Analemma, or A Year in the Sunlight

It takes ten Death Dance GX victories in a row for me to realize that something’s up. So as Twilight’s monitor fades out and returns us to the Character Select screen, I put my controller down and turn to her.

“Twi,” I say. “You don’t need to keep letting me win.”

Twi’s thumb slips off the joystick. “What?” She raises her voice to sound incredulous, but doesn’t look at me. “Come on, be serious. I’d never throw a match, much less against you, my sworn Death Dance rival.”

“I think you would, if you thought it’d make me feel better.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m playing my heart out.”

“Really? Because your combo game is worse than Spike’s right now.”

“I resent that,” Spike calls from his bed on the other side of Twi’s bedroom.

Twi rolls her eyes. “I’m just tired. Dehydrated, too. I only had one glass of water at dinner.”

“Right.” I pick up my phone and open my text messages. “Is it also just a coincidence, then, that all the girls keep sending me random compliments?”

“I don’t control their texting habits—”

“AJ started her first message with, ‘Twi told me you were feeling down.’”

Twi sucks in air through her teeth, then goes stone-faced. “I plead the fifth.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need coddling.” I lock my phone. “And I appreciate the compliments, but honestly, I’m not sure I deserve them after how I acted today.”

“It’s those sorts of thoughts that make me think you aren’t ‘fine.” Twi puts her own controller down and turns, bringing both her legs up onto the bed so she can sit cross-legged. “I know you’re upset about Wallflower, and how things didn’t go the way we planned.”

I bring my own feet up, then fall back and splay out across her sheets. “I treated her like trash, Twi. She was so happy about the idea of us becoming friends, and I threw it in her face. And now she hates me. Forever.”

“I know it hurts. But it happened. You can’t go back and change it.” Twi reaches over, runs a hand through my hair. “All you can do is keep trying your best.”

“So that’s it?” I scoff. “I get to trample all over her, and it’s okay as long as I might do better in the future?”

“You have changed. One bad day doesn’t erase that.”

“How do I know that this was one bad day, and not just the end of ten good months? What if those were the exceptions, not this?”

She frowns. “You know that’s not true, Sunset. You’re an amazing person.”

I close my eyes. “I guess. Whatever.”

My necklace is still broken, so it’s shoved deep into my pocket. I don’t need it around my neck, though, to sense Twilight's desperation. She’ll do anything to get me smiling again. But right now, I’m fine wallowing.

“There’s a bright side here,” she eventually says, voice pumped full of enthusiasm. “Blow-ups like this are the whole reason you two shouldn’t be around each other in the first place! You wanted a clean break, and now you have one.”

“It wasn’t clean at all. It was grisly. Like, chainsaw amputation grisly.”

“That works too! Broken bones can heal, but amputated limbs are gone forever. Unless you’re an axolotl.” She pauses. “Which you aren’t. But still.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Trying to feel good about that just ends up making me feel like a selfish asshole, though.”

“Maybe you were selfish,” Twi says. She twists to lay down on her stomach, and points her body so she can speak directly into my ear. “But no one’s perfect. No one’s gonna go through their whole life without ever doing or saying something bad. I haven’t. Remember what happened at the Friendship Games?”

“Yeah,” I say. Goddess, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard her bring that up. “Do you still feel guilty about it? You shouldn’t.”

“Sometimes. I get anxious when I think about it for too long. And she pops up in my dreams occasionally. But I’m a lot better now than I was a few months ago.” She stretches her neck to touch her nose to my shoulder, then pulls back. “And I’ve done other mean things, too. Less magical things.”

I open one eye and turn my head. “Is it storytime now?”

She grins. “Once, in middle school, my brother accidentally stepped on a diorama I’d made, and I got so upset that I called him” – she pauses, then lowers her voice – “a penis. I had to go to confession to stop feeling guilty about that one.”

I snort. “It was a Twilight Sparkle diorama, though. That’s a valuable artifact.”

“And another time, we were having dinner at my Aunt Primrose’s house, and she made this potato salad that tasted so gross, and the texture was a sensory nightmare, so I spit it out. My mom’s face was so red.”

“But it tasted like shit. It was a ‘lil rude, but you were right.”

“Who says you weren’t right?”

