If you ask anyone in the Rainbooms where we’re from, we’ll give you the same answer: Canterlot City. But that’s not totally true; Twi, Rarity, Fluttershy, Dash, and I live in Canterlot City. Applejack and Pinkie Pie live in Canterlot Village, an “unincorporated township” that borders the city. This usually isn’t a problem – just don’t ask Granny Smith how she feels about still having to pay city taxes – but on the weekends, things get annoying.

On the weekends, the CC55 bus to the Village goes from running once every half-hour to once every two hours. Factor in that the nearest stop to me is five blocks away, that the ride itself takes about 40 minutes, that it's followed by a half-mile walk to AJ’s house, and that AJ doesn’t believe in “sleeping in” – in short, it’s a hassle, so you can’t blame me for running late to her 10 a.m. party.

And if this were any other Sunday, I’d have spent the bus ride with my head against the window, eyes closed, trying to scrounge up a few more moments of sleep. But instead I sat ramrod straight, obsessively checking my phone and knocking my knees back and forth so fast that my thighs chafed. And now I’m just a block away from AJ’s house, forcing myself along one step at a time.

Twi has been out of town for four days now, but she’s still been on my mind, which isn’t unusual, but now I might know why it’s not unusual, which maybe should have been obvious months ago, but I’m an idiot, so you can’t blame me for that either. We’ve been texting non-stop, of course – her cousins eventually figured out the “code” and we had to switch to a new one – but words can’t convey the slurry of excitement and dread sitting like cement in my stomach.

As AJ’s house comes into view, I take a deep breath. I gotta remember that any ‘feelings’ I have for Twi are just that: Feelings. Even assuming that they do exist and I’m not having an extended manic episode, they’re in my head. I can control them. And Twi doesn’t know – and maybe never has to know – any of them.

To her, this is just another totally normal day. I’m gonna make sure it stays that way.

Yes, I’m scared. Yeah, I’m a coward. But what else is new?

I hop up AJ’s front steps and give the door’s horseshoe-shaped knocker a few bangs. A moment later, the door swings open and AJ appears with a grin.

“Sunset!” She leaps forward and pulls me into a crushing hug, which I try and fail to return with as much force. “You made it!”

“Like I’d ever miss an Applejack shindig,” I say as she releases me. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it! You’re coming all the way from downtown on a Sunday; that’s dedication, no matter when you show up.” She leans against the doorway and snorts. “Besides, you ain’t even the last one to get here.”

“Lemme guess: Rarity’s gonna be ‘fashionably late?’”

“Rares? Nah, she’s here. She slept over last night.”

I choke on air. “Sorry,” I say, wiping my mouth. “She slept over?”

“Yep, so she’s here. And Pinkie and Twi got here right at 10. They’re all in the back.”

I guess I’m not the only one with feelings, repressed or not. I take a step inside. “Good to know. So, what, that just leaves Dash and Flu—”

“Hold that door!”

A tornado of dust sweeps up from the lawn and swallows us both, throwing us into coughing fits. And when the cloud clears, we’re joined by two new characters: Rainbow Dash, dotted with sweat and tiny dead gnats; and Fluttershy, clinging to Dash’s back with both arms wrapped around her neck. She’s wearing a helmet and she’s got her legs stuck out straight in front of her, so Dash can grip her calves with whitened knuckles. It’s a horrifically awkward pose, even discounting that Shy is a half-foot taller than Dash.

“Hey there, cool cats!” Rainbow says. “Sorry we’re late. Got pulled over on the freeway. Did you know running over the speed limit still counts as speeding?”

Fluttershy, shaking like a wet cat, lifts her head out of Dash’s hair. “Are we there yet?” she asks. “Can I get down now?”

Rainbow lets go of Fluttershy’s legs, but they stay straight in the air. It’s only once AJ steps forward and peels her off Dash’s back that she puts her feet on the ground. “I’m okay,” she says, knees wobbling. “I’m fine. I’m… I’m Fluttershy.”

She tries to take a step, but just ends up tumbling into Applejack, who grabs her by the shoulders.

“I gotcha, hon.” With small steps, Applejack leads Fluttershy off the porch and into the house. That leaves me and Dash, who’s pulled a towel out of her back pocket to wipe off the smudged bugs.

“How the hell did you convince Fluttershy to ride you like that?”

“You make it sound so gay.” She hangs her towel over the porch’s banister. “And she’s totally fine! You know I wouldn’t ever put her in danger. I even gave her a helmet! I’m safer than, like, any car.”

“I’d like to see the stats on that,” I say with a chuckle. “I guess you two did get here unscathed, though. Maybe you should buy a saddle, start charging people for rides.”

She elbows past me with a smirk. “Way ahead of you, SunShim. How do you think I could afford these sneakers?” And then she kicks up a leg behind her and knocks one of her shiny silver trainers against my thigh.

I snicker, give her a tiny slap on the shoulder, and follow her into the house. AJ and Fluttershy haven’t gotten far, so we creep behind them, towards the backyard. It’s a straight shot down the hall, and through the blindingly bright doorway I can barely make out the cotton fluff of Pinkie’s hair, and a dark circle that must be some sort of parasol – that’s gotta be Rarity.

Which leaves…

Just after we pass it, I hear the bathroom door to our right swing open. I turn just in time to brace myself for a full-body tackle of a hug from Twi, thrown like a spear into my gut, so hard that she actually leaves the ground for a second. A gale of love roars through me, and I’m almost too light-headed to return the gesture. Almost.

I wrap my arms tight around her, just how she likes it. She buries her face in my shoulder, and for a moment, it’s just me and the dork, alone and perfectly in sync.

But then she looks up at me with that smile – dimpled cheeks, cute little nose – and says, “Yes, Sunset! Finally!”

And any response I might have mustered disappears, replaced by memories: Laying with her in the grass. Letting her feed me ice cream. Holding her on the bus. Running around my apartment half-naked. Crying in her lap. Watching her undress. Thinking about her, just her, only her, while I stare at the ceiling and grip my sheets.

My brain feels like a bundle of spaghetti, thrown at a wall and sliding to the floor. One second passes, and her dimples start to shrink, and just say something you piece of—

“How come Sunset gets a hug and a hello, but I don’t?” Rainbow asks, hands on her hips. “What, no love for blue girls?”

Twi pulls away from me and giggles. “Of course you can have a hug,” she says, and dances over to Dash.

As the two embrace – no way it’s as good as the hug I gave her, Dash is too muscly – I close my eyes and try to stomp on my brain’s brake pedal.

I gotta calm down. Literally nothing has happened yet. We’ve hugged a billion times before. She smiles just as often. Breathe and stop being such a weirdo.

We’re friends. That’s okay! We can stay friends forever. No problem at all.

Twi lets go of Dash, peers over her head to greet Fluttershy – she and AJ never stopped stumbling along – then frowns. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine!” Dash says, jumping to block Twi’s view. “Totally perfect!” Then she super-speeds down the hall, wraps an arm around both AJ’s and Fluttershy’s waists, and rushes them outside.

Twi watches them go with narrowed eyes. But soon enough she returns to my side, twirling like a ballet dancer. She takes my hand. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I shoot back, squeezing her hand. I’ve done that before, right? “You sure seem excited. Pumped about school starting next week?”

“Of course I am!” she says, beaming. “But I’m excited to see you, too!”

“Why’s that?” I ask, before remembering the emoji storms. I smirk. “What, too much family bonding?”

She rolls her eyes so hard that my head hurts. “Look,” she says, “I love my family. I do! But there’s nothing like a forced family reunion to make me remember why I spent seventeen years as an introvert. Sometimes I just need a little alone time, a little quiet. Not a six-year-old stealing my glasses and then spinning around until they vomit.”

I cringe. “Is that a joke or an example?”

She leers up at me, and for a moment, the bags under her eyes grow trench-deep. “Applesauce comes back up with the same consistency it had going down.”

Oh, goddess. I raise a hand to my forehead in salute. “Thank you for your service, brave babysitter.”

That earns me one of Twi’s brilliant little giggles, adorable snort included, and I swear I’m floating. “Gosh,” she says, “I had no idea how much I missed having someone to banter with. I’m never taking you for granted again.”

You can take me for whatever you want.

“Hey!” Applejack yells. She’s outside by now, just a silhouette in the doorway. “Can y’all get a move on? We’re burning daylight!”

I step aside and motion for Twilight to move. “After you.”

She smiles, bends her knees for a curtsy, and takes the lead — but walks slow until I start following.

Outside, we find the rest of the girls crowded around a single picnic table, loaded with drinks and snacks. Dash is already two sodas deep, and Fluttershy is sitting next to Rarity, who’s gently rubbing her back and shading her with a parasol. Rarity, meanwhile, is swallowed up in a raglan tee that’s at least three sizes too big for her. It’s droopy enough that even from the doorway, I can look down her collar and see her bra.

