Analemma, or A Year in the Sunlight

I love Princess Twilight. She saved me. She gave me friendship, something worth living for. She’s my icon. And there’s nothing I want more than to bond with this new Twilight the same way I’ve bonded with the Princess.

And yet.

We’re all in Pinkie’s bedroom. There’s freshly baked cupcakes, greasy pizza, raucous laughter, a ridiculous amount of balloons. All the staples of a great Pinkie Pie sleepover. And yet Twilight – the new Twilight – is just on the floor, hugging her knees, totally silent. It’s her first slumber party with us, but I don’t think she’s smiled even once since she got here. And she’s said maybe fifteen words, half of those just being “Hi.”

From my spot across the room, I can’t tell if she’s bored, nervous, or upset. Half her face is hidden behind her knees, leaving only her eyes. And she’s just watching, eyes drifting from person to person like we’re specimens in a tank.

I know Twilight told us that she doesn’t have much experience with friendship. And yeah, I wanna get to know her better. But I can’t help but wonder if inviting her to a big, busy sleepover like this is any different from tossing a toddler into the deep end of a pool.

Right now, she’s sat between Rainbow Dash and AJ, who’re both in each other’s face about some nonsense. Rarity and Fluttershy are nearby, chatting. Pinkie’s still blowing up balloons. I jam my phone into my pocket, slip off of Pinkie’s bed, and skulk over to the loudmouths.

“You’re nuts,” Rainbow says, shaking her head. “Legit friggin’ crazy. Ace Striker is MVP this season, guaranteed, and it’s not even close.”

Applejack rolls her eyes. “He’s a showboat. Hogs all the attention, spends more time driving around in his fancy-shmancy car than practicing. He’s why everyone hates the Canterlot Wizards!”

“They hate us ‘cuz they ain’t us.”

“They hate us because Ace can’t shut his dang mouth. Can’t stand him.”

“You’re just jealous because Rarity thinks he’s hot.”

AJ scowls. “Come again?”

Right on cue, Rarity crawls over and presses herself against AJ’s back. “I heard my name.”

Rainbow smirks. “AJ’s trashing your fave, Ace Striker.”

“What? Nonsense.” Rarity leans over AJ’s shoulder. “Just last week you told me he’s your favorite player!”

AJ goes bright red – whether it’s from her cover being blown or Rarity’s boobs against her back, though, I dunno. She mutters something, but Rainbow’s laughing too hard for me to hear it.

While all this is going on, Twilight is still just staring. Her pupils dart between each person speaking like she’s watching a tennis match. And whenever someone gets loud, like Rainbow with her cackling, she flinches.

There’s a lull in the conversation. The friendship alarms in my brain start blaring. Time to throw her a lifesaver.

“What about you, Twilight?” I ask. “What do you think of Ace Striker?”

As soon as I say her name, her eyes shoot to me, and her toes curl. And her body only tightens when Rarity, AJ, Rainbow, and even Fluttershy turn to her too. But slowly, she lifts her head. There’s an imprint on her face from where she’s been squeezing it into her knees.

She opens her mouth, closes it, swallows. “Um,” she says, then pauses, glancing at Rainbow. “I don’t… What sport is this?”

I’m such an idiot.

Rainbow snickers, making Twilight shrink again, and I swear I want to throttle this seven-tone bitch.

No, no. Don’t get angry. I don’t think like that anymore. This is just a small speed bump. That’s okay, we improvise.

“He’s on the Canterlot Wizards,” I say with a smile. She just leers. “Baseball.”

“Oh. I don’t really watch baseball. My dad does, sometimes. But I don’t. Sorry.”

I wave her off. “It’s fine! I’m not much of a sports girl either.”

“She’s a horse girl,” Pinkie calls from across the room. Thanks, bestie.

The conversation lulls again. I’m wracking my brain for another way to get her involved, but Rainbow’s already taking a breath to go on some new rant and—

“But,” Twilight says in a small voice, shutting us all up. “Based on what you’ve both said, it sounds like this player is very good at the game, which would support Rainbow’s position that he deserves the MVP slot. Applejack’s opinion has more to do with his behavior off the field. So he has his pros and cons.”