I open my mouth to argue – but close it a moment later. And I think back to the argument with Wallflower, and all the things she said: How I ignored her, lied to her, and treated her like crap. She was right about all of it.

But then I think about what I said. About how she violated my mind, and put me through hell. That’s all true, too.

How am I supposed to figure out which of us is the bad guy when we’re both telling the truth?

My thoughts scatter as Spike leaps up onto the bed and pads onto my stomach. “I do bad stuff sometimes, too.”

“Like what?” I ask, giving him a scratch. “Chewing up Twi’s sneakers?”

“Yep! Also, last week, I called the retriever down the street a son of a bitch.”

I burst out laughing, but Twilight gasps so hard that she nearly drowns me out. “Spike,” she shouts, going bright red, “where did you learn that?!”

He wags his tail. “From Dad. He yells it at the football players on TV a lot.”

It takes biting one of my own fingers to stop the giggle fit. “You gotta admit, that’s the perfect insult for a dog.”

“Don’t encourage him!”

“I’m just telling the truth! And so is he, technically.”

She purses her lips and glares at Spike and I. We put on our cutest puppy-dog eyes – literally in his case. And eventually, she releases her pout with an aggravated sigh.

“Okay, fine. So, Spike has a potty mouth. But does that make him a bad dog?”

Spike leaps forward, putting his face inches away from mine, and now I’m the one getting the puppy-dog eyes. Unlike Twi, though, I don’t need as much convincing. “No,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “Spike’s a good dog. The goodest, even.”

“It’s true!” he says, then licks my forehead. “They won’t admit it, but it’s true!”

“See?” Twi sits up again and floats Spike from my chest onto her lap, where he settles in snugly. “We’re not defined by our worst moments – you taught me that. And we all do things we regret. Either you live with them, or you go to church. Sometimes both.”

“And I still like you,” Spike says. “What more do you need?”

I chuckle and rub his head. “Good point.”

Before I can take my hand back, Twilight grabs it. “We’re here for you, Sunset,” she says, stroking the back of my hand with her thumb. “Spike and I. The girls. And everyone else at school who loves you. We’ve got you.”

I close my eyes to focus on the tickle of her hand on mine. Her fingertip, a soft paintbrush gliding between my knuckles and down my fingers. This feeling, this static tingle that vibrates in my blood, raises the hair on my arms, makes my legs shake – here, back at the bookstore, every moment I’ve spent at her side – I savor it. She’s a drug to me, and by the time she eventually lets go, I’ve got a doofy smile stuck on my face.

There’s still a pain in my gut, and I can still hear Wallflower’s voice – she’s become the narrator of every negative thought my brain can brew up. But as I open my eyes, Twi’s love lingers on my skin. It’s warm like midday sunlight.

“Thanks,” I say. “I dunno how, but you always know how to make me feel better.”

“I just tell the truth.” She holds up three fingers. “Filly Scout’s honor.”

“That’s stolen valor. And cultural appropriation.”

“Don’t worry, I have nothing but respect for your equine version of the Girl Scouts.” She sits up and places a hand on her heart. “And for your information, I was a Girl Scout. Had the beret and everything.”

Spike snorts. “For one week.”

She glares at him. “Two weeks.”

“One week.”

“One-and-a-half.” She offers me a polite smile. “I didn’t care for the hiking part. Or the ‘talking with other kids’ part.”

“Same here. I just wanted the cookies.” I lift Spike off of me and turn over onto my side. “I mean, I always want cookies. But especially Filly Scout cookies.”

“Do you wanna stay over tonight? We’ve got frozen cookie dough. It’s the kind you can eat raw without getting sick. A miracle of culinary engineering.”

The thought of spending more time wrapped in Twilight’s love makes me grin. But the weight of living alone weighs heavy on my shoulders.

“Sorry, I can’t.” I roll over to the side of the bed and swing my legs off it. “Gotta get home to feed Ray and water the plants. Y’know, responsible young woman stuff.”

I can see and feel Twi deflate at that. But then she pumps back up again and says, “I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”

“You’re in your pajamas,” I say, motioning to her baggy star-dotted shirt and pants. “I’m not making you go out like this.”