Pinkie is sitting cross-legged on the table, because of course she is. But when she sees us, she leaps off the table and into a cartwheel, springing up straight just inches away from us.

With a squeal, she pulls both of us into a hug. “Oh my gosh, you’re here!” she says, then backs up. “I mean, I knew Twilight was here, because her dad dropped her off at the same time as my sister and she’s been teaching me how to count on my fingers in binary for the last hour. But Sunset! I thought maybe your bus broke down, or you missed it, or you got attacked by wolves and had to take down the leader of the pack to earn their respect—”

“Just a bit of traffic,” I say. Sometimes I feel bad about interrupting Pinkie’s rambles, but she rarely seems to mind – I think even she knows that if I let her, she’d spew out thoughts until her tongue fell off. “Did I miss much?”

“The binary fingers,” Pinkie says, flexing her hands into weird shapes. Twilight nods firmly.

“Anything else?”

AJ appears next to me and claps a hand against my back. “Nah, you’re just in time. Take a seat.”

Pinkie grabs one of my hands and one of Twi’s, then leads us back to the picnic table. She plops herself back down on the table’s surface, while Twi and I snuggle in next to Fluttershy.

“Now, finally!” AJ says, stretching. “Time to get started!”

Before any of us can ask what that means, Fluttershy raises a finger. “Do you have any ginger ale?”

AJ scratches her head. “I’ve got fizzy cider. Does that count?”

Fluttershy goes green, then shakes her head.

AJ shrugs, then slips back into a confident hands-on-hips stance. “Anyway! Gals, I wanna thank you all for joining me on this fine summer day! We’ve got a packed schedule ahead of us.”

My brow raises automatically. AJ’s a disciplined gal, sure, but never one to put her parties on a ‘schedule.’ That’s gotta be against the Official Hootenanny Guidelines.

“As you well know,” she says, beginning to pace in front of us, “we are less than two days away from the start of our senior year at CHS. And though we’re classmates, going back to school is gonna mean less free time, less freedom, and less chances for us to hang out.”

“Fewer chances,” Twi and Rarity say in unison.

Applejack stops pacing to glare at them. Mostly Rarity. Then she snorts and keeps going. “As such, I wanted to come up with a fun way to spend our last Sunday before school starts – something that’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs, really enjoy the last few days of summer!”

Twi raises her hand. “Is this going to involve running? Because I’m only wearing clogs.”

“And they look lovely,” Rarity adds, earning a big smile from Twi.

“No running if you don’t wanna.” Applejack smirks. “Have y’all noticed anything different about this party? Compared to the other Sweet Apple Acres shindigs I’ve thrown.”

That gets all six of us to sit up straight. We swivel our heads around, taking in the environment: The clucks from the chicken coop, the sparse patches of grass below our feet, the pungent odor of manure in the air that I used to hate but don’t mind much anymore. Eventually we start exchanging glances, mouths barely opened, each of us waiting for someone else to answer her riddle.

Pinkie is the first to speak up, jabbing a finger at the sky. “I know! You finally fixed that big hole in the barn roof!” We all follow her finger to the barn, where a patch of white wood sticks out among the red.

AJ stares at it for a few seconds, then adjusts her hat. “Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Dash points at Rarity. “Rarity brought an umbrella even though it hasn’t rained in a week?”

“It’s a parasol,” Rarity says with a glower. She twirls it a few times, letting its lacy edges flitter against Dash’s hair. “It’s an accessory, not a tool.”

Rainbow throws her hair over her other shoulder. “Yeah, and it goes great with Applejack’s shirt.”

While Rarity averts her eyes, AJ crosses her arms. “No.”

While they chitter, I turn around in my seat and study the picnic table. There aren’t any decorations or games around, so this is essentially the entire party, yeah? I see drinks, chips, and napkins. A little barren, maybe, but not weird. Is it the brand of soda? The color of the wood? What’s changed? What’s missing?

I backtrack to that word: Barren. Applejack is an amazing cook, nearly as skilled as Pinkie, and she loves feeding people. I spent a few months subsisting on her party food.

So where are the pies, the fritters, the turnovers? Where are the—

“You didn’t bake anything,” Twi says, plain-faced. Everyone turns to her, and she flinches a bit at the sudden attention, but then shrugs. “I noticed it half-an-hour ago. Just didn’t want to seem greedy.”

AJ snaps. “Bingo!”

Pinkie lets out a wail and yanks her own hair. “Oh my goshity goodness, how did I miss that? I’m supposed to be the Queen of the Sweets! I have the cavities to prove it!”

“Forget looking greedy,” Dash says, “I think AJ’s getting stingy. What, blue girls don’t get apple pie anymore?”

AJ waves her off. “You’ll get your pie. But first you gotta work for it.”

Oh no. My back is aching already.

AJ gestures at the grove of trees behind us. “The apple harvest started a few weeks ago. Apple Bloom, Big Mac, and me have already picked most of these trees clean, but there are still a few stragglers, and those beauties are begging to be baked. We’re gonna start this party off by picking the apples we’re gonna eat!”

We all start exchanging looks again. The silence is crushing, so I put on a smile and say, “Wow! As far as party ideas go, that definitely is… different.” Smooth.

Rainbow leans forward. “Are you just making us do your work for you?” Not smooth.

“Hah! You could spend the whole day picking apples, and you wouldn’t get through half my to-do list.” AJ walks closer and flexes an arm. “C’mon, girls! We’re fast, we’re strong! Youth don’t last forever, y’know! Besides, we all know food tastes better once you’ve worked up a real appetite.”

It’s taken a few minutes, but Fluttershy’s face is back to its normal yellow. “A walk through the orchard does sound nice. And I could ask my bird friends to help us with the really tall trees.”

“And I suppose I could use my barriers to lift us up into the leaves,” Rarity adds.

Twi nods. “My telekinesis should come in handy.”

Dash grins. “You guys can keep your magic. I’m a tree-climbing master.”

“Me too!” Pinkie chirps. She leans into me and whispers, “I used to be a monkey, like, a billion years ago.”

“An ape,” Twi says.

“That too!”

I nudge them both. “Well, I used to be a pony, and we’re pretty good at knocking apples out of trees. They’re a staple food.” For a moment, I’m tempted to mention how applebucking works – but I doubt AJ will take kindly to the threat of me kicking her precious trees.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Applejack says, slapping her knee. “Lemme go grab some baskets and we can head out.”

Just as she turns away, though, Pinkie raises her hand. “Wait, Miss Applejack! I have a question!”

AJ turns back. “Shoot.”

“Why can’t we just bake the apples you already have?”

“I told you, we picked most of these trees a while back. We’ve got those apples all ready to sell. Not for personal use, as Granny likes to say.”

“No, I mean your other apples!”

“My other…?” AJ frowns. “We are. They’re on the trees.”

“No, no! I mean the ones you’ve got, like, in your house!”

“I don’t got any ‘in my house.’”

We all gape. I swear I can see the question marks circling around Pinkie’s head.

AJ sharpens her eyes like we just called her a slur. “Do y’all think I just have an endless supply of apples in my house?”

Yes. Absolutely. 100%.

“Of course not,” I say, blowing a raspberry.

Twi laughs too loud. “That’d be ridiculous!”

There’s a long silence before Fluttershy, hiding behind her hair, adds, “I didn’t not think that.”

It only takes about five minutes to reach the center of the apple orchard. We’re all carrying big straw baskets — except for AJ, who’s got two giant barrels balanced on her shoulders; and Pinkie, who had a premonition last night that she’d need to haul things and brought her own wheelbarrow. It’s slate gray, but has cute flowers draped all over it in pink and gold paint.

I’ve never met the Equestrian versions of most of my friends, but I know that their Applejack runs a farm called Sweet Apple Acres, and it’s a massive operation that supplies apples to nearly every city in the kingdom. That Apple Family manages to grow, harvest, and sell two square miles’ worth of fruit every year.

Here, though, the human Apple Family isn’t quite so industrious. Their farm is called Sweet Apple Orchards, and it’s probably a quarter the size of what their pony counterparts own. They sell apples and jugs of cider at some local farmers markets.

When you consider that there are only three of them to manage the whole orchard, though — four if you count Granny Smith, although I suspect her farming days are over — it’s still damn impressive. I’ve got no idea how Applejack manages to handle her job here, and go to school, and play in the Rainbooms. Not to mention the occasional part time job. She’s the definition of a workhorse.

Just don’t annoy her during harvest season. The closest I’ve ever gotten to having my skull caved in was September of sophomore year, when I knocked her hat off in the cafeteria.

“Alright,” AJ says, putting down one of her barrels. “I figure we split up into a few groups and each take a different side of the orchard. Then we can meet back here in, say, an hour?”

“That long?” Dash asks, leaning against a tree. She’s already snatched an apple off its branch and is chomping away. “I’m gonna have this whole orchard cleaned out by then.”

