Analemma, or A Year in the Sunlight

by Dubs Rewatcher

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Equestria Girls, Sex, Sunset Shimmer, Main 7 (EqG), Twilight Sparkle (EqG), Slice of Life
Length: 103287

The first year of Sunset and Twilight’s relationship, told in real time through vignettes, text messages, snippets, and more.

Sunset Shimmer is a former tyrant, half-pony freak, and CHS' resident Friendship Chick. Twilight Sparkle is a former loser, absolute genius, and a complete nervous wreck.

When the new Twilight transfers to CHS, Sunset doesn't think much of her. But it doesn't take long for the two to become best friends — and change each other's lives in ways neither saw coming.

The first year of Sunset and Twilight’s relationship, told in real time through vignettes, text messages, snippets, and more.

Every chapter in this story takes place at a specific date and time on the 2023 calendar.

Pre-read by Posh and Quill Scratch.

Cover art by LZjian79 and Hiru315.

Published 2023-05-10 19:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2025-01-20 17:40:37 UTC

FRIDAY, MARCH 31, 7:25 PM

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

And yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They hate us ‘cuz they ain’t us.”

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

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

AJ scowls. “Come again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m such an idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t kill birds, Sunset.”

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

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

“Okay. And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? What’s your read on her?”

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

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

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

I shake my head. “It’s not.”

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

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

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

Pinkie takes my hand. “Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Three.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I listen to their creaking footsteps until they disappear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course she’s not okay, dummy.

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

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Oh.” She hiccups. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I’m just sitting here, watching.

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

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

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

Do something. Anything. Just move!

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

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

Brick. Brick. Brick.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

She nods.

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

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

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

“Why are you so nice to me?”

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

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

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You can never have too many friends.”

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

I blink. “A what?”

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

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

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

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

…Well, I know one other person.

Time to get empathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She raises one brow. “A ‘gimmick?’”

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

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

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

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

And the empathy train rolls to a stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is?”

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

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

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

“Okay. So I should talk more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 11:22 AM

Confession: I still don’t like Mrs. Harshwhinny.

After Princess Twilight and the girls blasted me into the dirt last fall, I gave up most of my old grudges. But Harshwhinny’s voice still hits like a hacksaw, her attitude perpetually sucks, and I spend nearly every one of her Gym classes with a frown on my face.

It doesn’t help that I’ve got Gym right before my lunch period, so I’m always hungry as hell. Or that it leaves me feeling sweaty, grimy, and disgusting for the rest of the day. Or that we have to wear the same cheap t-shirt and shorts all year long, no matter the weather.

Today, despite last night’s rainstorm, Harshwhinny has us outside and shivering in front of the soaked bleachers. Bon Bon and Lyra are even clutching each other for warmth — at least until they inevitably start getting handsy and Harshwhinny snaps at them to break it up.

Twilight and I are standing in the back, chatting while Harshwhinny rants about… something. This is one of the few class periods Twi and I share, and getting to hang with her at the start of class is the only worthwhile part of this experience.

“I keep telling Spike that the mailman is a good guy, but he just won’t listen,” she says, arms wrapped in front of her chest. “I figured that once he started talking, I’d finally get through to him.”

“Maybe he knows something about the mailman that you don’t.” I sniffle my runny nose. “Maybe he’s a ghost. Dogs can sense things like that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. If we can’t detect ghosts, there’s no way dogs can.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But didn’t you tell me Spike once found a pair of your brother’s socks that’d been missing for a year?”

“Sweat and mold aren’t ectoplasm, though.”

“Close enough.”

The entire class around us explodes into a collective groan. As they start to disperse, I nudge Spitfire and ask, “What’s going on?”

“She’s making us run a mile,” Spitfire says. Even she, the second sportiest girl in school, looks like she’s about to snap.

I give a delayed groan of my own and turn to Twilight to say, “Wish me luck.”

Twilight gives me a thumbs-up, then starts walking in the opposite direction, towards her bookbag.

She’s got asthma, which apparently gives her a permanent Get Out of Gym Free card. I know having to suck air out of an inhaler sucks, but I can’t help but feel jealous whenever I see her sitting on the sidelines, head stuck in a novel while the rest of us are stuck in PE. I used to fake doctor’s notes all the time — a remnant of my past life that I still dearly miss.

I trudge over to the track oval, but look over my shoulder when I hear Mrs. Harshwhinny’s voice behind me, yelling, “Sparkle!”

Twilight’s already got a hand in her bag. She snaps up straight like a military cadet at Harshwhinny’s call. “Yes, Ma’am?”

Harshwhinny gestures for Twilight to approach her. “Come on,” she says as Twilight draws near. “You’re not sitting out today.”

That stops both Twilight and I in our tracks. “Ma’am, I have a medical exemption.”

“Your doctor’s note says that you’re excused from ‘strenuous activity.’” Harshwinny jabs a thumb in the track’s direction. “This isn’t strenuous. So the excuse doesn’t work.”

Because I’m a little shit, I can’t stop myself from saying, “I think running a mile is pretty strenuous.”

Twilight’s jaw drops, and Harshwhinny shoots me a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Did I ask you, Shimmer?”

Both anger and embarrassment flash through my face as the girls around me watch the scene unfold. “I’m just saying—”

“That was a yes-or-no question, Shimmer.”

I let a few choice curses swirl around in my mouth for a second, but eventually shake my head. “No.”

“Exactly. Get to running,” she says with a smile that makes me want to throw a clod of dirt at her head. She turns back to Twilight, who’s still looking past her and at me. “The bleachers are too wet for you to sit anyway. And if you really can’t run, just walk. We’ll wait for you.”

Twilight doesn’t move, and I’m begging her to fight back. Stand up to her! You’ve got a goddamn doctor’s note — that’s worth more than gold around here!

“Go,” Harshwhinny says, and Twilight speedwalks past her, past me, and onto the track to start her mile. She keeps her head low, arms locked at her sides.

A few girls — Spitfire, Fleetfoot, even Muffins — are already finishing their first lap around the oval at this point, and they stare at Twilight as they pass. Over on the other side of the track, I see Cloud Kicker run up alongside Blossomforth, point over at Twilight, and share a giggle with her.

One year ago, I might have pushed them into a puddle for that. But instead I just run to catch up with Twilight, and start walking alongside her.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, matching her pace.

She looks up at me, then back at Harshwhinny, and then back to me. “You don’t need to walk with me,” she says. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Not if we walk together.” I grin. “If I were to just stop running by myself? Sure, that’s insubordination. But the two of us together? That’s concerted activity, so we can’t get in trouble!” I hold my fist high in the air. “Power in numbers, baby!”

Twilight lifts an eyebrow. “I think that rule only applies to labor unions, not public school students.”

“Eh, we’re always singing about how we’re united, right? What’s the difference?”

I’m expecting Twilight to protest — I’m sure she’s ready to explain exactly what the differences are — but instead she laughs.

I love Twilight’s laugh. It’s always louder than how she speaks, and she does it with her entire body, moving up and down like the giggles are shaking her from the inside. And if you’re lucky, she’ll laugh hard enough to snort, which is legit the cutest sight and sound of all time.

I’m not that lucky today. But she still returns my smile and says, “Thanks.”

We spend the rest of the period trying to come up with a plan for solving Spike’s mailman phobia. We don’t even finish our mile in time.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 3:40 PM

When I step into the CHS band room for the Rainbooms’ regular jam session, I’m greeted by the usual suspects — Applejack tuning her bass, Rarity texting, Pinkie riding a ceiling fan — but also a new player, chatting with Fluttershy.

“Twilight!” I say way too loudly, startling both sides of the conversation. Offering an apologetic grimace, I hurry towards them and drop my bag. “What are you doing here? I thought you had SAT prep on Wednesdays.”

Twilight scoots over to let me sit down. “I took my SAT on Saturday, remember? So no more prep classes — at least, assuming I score high enough that I won’t need to retake it in the Fall.”

“I’m sure you did wonderfully,” Fluttershy says.

I pat Twilight on the back. Gently. “We all know you crushed it!”

“I don’t want to jinx myself,” Twilight says, looking down at her lap. But soon a sly smirk — the kind you’d see on a suave spy, or an evil mastermind — slips over her face. “Though I probably did pretty well.”

“Hell yeah.” I head over to the band room’s back closet, where I keep my junky old Strat. “So, you here to practice with us? Do you play anything?”

“I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice,” Fluttershy says, picking up her tambourine. “Princess Twilight was our lead singer for two whole days, you know.”

“Why only two days?”

Fluttershy twiddles her fingers. “She had to help us defeat a group of evil soul-eating sirens that tried to take over the world with pop music. It didn’t take very long.”

Twilight starts to laugh, but then freezes and shoots me a slack-jawed glance. I just hold my head high and tune my guitar.

“Well,” Twilight says, dragging her eyes away from me, “I used to take glockenspiel lessons at Crystal Prep, but I was never very good. And I haven’t really sung in public since Sunday School choir as a kid, so...”