Everyone stares. Then we all look at each other. Then Rainbow puts a hand on her chest. “That’s a win for me.”

“No it ain’t! She agreed with me too!”

“She agreed with me first. I take those.”

The two of them start to bicker again. Meanwhile, Fluttershy slinks over to Twilight and whispers something to her. Twilight gapes for a moment, but then nods and crawls with her over to the spot that she’d been sitting in before. Rarity joins them a moment later.

I watch them go, studying Twilight’s long limbs and shrunken torso. Goddess, did the Princess look like this, too? There’s no way she was this thin, this bony, this… I dunno, lopsided? She didn’t wear glasses, and her hair was way straighter than this Twilight's frayed waves. Nature versus nurture, I guess. Same stubby noses, though. And I can’t say she’s not cute, in a shy schoolgirl sort of way.

She turns her head and we make eye contact for a millisecond before I avert my gaze. Once she turns back, I rise to my feet and sneak over to Pinkie. She’s buried in balloons at this point, with only her head and hands visible.

Of all the girls, Pinkie is the closest thing I have to a confidant. Applejack might be the “wise” one – Dash has teased her about being the “Mom” of our group more than once – and the Princess may be my role model, but Pinkie has her own sort of genius.

As I wade through the squeaky plastic sea, Pinkie beams. “Hey, cutie!” she says. “Wanna help me beat the self-blown balloon world record?”

“Is that what you’re doing over here?” I bat away a balloon that’s clung to my hair. “I thought this was for the party.”

“I’m feeding two puppies with one biscuit!”

“Isn’t it ‘killing two birds with one stone?’”

“I don’t kill birds, Sunset.”

“Point taken.” I lean against her, and she supports all my weight without struggle. “Talk to me: What’s your read on Twilight? The new one.”

“I’ve been calling her Twolight! In my head, at least.” She puts down a balloon and scratches her head. “Hm. Well, her birthday is October 13!”

“Okay. And?”

“So she’s a Libra. You know what that means.”

“And you know I don’t believe in any of that nonsense.”

“Says the magic sparkly unicorn. No fun.” She scratches again, then beams. “Ooh, ooh! She’s cute.”

I frown. “This isn’t really what I’m looking for, Pinkie. What’s your read, right now. Is she happy? Pissed off? What’s up?”

“Ohhhhhh!” She looks in Twilight’s direction, blinks a few times, then shrugs. “No idea.”

“What? Knowing whether people are happy or not is, like, your thing.”

“You’ve always been way better at that than me,” she says, grabbing another balloon. “Even when you were bad! Although back then, you’d use it to make sad people even sadder.”

I resist the urge to grab her newest balloon and pop it. I just take the comment on the chin instead, standing up straight and nodding. “Right.”

“So? What’s your read on her?”

I cross my arms and look over at Twilight, Fluttershy, and Rarity. The latter two are giggling, and although Twilight’s face isn’t buried in her knees anymore, she’s still looking stoic. Rarity’s waving around a pair of her shiny red work glasses. Occasionally Fluttershy says something directly to Twilight, and she says a couple of words before going quiet and watching them again.

“She’s nervous, obviously,” I say. “But not just in a ‘I’m gonna embarrass myself’ way. It’s more like she’s… studying us? She doesn’t want to risk putting herself out there, so she’s trying to figure out how to act more like us.”

Pinkie ties up a balloon. “That doesn’t sound good.”

I shake my head. “It’s not.”

But it’s not the first time this has happened.

Watching her from this distance, she looks familiar. Not because she’s our version of the Princess; because I sat and watched the girls in that exact same way during my first few sleepovers. I wanted to be like them so badly. I wanted them to accept me, wanted them to know I’d changed. I wanted some way to cure that horrible anger and guilt and jealousy and loneliness that crushed my ribs every night when I tried to fall asleep. Crushes. Try.

Maybe this new Twilight and I have more in common than I thought.

Pinkie takes my hand. “Are you okay?”

I sigh. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that this is, like, my first big friendship project. It’s my chance to help someone the way you all helped me. To prove that I’ve actually learned something over the past five months.”