“No you ain’t!” Applejack walks over to a tree and grabs one of its low-hanging branches. “Now, y’all know that I could rough up this tree and probably get every apple to fall at once, right quick. But I won’t, because apple picking ain’t about speed, it’s about care.”

She pulls herself onto the branch and reaches up to pluck an apple hanging above her. It’s a slow, purposeful motion, twisting the fruit until its stem snaps off the branch. She takes a second to examine it before jumping out of the tree and landing on both feet.

“See?” She rubs the apple on her shirt, then tosses it into a barrel. “You treat the trees right, and they’ll return the favor. The apples taste sweeter, last longer, and won’t bruise so easy.”

Yeah, I’m definitely never telling AJ what applebucking is.

Next to me, Twi raises a finger and opens her mouth – but doesn’t say anything. Part of being a genius is knowing which battles you’ll win, and which battles will end with an Applejack lecture about listening to nature.

“Let’s group up.” AJ gestures to her left. “I’m heading to the east end. Who wants to join me?”

Rarity – shocking – saunters over to AJ’s side, hips swaying. “As long as you let me carry the basket,” she says. “I doubt I could ‘treat the trees’ with any more care than you.”

AJ smiles. “Sounds like a plan. See y’all—”

A blur of color appears behind them. “Alright, you crazy kids!” Dash says with a smirk, slapping a hand against both their backs. “No need to beg! I’ll tag along too, help you fill those gosh-darn baskets.”

Rarity takes a long breath through her nose – then flashes a toothy grin. “How thoughtful! Of course, it’s up to Applejack.”

They both look at AJ. She glances between them, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Sure? I guess we do have an odd number of hands. Makes sense.”

“Right.” Rarity grips her parasol. “Makes sense.”

“Great!” Rainbow stretches out her arms and shepherds them away. “Just us three friends, pickin’ some apples!”

That leaves the four of us to watch them go, biting our tongues and trying not to imagine Rainbow Dash as a literal third wheel. That’s what’s on my mind, at least – Twi’s crouched by a tree, staring at the roots and no doubt still pondering AJ’s advice.

So I’ve got my choice between Twi, Pinkie, and Fluttershy. I know right off the bat which one of them is most likely to give me a panic attack.

But I’m pretty used to panicking at this point.

“Does anyone want to take the north end with me?” Fluttershy asks as a robin leaps off her finger. “Word in the leaves is that the apples there are surprisingly ripe.”

Before anyone can respond, I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Twilight and I are gonna go west.”

Still squatting by the roots, Twi’s head shoots up. She shoots me a furrowed glance, but says nothing.

For the slightest of seconds, Pinkie’s brows furrow in the exact same way. But then she puffs back up and says, “That plan sounds like a winner, Miss Shimmer!” She points her wheelbarrow north and rolls up to Fluttershy. “Wanna ride? It’s not as tetanus-y as it looks, really!”

Fluttershy’s toes curl. “I’m alright.”

The two head off. Twi stands, walks up to me, and affixes me with a sharp stare.

“Hm. You were very quick to claim me as your partner,” she says, squinting. “And I know why.”

I scoff through some suddenly dry lips. “And why’s that?”

“Same reason that Rarity grouped up with Applejack.”

Oh, crap. Run, run, run.

“And that is...?”

“Because my telekinesis just happens to be the perfect power for this situation, and you expect me to do all the apple picking.”

“Oh.” I swallow some curse words. “Yeah.”

“Fortunately for you, I’m a powerful magician, but also a kind one. I’ll handle the picking.” She drops her baskets and floats them into my tummy. “But you have to carry them.”

Her magic fades, but I manage to catch the baskets before they hit the ground. “If you’re such a powerful magician, how come you can’t pick the apples and carry the baskets?” I ask, awkwardly grabbing two basket handles in each hand. “This seems unoptimized. And don’t you love optimization?”

“I do! But I love equality more.” She flips her hair, starts walking west, and in a horrible Applejack-esque drawl, adds, “Now, quit yer whining. We’ve got fruit to harvest!”

“Right.” I adjust the baskets — it doesn’t help my palms — and follow. “Just two fruits, picking fruit.”

“That’s homophobic,” she calls over her shoulder, then pumps a fist into the air. “But true!”

When Twi first got her powers, it took all her focus to lift two objects at once. But now, she can individually grab, twist, and pluck a dozen apples at once, then send them running like a conveyor belt straight into one of my baskets. And she can do it with a single arm, sticking her index finger out and waving it like a real magic wand.

“Hot damn,” I say, shifting my balance to stop the basket from toppling over. “You seriously are powerful.”

She beams. “The more you use your magic, the stronger it gets. It’s like a muscle – the strongest one I have, for sure.”

“The brain is a muscle. And yours is pretty beefy.”

“That’s a misconception,” she says, smile only growing. “The brain is like a muscle, in the same way magic is: The more it’s used, the better. But that’s just a simile. It’s an organ.”

“Huh.” I scratch my head. “Learn something new every day.”

We’ve gone through about ten trees. Not all of them are filled to the brim with apples, but by now, we’ve definitely picked enough to make a mean pie or two.

As we walk, Twi tells me about her trip – playing board games with her cousins, seeing baby deer walk outside her window, taking on the role of Family Bug Spray Czar – and I tell her about my burrito. But eventually the conversation circles back to the one topic at the front of Twi’s mind: School.

“I’m just a tad anxious,” she says, hopping over a patch of mud. “Big surprise, I know.”

“Why?” I stomp through the patch. “You’re probably more prepared than half our teachers.”

“Yes, but what if I’ve prepared for the wrong things? Maybe it’ll turn out I’ve overbooked myself with difficult classes, and I’ll end up developing insomnia from the stress.” She starts walking faster. “Heck, what if it turns out that AP Lit is my blind spot? Or Spanish IV? Or Computer Aided Design? And what if my handwriting has atrophied over the summer?”

She pulls out her phone and holds it close to her face. “Set a reminder for eight o’ clock: ‘Practice writing my name in both print and cursive. 40 times each.’”

“C’mon, don’t think that way.” I hustle to catch up with her, letting a few apples tumble out of their baskets on the way. “Think like this instead: If you don’t do well, then no one is gonna do well. And if that happens, they’re just gonna curve the grades to make sure everyone doesn’t flunk out. Gotta secure that federal funding.”

She turns around and offers me an expression that sits somewhere between annoyance and incredulity. “I can’t say I’d take much solace in that.” Her eyes flick down to the baskets bouncing around in my grip, then she takes the fullest one from me, floating it alongside herself. “I don’t care about the grades.”

I copy her expression.

“Okay, yes, I do care about my grades. But I care more about actually learning! I want to have a good year, not a bad year that gets curved up at the end.”

“It’s not gonna be a bad year!” I put down my baskets and sling an arm over her shoulder. “Look, last year was a mess. A mess that worked out in the end, mostly, but still a mess. This year, we’ve got a fresh start. No baggage, no regrets. Just us, seniors, Queens of the Hallway, the absolute coolest girls at CHS.”

Twi tips her head back, resting her head on my arm. “I don’t know about ‘coolest.’ I’d settle for the Top 100.”

“You gotta aim higher than that! Top 10, at least.”

“I’m perfectly content where I am. It’s better than being in the Bottom 10 at Crystal Prep.” She smiles. “And I’d rather put the energy into getting accepted to a Top 10 college.”

Her last word slaps me. I take my arm back. “Right,” I say, picking up my baskets again. “College.”

Twi’s still smiling, but the anxiety inside her flares up. “Do you still want to go to MIS? Chem major?”

Is that what I told her?

Yeah, of course I did, back at the start of summer break. And it’s the truth.

Right?

The real truth is that I can’t remember my college plan. I’ve thought about it maybe three, four times this entire summer. And whenever it popped up, I shoved it down just as quickly. A year ago, I thought I’d be ruling Equestria by now. In the wake of the Fall Formal, I figured I might be dead by now.

And now? I want to live. I want a happy future. I’ve spent my entire human life as a high schooler. But life goes on. So, will I?

I sum up my thoughts with three wise words: “Yeah, I guess.” And I start walking again.

It takes a few steps before I realize that Twi isn’t following. I turn and she’s staring at me again, but that skeptical face from before has crumbled into something smaller, sadder.

“What?” I ask, knowing exactly what is what.

“Just—” She bites her lip, shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Hrm. Might as well hash this out now.

I walk back to stand beside her. “I’d love to go into art,” I say. “Love, love, love. But I gotta live, too. And pay back the Princess. And move into an apartment building that has an elevator. And that means making actual money.”

She looks straight ahead. “I know.”

“And I’m pretty damn good at chemistry!”

“I know,” she repeats, a bit louder, a bit terser. “I just know so many adults that get trapped into jobs they hate. And some of them make a lot of money, yeah. But they’re tired, and bitter. And I want you to be happy.”