“Don’t you worry,” Applejack says as she walks up to us. “Heck, I missed having an audience when we jam.”

“Agreed,” Rarity says. “Before the sirens came and mucked things up, Sunset used to applaud us after every song! It’s been dreadfully dreary since then.” She smiles at me. “Of course, we love having you in the band so much more, darling.”

So why didn’t you let me join back then?

“You’d better,” I say. “Are we ready to get started?”

Applejack frowns. “We will be, once Dash—”

“Yo, guys!” Rainbow Dash shouts, crashing through the double doors like a tweaking bull. “Guess what I found!”

“A lucky penny?” Pinkie asks, still hanging from the ceiling fan. She gasps hard enough to suck up half the air in the room. “Two lucky pennies?”

“Nah, cooler than that.” Rainbow throws down her bag, rummages inside of it, then pulls out a stack of square photos. “Remember when I brought that old camera to our Halloween party? I thought I lost it, but my mom found it at the back of my sock drawer and printed out the pics!”

Everyone gapes and gaggles, forming a tight circle around Rainbow Dash. Everyone except for Twilight and I. Twilight because she didn’t even know we existed back then, and me because it’s a night I’m still trying to forget.

Pinkie holds a big Halloween party every year. No big deal. Except last year’s took place six days after the Fall Formal. And she invited a new guest: Me.

It was supposed to be my public debut as one of the ‘good guys.’ But in the days leading up to it, a few people straight up told Pinkie they wouldn’t go if I did. And at the party, seven people (I counted) arrived, saw me, and left within ten minutes.

I spent the night nursing a plate of cotton candy in the corner, watching as the party circled around me. No one except Pinkie dared to get close, like I’d put up an electric fence. Even Fluttershy, Queen of Kind, talked to me from six feet away. The most exciting part of the night was when I slipped into Pinkie’s bedroom and spent five minutes screaming into her pillows.

At least I had a pretty cool costume.

“Ooh,” Pinkie says, picking out a photo, “I forgot about Sunset’s sweet vampire costume!”

My eyes cross.

“I wasn’t a vampire,” I say, tuning my already tuned guitar.

“Huh?” Dash squints at the photo, then takes it from Pinkie and holds it up for me like I don’t remember my own costume that I spent three days making. “But you’ve got the sharp teeth and the wings and all that.”

“Just having sharp teeth and wings doesn’t make you a vampire,” Fluttershy says. The hole in my stomach starts to shrink, until she adds, “I even told her during the party that it was a great fruit bat costume.”

“I wasn’t a fruit bat either,” I say. Keep tuning.

“We’re sorry,” Rarity says, frowning. “What were you again?”

We’ve had this conversation five times. I’ve explained it five times.

“I dressed up as a character from a show I like,” I say, smiling. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone recognized it.”

Everyone nods in understanding, then goes back to giggling at the memories. I keep my eyes focused on the neck of my guitar, sliding a finger over the ridged strings.

I’m upset, and I know I shouldn’t be. It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, it’s just a Halloween costume, literally nothing. Why am I so sensitive? It’s such a minor issue.

So why can’t they remember? I’ve explained it to them five times.

But I tried to kill them last year, and they’re still so nice to me. Be grateful. Stop making a big deal out of it.

Do they even care?

Shut up.

“Sky Blaster?”

Twilight’s voice hits me like a defibrillator. She’s staring at me, she’s smiling, but I’m just blinking while my brain pulls itself out of the muck.

All I can manage in the meantime is, “What?”

“Your costume,” Twilight says. How long has she been sitting next to me? “You were Sky Blaster, right? Queen From a Torn World?”

That kicks my mind back into full gear. “Wait, wait,” I blabber, waving my hands in front of me. “How did you know that? You watch Torn World?”

“Yep! I used to read the manga too — fell off once they started the Cruel Planet arc, though.” She motions back towards Rainbow Dash and her photos. “I’m shocked they didn’t recognize it, honestly. You did a great job. Even without the blue skin, I’d know that armor and those wings anywhere!”

“That’s what I said! They’re, like, iconic!” I say. My chest tickles with barely contained laughter. “You are legit the first person I’ve met at CHS who knows about Torn World. I've been obsessed with it since it premiered last year!”

“Last year?” Twilight asks, smile fading. She lids her eyes. “Sunset. Are you watching it subbed or dubbed?”

Oh, Celestia.

“Dubbed,” I say. I hold up a warning finger. “Now before you start—!”

“I knew it!” Twilight jumps to her feet and clasps a fist over her chest. “It’s unthinkable! Sunset, my best friend, watches dubbed anime?”

I throw my hands into the air. “I don’t get what the problem is! Who in their right mind wants to read while watching?”

“Who wouldn’t want to?”

“You’re just salty because Deep Slate sounds way cooler in the dub than he does in the original.”

“Nuh-uh. Deep Slate’s seiyū brings so much more passion to the role!”

“He sounds like my grandma!”

“Uh, Sunset?” Applejack calls.

Both of us twirl to find the rest of the group already set up and ready to play. Applejack has a hand on her hip. “You ready to get started or what?”

“Yep, be right there!” I pick up my guitar and scamper over — but not before leaning into Twilight and whispering, “We’ll continue this debate later.”

I can only imagine the look on Twilight’s face as she cries out, voice cracking, “It’s not a debate if the other side is ontologically evil!”

WEDNESDAY, MAY 10, 9:18 PM

I have a bad back. And although I could make up all sorts of excuses — heavy backpack, big boobs, brutally morphing my body between pony and human forms — even I have to admit the truth: I sit on my couch like a total asshole.

Right now I’m laying on my back with my head propped up on a pillow, while I’ve got one leg hanging off the couch and another stretched over the back cushions. I can quite literally feel my bones creaking every time I breathe.

But it’s okay! I’ve got the TV on, pants off, humidifier blasting, and a half-eaten bowl of microwaved mac n’ cheese with wheatgrass and blended radishes mixed in — yes, it tastes great — no, don’t ask Flash Sentry — sitting on the coffee table. Life is good! Future Sunset can pay for the chiropractor.

Next to the mac n’ cheese, my phone pings with a text message. I reach for it, but I can't grab it. Reach a little farther. A little farther.

The cushions give way under me and I slip off the couch, yelping as I go down. Hitting the hardwood floor sends an achy jolt up my back, and I just lay there groaning for a few moments, thankful that no one’s around to see this.

I mean, except for the government agent that watches me through my webcam. But they’ve definitely seen way more embarrassing stuff than this; we’re basically married at this point.

Still murmuring curses, I eventually sit up and grab my phone.

It’s a text message from Twilight.

Twilight’s never texted me directly before. Group chats, sure, every day, but never me alone. Is she okay? What’s wrong? I tap the notification and jam in my passcode.

Alt: A drawing of an anime character with blue skin, silver armor, horns, wings, and long blue-black hair. The words "I AM GOING TO THROW YOU OUT A WINDOW" are superimposed on top of the character.

Something escapes my mouth — some freak combination of a sigh and laugh. It hurts.

Now I know what’s wrong: We’re both total dorks. I tap out an eloquent response.

LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After a moment, Twilight gives my message a ❤️ react. I smile wide and start thinking about all the horribly cursed Torn World memes I’ve got ready to barrage her with.

And how the couch is so high up. And how my butt still aches. And how the floor is nice and warm…

I think I’ll stay here for a while. The dust bunnies and cookie crumbs won’t mind, right?

Author's Note

Meme graciously drawn by Muffinmoon.

THURSDAY, MAY 18, 4:44 PM

Rainbow Dash is great. Really. She’s funny, loyal, and motivated beyond belief. But she’s also got a nasty habit of speaking without thinking, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t annoy the hell out of me sometimes.

Like today, for example: We’re about to leave school, and Rarity mentions that she has to finish packing for the trip to Camp Everfree tomorrow. And Rainbow just has to laugh and say, “I’m surprised you’re not making us all some fancy new outfits to wear to camp!”

That’s why, for the third time this month, we’re now all crammed into Rarity’s bedroom/studio so she can take our measurements. All of us except for Twilight, that is — I suppose if anyone’s smart enough to escape this sort of trap, it’s her.

And to be fair, Rainbow doesn’t look all that happy about the situation either. Rarity saved her for last, and now she’s splayed out across the bed, glowering while Rarity holds a tape measure against her legs.

“You know, Rarity,” Fluttershy says, sitting over in the corner with Opal on her lap, “you sew so many wonderful dresses for us, I’m surprised that you don’t have our measurements memorized.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rarity says, scribbling numbers into a well-worn notebook. “Of course I have them memorized! And recorded across multiple spreadsheets.” She tips up her nose and smiles. “But it’s like Applejack says: ‘Measure twice, cut once!’”

Leaning against Rarity’s nightstand, Applejack blushes. “It’s true, I do say that!”

“Are you sure about this?” I ask. I’m swallowed up in a velvet-lined beanbag chair. “Not that we don’t love your outfits, but we’re going camping in the woods, and it’s gonna be super humid this weekend. I dunno if it’s the best situation for a Rarity Original.”

