejack accompanied her father for deliveries to the fashionista's house, she would try her best to talk to her, get her to laugh, anything different from the icy stare those blue eyes would normally shoot her way. The fashionista would simply brush her off as easily as she would a speck of dirt on her white coat. Nothing seemed to work, and so Applejack resigned herself to simply standing at her father's side, watching the fashionista do whatever she did.
It was annoying. She was annoying, and Applejack knew she should just give up trying to get this filly to like her but she couldn't. If the fashionista was going to be dead-set on hating her, Applejack at least wanted to know why, and she would find out when she and her parents returned from their next delivery.
It was supposed to be a quick delivery. They stop in, give a "hey, how are you?" and go back home. Easy.
It wasn't.
Applejack wasn't sure what happened. She remembered the cart flipping, watching the moon spin as she was flung out into the rain. A bolt of lightning, the resounding crack of thunder, the snap of a tree. She remembered stumbling through the forest, blinded by a mixture of tears and rain, calling for help. She remembered seeing... somepony; she couldn't remember who. And then...
Then she was here.
She answered all of the Mayor's questions as well as she could, digging through her own fragmented memory to try to figure out what has happened. All she knew was that something had gone wrong and her parents--
Her parents.
Every student at school had made her a card and while Applejack wished she could appreciate the sentiment, she also couldn't quiet the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her that it only happened because their teacher made them do it. She flipped through each card, seeing the words written but not really reading them, until one card in particular caught her eye. The paper itself was an eggshell blue and there were no words on the front, simply an elegant heart outlined in read glitter. She opened the card and was met with lovely calligraphy that took Applejack's frazzled mind a minute to make out.
I wish I could think of more to say than "I'm sorry for your loss", but I am. I hope you're doing okay.
She wasn't.
The silence of the farmhouse without her parents was the most deafening, earth-shattering sound she'd ever heard. Every second of agonizing quiet that went by was just a loud, obnoxious reminder that they were gone. Dead. Nothing felt real, the colors of the house and the farm were wrong. Everything seemed fragile, like her entire world could dissolve at any moment. And the worst part?
She didn't care.
She didn't care, she couldn't even try to bring herself to. Just the idea alone exhausted her.
Applejack sat in the front row of the service with the rest of her family, hearing the ponies speaking but not really listening. Every speech held the same few phrases of grief and they all began to run together. She kept her gaze unfocused on the ground below her hooves, feeling eyes on her from a row or two back. She glanced over her shoulder and froze.
The fashionista was staring at her.
That shouldn't have stood out to her; everypony stared at her these days, but the way the fashionista stared was so foreign to her, blue eyes gentle and concerned rather than annoyed and disapproving. Her eyes followed her no matter where she went. Catching a glance of her in the market, watching as Applejack slowly drifted around the classroom during the day. Those watchful eyes made her uneasy but at the same time, Applejack didn't want it to stop. After what felt like months of feelings nothing, it was nice to feel... uneasy.
Everypony was talking about her, but none were talking to her.
Since her parents' deaths, Applejack had simply been existing. She woke up, ate a bite of food, went to school, did her chores, and then went to sleep; all without a word from her, but with many words from other ponies.
Except the fashionista.
The fashionista still kept an eye on her, but Applejack never once heard a peep. Once upon a time, the fashionista would have leaped at the chance to call Applejack out on a fault, but now she held her tongue. In the rare instances Applejack would catch her staring, the fashionista would quickly find interest in something else.
Applejack moved seats in the classroom. She used to sit in the first row, all the way to the right by the window; she liked being able to have an angle to see the whole front of the room, especially during a lecture. She liked to make eye contact with her teacher, to let him know he was getting her full, undivided attention (unless she heard a particular funny remark from somewhere else in the room).
She now sat in the back corner, all the way to the right. It still gave her a full angle of the room as a whole, but she didn't care much about that. Most of her days were spent drifting in and out of her teacher's lectures, tracing the grooves of her desk with her eyes, and rereading pages that she had spaced out on.
Applejack began to wonder if this was how the fashionista had felt after being watched. In a cruel sort of way, the tables had turned, and now it was Applejack who was now under surveillance. The moment the bell that announced their midday break rang, she felt those eyes on her once more, but they seemed to linger even longer this time. She avoided looking at her, instead lifting her chin and running her gaze along a crack in the ceiling above her.
The sound of metal scraping wood echoed in the now silent classroom, the sound growing closer before stopping right in front of her. Applejack finally looked down and was met with an intense blue gaze, and this time the fashionista didn't look away. They simply stared at each other for a moment and something stirred in Applejack's chest. What was this feeling?
The fashionista sat down on the chair across from Applejack and gave her a hesitant smile, her eyes still never leaving Applejack's as she crossed her hooves on the desk and took a deep breath. Applejack hoped she looked calmer than she felt; this was the most alive she'd felt in forever, and for what? The fashionista, who hadn't said a word.
Not yet.