She frowns, glances down at herself, then shoots me a grin. “This is fixable!” She jumps off the bed and bounds over to her dresser. “Spike, Protocol #6!”

Spike gives her a firm nod, then slams his head down into the blanket, burying his entire face in the fabric.

I look between them. “What the hell are you—”

Twilight pulls down her pants. My eyes lock directly onto her frilly blue panties, tiny and tight. They hug her hips like spandex. She lets the pajamas bunch around her ankles – Goddess above her ass looks good – and that’s all I see before I follow Spike’s lead and turn away.

While she changes, I study the stack of textbooks on her desk. AP Physics. Advanced Spanish.

We’re both girls. We’ve seen each other half-naked before. It’s not a problem.

AP Statistics. Computer Aided Design. That’s a class at CHS?

She’s okay with it, clearly. I’m the one making it weird.

AP Literature. AP Chemistry. She’s so damn smart.

I don’t know how to act around people. Today proved that. It feels like I’ve got bees where my brain should be.

“Ready!”

As casually as I can, I turn back to her. Her pajama pants are in a pile on the floor, replaced by a cute pair of black culottes.

“Sorry about that,” she says with a sheepish laugh.

It takes conscious effort to lift my eyes above her waist. “It’s fine,” I say, waving a hand. “You’re fine.”

It’s either coincidence or fate that the CC79 bus stops both at the end of my block and an avenue away from Twilight’s. So, after wishing farewell to her parents – I still can’t believe they like me, much less regularly feed me dinner – the two of us head out the door and down the street.

It might still be August, but Autumn comes on quick in this town, and there’s already a chill in the air. I cross my goosebumped arms, and Twi leans into me, drawing close enough that we nearly trip over each other. She gives me a tiny nudge, I give her one back. She titters. I cackle.

We reach the bus stop just in time for a familiar set of headlights to crest over the hill. Twilight makes it to the schedule sign and spins to face me – but then flinches at the bright lights in her face and dodges to hide in my shadow. I take a step forward and stand on my tiptoes to crane over her.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “Anything. Even if you just want to talk. My ringer’s on.”

I rub my head. “Honestly, all I want to do is sleep. In the ‘I’m tired’ way, not the ‘I’m depressed’ way. Mostly.”

“Still. I’m available.”

“I know, I know. You’re going out of town with your folks tomorrow, right? When are you coming back?”

“Saturday. Will I see you at Applejack’s party on Sunday, though?”

“You will! Gotta get at least one more party in before school starts.” I cup a palm next to my mouth and whisper, “I’m so good at bobbing for apples, you wouldn’t believe. It’s like I used to be a pony or some shit.”

She giggles into her hand as the bus rolls to a stop next to us. I start to say goodbye, but before I can utter a word, she traps me in a hug.

“You’re not a bad person,” she says. “You’re my favorite person.”

She’s gripping me with all her might. But her thin arms are nothing compared to the swirling typhoon of love wrapping around me. It’s almost enough to make me tear up again.

I blink away the emotions and return the hug, pulling her in even tighter. “You’re my favorite, too.”

I’d love to stay like this for the next decade or three. But the bus is idling with its door open, and I can feel the driver glaring at us. So I let go and gently pull Twi away – she resists at first, but soon backs up – then shoot her one last peace sign before stepping on the bus. She watches me head to the back and take my seat, and waves as the bus pulls away.

Once we round the corner, I close my eyes and rest my head against the window. It’s cold, but Twi’s love is a cozy blanket, clinging to me all the way home.

I hate Wednesday nights. There’s no music blasting from the apartment next to me, no strangers arguing outside, no oversized muscle cars ripping down the street and shaking the windows. There’s me, breathing; Ray’s tank, humming; and the air conditioner, rattling. And there’s my mind, screeching out awful thoughts at top volume.

I’m a rat. I feel a prick of pain and I scramble for the easiest way out, no matter who I have to claw through.

I’ve flipped my pillow four times, rolled from my back to my stomach to my side to my back again.

Forty years from now, will Wallflower still remember the day I stabbed her in the back? Will I?

I clutch my blankets tight, bury my face to choke on my own stale odor.