“That’s silly,” Pinkie says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Twilight’s a girl, not a ‘project.’”

“You don’t get it. Making friends for the first time sucks. I’ve gotta help her however I can.”

“Well, what do you both have in common?”

“I dunno. We’re both in AP Statistics?” I feel an ache in my back. “We both turned into sadistic demons?”

Pinkie winces. “Well, that’s something. Depressing, but something!”

I stretch my arms to work out the pain, but it doesn’t fade. I’m so inured to Equestrian magic that what happened at the Friendship Games is barely even a thought in my mind anymore. But Twilight — Goddess, she must still be so scared, I can’t even imagine. I’ve been trying not to bring it up, but maybe we should talk about it.

Across the room, Rarity’s still holding her glasses. She says something and makes a hand gesture at Twilight. Then with a bright grin, she hands her glasses off to Fluttershy and reaches to take Twilight’s off her face.

Twilight yelps and swings her arm out, smacking Rarity’s forearm. Rarity shrieks and recoils away, and Fluttershy drops her glasses in surprise.

“What’s going on?” Rainbow says, jumping to her feet and whipping her head around. “Are we going Pony Mode?”

I push through through the balloons and rush over to Twilight, who’s shaking and covering her nose. “What happened?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

Rarity’s rubbing her forearm, but looks more confused than angry. “Did I scratch you?”

“No, you—” Twilight’s gone bright red. She stammers a few times under her breath, a storm of um’s and uh’s, all the while looking at her feet. Then she swallows, and in a voice that not even the walls hear, says, “I don’t like it when people touch my face.”

I swear to Celestia, I can feel the awkwardness seeping into my pores. I knew this sleepover was an awful idea. I was supposed to teach her how great friendship is, but now she’s embarrassed herself, and it’s all ruined—

“Rarity!” barks Applejack. “You testing lipstick on people without asking again?”

Rarity stops rubbing her arm – there’s no mark, bruise, or even a tinge of red. “That was one time!”

“Three.”

“Two at most! And it’s not my fault you aren’t taking advantage of how full your lips are.”

Rainbow plops back down onto her butt. “You guys are making the jokes way too easy. You know that, right?”

Just like before, while they keep teasing one another, Fluttershy crawls over to Twilight and whispers in her ear. Twilight is still trembling, looking like she’s on the verge of tears, but she nods and holds Shy’s hand. The two of them get up and head for the bedroom door.

As she passes behind Rarity, Twilight pauses and starts to reach out to her. But she stops short, takes her hand back, and keeps walking out the door.

I jump up and run after them, fast enough that I skid on my socks when I stop at the door. Twilight and Fluttershy are halfway down the hall already, but they stop when I call their names.

“Hey!” I’m breathing way harder than I should be. “What’s up? You okay?”

The two turn back around. Twilight doesn’t look at me, and she’s still red, but she nods. Fluttershy smiles. “We’re just getting some air,” she says, and leads Twilight away, down the stairs and out of sight.

I listen to their creaking footsteps until they disappear.

When Pinkie Pie first told me that her parents are “rock farmers,” I thought it was a joke. Y’know, like when someone tells you they have a pet rock.

But then I visited her house and saw the cabinet full of geodes, and the family portraits taken in front of cavernous quarries, and the sharp cuts of granite mounted on their wall like dead animal heads. Everything is covered in sand, and whenever I stay over, I wake up with it in my hair. And her oldest sister does own a pet rock, but it’s not a joke. None of it is. The damn thing has its own kennel.

Pinkie’s bedroom is a pastel wonderland, but outside her door, it’s the world’s dustiest haunted house. Cobwebs in the corners, flickering light bulbs, drafty walls. And it’s way out on the outskirts of town, so barely any cars pass by – the exact opposite of the downtown apartment I’m used to. I’ve never gotten a full night’s sleep at her place.

All this is to say that I’m used to getting up in the middle of the night. So when I wake up at 2 a.m., sit up, and notice Twilight’s empty sleeping bag, I’ve got a good idea of where she’s gone.