“I’m always happy when I’m with you,” I say. It comes out without thought, without effort. And, unbelievably, not even a hint of embarrassment.

That gets her to grin again. “Sure, but I won’t be with you at all times for the rest of your life. Unless we merge our consciousnesses into a single body, which is an interesting concept but highly unethical.”

“Is that your only idea?”

“My first one. Make of that what you will.”

“Why would it be unethical? I’d consent.”

“Because once we’d extracted our brains for the merge, we’d need a third human body to put our minds into, and I doubt they’d survive the procedure.”

“Just build a body. You’re good with robots.”

“Uploading human consciousness into a machine? I’m not a miracle worker, Sunset.” She waves her hands around, shooing away this fruit fly of a conversation. “I’m trying to say that I care about you. You’ve got creativity oozing out of your pores. And giving up your kingdom for a steady paycheck would be such a waste.”

I snort. “It’s not much of a kingdom. Barely a portfolio.”

“Still worth it.”

She looks like a puppy, gazing at me through those adorably thick glasses. With that tiny button nose, and those pursed lips. Goddess, they look soft. What do mine look like? Grotesque, presumably? I need to invest in a good tube of chapstick.

What the hell were we talking about?

Oh, right. Art.

I sigh and rub my sweaty face. What would my life be like without drawing, or painting, or music? Gray, boring, monotonous? Is that a life worth living?

Maybe that’s melodramatic, though. Being a scientist is hard, yeah – I mean, it looks hard in the movies – but it’s not like I’d never have any free time. If I’m really so determined to draw or play, I can just do it after work.

After work. When I’m tired, hungry, and pissed off. Making time after school is hard enough. Start hanging the Sword of Health Insurance over my head, and I’m bound to go postal.

Not that being a full-time artist guarantees health insurance. Goddess, I need to start eating healthier. Burritos and frozen meals do not a healthy colon make.

What the hell were we talking about?

“Look,” I say. “You’ve got a point. I admit that. And in a perfect world, I’d agree. But here, I dunno.”

“‘A perfect world,” she repeats, crossing her arms. “If you were still in Equestria, what would you do? Would you still want to be a scientist?”

“Equestria isn’t a perfect world, first off. And no – I would be a scientist. Not a chemist, probably, but in the field of arcane science, same as where the Princess started. It’s what I got my cutie mark for.”

She leers for a second, and I can see the gears working behind her eyes as she tries to remember what a cutie mark is. “Your cutie mark… It was a sun. Right?”

I tap the gold-and-red emblem on my belt buckle. “Yep. Sorta like this.”

“How does that represent science? It’s so vague. Why can’t it represent, I don’t know, a fiery spark of creativity? Or the light of God? Or gardening?”

“This is getting scarily close to cutie mark augury,” I say, holding my hands up defensively. “And that’s a field I have less than zero experience with.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is.”

She takes a long breath. “Okay. Let’s compromise, then: You apply to just one art program, and I stop bothering you about it. I’ll even pay the application fee. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do that.” I chuckle. “I’m just being a stubborn prick here. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll apply to an art school. Hell, I’ll apply to two. Sounds good?”

“That’d make me double happy,” she says with a sweet smile. And we keep walking.

We dodge in different directions around a mossy boulder. “Any of the other girls tell you about their college plans?” I call over the rock.

“A little bit.” She stops at a particularly loaded tree and starts working her magic. “I always assumed that Fluttershy wanted to be a veterinarian, but she actually wants to study biology. Some overlap, I suppose, but still.” She shoots me a serious look. “She doesn’t brag about it, and she doesn’t speak up much in class, but Fluttershy is really smart. She puts me to shame sometimes. She could probably get into Everton if she wanted.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s always the quiet ones that end up on top.” I stick out my basket to catch a bushel of apples. “Dash is getting scouted by, like, fifteen different colleges in fifteen different sports. And Pinkie… I dunno.”

“What does she want to do?”

“I dunno!” I instinctively try to throw up my hands in exasperation, but the basket weighs them down. “Sometimes she wants to become a pastry chef, sometimes she wants to teach kindergarten, sometimes she’s drafting up plans to join the circus.”

“I could see her as a teacher. I’m sure the kids would love her.”

“She’d be better than Harshwhinny, that’s for sure.” I think about Pinkie’s smile, her laughter. People think she’s just some doofy airhead, but we know better – and I’m pretty sure we have the same GPA, so… “Whatever she does, I’m sure she’ll be great at it. She’s got the spirit.”

“Applejack will probably go somewhere local – not that she doesn’t have options, of course. But she has this farm to take care of.” Twi gestures in a random direction. “And Rarity wants to study abroad. I can’t say it doesn’t suit her.”

I scoff. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

She gives a tiny grunt of agreement, and a wave of sadness rolls off her. “It’s going to be hard to say goodbye. But I hope we can all keep in touch.”

“Yeah, of course. But I mean between her and AJ.”

She turns to me, one brow raised. “Why them?”

I stare, waiting for the inevitable smile and laugh. But it doesn’t come – she just stares right back. So I put my basket down. “Are you serious?”

Her brows sharpen. “Yeah,” she says, slowly. A light layer of embarrassment coats her skin. “I mean, I know they’re best friends and all. Is that it?”

“Twi, the two of them are hooking up.”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times. “They’re dating?”

“I think they’re doing a bit more than that, but sure.”

“You think? How do you know?”

I gape at her, not sure where to start. There’s a bitchy part of me that wants to laugh at her naivety, but I keep it firmly locked down. She’s already flustered – no need to make it worse. Instead, I lean against a tree, take a deep breath, and start explaining.

I tell her about Rarity “staying over” last night, and why she’s wearing AJ’s oversized shirt. I talk about Summer Sunfest, and why the two of them stayed cooped up in our hotel room for hours, all alone. I expound upon our trip to Equestria Land, and why they spent half the day giving each other ‘Come Over Here and Stick Your Tongue Into My Mouth Right Now’ looks. I go over every bit of thinly veiled flirting, physical intimacy, and outright romance that the two have dangled in our faces all year.

And the longer I speak, the redder Twi’s face gets. When I finish ranting and start paying attention again, I’m expecting her to be a furnace of embarrassment, like some kid that’s walked in on their parents getting frisky.

But that’s not what I get.

Twi is swirling with emotions, and getting near her feels like stepping into a running river. There’s some embarrassment, yeah, but it’s mixed in with shock and anger and confusion and longing and fear.

It’s heady enough to scramble my brain, and I blurt out an inelegant, “What?”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her, one squeezing the other in tight vice grip. She spends a moment swaying on her feet, then mutters, “You’re just making assumptions. None of this means they’re dating, or whatever.”

My bitchy side peeks out again. “C’mon, Twi.”

“You c’mon!” she says through a stammer. The leaves around us shake. “What proof do you have? Actual hard proof?”

“The sexy looks? The shirt-sharing?”

“That’s totally circumstantial. Friends share clothes. I’d wear your clothes if we were the same size.”

That takes a chip out of my composure, but I try to shake it off. “Okay. But why is it such an issue if they’re dating?”

“It’s not an issue. But why can’t people just be friends? Why does there always have to be some sort of romantic tryst involved?”

“What do you mean, ‘always?’” My nails dig into my leg. “Where else is this coming up?”

Twi hangs, starts swaying again. “I don’t know. In movies, and books, and things like that. Just because two girls, people, are close, doesn’t mean they’re in love. That’s so reductive.”

My hands relax a smidge – just a smidge. “You say this like you’re not the internet’s fiercest QueenComet shipper. They’ve spoken to each other, like, twice—”

“QueenThorn shipper opinions get discarded,” she says, waving her hands around. “But they’re just characters. Rarity and Applejack are people. It’s different, and I just think it’s weird to, like, speculate about them. You know?”

I want to keep arguing, because obviously the two are getting it on, and obviously QueenComet shippers are delusional. But (as usual) the logical side of my brain knows she’s right. Being close to someone, even being intimate, doesn’t equate to romance. If that were the case, Twi and I would be married right now – and I’d probably be in a polycule with Pinkie.

So: “I get it,” I say with a shrug. “I‘ve still got my suspicions, but I get it.”

Her storm of emotions starts to settle, but there’s still a jagged undercurrent. “Sorry if I snapped at you,” she says, picking up our full baskets. “And I’m not saying you’re definitely wrong. They’d be cute together, for sure. But that’s for them to figure out, not us. They don’t have to be anything.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She casts me a small smile, then walks on. I grab the last two empty baskets and follow, but suddenly my knees won’t rise more than an inch. Our conversation has already been burned onto film, and it’s looping in my mental multiplex.

She’s right. That’s known. And if she’s right, that means I’m wrong – and means that, like I suspected, I’ve been acting like an idiot.