“And we’ve already got camping clothes,” Rainbow says, sitting up. “Remember the Camp Everfree shirts they sent us? Y’know, the ones that we had to pay twenty bucks for?”

Rarity scoffs. “The Camp Everfree trip is a treasured junior year event! I’m not about to miss this chance to show off Canterlot High School’s superior style.”

Rainbow just groans and flops onto her back again.

Rarity’s eyes sharpen, but after a breath, soften again. She turns away from Rainbow and towards the rest of us. “Now, where is Twilight? Once I measure her, I’ll be ready to start.”

“She told me she’d be by in a little bit,” I say, pulling up my lengthy text thread with her. “Said she had to get something ready first.”

“Good.” Rarity flips open her notebook again and giggles. “There’s a design that I’ve been dying to try out, and I think Twilight may have the perfect complexion for it!”

“Does it have a bow tie?” Pinkie asks. “She loves bow ties!”

“Not quite.” Rarity serves Rainbow a lethal dose of side-eye. “But I’m sure she’ll appreciate it all the same.”

Someone knocks at Rarity’s bedroom door, and a moment later, Twilight peeks her head into the room. “Did someone say my name?”

Pinkie raises her hand up high. “Ooh, ooh! Rarity did!”

Rarity gasps and runs to Twilight. “Thank goodness you’re here! We have important work to do.”

“We do!” Twilight grins. “How did you know?”

“Hm?” Rarity frowns. “What do you mean, darling?”

Twilight moves over to Rarity’s bed, drops her bag, and pulls out a thick stack of papers. One-by-one, she hands each of us a packet that’s got to be about fifteen pages long.

I skim the first page; it’s a long checklist, filled with items like ‘Compass,’ ‘Standardized First Aid Kit,’ and ‘Extra Supply of Allergy Medicine.’

“Uh, Twi?” Applejack asks after a long silence. “What are we looking at?”

“My Ultimate Camp Everfree Preparation Guide!” Twilight says, beaming. “I put together a handy checklist of essential supplies you’ll want to bring; guides on how to perform CPR, treat snake bites, splint a limb, and build shelter in the woods; and even a detailed breakdown of all the native flora and fauna we should expect to see!”

Fluttershy gasps and skips ahead to that section.

I spend a few seconds trying and failing to come up with a response. In the end, all I can manage is, “Thanks?”

“It’s my pleasure,” Twilight says, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. For the first time, I notice the bags under them and the wrinkles in her clothes. She looks like she’s been sleeping on the street. As I study her, she goes back to her bag and pulls out six tan tubes. “I went ahead and bought each of you an ample supply of my favorite sunscreen. You’ll want to apply it liberally in the morning, and every two hours afterwards — there’s more info in the packet.”

Applejack takes a bottle of sunscreen from Twilight and looks at it with skeptical eyes, but says, “This is mighty kind of you.”

“Every two hours?” Rainbow repeats.

“Yep!” Twilight says, still shining bright. “Same goes for the tick & mosquito spray.”

“Yeah, nuh-uh.” Rainbow tosses her packet down on the bed. “This is cool and all, but putting on that much spray and ointment is, like, against my religion.”

Applejack lids her eyes. “Rainbow, you’re Jewish.”

“And? Which one of us went to Hebrew school, huh?”

The edges of Twilight’s smile start to sag. “It’s just a matter of safety,” she says, pointing to the fine print on her sunscreen tube. “Even a single sunburn can substantially raise the risk of skin cancer as an adult. Especially for girls.”

Pinkie frowns. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

“C’mon, it’s not that serious.” Dash waves a lazy hand in Twilight’s direction. “I’m going on this trip to chill out, not follow more rules.”

“Y’know,” I start, raising my voice without meaning to — Goddess, I really need to work on this — “even if you’re gonna ignore it, you could at least thank Twilight for putting all this together.”

By this point, Twilight is gripping her sunscreen bottle so hard I’m scared she might pop it. “I didn’t mean to get anyone upset,” she says, looking between us.

“I’m not upset,” Dash says, laying back down. “I’m chilling.”

“You’re something alright,” Applejack mutters.

Twilight’s still fussing with her bottle, but before I can invite her to sit down, Rarity grabs her arm. “Now that that’s all done, are you ready to pose for your new outfit?” Rarity giggles. “No one else seems to be very excited, but I’m sure you’ll be thrilled when you see what I have in mind!”

“This is for Camp Everfree?” Twilight asks. She offers Rarity an earnest smile. “I’d love to, but don’t we already have camp uniforms? I’m a big fan of uniforms.”

All the hope drains from Rarity’s face. “Of course you are,” she says, dropping Twilight’s arm.

Twilight legit flinches at that, like she’s been pushed.

I try to glare at Rarity, but she’s already turned her back to us, stomping over to a closet filled with reams of fabric. “No matter,” she says, sifting through the colorful piles. “I have a vision, and I intend to make it reality!”

That leaves Twilight standing pigeon-toed in the middle of the room. I hop to my feet and grab a pillow from Rarity’s bed, softly tap Twilight’s shoulder to get her attention, and lead her over to the beanbag chair I’d been sitting in. I take the pillow and offer her the beanbag — she takes it without protest.

She’s staring at Rarity, wringing her hands like she always seems to do when she’s stressed.

“Ignore them,” I whisper, leaning in close enough that I can hear her breath. “We’ve been getting on Rarity’s nerves all afternoon. And if someone told Rainbow she could ride to space strapped to the side of a rocket, she’d probably do it.”

“I’m fine,” Twilight says. Her voice is steady, monotone even, but she doesn’t look at me or loosen her hands. The bags under her eyes haven’t gotten any better.

FRIDAY, MAY 19, 9:31 PM

Rainbow Dash is literally shaking. “I dunno. Gaia Everfree could be some creature that got booted from Equestria and ended up in this world! That's what happened with the sirens!”

“Eh, sounded more like something that Timber was making up just to scare us. At least, I hope it was.” Applejack crosses her arms. “Last thing I want is to have camp ruined by some power-crazed magical creature.”

Popping a marshmallow into my mouth, I have to roll my eyes. When that Timber dude started telling us his “Gaia Everfree” story, I knew he’d manage to scare some of my classmates. But I figured the Rainbooms — especially the “Fearless” Rainbow Dash — would know better.

Timber’s story supposedly took place decades ago. But I’m the one who brought Equestrian magic to Earth. There aren’t any monsters in this world that I didn’t help create.

…Wow. When I put it like that, I sorta sound like a piece of shit, huh?

Focus on the marshmallows. There’s no problem in this world that corn syrup can’t solve.

“Hear hear!” Rarity says, smoothing out the bolt of fabric hanging over her arm. “We've had to deal with more than our fair share of those.”

I stop chewing. Rarity.

“At the Fall Formal, our musical showcase…”

Next to me, Twilight shrinks. Rarity, stop talking, please.

“The Friendship Ga—” Rarity notices Twilight and finally shuts up. She offers a nervous chuckle. “I mean, you know, everything turned out alright, of course!”

“Mm.” Twilight’s staring at the dirt. She turns completely away from us. “I’m kinda tired. I’m gonna turn in.”

Twilight walks away, feet dragging, and I feel an old fire sparking in my belly. I want to turn on my friends and tell them off, scream at them until they learn how to think before they speak.

But that’s not who I am anymore. For better or worse.

“Maybe lay off bringing up what happened at the Friendship Games?” I ask as soon as Twilight’s out of earshot. I try to speak slowly, evenly. “I think she's still pretty sensitive about it.” Do I really need to explain this?

Thankfully, they seem to get it. They all give me an apologetic smile — except for Pinkie, who takes a bite out of a half-melted marshmallow and with a full mouth says, “Our lips are sealed.” Weirdly, I trust that more than anything.

After the girls and I split up, I take a few minutes to just lean against a tree and think.

It’s been almost a year since I reformed. Why do I still get so angry at people? At my friends?

Centering breath.

Why can’t I be better?

The thought gets interrupted by a yawn wide enough to make my jaw hurt. It’s barely past ten o’clock — back home I’d be wide awake, and yet there’s something about field trips that just sucks the energy out of me. But then again, I do fall asleep in class, and this trip is essentially a weekend-long school day.

I lift myself off the tree and head to the tents. There’s no sign of Gaia Everfree as I creep through the forest, but thank the Goddess for the mosquito spray Twilight insisted we pack. I’d be missing five pints of blood by now otherwise.

When I reach the Sapphire Tent, I’m expecting silence, maybe Twilight’s snoring, which is louder than you’d expect.

I don’t expect to hear crying.

I rip the doorway flaps open, and Twilight’s head snaps up. She’s curled up in bed, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her face is red, splotchy, soaked with tears. Spike is laying at her feet.

I run to her. “Twilight, what’s wrong?” I ask, kneeling by her bed. “What happened?”

She recoils away from me. “Nothing,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Frowning, I glance at Spike. He just shakes his head. “I dunno! I came back to the tent and found her like this.”