I breathe through my nose as I wriggle out of my sleeping bag, stand up, and creep over to the door. I’ve done this enough times to figure out how to open the door without it creaking – you gotta lift and push it against the hinges while you move it – so it’s not hard to escape undetected. Dunno how Twilight did it, though. Maybe she’s just that light. Or that clever.

Down the hall, the stairs. I’m expecting to find her in the kitchen, just like the Princess, but it’s dark. Instead, the only light comes from the kitchen’s other side, outside the doorway that leads into the living room. I tiptoe across the cold linoleum and stick my head through.

Sure enough, here’s Twilight, sitting cross-legged on the couch. She’s got her back towards me, and she’s hunched near a lamp, reading a book that’s wider than her. Not the first time I’ve seen that.

I open my mouth to announce my presence — but stop before making a sound. Knowing this Twilight, a disembodied voice calling out from the dark and dusty hallways might be enough to give her a legit heart attack. Instead, I walk into the room and around the couch, hoping she hears my footsteps. Even then, it takes a moment for her to notice me, and she still jumps when she does, snapping up straight.

And when she sits up straight, I get a good look at her face. And in the dim lamplight, I see splotchy pink skin and wet lines running down her face.

“Sunset,” she says, voice cracking. “Hi.”

“Hey.” I take a step towards her, slow and precise, like she might bolt away from any sudden move. “Are you okay?”

Of course she’s not okay, dummy.

“Mmhmm.” She nods, snorts up some mucus, and wipes her eyes. “I’ve got allergies. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Oh.” She hiccups. “Sorry.”

Someone, anyone, please smash a brick against my head.

“Can I sit?” I ask, pointing at the cushion next to hers.

She nods again, so I plop down beside her, hefting my legs up so I can sit cross-legged too. I offer her a smile, but she just stares at the book in her lap. She’s still sniffling, and every few moments a gasp leaves her lips, rocking her entire body.

“You know,” I say after a few moments, “it’s okay if you’re, y’know, not okay. You can talk to me. I don’t judge.”

If only that were true. I’m working on it, okay?

She doesn’t react at first — she’s so plain-faced that I’m not sure she even heard me. But then another gasp comes out. Her face screws up into an ugly grimace, eyes closed, nose wrinkled, brows creased. Then she takes off her glasses, covers her face with her hands, and starts crying.

She’s not sobbing, or wailing, or weeping. Just quietly crying into her palms, shallow air slipping past her teeth, shivering and shuddering.

And I’m just sitting here, watching.

Truth is that I’m not sure what the play here is. For a supposed friendship expert, I’ve had to console very few crying teenagers. I could give her a hug, but after what happened with Rarity… I don’t know where I’m allowed to touch her, if anywhere.

But she’s crying. Five inches away from me. We’re the only people in the room. And I’m doing nothing, like a total asshole.

This is the make or break moment. If I screw up here, Twilight’s never gonna trust me.

Do something. Anything. Just move!

As she coughs into her elbow, I raise my arm. And with sniper precision, I place my hand flat on her back, right between her shoulder blades. Her spine stiffens and I almost pull away, but then some random neuron fires and reminds me that jerking away suddenly when petting a cat makes them attack you, so I keep my hand there. And when she doesn’t protest, I give her a little pat – a motion that immediately feels pathetic and patronizing, but which seems to slow the tears. It takes another minute for them to stop.

She takes a few haggard breaths, wipes her face with her pajama sleeves. Then, with a long and snotty sniffle, she crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Sorry.”

Brick. Brick. Brick.

“It’s okay.” I give her another pat. “You wanna talk about… y’know, this? Whatever’s going on?”

“I’m just a little anxious,” she says through staccato hiccups. “I haven’t been to a sleepover since I was really young. And even then, I got my dad to pick me up early. It’s just a house I’m not familiar with, and Spike’s not here because he doesn’t like sleeping in other places either, and I don’t know anyone very well—” She clenches her teeth and closes her eyes again, but it passes quickly. “I don’t want to make anyone upset again.”

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna get upset.” I try to chuckle. “If anything, I wish you’d told me sooner that you weren’t having a good time.”