Twi and I aren’t in love. We might love each other, absolutely, I’d die for that dork, but we’re not in love. We’re best friends, that’s it. And isn’t that enough?

When I arrived at AJ’s place today, I was jumpy, sweaty, nervous beyond belief. But as soon as Twi and I fell into our usual rhythm, all that anxiety disappeared. I’ve spent the last hour alone with her, and haven’t felt the urge to hyperventilate even once.

She lights up my life, makes every new day feel like a gift. Why can’t I be satisfied with that?

Because I’m never satisfied. I’m greedy, gluttonous.

And let’s face it: If one girl getting emotionally and physically attached to another always led to them falling in love, the concept of “best friends” wouldn’t exist anymore. It’d be redundant.

…But, then again, where does romance come from? Couples don’t just spawn from the aether, fully formed and ready to elope. Relationships evolve. Friendship grows into something greater.

So how do the two co-exist? Is there even a difference between romantic love and really close friendship?

I guess the difference is whether or not you want to make out with the other person.

Ever since that night in bed – hell, maybe even longer – I’ve put a padlock on my mind. I’ve deliberately clipped every fantasy I have about her, cut them off before I think anything I might regret.

Because the truth is that whenever I look at Twi, I want to let my thoughts go wild. I want to think about her delicate body, and what it looks like underneath those clothes. I want to think about what she’d look like straddling my lap, with me running my hands up her chest. I want to wonder if she tastes as good as she looks, as good as she smells. I want to think the sort of things that make me feel like a freak, but make my mongrel brain squeal in delight.

But I also want to think about her full-bodied laugh, her corny jokes, the airtight hugs she gives and loves to receive. I want to think about waking up with her – waking up and knowing that, for the first time in years, the first thing I see will be the eyes of someone who loves me, not my cracked phone screen. I want to think about making her breakfast. I want to imagine years of inside jokes, late night anime marathons, cross-country vacations, and held hands. I want to imagine an end to yearning. I want to imagine myself content.

I’ve dated before. But have I ever dated a friend? A best friend, someone I can trust with my hopes, my fears, my life? Who better to go out with than a woman like that?

The rapid swirl of emotions that shot out of Twi earlier are back, but now I’m the one caught in the whirlpool. My eyes lost focus ages ago. I feel like I’m wading through a dream.

This isn’t psychosomatic.

I love Twilight – I’m in love. I want her to fall in love with me too, even if I don’t deserve it. And if I have to spend even one more week lying to myself, I’m gonna take a running dive off my roof.

A light breeze sweeps through the orchard, rustling the branches. It feels ice cold against my sweaty skin, and suddenly it’s like the Goddess Herself is wrapping Her arms around me, literally lifting my spirits. I unclench my jaw, stand up straight, flex my fingers. Even the headache in the front of my skull eases up.

For a single moment, my messy scribble of a brain straightens out into something coherent, something peaceful. I know who I am. I know what I am. And I’m done running from my feelings.

I’m in love.

Yes. Love.

In love with Twilight.

Yep.

So what the fuck do I do now?

“Sunset Shimmer!” Twi sings from a few dozen yards ahead. “I’ve got a bundle of beautiful honeycrisp apples, and no baskets to store them in!”

There’s one thing, I guess.

I sprint to catch up, and by the time I reach her side, I’ve reverted into a sweaty slouching slob. “Sorry, sorry!” I say while she rolls a dozen red-yellow apples into one of my baskets. “Caught me daydreaming.”

“Not the first time that’s happened,” she says with a simper. “I’ll remember this when I’m writing up your quarterly evaluation.”

“This is hella discriminatory.” I motion to the two already-full baskets orbiting her, leaving sparkling pink trails in their wake. “Look at what you can do! My powers are not cut out for this sort of work.”

“Pish-posh.” She’s put on a haughty Trottingham accent. “‘Tis the apple picker, not the picking tool, that makes all the difference!”

“Saying something in your fancy voice doesn’t automatically make it true.”

“Oh ho ho! More rabble-rousing from the proletariat!” She floats a single apple out of her baskets and lightly bonks me on the head with it. “Get back to work! Pip-pip and cheerio and all that.”

I snatch the apple out of the air then lift my arm like I’m gonna toss it at her – she squeaks and runs away, screaming, “Class warfare! Class warfare!”

That leaves me alone again, but this time I just chuckle, take a bite out of the apple, and follow.

I’ve lived in two universes, with nearly ten billion girls between them – of course I’d end up crushing on the dorkiest of them all.

Not long after, we meet up with the rest of the girls and compare our hauls. Twi and I picked the most, of course, but AJ’s group wasn’t far behind. Probably could’ve beaten us if Rainbow hadn’t clung to AJ and Rarity like a tapeworm the whole time – then again, leaving AJ and Rarity alone comes with its own set of distractions. The only surprise from Pinkie’s team is that she somehow convinced Fluttershy to ride in the wheelbarrow. We’re all soaked in sweat.

When we get back to the house, AJ and Pinkie take the apples and head inside to start baking. The party finally “begins” – but I’m having a hard time relaxing.

Twi is still on my mind, of course, especially as the conversation starts flowing and I get to hear that fantastic laugh of hers. But more than her, I’m thinking about myself: I’ve had my epiphany, but now what? Do I pull her aside and ask for her hand in girlfriendship? Drop to my knees and beg? Hire a pilot to draw her face in the clouds?

In all my worry about whether or not I actually like her, I’ve ignored the other side of the equation: Does she like me? If I ask her out, is she gonna swoon or shriek? Jump for joy or collapse from a panic attack (assuming I don’t first)?

I know she thinks I’m hot. That’s one major battle won – hell, that’s a war in itself. She told me that I basically turned her gay. That’s gotta count for something.

But what if it doesn’t? What if this is totally one-sided?

Goddess, I can already see it. I spend all week hyping myself up, primping and preening, calculating the precise pickup lines to win her heart – only for her to give me a pity smile and shake her head.

And how does our friendship even survive after a humiliation like that? Every time I look at her, it’ll remind me of the rejection. And every time she looks at me, she’ll worry that I’m gonna come onto her again. We spend the rest of the year in an awkward stalemate, then leave for college and never talk again.

Is that what I want? To blow up my life again, ruin all the relationships I’ve built this year?

I’m playing Russian Roulette, but I’ve got no idea how many bullets are in the chamber. I can win Twi’s love or lose her forever. And if I lose her—

Rainbow Dash’s face appears, taking up my entire vision. “Yo, SunShim!”

Scrambling for a response, I end up biting my tongue. I swear, then notice everyone is staring at me. “What?”

Rarity winces. “Not to put you on the spot, darling, but you look…”

“Absolutely terrified,” Fluttershy finishes.

“Eh, I dunno about ‘terrified,’” Dash says, rubbing her chin. “I was thinking more, ‘Someone Stuffed My Bra with Ice Cubes.’”

Twi reaches out and touches my hand. “Are you alright?”

I wish I knew.

“Totally,” I say with a stupidly eager nod. I stand up and take off my jacket – it’s burning hot out here. “Just, y’know. Thinking about school.”

Dash and Rarity groan, while Twi and Shy exchange a smile. “It’s not that bad,” Shy says.

“Yeah, it’s not bad; it’s terrible,” Dash says, pacing aimlessly. “I dunno how they expect us to just start thinking again after two months of glorious brainrot!”

“I agree – we’ve been away for far too long,” Twi says. “Back at Crystal Prep, we got three months of summer vacation. It was torture!”

Rainbow stops in place, one eye twitching.

While she has a silent breakdown, Twi smirks at me. “You’ve had a big turnaround, though. What happened to becoming ‘Queens of the Hallway?’”

“Yeah, I said ‘Hallway,’ not ‘Classroom.’ Two totally different biomes.”

“Queen of the Classroom does have a lovely ring to it, though,” Rarity says. “It’s powerful, motivational. A touch sexy. I’ll take it!”

Rainbow stomps back over. “Hey, she said Queens. Plural. If Twi can be royalty in Equestria, then I get to be royalty here.”

“You know,” I say, “Equestria doesn’t have queens. Princess is the highest title over there.”

Fluttershy perks up. “I’d like to be a princess.”

“I’m still partial to Secretary of Education,” Twi says. “Which brings this conversation full circle, I suppose.”

“My point here,” Dash says, “is that I’m awesome, and I deserve a crown for that. Y’all do too, obviously, but me especially. And lucky for all of you, I’m gonna be the cool queen that everyone loves.”

Rarity scoffs. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning that, firstly, I promise not to mistreat any of the freshmen athletes. The seniors hazed the crap out of me when I was a frosh, and I’m breaking the cycle. No more freezing showers or 5 a.m. scavenger hunts on my watch.”

“Wow, Dash.” I give her a hearty round of applause. “That’s actually really mature of you. I’m impressed, legit.”