“Please,” Twilight says. A gasping sob escapes her, and she buries her face in her knees again. “I’m just tired. Leave me alone.”

I sit down on the bed next to them. For the slightest of seconds my hand brushes against Twilight’s leg, and an itchy jolt shoots through my head — followed by a flash of white and purple.

“Is this about what Rarity said?” I ask.

Twilight curls up tighter.

A lay a hand on one of her knees. “C’mon, Twi. You can talk to me. Hell, I’m probably the best person to talk to about this.”

A silent moment passes. But then Twilight lifts her head just enough to look at me with bloodshot eyes. “Yes, what Rarity said. And Applejack. And Pinkie, earlier. And everyone else who talks about me behind my back.”

Part of me wants to smile and tell her it’s not true, no one’s talking about her, that’s silly. But I don’t, because she’s right. They do talk about her. They talk about both of us. Behind our backs and to our faces.

So instead I just nod. “Yeah. I get it.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Twilight says, lifting her head higher. She’s stuttering every other word, but there’s a venom in her voice that I’ve never heard before, and it paralyzes me. “You don’t. You’re strong, super cool. Everyone at CHS loves you. You’re not afraid of anything.”

I clench my fists. “That’s not—”

She clenches her fists right back. “I’m not like you. I’m scared, I’m always scared. That’s why I’m here crying. That’s why I can’t sleep. That’s why you” — she spits out the word — “always have to stand up for me.”

Anger boils in my stomach at that, but I try to ignore it. “I stand up for you because you’re my friend, and I want you to feel safe.” Not so you can throw it back in my face later.

“I feel like dead weight.” She scoffs. “And as soon as everyone finds out my magic is back, they’re gonna hate me again.”

“No one hates you.” I’m struggling to keep my voice down and to shut out my annoyance. “And the magic, here and back at the Friendship Games, isn’t your fault!”

Twilight bursts out of her curled up pose and shouts, “It doesn’t matter!”

Across the room, a burst of purple energy launches my backpack into the air. Spike barks and leaps off the bed. Even I jump to my feet, barely avoiding one of Twilight’s legs before it drives straight into my stomach.

There’s frenzy in her bagged eyes, in every gasping breath. The tears are falling even faster than before.

“It doesn’t matter that it’s not my fault,” she says, shuddering. “It was still me — is still me. I’m the one with the magic. I’m the one ruining everyone’s lives!”

She pauses, out of breath and probably expecting me to argue. I just stand there and let her breathe. Any anger I had is long gone.

A silent moment passes like that. Then she shakes her head, mutters what sounds like an apology, and leans back against her pillow. That gives me enough space to climb back onto the bed and sit facing her, legs crossed. Spike doesn’t hesitate either, hopping up and curling into Twilight’s lap.

“I thought time would make it better,” she says, petting Spike slowly. “I thought if I made friends, everyone would forgive and forget. But they still talk about it all the time.”

I consider a response, but can only manage, “Yeah.”

“And now the magic is coming back.” Her breaths pick up again and she squeezes her eyes shut. “And I don’t know what to do.”

It’s an impulse. I know it won’t solve anything, that I’m probably crossing a line. I know this is as much for my benefit as hers.

I lean forward, far enough that my back aches, and pull Twilight into a hug.

She’s rigid at first, freezing under me. But it doesn’t take long for her to bury her face in my shoulder, wrap her arms around my torso. I can feel every panicked heartbeat, and her trembling breaths travel down my collar and across my chest.

Instinctively, I start running my fingertips in a circular motion across her back. It’s what Princess Celestia used to do for me whenever I was upset, and even now, the memory is enough to put me at ease. With every circle, Twilight’s body loosens, until she’s basically slumped over onto me. Spike dodges out of the way.

Eventually the crick in my spine becomes unbearable and I let go. But Twilight doesn’t sit up again — she lays down and rests her head in my lap. She’s still hiccuping, still got her eyes closed. But the tears are gone, and the red is fading from her cheeks. I keep stroking her back.

It’s an automatic, repetitive motion. All the day's events — waking up at sunrise, the bus ride, the magic, the ghost stories, this — pull at my eyelids. Twilight’s breath is a white noise metronome. Thoughts slow down. Sleep approaches.

“How do you do it?”

Twilight’s voice slaps me awake. “Do what?” I ask through a mouthful of drool.

Twilight’s staring off at nothing, glasses crooked on her face. “How do you stay so happy when people bring up what you did? What we did?”

I don’t.

That’s the only answer that comes to mind as Twilight's question spins in my head.

The comments and gossip cut me as much as they do her. The difference is that I hurt everyone because I wanted to, not because some horrible headmistress baited me into it. I hurt my friends, and they still forgave me. So what right do I have to be upset? I’m lucky they even look at me.

Being kind, staying calm, turning the other cheek. That’s my job now. That’s why I’m alive.

But that’s my problem, not hers.

“It used to hurt a lot,” I say. Keep my breathing even. “Really. All the jokes and snide comments, they used to keep me awake at night. It felt like I’d never belong.”

I still lay awake sometimes.

Smile at her, even if she’s not looking. “But it got better. The girls, our friends — they mess up sometimes, yeah, but they love us so much. They’ll never give up on us, no matter how awful we used to be. Learning to accept that love is how I stay strong.”

Am I strong?

“Yeah?” Twilight asks through a whimper.

“Yeah.” I lean over, hanging my head near her ear. “I’m here for you, Twi. And I could never hate you.”

I feel Twilight swallow. She nods and closes her eyes.

The two of us go silent. I rub her back until the shallow breaths give way to snoring.

SUNDAY, MAY 21, 11:30 PM

Dear Rarity: Thank you so, so, so much for the party dress! It’s genuinely the most beautiful gown I’ve ever worn.

But I’m never trusting you to buy me shoes ever again.

Goddess above these high heels suck. Too tight, too heavy. The heel on the left one legit snapped off halfway through our set, tipping me over and nearly knocking Applejack off the stage — demon shoe. I love a good stiletto! But I love having non-broken ankles more.

And after today, the last thing I need is another body part in searing pain. Between Gaia Everfree strangling us with vines, saving the camp, organizing the fundraiser, and playing our concert, I feel like I’ve been tossed into a blender and mulched into the world’s sweatiest smoothie.

Whatever. I prefer going barefoot anyway. As the party winds to a close and I limp back to my tent, I savor the wet grass against my ankles, the loose dirt between my toes. It reminds me of home, childhood — foalhood. I’m not some ‘Return to Nature’ nudist, no matter how many jokes Rainbow and AJ make. But ponies are so much more in touch with nature than humans, and I’ve got some suspicions why.

Unbelievably, the lights in our tent are on. Twilight left the party twenty minutes earlier, and I half expected her to spend our last night at Camp Everfree canoodling with Timber Spruce somewhere. And for all I know, I could be seconds away from walking in on something I shouldn’t.

Thankfully, when I peer into the tent through a crack in the doorway flaps, there aren’t any horny teenage boys in sight. Just Twilight in her pajamas, laying in bed and reading. She’s got her hair down, and it’s splayed out in messy strands over her shoulders. Spike is snoozing at the end of the bed, right on top of her folded party dress.

I tip-toe in and toss my hellish high-heels into the corner. Twilight jerks a bit at their clattering sound, but then adjusts her glasses and smiles at me. “Hey. Is the party over?”

“Pretty much.” I sit down and pull my hair clips out. My hair stays frozen in place, sticking up like a frizzy wildfire. “Pinkie and Dash are still trying to see who can drink the most punch without puking.”

“Oh, jeez. What did Rainbow wager this time?”

“She’s gotta work a shift at the diner with Pinkie. Frilly dress and all.”

“Truly a fate worse than death.” Twilight shakes her head and returns to her book. Then, in a quieter voice, she asks, “Is Timber still there?”

Holding back a giggle, I say, “I think so. Last I saw, he was just schmoozing with a few donors and picking up trash. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not texting with him right now.”

“Should I? I don’t want to bother him. And besides, I don’t even know if he likes me!” She turns back to her book for less than five seconds before asking, “Do you think he likes me?”

I can’t help but smirk as I rub my lipstick off with a makeup wipe. “Yeah. I’d say he likes you.”

Twilight’s cheeks burn pink. “Oh, jeez,” she says again, dropping her book. “Should I have said something? Or is he supposed to confess his feelings first? Do I need to secure his interest by asking him on a date before we leave? Maybe I should go back and help him clean up, then segue that into—”

“Twilight.” I hold up a hand. “Take a breath. You can talk to him at breakfast tomorrow.”

Closing her eyes, Twilight inhales loudly and manages to hold the breath for two whole seconds before letting go. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s been a long day.”

“You’re telling me,” I say, wiping off my mascara. “But after the vocal performance you gave tonight, I’m surprised you can still talk, let alone stay awake. Timber’s gotta be hooked on you after that.”

“Stop,” she says, shaking her head. “I wasn’t anything special. Your harmonies carried me.”