“No, I was.” For the first time, a tiny smile creeps onto her red face. “Pinkie Pie is funny. And the food was good. And Fluttershy… She’s really great. I like talking to her.” She frowns again. “Not that I don’t like talking to you, of course.”

I chuckle again, this time with ease. “No, no, I’m glad to hear it! Fluttershy’s amazing. Total sweetheart. I had a feeling you two would get along.”

“Why?”

“She’s, y’know, quiet. Thoughtful. Kinder than anyone, probably. Figured she’d be the best one to help acclimate you to all our nonsense.”

She nods.

A deep silence follows, punctured only by Twilight’s occasional sniffle. It takes stupidly long for me to realize I’ve still got my hand on her. I let go, and she leans back into the couch cushions.

As thoughts of bringing her back upstairs flit through my head, she looks at me again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh, sure.” I fold my hands in my lap. “Shoot.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

I smirk. “Because I like you, of course. You’re my friend.”

“Okay.” Pause. “Why am I your friend?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Why would I be?” She furrows her brows, purses her lips. The sniffling stops. “The default state for interpersonal relationships isn’t friendship. It’s more like acquaintanceship. And in the few weeks we’ve known each other, I can’t think of many reasons I’ve given you to like me.”

I flap my lips a few times. “Well,” I manage, “sure you have. You’re smart, and interesting, and… And we’ve both dealt with Equestrian magic, obviously. And you’re this world’s version of Princess Twilight, who we love.”

Her pout remains. “You like me because you like her?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I wave my hand around, as if I’ll snatch a better explanation out of the dusty air. “I mean, it helped break the ice, definitely! But you’ve got loads of great qualities. Unique ones. You’re awesome.”

“But you already have so many friends. And they’re so much better at all of this” – she’s the one waving her hands this time, gesturing vaguely at the world around us – “than I am.”

“You can never have too many friends.”

“I guess. I don’t want to be an albatross, though.”

I blink. “A what?”

“A burden. Sorry.” She takes a deep breath. “Especially after, you know. What I did at the Friendship Games.”

“No one’s thinking about that,” I say quickly. Gotta nip those buds right away. “I swear, we’re all just hyped about getting to know you.”

She rolls her eyes – probably the most aggressive thing I’ve ever seen her do. “‘Hyped,’” she says in a muttering mumble. “Right.”

Now I have to resist the urge to roll my own eyes. This Twilight is smart, yeah. But – and I hate that I think this, truly – she’s sorta annoying, too. She has the same analytical nature as the Princess, but without any of the charming friendliness to blunt her edges. She’s nervy, cagey, self-effacing to a depressing degree. And I’ve never met someone who thinks they’re straight up unworthy of friendship.

…Well, I know one other person.

Time to get empathetic.

“I sorta know how you feel,” I say, rubbing my arm. “The first few weeks I spent with the girls were rough. I was still pretty messed up from what happened at the Fall Formal, and they still didn’t quite trust me. Not that I blame them, obviously – I treated them like dirt. Hell, I nearly walked out of my first sleepover because Rarity made some harmless joke about my pajamas. I was ready to write the whole thing off.”

She tenses a bit at Rarity’s name, but nods.

“All of us had something to learn about friendship, most of all me.” I offer a smile. “And one of the best things I learned is that friends love you even when you don’t think you deserve it.”

She’s silent for a few moments more. Then, in a slow voice: “So, you don’t think Rarity hates me?”

“What? Of course not. The only thing Rarity hates is poor fashion sense.”

“But I yelled in her face.” She wrings her hands. “Over something stupid.”

“C’mon, don’t stress about it.” I grin and lean forward. “Look, lemme let you in on a little secret: All the girls in our group have a gimmick.”

She raises one brow. “A ‘gimmick?’”

“Exactly. If we wanna get technical, it’s a special trait within their souls stemming from their connection to Princess Twilight and a set of powerful Equestrian artifacts called the Elements of Harmony” – I gasp for air – “but calling it a gimmick is easier.”

She just stares at me. Whether out of fascination or confusion, though, I can’t tell.

I stare right back. “My point here is that Rarity’s gimmick is generosity. And I promise, she’s generous enough to trust that what happened between you two was just a misunderstanding.”