“Thank you,” she says, taking a bow. “Don’t get me wrong, freshman are annoying as hell. But treating them bad doesn’t make them less annoying.”

“And secondly?” Twi asks.

“Secondly” – Dash speeds over and plops down onto the seat between me and Twi, then lays her arms over our shoulders – “I promise that even though you two aren’t working on the yearbook anymore, I’ll still make sure that you get loads of screentime in it.” She pauses, then frowns. “Er, not screentime, since it’s a book. Pagetime? Pagetime, yeah.”

Fluttershy raises her hand. “I promise too.”

“I third this motion,” Rarity says.

I lean into Dash. “Aw. You guys are the best.”

“After all,” Rarity says, “it’d be a waste not to include you. You’re both so photogenic! A perfect pair.”

My stomach twists at that, but I still nod. The other three move onto another topic – Twi asks Rarity for tips on taking selfies and Rarity nearly leaps out of AJ’s shirt in excitement – leaving me to my thoughts again.

I need information. A way to know if Twi likes me before I make a fool of myself. But this is a situation that I’m woefully unequipped for. And I can already see myself going mad with anxiety trying to figure it all out.

How do you profess your love to someone without being weird? Hell, how do you even have a crush on someone without turning into a bumbling creep?

Someone’s gotta know this. Someone I know, ideally – I’m not above reading tabloids and searching internet forums for an answer, but they’re solutions I’d like to avoid.

But who? Who do I know that has romantic experience? That knows how to pull crazy beautiful women?

Rarity laughs at a joke Fluttershy made. I snap my head towards her, and we lock eyes. She smiles. I smile back.

Bingo.

“Be right back,” I say, standing up. “Gotta pee.”

And before they can respond, I spin on my heel and start towards AJ’s house.

On cue, the house’s back door opens and Pinkie saunters out. Her skin and clothes are stained white with flour and yellow with (I assume) mashed apples. She struts with her head held high, humming the Hullabaloo Bubble Gum jingle.

“Yo,” I say as we pass, palming her shoulder. “AJ’s still in the kitchen, yeah?”

She shoots me a thumbs up. “Yeppers! Whatcha need?”

And the world stops around me.

Should I tell Pinkie that I have a crush on Twi?

If I’m gonna tell anyone, it’s either gonna be her or the Princess – and although they’re both confidants, I’m only trying to make out with one of their cross-dimensional counterparts.

When it comes to romance, I’m never quite sure where Pinkie stands. She says she’s pansexual, which tracks. She likes to ogle hotties just as much as I do. And goddess knows she has more charisma, chemistry, and charm than she does hair. Doesn’t hurt that she’s got curves for days. But I’ve never heard her mention a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or partner, or anyone. Not even a crush. She’s everyone’s friend, but no one’s lover.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But, strategically, she might not be much help. For moral support, though? Few shoulders better to cry on. And she’s my best friend – doesn’t she deserve to know?

“Wow,” she says with a giggle, “it must be important! You’ve got your Super Hardcore Genius Thinking Face on!”

I need to work on my poker face.

“Nah, nothing big. Just gotta ask a question.”

Pinkie should know. But later – this is a day for baby steps.

“Okay, but hurry back!” she chirps, patting my head. “I’ve got a big surprise for everyone later. And we’ve still gotta bob for apples! You said you’d show me how to go Pony Mode.”

I salute her. “You have my word. Official Sunset Shimmer Guarantee.”

“Ooh!” She mimes pulling a ticket out of my pocket. “These go for big bucks on the black market!”

I chuckle, pat her on the shoulder – a few tingling bursts of love flow through me with each touch – then jog to the house.

Sure enough, I find AJ in the kitchen, which smells like apple heaven. She’s standing at the island in the center, kneading dough with one hand and wiping the counter with her other. She doesn’t stop when I step through the open doorway, but acknowledges me with a nod.

“Sunset,” she says, “I appreciate the eagerness, but you ain’t getting no early taste tests.”

“Don’t worry, I respect the sanctity of your kitchen.” I pull a stool from the corner up to the island, across from her. “I know you’re busy, but have you got a second to chat? I need some advice.”

“Busy? P’shaw. You could blindfold me, and I’d still whip up the tastiest apple fritter this side of the Everfree.” She stops cleaning just long enough to wipe some sweat off her forehead. “What can I do you for?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. It never occurred to me that asking Applejack for advice would actually involve asking a real, inteligible question.

“How…” I hold my hands out in front of me and grasp at the air, like the exact right words are sitting there, waiting for me to grab them. “How do you, like… like someone?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“I mean—” I take a long breath. “I’m gonna level with you. I’ve got a crush on someone, and—”

“Ooh hoo!” AJ beams so wide that I’m afraid her freckles will pop off. “Ain’t that a treat? Looks like I’m standing across from Sunset Suitor now!”

I motion for her to keep her voice down. “This is confidential information, AJ. You’re the only person I’ve told.”

“Really? I don’t know dirt about romance, but I’m honored.” She tips her hat. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

Divert. Deflect. Distract.

I squint. “Why do you assume it’s a guy?”

She squints back. “Anyone can be a fella, fella.”

“Noted.” I wave a hand. “The ‘who’ isn’t important. The fact is that I haven’t crushed on someone in, like, ever. I’ve basically lucked or forced myself into every other relationship in my life. I don’t know how to have a crush on someone, let alone ask them out, without looking like a total asshole.”

“I doubt that, but okay.” She puts down her dough. “So, what’s your question?”

“How do you do it? How do you have a crush on someone without being a creep?” I slump over onto the table. “I love being around this person. But I dunno if they even like me, so I have to take time to figure that out before I make any sort of move. And while I do that, I don’t want to annoy them by seeming overbearing or nervous, even though I am. So what do I do?”

She blinks. “Have you tried asking them if they like you too?”

I blink back. “What.”

“Seems like the obvious answer.” She grabs a pie dish and starts molding the dough into crust. “You get the info you need right away, so you don’t have to bother with all that messin’ and stressin’ about what they think. Saves everyone time.”

“I can’t do that. We’re friends, yeah, but what if the question totally freaks them out and ruins our friendship?”

“What if it doesn’t and all this panic was for nothing?”

I sit back up. “I’m not leaving this up to a coin flip.”

“It ain’t a coin flip! If this fella is really your friend, then you ain’t leaving anything up to chance. You gotta have some faith.” She stops fiddling with the pie, plants both hands flat on the table, and leans forward. “Do y’all know about Jesus in Equestria?”

“The religion guy?”

“...Sure. The religion guy.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Got it. Scratch that metaphor off my list, then.” She drums her fingers and looks around. When her gaze reaches the window, she perks up again. “How about this: You asking this fella out is a lot like our orchard. You know how?”

My brain’s too melted to even begin deciphering this riddle. “Not a single clue.”

“My family relies on this orchard. The money we make from its apples is what gets us through the year.” She returns to her pie. “But maintaining an orchard like this ain’t easy. Crops fail, trees die, insects start acting up, all that. And the truth is that we’re only ever one bad season away from big, big trouble.”

And I used to think that my financial situation was bad. At least I didn’t have a family to support.

She leans over the pie to carefully lay a strip of dough. “If the orchard fails, we’re done for. But I’ve lived here my entire life, and we’ve never had a bad season. And if you add in what my pa’s old journals say, it’s been about 23 years since the last bad harvest. You know why that is?”

I chew my tongue. “Geneeeeeeetics?”

“Hard work and time!” She finishes laying the last lattice strip, then swings an arm out towards the window. “Us Apples have been tilling this land for a hundred years now, working like dogs to improve the soil, the seeds, everything that makes these trees tick. We make our own fertilizer, space out our seeds by hand, and don’t wait to cull the saplings that aren’t cut out for this sort of work. Apple Family trees aren’t like those pansy twigs you’ll find in the orchards upstate – ours are strong, hearty, and dependable. Just like us.”

“Okay. Where do I come into this?”

“Don’t you get it? This fella of yours is the orchard. You’re the farmer. And the harvest is your relationship!”

This metaphor feels thinner than a straw of hay.

“AJ, I’ve spent the last two months on my couch eating cookies.” I poke my head with both index fingers. “I’ve got no brain cells left. Please connect the dots for me.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s simple: I have faith that this orchard won’t fail, because of all the years of work we’ve put into it. If this fella is really such a close friend, then you’ve gotta have faith that all the work you’ve put into building your friendship will pay off too – you gotta have faith that they feel the same way about you. Or that if they don’t, they at least won’t run off screaming when you ask them out.”

I burst out laughing. “That wasn’t simple at all,” I say, covering my face to snuff the snickers.

She strikes a familiar cross-armed pose. “Fine, maybe not. But do you get what I’m going for?”

“Yeah.” I wipe my eyes. “I get it. And it makes sense, mostly. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. And in the meantime, don’t get all bent out of shape with this crush; just enjoy your time together, save the hysterics for your diary. When the time comes to ask this fella out, you’ll know it.”