“Nah. If anything, you were carrying us, especially after I fell on Applejack.” I snap my makeup mirror shut and grin. “Welcome to the Rainbooms. You’re the best singer we could have asked for. And, like, twenty times better than the Princess, by the way.”

She’s blushing harder than ever now. “Thanks. It’s an honor, really.”

“Honor is all ours,” I say, standing up. “I just hope Applejack’s butt isn’t too bruised.”

Speaking of bruises…

Just lifting my arms is enough to make me curse in agony as I reach behind myself and feel for my dress’ zipper. I pull it loose, groaning with each inch, and let the dress crumple around my ankles. Drenched in sweat and down to just my underwear, I take a moment to bask in the sudden rush of fresh air against my skin — even on a hellishly humid night like tonight, the cool Spring air feels like salvation.

I bend to collect my dress, but then Twilight gasps and I snap back up. “What? What’s wrong?” Even hours after defeating Gaia Everfree, my nerves are wired like car batteries.

The flush on Twilight’s face is gone. She’s grimacing. “Look at your back.”

My heart is still hammering as I step over to the mirror and turn around. The sight doesn’t calm me down much.

My back is painted with bruises, sores, scrapes, and at least a dozen tiny cuts. A few of the cuts are covered with speckles of dried blood. It sorta looks like I actually did get thrown into a blender.

I’d noticed some redness when getting dressed for the party earlier, but I was too rushed to pay any mind. I didn’t even have time to take a shower. No wonder I felt like absolute death all night — I figured it was just my normal back pain.

“What the hell,” is all I can think to say as I hurry to my bag and pull out some more makeup wipes. “Can I get a single break today, please?”

“It must have been Gaia Everfree’s vines. The ones she trapped us with were covered in thorns.” Twilight scratches her chin. “But how did I manage to escape unscathed, while you got hurt? She had us both tied up incredibly tight. Of course, you are much…”

She looks at the floor.

There’s a pause. A long, thick pause.

“Bigger than you?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

Twilight doesn’t lift her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t trying—”

“It’s cool, Twi. Trust me, I know how huge I am.” I’m trying to smile, but between that comment and my ripped up skin, it’s an effort. The makeup wipes sting against my wounds. “You’ve got bandages, yeah?”

“You should disinfect the broken skin first.” She reaches out her hand, and her backpack shoots across the room to her. That’s gonna take some getting used to. “I’ve got some ointment here that should help with the cuts and bruises.”

“Dope.” I pose in front of the mirror again, giving an achey grunt when I strain my neck to look over my shoulder. “Mind giving me a hand? I’m big, not flexible.”

A few seconds pass before I hear Twilight stand up and say, “Sure. Can we sit on your bed?”

I’m still pulsing with pain as I hop onto my bed and sit cross-legged facing the headboard. Holding a pink bottle, Twilight slowly climbs on and sits behind me, close enough that I can feel her breath on my bare back.

Whatever this special ointment is, I’m sure it’s either going to sting or be freezing cold, so I try to distract myself with other thoughts. I should know better; the only thing I can think of is Twilight’s comment about my weight.

I wasn’t lying: I know how huge I am. It’d be hard to ignore. I stand almost a full head taller than most of the girls in my class, Twilight included. I’ve got shoulders broad enough to put some quarterbacks to shame. And although I’ve never seen Twi on a scale, I’ve got to be at least 50 or 60 pounds heavier than her. It’s a good thing I fell on Applejack at the concert — three feet to the left and I probably would have crushed every bone in Twilight’s tiny body.

Back in my Queen of CHS days, none of this bothered me. The size advantage made shoving kids into lockers easy, and intimidating them even easier. And I hated being human anyway; I could have looked like a supermodel and not cared. Ironic, considering how much I taunted other girls for their size.

Now, though? I think about it way more than I like to admit. Every trip to Rarity’s workshop, every minute in the locker room before gym class, every SnapGab post from some influencer who pays millions to avoid looking like me. I’m not an hourglass. I’m not even a pear. I’m a brick.

Twilight didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t. But even now, I can feel the sweat pooling in the folds of my stomach, the chafing on my thighs. The bed creaks every time I breathe.

“Sunset?”

I look over my shoulder. “What’s up?”

She’s staring at my upper back. “I think you should probably take your bra off. The straps are covering a lot of the damage. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“No problem.” I grunt and try to reach behind myself, but my joints scream out in pain. Sighing, I let my arms flop onto the bed. “Any chance you can unhook me?”

She nods and grabs my bra clasp. It comes undone quickly — if my boobs could talk, they’d be crying out in joy — but Twilight keeps holding the hooks together. “Wait one sec,” she says.

She reaches a hand out toward her bed, where Spike is still sleeping on top of her dress. A shimmering purple light wraps around both Spike and the dress. Gently, she lifts them up and floats them out of the tent, onto the steps outside.

With that, Twilight lets go of my bra straps, and I can’t stop myself from laughing. “My modesty is saved!”

Twilight rolls her eyes, but giggles too. “You know, I never cared much when he was just a dog. But ever since he started talking, undressing around him feels… weird. He’s become like a little brother, in a way.”

I toss my bra off the bed. “Well, the other Spike back in Equestria is a child.”

“Really?” She squeezes some white paste onto her fingers.

“Yep. I mean, a child dragon, but yeah.”

“That’s amazing.” With two fingers, she rubs some of the ointment across a bright red mark on my shoulder. It’s both stinging and freezing cold, making my toes curl. “Gosh, we really do live in an amazing world, don’t we?”

“You could say that.” I chuckle. “What’s got you so starry eyed tonight?”

She’s silent for a moment before asking, “Have you ever been in love?”

That’s a good question. I think back to the few relationships I’ve had, both here and in Equestria. Mint Leaf made great snacks, but she spent half our time together whining over nothing. Redshift knew more about pyromancy than anypony I’ve ever met, but they had no sense of humor. And Flash Sentry was a great guy in so many ways, but he was human, so I treated him like absolute garbage — not that he seems to hold a grudge.

I dated all of them. Got close to all of them. Made out with all of them. But did I love any of them?

Another blob of icy ointment shuts off my thoughts. “I dunno,” I say as she rubs her palm against my lower back. “Have you?”

I hear her swallow. “I think I might be.”

Seriously? She’s known Timber for all of three days, and she already knows she loves him? Am I totally broken inside, or is this moving way too quick? And honestly, I don’t get what she sees in him. He’s got a nice chin, sure, but what else? Some cheesy science jokes? She’s worth more than that.

A few sarcastic comments float behind my teeth, but the tickle of Twilight's hands on my skin blows them away. Her hands are tiny, delicate, fine-tipped brushes. The mix of the cold paste and her warm breaths traipsing down my spine gives me goosebumps.

She’s worth more than dumb science jokes, yeah. But she’s worth more than my cynicism too.

“What’s it like?” I ask.

“I can’t stop thinking about Timber. I try to read, or play games on my phone, but he’s always on my mind, and then I just start smiling and oh my gosh it’s amazing.” Her voice cracks on that last word. She’s rubbing my back faster, faster, and with my powers I can feel the excitement flowing out of her like an electric current. “It feels like I’m constantly ponying up, but five times as strong. I want to laugh, I want to sing. I want to throw up!”

Her hands start to shake. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. It has to be love, right? It has to be! I love Timber.”

“Wow. I never woulda guessed you had a thing for guys in beanies.”

She presses her fingers into a particularly big bruise, making me wince. “I’m serious,” she says. “I’m in love, and if Timber really does like—love me back, I don’t want to mess it up. He’s a fresh start for me.”

Now I’m the one frowning. “What does that mean?”

“All Timber knows about me is what he saw this weekend. He never saw me as a Crystal Prep loser, or a CHS she-demon. To him, I’m just an amazing girl who loves geology and saved his sister.” She stops touching me. “He’s not like everyone else. He doesn’t treat me like a freak.”

That smacks me in the back of the head like a golf club. All those sarcastic comments come roaring to life again. I want to spin around and look her in the eyes, but the pain and fatigue keeps me planted in my sweaty spot.

Calm down.

I take a breath and keep my voice low. “I don’t treat you like a freak, do I?”

“No, of course not! But we’re not in love. It’s different.”

Swallowing my curses, I nod. “I guess. Yeah.”

Her hands return to my skin, massaging my lower back. The excitement I felt from her before is still there, but dimmed. “Ever since the Friendship Games, my life has changed so much. Which is okay. But I want a place I can relax, without having to worry about magic and growing wings and all that. Timber can be that place.”

She wants to spend time with Timber. Time away from magic and time away from me.

Damn it, what am I talking about? I sound like some jealous girlfriend, getting huffy because Twilight’s hanging out with someone new.

I chew my tongue. Deep down, I know that all this anger is just an excuse to avoid the truth: All the pain and anxiety that Twilight’s had to suffer through these past few months is my fault. She came to CHS looking for the magic that I brought here. It was that same magic that corrupted her and Gloriosa. It all leads back to me and my stupid mistakes. It only makes sense that she’d want a break.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, you know.”