The Princess says I’m good. She’s wrong. The girls say they trust me. They’re wrong. Celestia says she forgives me. She’s absolutely wrong. My nature is terminal. As soon as it’s convenient, I’ll ruin everything again.

Even half-naked with the AC blasting, my skin is syrup sticky. I curse and tear off my sheets, letting them crumple to the floor. My phone, perched at the edge of the mattress, goes with them.

Twi says she loves me.

And I might be sick, and crooked, and dirty. But I trust Twi. She’s never led me wrong.

Goddess above, Twi. Just the thought of her makes me stretch out my legs, clutch my blanket tight, and grin into the fabric. I swear, she’s like a bell to my starving dog. Give her an iota of thought and my whole body lights up.

She’s done so much for me these past two weeks. Just like Pinkie Pie, she’s become my compass, leading me along the path to my best self. I’m so lucky to have the two of them. I’m lucky to have all the girls, obviously, but those two are the dream team.

It’s been ten months since the Fall Formal – a lifetime ago and yet so recent. I still remember the first time Pinkie split her lunch with me. The first Rainbooms rehearsal she invited me to. The first inside joke we shared: “How many miles do I have to run for that one?” (Trust me, it was funny at the time.) I didn’t want to admit it back then, but she made me so unbelievably happy. It even got to the point that I thought I might be crushing on her. But while she might be a total cutie, I’m fine with us as friends.

A more recent memory flashes through my mind: A few days ago, laying in bed with Twi, wondering what it’d be like to date her.

Am I crushing on Twi now?

No way. I’m just desperate for people to like me, so when someone treats me well, I latch onto them.

If she asked me out, would I say yes?

I stare up at the ceiling.

Stupid question. That’d never happen. A girl like her would never go for a tank like me.

Especially not one who’s so self-deprecating. Ugh.

My amulet is off my neck, laying in a pile on the bedside table. But even without it, my body is a roiling pot of emotion: Shame and sadness and love and embarrassment and anger and gratitude. I’m stuck to the bed with sweat, and I swear my bones are vibrating.

I wonder if Twi is asleep right now. She wears pajamas, right? Is she sweaty too?

I’m not gonna get a minute of sleep while I feel like this. I gotta calm down. And I do know one way to do that.

I lean over the side of the bed and pick up my phone, then slip a hand into my underwear.

Look, I’ve got my issues with this universe, but fingers are not one of them. Neither is the internet.

Twi has nice hands. They’re light and dainty, but calloused from the way she wrings them.

With my left hand, I unlock my phone and – after checking to see if Twi or anyone else texted me – open the web browser. I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for tonight, and I’m a picky pervert, so I head to one of my bookmarked sites and start browsing. And a new page loads, I let my mind wander a few days into the future.

Only a few days until school starts again. Can’t say I’m excited to start cramming for math tests again, but if it means I get to see the girls every day, anything’s worth it. Twi’s been prepping for weeks, labeling all her notebooks and cleaning out her pencil sharpeners. Her First Day of School Outfit is already hanging from the solar system mobile above her bed. She’s so great.

That reminds me, I need to pick out my own outfit. Might be a tank, but I don’t wanna look like a slob on my first day of Senior Year. Not in front of her. Goddess, she’s cute.

And goddess, she’s got a nice butt.

She took off her pants in front of me. I looked away, obviously, because I’m not a creep. But now I sorta wish I hadn’t.

And why is it creepy? She’s the one who decided to get undressed. Why is seeing her in her underwear like that any different than when we change for Gym class together? Or when we hit the beach and she wears that hot one-piece that shows off her chest?

She’s cute there, too.

My phone dims, then automatically locks a moment later.

Damn it. My body’s buzzing more than ever, but I can’t get this damn dork out of my head.

Twi.

I haven’t felt this way in years. Not since my first few weeks with Flash, lounging on his bed while he’d strum for me. The ponies I dated back in Equestria: Mint Leaf, with her soft kisses; Redshift, with their wild mane and stoic brilliance.

Twi. Twi.

Lungs tight, nausea bubbling. My hand’s out of my underwear and limp at my side, but even moving my legs is enough to make me tremble.

Twi. Twi. Twi.

I drop my phone and swallow a mouthful of spit.

“Oh, fuck,” I say to the ceiling. “I’m in love.”