“Just gotta have faith?”

“Exactly. You’re a regular religion gal.” She grabs a bowl filled with a sugary, cinnamon-scented glaze. “Now lemme just paint this sucker and pop it in the oven, then we can head back outside.”

While she spoons a glop of glaze onto the pie, I rest my chin on my hands to watch and – what else – think. Because AJ is right, of course. She has a penchant for that, just like Twi.

We’ve spent so much time together. Shared so many laughs, secret smiles, brushes of skin against skin. Whenever she touches me, the rush of love makes me lightheaded. I trust Twi with my life, so why am I so certain that she’ll reject me?

Maybe because that’s what I deserve.

No. I told Twi – I told myself that I’m past thinking like that. No more self-pity nonsense. I’m the confident Sunset now. Steadfast Shimmer. Sunset Stronger.

“Sunset Swagger,” I whisper.

AJ looks up from her pie. “What’s that?”

I flick my eyes around. “Nothing.”

I’ll know when it’s the right time to ask her out. Until then, just gotta keep breathing and keep cherishing every moment I have with her.

…Speaking of asking girls out, didn’t I have another reason for talking to AJ about this?

“How did it happen with you two?” I ask.

Frowning, AJ picks up her pie and heads to the oven. “How did what happen? Me and who?”

“Y’know, you and Rarity.”

“Rares? What about her?”

“Like, how did you start dating? Who confessed to who?”

AJ whips around to glare at me so fast that the pie nearly goes flying out of her hands. “Excuse me? Since when are me and Rarity dating?”

“Crap, are you two still on the downlow?” I scratch my head, lower my voice. “I promise I won’t blab. Anymore.”

“Wha—” AJ puts the pie back down just so she can plant her hands on her hips. A swirl of hot embarrassment flares from her skin. “Me and Rarity ain’t nothing but friends! Who’s saying otherwise?”

The debate with Twi comes rushing back – along with a heaping of guilt.

But the rational part of my brain steps up and shoves those emotions into a locker. “You two have been flirting, sneaking off, and giving each other sexy looks for months now. You’re saying none of that meant anything? You can trust me, really.”

“There’s nothing to trust you about! Rarity’s a friend – that’s it.” She opens the oven and picks her pie back up. “This crush of yours is turning you loopy! We’re not dating, or sneaking around, or anything ridiculous like that.”

Score one-billion-and-one for Twi, I guess.

No, no, get back in the locker.

“Wait,” I say, stretching out my hand. “I have evidence!”

She slings me a skeptical look. “Like what?”

“Rarity stayed over here last night,” I say. “What were you two doing? Why is she wearing your shirt?”

“Last night?” She slides the pie into the oven. “I dunno. Watched TV. Talked. Did up each other’s hair. She spilled some nail polish on her blouse, so I gave her one of mine. Just being friendly.”

“Okay. And what about after all that? Did you go to your bedroom?”

She closes the oven door, then leans on the island. “Yeah, sure.”

“And what did you do there?”

“What do you think we did?” she asks, snorting. “We slept together.”

I slam both my palms down on the table and shout, “What?”

She stares at me with furrowed brows. Then her face screws up into a flustered grimace. “Not like that, you damn pervert! We were asleep together. Asleep!”

“In different beds?”

“No, the same bed.” Before I can scream again, she jabs a finger at me and adds, “But that’s just because Rares likes sleeping near the air conditioner! We always do that!”

“‘Always?’” I can barely get the words out. My chest is gonna pop. “How often does she sleep here?”

AJ keeps her finger pointed at me for at least five seconds, frozen. Then she slowly drops her arm, opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and says, “I’m not answering that.”

I let out a guttural guffaw and collapse onto the table. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” I blubber through the laughter. My lungs and face ache. “I’m sorry, I’m— Oh goddess, I’m sorry.”

“I swear, you’re as bad as Dash.” She scowls. “Now, would you quit your howling so we can get back to the party? And I don’t want to hear any of this foolishness again! Rarity and I are just good friends. You sound like a lummox saying otherwise.”

“Yes, I— I’m sorry, yes.” I take gasping breaths. I feel like Twi without her inhaler. “Yeah. Yep. Let’s— Heh. Sorry. Let’s go.”

She turns and heads for the doorway. But before she can leave I stretch my arm out and say, “Wait, wait! One more question, please, and that’s it!”

AJ doesn’t look at me, but stops. She lifts a finger. “One.”

“Okay, okay.” I clench my teeth. “While you ‘slept,’ were you wearing clothes?”

“Christ alive!” She throws her head back and groans. “Of course I was!”

“You were? What does that mean? What about Rarity?”

I swear the room gets about five degrees hotter. AJ walks out.

“What does that mean?” I shout, leaping off my stool. I sprint to the doorway and grip the frame. “Applejack! What does that mean?!”

We have music at all our parties. And although Twi rarely ever dances – another trait we have in common – when she does, it’s a sight to behold.

For the first song or two, it’s all slow shoulder shimmies and tiny foot taps. But once she gets that spirit in her, she starts to dance like she laughs: With her whole body. Arms flailing, legs swinging, head rocking. Sometimes she just jumps with her eyes closed, knocking into whoever’s next to her. The song barely matters. The world is her mosh pit.

She’s been at it for ten straight minutes now, engaged in some unofficial dance-off with Rainbow Dash, who’s nearly as unrestrained. Sweat rolls down her face in long streaks, and her skirt twirls around her like a flower in the wind. How they can keep it up on a humid day like this is beyond me.

That’s why I’m sitting far off to the side, sipping soda in the shade and picking at the plate of apple pie crumbs on my lap – the remnants of my third slice. Future Sunset can deal with the consequences of that decision. Present Sunset (Swagger) is busy enjoying paradise.

Between the heat and the pie and the soft grass, I’m about ready to take my legally mandated afternoon nap. But just as I close my eyes, I see Pinkie Pie box jump from the ground onto a picnic table.

“Girls!” she screams, waving her arms. “Does anyone here know how to make the sun go down?”

Thankfully, no one looks at me – and Dash actually looks to Twilight, who doesn’t notice because she’s collapsed butt-first onto the ground. “Okay,” she says, holding her inhaler at the ready. “That’s enough dancing for now.”

“Why do you wanna make the sun go down?” AJ asks. “Got somewhere to be?”

“No, I need the ambiance!” Pinkie says. She puffs up her cheeks and looks around, but when no one offers up a solution, her shoulders droop. “Ugh, fine. Someone give me something to blow up!”

Dash picks an apple off the ground and tosses it at her, but Rarity knocks it out of the air with a diamond shield. “I’m not about to spend another evening scrubbing apple sauce out of my hair!”

Heh.

Pinkie sighs. “I gotta do everything around here.”

She reaches into her hair and pulls out a handful of wrapped peppermints. She closes her fist around one of them, shakes it around, then throws it into the air, where it explodes into a burst of sugary pink smoke. As the magical glitter rains down on her, she widens her stance and throws her arms into the air.

“Rainbooms, young and old!” she says. “I have a special awesome super amazing announcement for you all!”

“You got unbanned from Pancakes O’ Plenty?” Rainbow asks as she pauses the music.

“Not yet!” Pinkie says, pointing at her. “My petition is pending!”

I cup my hands around my mouth to call, “Maud’s getting married to that dude with the bowl cut?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright, Pinks, give it up,” AJ says. “What’s going on?”

Speckled with glitter, Pinkie takes on a devilish smirk. “As you all know,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back, “us Rainbooms have a long history with local music festivals: We dominated the New Artists Stage at Summer Sunfest! We…” She pouts. “Okay, that’s pretty much it. But! There’s one more festival coming up before the summer ends, and it’s a doozy.”

My phantom pony ears prick up. Wait.

Pinkie starts pacing along the tabletop with her head held high. “Last week, I made you all a promise. And I always keep my promises. So I sent some texts, called in some favors, spent some time standing ominously outside some executives’ windows…”

WAIT.

I leap to my feet, sprint to the table, and grab Pinkie’s ankles. “You didn’t.”

She beams down on me like the little slice of sunshine she is. “I did.”

“I’m lost,” Twi says from the ground.

“Well, get found, sister!” Pinkie reaches into her hair, pulls out eight strips of paper, and tosses them into the air above us “We’re all going to Starswirled!”

I don’t know who starts screaming first – all I know is that I held out the longest, expelling at least a gallon of air from my lungs. I jump. I flap my arms. I think I hug Rarity at some point. Might’ve been Fluttershy. Don’t know, don’t care.

“We’re gonna see PostCrush!” I shout, kicking my legs into the air. Pinkie vaults off the table and onto my back, but she’s light as air. She laughs and joins in the chorus: “We’re gonna see PostCrush! We’re gonna see PostCrush!”