My tongue stings from how hard I chomp down on it. I look over my shoulder at Twilight, who hasn’t taken her eyes off my back. All the excitement in her fingers has hardened into deafening anxiety.

“You’re still my best friend,” she says. “And I do love you, too. Just not in the same way.”

“I know,” I say, turning back around. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am! I’m super happy.”

She doesn’t feel happy.

We sit quietly for a minute, breathing in time with one another. Every squish of the ointment against my wounds is gunshot loud. And with every touch, more and more of Twilight’s anxiety courses through me. I’m balling up my fists, begging for this to end so I can go to bed and forget about how awful everything feels.

“Sunset?” Twilight says, making me jump. I give her a strangled little grunt of acknowledgment, and she rests her hands flat on my shoulders. “I’m sorry for what happened on Friday night. When I blew up at you.”

I shake my head. “It’s no problem, Twi. You were tired, stressed out beyond belief. If I were in your spot, I would’ve had a total meltdown.” Probably with more screaming and swearing.

“Maybe. But there’s something I said that I shouldn’t have.” She takes a long breath. “I snapped at you for sticking up for me so much. That was totally uncalled for.”

I remember the comment, and how it stabbed me like a needle. But I shake the memory off. “Seriously, it’s fine—”

“Sunset please let me say this before I start crying.”

I shut up.

Without looking, I can see her face: Brows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes pointed down. If her hands weren’t covered in salve, I’m sure she’d be wringing them.

“The best part of transferring to CHS has been you and the rest of the girls,” she says. “For the first time in my life, I have friends my age! Friends I can actually talk to, not just sit near in math class. And even though you’ve all been so nice to me, I just — I feel like such a burden.”

A pang of sadness shoots through her and into me.

“I’m so sensitive. I panic about everything. Someone tells a joke, and everyone gets it except for me. Before tonight, I wasn’t even a Rainboom; I was just a weirdo hanging on the sidelines. And when I get stressed, I shut down, and then someone has to come save me.”

I think back to her first day. Gym class with Harshwhinny. Rarity’s workshop. Friday night. All the times I’ve noticed her sitting at the end of our lunch table, watching while we all babble about some nonsense and chuckle at our inside jokes.

“And every time you stood up for me, it felt good, yeah, but afterwards I’d get so scared. I was sure that eventually you’d get tired of coming to my rescue. Eventually you’d all leave me behind and move on with your lives, or even replace me with someone less needy. Someone normal.”

There’s a long silence, punctuated only by her trembling breaths. I decide to take the chance.

“I’d never abandon you,” I say. Her hands stiffen. “The few months I’ve known you have been the best since I arrived on Earth.”

She chokes on air. Well, she did warn me.

But the sobbing doesn’t come. Instead, she swallows, hard. Then she leans forward, wraps her arms around my stomach, and rests her cheek against my back. She’s so warm, and I hope that she didn’t just get a faceful of salve or sweat.

“Sometimes, over the last few weeks,” she says, “after I woke up from my nightmares, I’d get on my knees and pray that all of this was a dream. I’d pray that when I woke up, I’d just be a normal Crystal Prep student again. A total nobody.”

She tightens her grip.

“But after this weekend — sitting with you, meeting Timber, playing that concert, learning to control my powers, saving everyone — I get why this happened to me. It’s been so, so hard. But having you as a best friend is worth it.”

My vision blurs. I bite my lip and blink until it’s clear again.

“I know you don’t mind sticking up for me. But after tonight, you won’t need to anymore,” she says. “I’m going to be strong, like you. I promise.”

The anxiety inside her is still there. But it’s been joined by something new. Just a tiny spark, a frail flame flickering deep in her gut. And it’s growing.

I try to think of some witty response, something to let her know how awesome she is. All I can focus on is her arms against my bare stomach, her face against my back, her breath on my skin.

So I just cross my arms, resting my hands over hers. “I believe in you. And whatever happens, we stick together. Alright?”

“Even if I have a boyfriend?”

Holy hell, I almost forgot how this conversation started!

“Yes, even if you have a boyfriend!” I say, laughing. “And trust me, if Timber is anything like the guys I’ve dated, you’re gonna need someone to vent to about how dumb boys can be.”

And to catch you when it falls apart. If it falls apart.

Twilight giggles and releases her hold on me. Her cheek peels away from my skin like glue — screw this humidity.

“You should be alright,” she says. “I’ll grab you some bandages. If any of the cuts start to leak pus, or you run a fever, see a doctor right away.”

“Will do. Thank you, Nurse Twilight.” I salute her as she scoots off my bed and over to her first aid kit. Compared to the ointment, it only takes a moment for her to bandage me up. Every touch comes with a tiny jolt of joy.

FRIDAY, JUNE 2, 4:35 PM

Back in the day, I hated everyone. But I especially hated Pinkie Pie.

I hated her parties, her bright pink clothing, her constant laughter. I hated sharing an art class with her, even breathing her air. I spent more time trying to crush her spirit than any of my other classmates. And yet, no matter how much I tormented her, she never stopped smiling. Hell, it took until halfway through Sophomore year for her to stop inviting me to parties. And even then, I always got the feeling that she was just biding her time, waiting for the right moment to win my friendship.

Now, though? I can’t imagine life without her.

I love her laugh, and the way you can hear it echo from three hallways away. I love the smell of whipped cream that she carries with her everywhere she goes. I love the thought and care she puts into every single interaction she has with anyone.

And that smile — that impossibly stretched out grin, those beaming teeth — it’s the highlight of my day.

She was the first one to accept me after I became one of the ‘good guys.’ Her support is what kept me on the right path, even when it felt pointless. She’s like a living compass, pointing me forward.

So when she approached me after the Battle of the Bands, saying she’d come up with a great idea for a new school club and wanted my help with it, I couldn’t refuse.

Fast-forward five months, and the CHS Pride Alliance is one of the biggest clubs in the entire school. We’ve got 31 active members, and even more on our mailing list. We led a push to get every member of staff Safe Zone trained. We hold weekly mixers, bake sales, charity fundraisers.

And right now, we’re an hour into our newest project: Canterlot High School’s First Annual Pride Month Jamboree.

We’ve got sixty people, students from every grade, crammed into the band room. Balloons and confetti cover the walls. Applejack’s handing out soda and hot slices of apple pie. Vinyl Scratch is blasting music loud enough to rattle my brain, while Rainbow and Lyra compete in a dance-off for the self-appointed title of Supreme Gay.

And I’m sitting by the door with Fluttershy, taking donations for our charity drive and handing out pins. We’ve raised over $300 so far, and it’s only been an hour! Say what you will about that Diamond Tiara, but anyone who donates their entire allowance to a charity for trans kids can’t be that bad.

But honestly, Fluttershy is doing most of the work convincing people to donate — she’s a hell of a businesswoman when she wants to be. I’m busy straining my eyes, trying to keep track of Pinkie as she literally bounces around the room.

She’s spent the last hour personally greeting every guest that stops by, taking photos, and even hitting the dance floor. Wearing a glittery feather boa, her pansexual pride shirt and every single pronoun button we have, she’s more of a technicolor blur than Rainbow. I can’t think of a better Pride Alliance President than her.

I take a second to scan the room, making sure nothing’s gone awry, but there’s not a single bit out of place. Everyone’s having the time of their lives.

There’s someone missing, though.

I nudge Fluttershy, who’s stuffing a few bills into our cashbox. “Hey, did you see where Twilight went?”

“I think I saw her leave around the time the dance-off started.” Fluttershy turns around and points at a bulky purple backpack in her corner. “Her bag’s still here, though.”

I scratch my head. Rainbow and Lyra started competing over 20 minutes ago. Twilight had been as excited for this party as anybody, but she’s already missed half of it?

I try to ignore the twinge of worry inside me. Ever since we got back from Camp Everfree, I’ve been making a sincere effort to stop coddling her, to stop butting in when I don’t need to. And to her credit, she’s already become way more outgoing and assertive. Last week, Trixie asked her to borrow a dollar for peanut butter crackers, and she actually refused! Standing between Trixie and her snacks takes guts.

But even if I discard the worry, the thought of her missing so much of our Jamboree is still disappointing. Not only for her, but for me — the dub of the second season finale of Torn World finally aired last night, and I need to get her take on it. Why the hell are they killing off Deep Slate before he gets revenge on his brother? Why?

I stand up and stretch my arms. “Cover for me for a bit?” I ask Fluttershy. “My butt’s falling asleep.”

“Can do,” she says. “But hurry back! I’m not a very good capitalist.”

The overflowing box of cash in front of you says otherwise, Flutters.

Pulling out my phone, I step out from behind the table and head to the doors. I start drafting a text to Twilight, asking where she went.

But I don’t get a chance to send it. As soon as I step out of the band room, I find Twilight sitting against the wall a few feet away. She’s got a book in one hand and a cup of soda in the other, and her face is a picture of contentment.

She doesn’t notice me until I’m a step away, and when she does, actually manages not to flinch. “Hey,” she says, not looking up from her book.

“Hey?” I stare down at her. “You doing alright out here?”