“Oh.” She stops wringing her hands and folds them on top of the book in her lap. “What’s your gimmick?”

And the empathy train rolls to a stop.

I don’t have a gimmick. I’m not an Element of Harmony. I might have helped stop the Dazzlings, transformed into… whatever at the Friendship Games, yeah. But I’m still not like them. I’m just me.

I know this. I’ve accepted this. It’s why I didn’t protest when they formed the Rainbooms and didn’t invite me. They didn’t even choose to become my friend; Princess Twilight made them do it. I’m an addition, not a core member.

The thought freezes me, mouth hanging. But Twilight’s waiting. So I just grin and say, “It’s a long story.”

She nods and turns her head down again, gazing blankly at her hands and the book underneath.

I gesture to it. The text is small, and in this dim light, I can’t make out any of the words. “What are you reading?”

She whips her head between the book and I, eyes wide like I’ve just grown a second head. Then she closes the book and shows me the cover, which is decorated with a cheesy 3D picture of a spear coming out of a computer screen.

“It’s a guide to Javelin,” she says. I must be wearing the same expression as when she called herself an albatross, because she eventually follows up with, “It’s a programming language.”

“Cool!” I say, and I do actually mean it. Computers are still sorta magical to me – and that makes anyone who knows how to talk to them a wizard. “Are you good at coding?”

“Not in Javelin,” she says, shaking her head. She stops, like she’s waiting for me to respond, but I just keep smiling. And a few moments later, she starts again:

“But I’m mostly fluent in Cupid, and I’m passable in Wingnut. Javelin is difficult, though, because it’s a procedural language, not an object-oriented one, so if you run the code and it doesn’t work correctly, you have to go back and review everything you’ve written right from the start to find and change all the defective elements. It’s much harder to navigate than most modern languages, which is largely why it’s fallen out of use since the turn of the century. But a lot of government offices still rely on Javelin databases, so it’s a good skill to have, even if I don’t have much interest in working in a federal department. And I appreciate the challenge that coding in such a vintage language provides. It helps me feel connected to the engineers that came before me.”

“Holy crap.” I have to stop myself from laughing – not out of malice, but shock. “That’s awesome!”

“What is?”

“Everything you just said. That you know so much about such a complicated topic! Where was this during the party?”

She shrugs. “People don’t usually want to hear me speak.”

“I do. The rest of the girls do too. We’re all a pretty talkative bunch, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Okay. So I should talk more?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I roll my eyes. “I mean, if you want to.”

She hugs her book and nods. “I think I do.”

Her face is still a bit splotchy, but the tears have dried away, and she’s breathing slowly, steadily. Friendship Crisis averted. The Princess is gonna hear all about this one.

I uncross my legs and let them slide off the couch. “Do you wanna go back upstairs? It’s fine if you still need a few minutes.”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you.” She takes in a deep breath, holds it for less than a second, then stands up with me. But when I walk away, she stays stuck in place. “Sunset? Could you, y’know, not tell any of the girls about this? Me coming down here, that is. I mean, I know lying is bad, so if you want to—”

“Never even crossed my mind. Seriously.” I hold up three fingers. “Filly Scout’s honor.”

She leers at my hand skeptically, like I’m trying to initiate her into a gang or something (the Filly Scouts are far more vicious). But soon enough she nods and walks my way. She trails close behind me as we creep back through the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hall.

Before I open Pinkie’s door, I stop and turn to Twilight. “Your sleeping bag is over by the window, next to AJ, right? You can come sleep next to me if you think that’ll help you relax.”

She shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine. And I don’t want to offend Applejack.”

This girl really does worry about everything, huh? I guess you gotta have an overactive brain to become as smart as her.

“No problem.” I open the door and wave her inside. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers back, and tiptoes past me.

Thankfully, the girls are still asleep. I make it to my sleeping bag before her, but don’t climb inside until I see Twilight wriggle into hers. It looks cleaner and newer than any of ours.

I stretch out my legs one last time before slipping into my sleeping bag, resting my head, and closing my eyes. And I keep them closed for the rest of the night — even when Twilight eventually gets up again, hauls her sleeping bag next to mine, and lays back down.