The ever-responsible Twilight catches all the tickets out of the air before they can hit the dirt, then hands them out. “PostCrush – they’re the ones that are retiring, right?” she asks while approaching me.

“Not retiring, retired!” I say. “They broke up like, a year ago! No one thought they’d ever get back together!”

“But then,” Pinkie adds, peeking through my curls, “eleven months ago, they announced that they’d be coming back for a one-night-only reunion concert at this year’s Starswirled! One. Night. Only!”

“I’ve been dreaming about this concert for months,” I say, stopping my motormouth just in time to hide that in half of those dreams I’m backstage, making out with K-Lo and/or Su-Z. “This is gonna be the greatest night of my life.”

I take my ticket with gleeful giggles, and Twi pats my head like I’m an over-eager dog before moving on.

“Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap,” Rainbow says. Her voice sounds sorta funny, and it takes me a second to realize that it’s because she’s literally vibrating, kicking up clouds of dust around her without taking a step. “Pinkie, you are legit the coolest person in the world. Legit, like, times twenty.”

Rarity runs her ticket along AJ’s arm. “Oh, isn’t this exciting? You can finally see that country singer you love. What’s his name? Dick Thornwood? The one with the cute hair!”

AJ takes her ticket and sighs. “That’s Dirk Thistleweed. But Pinkie – this is mighty kind. How much do we owe you?”

Pinkie hops off my shoulders and lands in front of AJ with a frown. “Owe me? Whaddya think I am, a mob boss? All you owe me are big smiles and a promise to have loads of fun.” She pokes AJ in the chest. “Capisce?”

“Oui,” AJ says with a nod. “I can handle that.”

We all murmur our agreement, and Pinkie’s smile returns. “Okie-dokie!” she says, clapping her hands. “Surprise announcement over. Everyone return to your regularly scheduled partying!”

The music resumes. But just as Twi starts windmilling her arms again, Applejack takes off her hat and waves it in the air. “Wait, hold up! I’ve got something to say too!”

We all look at her. She darts her eyes between us, then puts her hat back on and turns away. “In one minute! Gotta grab something first!” And she jogs back to her house.

Again, the music comes back. This time, though, Twi keeps her arms at her sides and follows me back to my shady spot.

“What,” I say, “the dancing spirit leave you?”

“It comes and goes.” She smooths out her skirt and sits cross-legged next to me. “Much like a certain pop duo, it seems.”

“You hyped for the reunion show too?”

“Coasting off your hype, mostly. Like I said, the only thing I know about them is that they’re retired. And I’ve seen enough of your playlists to know that you’re a fan.”

“Goddess, yes. They’re one of my absolute faves – in my top five, at least.” I fall back and splay my limbs out across the grass. “I heard them for the first time a few months after I got here. It was just over some crappy PA system at the mall, but I fell in love, like, instantly. Went home and binged their whole discography. Their best album is ‘One Time,’ by the way. It’s a bit heavier than their usual stuff, but I actually appreciate it, because I think K-Lo’s writing is at its best when she delves into edgier topics. She’s got this killer ear for metaphor, and it shines through really well on ‘One Time.’ Like, there’s this one song near the end, ‘The Girl We Hoped For’ – she keeps using this image of a moth being attracted to a flame, right? And when the song starts, she’s talking all about how great this girl is, and how everyone thinks she’s perfect and wants to be around her, so you think, ‘Oh, this girl is the flame that’s pulling everyone in.’ But then you learn that this girl is secretly being crushed under all the expectations everyone has for her. And then you realize that she’s actually the moth: She could go anywhere, but she’s trapped, obsessed with reaching this goal of ‘perfection’ that’s actually gonna kill her. I love stuff like that.”

“I believe it!” Twi laughs. “You’re talking so fast, you sound like me!”

“Not a bad quality to have, I figure.” I turn over onto my side. “On a technical level, I know that they’re not the best musicians or anything. But they mean a lot to me. Their songs got me through a lot of sad times.”

“Mm.” She gazes into the distance, picking at the grass under her with absentminded fingers. “I never listened to music much as a kid. I mean, I sang at church, and my parents played music in the car, but I didn’t have any sort of… I don’t know, taste?”

“I know you don’t have taste. You ship QueenComet.”

She magically flings a few blades of grass into my face. “It wasn’t until middle school that I actually formed some opinions on it all. I started with lots of anime and video game stuff, obviously. And I follow some techno artists. But on the whole, I’m not much of a music person.” She chuckles. “That’s sorta weird for a singer to say, right?”

“Eh, everyone’s different. Besides, the girls and I sorta conscripted you back at Camp Everfree. Remember how nervous you were to get on stage?”

“Yep – though that was as much about embarrassing myself in front of Timber than anything else.” She falls back too now, letting her arm fall across my stomach. “I don’t regret any of it, for the record. You all pulled me out of my comfort zone, and it’s given me the best days of my life. Thank you for that.”

“Thank you for existing at the same time as me.” I put my hands over hers. “So, no one at Starswirled you really wanna see?”

“Maybe – I’ve got no idea who’s performing. It’d be amazing if MC Dex Effex showed up, but I think she said she’s going on hiatus this week.” She sighs. “But whoever ends up being there, one thing’s for sure: We’re going to have a nicer time than we did at Summer Sunfest.”

“Amen to that, sister.” I raise an eyebrow. “It is ‘amen’ that you say, right?”

She nods. “Amen.”

And we go silent.

It still doesn’t seem real; in just a few weeks, we’ll be dancing, glamping, and chugging energy drinks at the coolest music festival in the country. And Twi is right: Starswirled is gonna be a million times better than the mess that was Sunfest. Just gotta remember not to eat any roadside burritos on the way there this time.

Obviously PostCrush is the main attraction. And when it comes to K-Lo and Su-Z, Pinkie is my ride-or-die wingwoman. But suddenly, I’ve got other dreams.

Imagine bringing Twi to the PostCrush concert. Watching her eyes light up as she experiences their greatness for the first time. Feeling her hair stand up as the first chords of ‘True Original’ ring out. Dancing alongside her, watching the sweat run down her neck, her arms, her chest. Putting my arms around her. Kissing her once, twice, a dozen times.

Starswirled is gonna be phenomenal. But what if it could be better?

I’ve pondered AJ’s messy metaphor for the last few hours, and I’ve made my decision: I’m going to tell Twi how I feel about her.

I’m scared. Horrifically, horribly scared. But I’ve gotta do it.

The only questions left were ‘When’ and ‘How.’ And thanks to Pinkie Pie, I think I’ve got that first question answered.

Saturday, September 16. Starswirled. The day PostCrush reunites. The day I win Twilight Sparkle’s heart.

“I’m back!”

Applejack returns to the picnic table, cradling a long green bottle, and gestures for everyone to come closer. “Bring a cup! An empty one!”

Rarity leans in to read the bottle. “Is this… champagne?”

“Sure is!” With all of us gathered around, AJ pushes on the cork. “Now, I’ve never opened one of these suckers before, so don’t laugh!”

“Applejack,” Rarity says, turning away and ducking, “that is not how you open a—”

There’s a gunshot pop. Rarity and Fluttershy both scream. Twi flinches. The cork disappears, and fizzy wine pours out of the open bottle, hissing in the dirt.

“Hoo boy!” AJ cackles and wipes off some of the fizz. “I heard these things could buck, but this one bucked. Anyone see where the cork went? Everyone still got both eyes?”

Rainbow Dash raises her hand and I immediately check that she hasn’t gone blind – before noticing that she’s presenting us with the cork, now split in half. “Yes, I did catch it out of the air,” she says, bowing. “And yes, I am available for both birthdays and bat mitzvahs.”

“Come round, come round!” AJ says, waving us all closer. She pours a few ounces of champagne into each of our plastic cups. “I wanna make a toast. We’ve had a strange last twelve months. And though school starts this week, chances are that the weirdness ain’t gonna stop on account of us having homework to do. But whatever comes, we face it together.”

“Here here!” Rainbow says, lifting her cup.

AJ grins. “This was our first summer as friends. And this school year is gonna be the first where we’re all together right from the start. So whatever happened in the past – whatever mistakes we made, words we shouldn’t have said, all that bull – is in the past. We’ve got a clean slate, a blank page.”

She lifts her cup into the air. “To the end of summer, and the new year!”

Everyone follows her lead, clunking our cups together and yelling, “‘The end of summer, and the new year!’”

Rarity throws back the entire cup at once, then does a little dance and squeals, “Hashtag: New Year, New Me!”

“New year, new me!” Fluttershy repeats, head held high.

Pinkie tosses all her champagne into the air, then catches it in her mouth on the way down. “New year, new me!”

Twi swirls her drink around, smiling into it. “New year, new me.”

I gulp down my champagne. It tingles like her love.

New year, new me. New year, new us.

Author's Note

You made it to the end of the chapter! Happy New Year!