Her eyes flit to look at me for half a second. “Yep. The music was just getting a bit overbearing. Music that loud tends to make me feel claustrophobic.”

“We can turn it down, if you’d like.”

“No, no, it’s fine! I’m probably going to head out in a few minutes anyway.”

My mood drops instantly, and I know it’s showing on my face. Thankfully, Twi’s not looking.

Grunting, I sit down next to her. The hallway floor is even harder than the band room’s plastic chairs, but I trust my big ass to handle the pain. “Can I hang out with you for those last few minutes, then?”

I don’t need to touch her to sense the annoyance. “Sunset, you don’t need to abandon the party on my behalf. Really.”

“I’m not abandoning anything! We’re both party guests, yeah? As far as I’m concerned, we’re just bringing the party out into the hallway.” I point at her cup. “Look, you’ve even got a drink!”

“So, by that logic, if both of us were to go to the bathroom, we’d be holding this party in the bathroom too?”

“Absolutely.” I turn up my nose. “And for your information, I love bathroom parties. The acoustics are great.” My snobbish pose melts into a sheepish grin. “Also I think the music’s pretty loud too. I’ve already got tinnitus — no need to make it worse.”

Twilight gives me a half-lidded look for a moment more, but then smiles. “Alright. But only for a few minutes; everyone else will start missing you.”

“Don’t worry, Pinkie’s got things handled. And besides, I was already missing you.”

Twilight shakes her head, then closes her book. She never uses bookmarks — she somehow always remembers exactly what page and paragraph she stopped on, even if she hasn’t picked up the book in weeks.

“I have to say, this is a great party.” She turns her body to face me. “It’s so amazing how you’ve given people a place where they can really express themselves. You should be proud.”

“Well, it is the Pride Alliance,” I say with a wink. Twilight rolls her eyes, but keeps smiling. “And honestly, Pinkie’s the one who deserves all the props. She’s the President and Party Planner. I’m just the Vice-President, Secretary, Treasurer, and Public Relations Consultant.”

“A minor role, really.”

That nearly makes me fall over. Twilight Sparkle, sarcastic? I never thought I’d see the day!

But I manage to stay upright, laugh, and say, “We gotta stand together, y’know? Even if it is just once a week.”

She nods, then asks, “Are you gay?”

I’m both shocked and appreciative of how outright her question is. I remember meeting with Vice-Principal Luna back when we started the club, and how awkwardly she tried to tiptoe around the G Word. Compared to that sort of professional sterility, Twilight is a breath of fresh air.

Though asking the question so plainly doesn’t make it any easier to answer.

“Something like that,” I say after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Sexuality works sorta differently back in Equestria.” I pick my words carefully, trying to remember how I explained this to Pinkie Pie. “We don’t really have a concept of ‘gay’ or ‘straight.’ Romance is less about gender and more about personality. And even gender is pretty fluid.”

“There’s no reproductive component that separates relationships?” She tilts her head. “Like, a term to define couples that can produce offspring and couples that can’t?”

“Not really?” I purse my lips and try to think back. “We’ve had spells that let same-sex couples have kids for hundreds of years. So the only real difference is the process, and pretty much any doctor can help with that.”

“Fascinating," Twilight says. I wish it was like that here. It must have been a shock, coming to Earth and seeing how rigid everything is.”

“One shock of many.” The nosy devil in me sparks to life, and I cast Twilight a smirk. “You asked me, so what about you?”

I’m expecting her to get flustered, maybe to not even answer. Instead she looks up into the air and furrows her brows like it’s a complex equation. “I’m... not sure.”

“Oh?” I sidle a bit closer, speak a bit softer. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s not that interesting. Statistically speaking, I’m probably straight. But I’ve just never had a reason to think about it that hard.” She chuckles. “I was always more concerned with studying than falling in love. And until Timber Spruce came around, no one ever liked me, so it was a moot point.”

“I doubt that,” I say, blowing a raspberry. She looks at me, confused, so I add, “You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re funny. I bet that here and at Crystal Prep, you’ve had loads of people checking you out. Boys and girls.”

A slight flush fills her cheeks. She looks at the ground, smiling. “That’s nice to think. But I’m perfectly happy with Timber right now.”

“Good to hear.” I gently elbow her. “And whatever you are, I think you’re cool.”

“Same to you, Miss Shimmer.” She lifts her cup and moves it towards me. “Cheers?”

I wrap my hand around an imaginary cup and clink it against hers. “Cheers!”

We both burst out laughing like the dorks we are. And as if we’re blowing into a dog whistle, Pinkie Pie bursts out of the band room and rushes towards us.

“Hey you two!” she says, running in place. She’s somehow gotten even buzzier in the five minutes I’ve been gone. “Come back inside quick! Lyra won the dance-off and now we’re all taking funny pictures! First one in the shot gets to wear my boa!” Before we can respond, she dashes away and through the band room doors again.

I offer Twilight my hand. “Interested?”

She eyes it with a blank expression, then takes it in hers. “Just one photo,” she says as we stand up.

We walk back into the Jamboree, hand-in-hand, and head over to Pinkie’s makeshift photo booth. 'Just one photo' becomes dozens, and 'a few more minutes' becomes two hours. Twilight doesn't leave my side for a moment. We keep on talking, teasing each other.

Pinkie might be the life of the party, but Twilight brings her own kind of magic. I hope she knows that.

There’s one thing that we both know, though: The Torn World finale sucked.

SATURDAY, JUNE 10, 5:03 PM

Slumped into my couch, Starlight Glimmer frowns. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot shorter than I expected.”

Twilight closes my fridge and frowns back at her. “Oh. Sorry?”

“It’s not a bad thing! Just a surprise, considering how tall the Princess is.” Starlight watches Twilight, bottle of water in hand, head back to her seat. And as soon as Twilight walks close enough, Starlight leans forward and sniffs her. “You don’t smell the same either!”

Twilight leaps away like a startled deer, face going red. I grab Starlight’s shoulder and pull her backwards, hard, into the couch cushions.

A small piece of me regrets inviting Starlight to crash at my place during her visit to Earth. Not that she’s unfriendly (she’s very friendly), but she demands a lot of attention. And with finals coming up, the last thing I need is a babysitting gig. But I can’t ignore a fellow unicorn-turned-human in need — what kind of host would that make me?

So as she whines in my grip, I put on my toothiest grin. “Starlight,” I say, “do you remember what I said about personal space?”

She blinks at me, then gasps. “Right, right, sorry!” she says, turning to Twilight. “I forgot how fussy humans can be about this sort of stuff.”

“It’s alright. I think.” Twilight smoothes out her skirt and takes a seat in my other chair, then quietly asks, “Did I smell good?”

“Absolutely! Like fresh kiwi.”

That gets a smile out of Twilight. “Oh! Well, thank you then.”

I nudge Starlight. “You wouldn’t believe how many different kinds of body wash we have here.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” Starlight monotones, sending my nudge right back. “Is that my next Human Culture lesson?”

“Nah, Rarity’s probably the best teacher for that. All I have is the crappy grocery store brand stuff.” What am I, a millionaire?

“Then can I learn more about hands?” Starlight lifts her hands and starts balling her fists. “I thought only monkeys had these!”

Twilight sits up straighter and puts on her Ready to Lecture Face. “Astute observation! You see—”

“These hands, these limbs — they’re amazing!” Starlight runs her palms down her neck, her breasts, her stomach. “Pony legs aren’t nearly this flexible. I just want to touch myself all over!”

Turning red again, Twilight looks away. I grab one of Starlight’s hands and pull it away from her crotch. Thank the Goddess that the portal gave her pants. “Please don’t do that.”

“Horseapples, can you not teach me that either?” Starlight crosses her arms. “Who’s the ‘How to do weird things with my human body’ teacher then? Pinkie Pie, I’m guessing?”

“That’s not on our lesson plan!” I yelp, shaking my head.

Starlight rolls her eyes. “Fine. So what is on the lesson plan? I’m ready to learn!”

“Well,” says Twilight, the blush still draining from her cheeks, “one of the best ways to bridge gaps between distant cultures is with food. I believe Sunset went ahead and picked out a meal for you to try?”

“Yep, it’s on the way.” I hold my head high and lean back into the couch. “Three Extra Large Mondo Messy Cheese-Bean-Avocado-Salsa-Lard Gut Check Tacos, fresh from Uncle Jalapeño’s Canterlot Snack Shack.”

Starlight squints at me. Twilight goes pale this time.

“Sunset,” she says, pulling at her hair, “this is her first experience with Earth cuisine, and you pick the single greasiest, saltiest, artery-blockingest meal from the cheapest place in town?!”

“Trust me, there are cheaper,” I say, waving off her concerns. I should know — I’ve got all their menus memorized. “And are you saying that disgusting fast food isn’t typical human cuisine?”

Twilight runs her jaw wordlessly for a sec, then groans. “Okay, yes, maybe, but still!”

“Who cares if I ruin my human body,” Starlight says with a scoff. “I’m leaving in two days anyway!” She leans closer to me. “Do we know if heart disease crosses dimensions?”

“Considering my eczema does, I’m pretty sure heart disease could make the trip.”

Starlight snorts. “Of course.”

“That’s not the only thing we’ve got planned tonight,” I say. I gesture to my teaching partner. “There’s a reason I invited Twilight over: We gotta teach you about anime. It’s gonna blow your mind.”

“I’ve consulted thirty top-rated ‘Anime for Beginners’ lists online, cross-referenced it with my own opinions, and collated the results.” Twilight pulls a stack of colorful graph paper out of her bag. “Research says we should start you off with Lucky Girl, Lucky Cat — an absolute shoujo classic. I’ve also put a few of my favorite ‘How It’s Made’ videos into the playlist, as a sort of industrial palette cleanser.”

I grab one of my controllers from the coffee table. “And video games too! Moonlight Mage 3, Death Dance GX… By the time you leave, you’re gonna be a true gamer, just like us!”

Twilight holds a hand over her heart. “It’s a lifestyle.”

“Video games?” Starlight says. “We have those in Equestria. Aren’t they for foals—kids, I mean?”

Twilight and I gasp nearly hard enough to suck Starlight's beanie off her head.

“Slander!” I cry.

“It’s a common view, but a short-sighted one,” Twilight says, pushing up her glasses. “Gaming is an incredibly mature hobby. Studies show that they train hand-eye coordination, logical deduction, and even leadership skills. I have the literature saved on my laptop, if you want to read it.”

“And all the best games are filled with blood and guts and exploding skulls,” I say, giggling and wiggling my hands in Starlight’s face. “Definitely not for kids.”

Starlight flits her eyes back-and-forth between us, looking bizarrely unimpressed. “Uh-huh.”

Oh, normies. They’ll never understand.

I press the power button on my controller. “Let’s get started — Twilight’s got a curfew, so I hope you’re a fast learner.”

Twilight claps her hands. “I can stay out until 9 p.m. on the weekends!”

“Sure, sure. Just one little thing before we get started...” Starlight stares at the bottle of water sloshing around in Twilight’s hands and squeezes her legs tight together. “How do you go to the bathroom in this body?”

Dead quiet. Twilight and I lock eyes.

I smile at her, trying to beam my thoughts directly into her mind. This sounds like a great cross-dimensional learning experience for you!

She raises a single eyebrow.

I sigh and take Starlight’s hand. “I’ll handle this. Twi, pick a game for Starlight to try out.”

“Can do,” Twilight says, saluting. As I lead Starlight to the bathroom, she takes the controller and flips through my game library. “I’m thinking we start with a rhythm game — music is a universal language!”

Starlight doesn’t say anything while we walk, but as soon as we step into the bathroom and close the door, she offers me a sheepish smile. “Thanks again, Sunset. For all of this. Putting up with me.”

“No thanks needed. I’m the one who brought you through the portal, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure the whole thing was my idea.” She looks at the closed bathroom door, and her smile shrinks. “I do feel kinda bad, though. Didn’t mean to third-wheel you and Twilight.”

I chuckle. “What do you mean? You’re my friend too.”

For a moment, Starlight’s expression changes into one of complete confusion. But soon enough, her grin comes back. “Right, you’re right! Yeah!”

Is it really that hard for her to believe that I consider her a friend? Goddess, that’s depressing. Reminds me of myself a half-year ago: So caught up in my own mistakes that I wouldn’t — or couldn’t — let anybody get close.

The sight of Starlight tugging at her jeans brings me out of the memory. “I noticed that absolutely everyone in this world wears clothes,” she says. “If I take these off, do I die?”

This is going to be a long night.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14, 6:12 PM

I’m not a wealthy woman. Maybe that’s why, when I look up from the map on my phone and realize I’m standing in front of Twilight’s house, my knees nearly buckle under me.

To be honest, it’s less of a house and more of a mansion. It’s got stained glass windows, ivy-covered marble columns, perfect pink-and-purple paneling, a finely manicured lawn. Sharp spires stick straight into the sky, their black iron cutting against the white clouds. It towers above the street and every other home on the block.

In the back of my mind, I always knew that Twilight’s family had some money. After all, she and her brother both went to Crystal Prep, trust fund central. But seeing her castle of a home just makes me think of all the crappy apartments I’ve hopped between since coming here, and a familiar sort of fire burns in my gut.

It’s the same burn I felt the first time I saw Princess Twilight. The same burn I felt watching Celestia pull off the most stunning spells while I was stuck practicing fundamentals. The same awful and uncontrollable burn that I felt nearly every day as a foal, passing through endless crowds of normal, happy families.

Jealousy.

I swallow, trying to snuff it out, but it keeps boiling in my stomach. So I just take my stupid centering breath, force myself towards the front doors — even they’re decorated with fancy pink stained glass and wood-carved patterns — and jam the doorbell. A low-toned bell rings somewhere inside the house and echoes through the wood.

Thirty seconds crawl by. I tap the doorbell again, hear the same booming bell, and wait another minute.

Twilight told me she’d be home. But there’s still no answer, and all the windows are dark. No cars in the driveway either. Did I miss her?

That’s when I notice the cobblestone path leading around the back of the house and through a picket fence gate (it’s purple too). The gate is locked shut, but it doesn’t take much effort to reach over it and undo the latch just by feel. Not the hardest lock I’ve ever picked.

As the door swings open and I walk in, it occurs to me that I could have just called her instead of breaking into her backyard.

Eh. We’ve got opposable thumbs for a reason.

And sure enough, as soon as I round the corner, I see Twilight. She’s sitting down in the grass next to some sort of little pool, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks. Spike is curled up in her lap, asleep — until I clack my boot too hard against a cobblestone and his eyes snap open.

He leaps off Twilight’s lap, barking his tiny purple head off, and Twilight almost falls over trying to spin towards me. Her notebooks and pen go flying across the grass.

I put my hands up. “It’s just me, bud!”

Spike blinks a few times, rubs his bleary eyes, and then gives me a smile — at least, as close to a smile as dogs can give.

Twilight finally looks at me and lets out a long exhale. “Oh, gosh, Sunset! Spike got so upset, I thought you were some sort of murderer.”

“Sorry about that,” Spike says, walking up and nuzzling my leg. “I thought you were the mailman.”

“It wouldn’t have been an appropriate reaction then, either!” Twilight chirps, nailing a perfect impression of Principal Celestia. Spike gives a sad little whine, ears dropping low — I swear he knows how cute he is, the little mutt — and waddles back over to her. I follow close behind.

“Hey hey.” I plop down in the grass next to Twilight, and as soon as I cross my legs, Spike hops into my lap and curls up all cozy. Again: He knows. “What’s up? Getting ready to ace all your finals?”

“Don’t jinx it!” Twilight leans over to collect the items she threw, then sits back up and passes me a half-empty bowl of popcorn. “What about you? You didn’t tell me why you wanted to come over.”

“Crap, sorry,” I say, covering my full mouth. I wipe the popcorn grease off on my jeans, open up my backpack, and pull out a few sheets of paper. “You missed practice, so I wanted to give you the new lyrics Fluttershy’s been working on. They’re pretty good, though she lays it on a bit thick with the butterfly metaphors.”

Twilight takes the lyric sheets. “I should be the one apologizing for skipping rehearsal. It’s just, between finals, and everything with Juniper Montage, and Timber — I needed some quiet time. Was anyone mad?”

“Nah, of course not.” Rainbow Dash did whine a bit at the start, but as soon as I reminded her she could take over lead vocals again, she shut up. I grin and look around the yard, lined with bright flowers and fresh vegetables. Compared to the droopy ferns I’ve got at home, it’s a utopia. “Hell, if I had a backyard like this, I’d spend the whole day out here too.”

That gets a tiny chuckle out of her. “Thank my mom — she works from home most days, so this is basically her office. She does all the gardening and beautifying.” She turns to look at the big pool of water in front of us. “Personally, I like these guys the best.”

I squint to look into the dark water, and gasp when I notice the five colorful koi fish swimming along the bottom. They’re bulky but graceful, dodging past rocks and plants and each other with ease.

“Whoa. You never told me you had a bunch of cool fish!” I lean back and gesture to the mansion. “You never told me about any of this! Your house is amazing, Twi.”

“It’s… a lot.” She reaches up and starts fiddling with a lock of hair. “I think your apartment is pretty great too. I’d love to have a place of my own.”

I wish it wasn’t my own sometimes. I haven’t lived with someone else since I was a filly, and even then, I could have left, never come back, and nopony would have noticed.

What is it like to have a mom who’s always nearby, making things pretty and loving you? A dad? What is it like to have someone waiting for you to come home?

I guess I used to have Celestia. But then I stabbed her in the back. Fat chance she’s thinking of me anymore, let alone waiting for my return.

She must see the hesitation on my face, because she leans closer and says, “I mean it, really! Your apartment’s super nice.”

“Even if it’s a five-floor walkup?”

“Even if! Climbing up stairs is good for the heart.”

“If you say so,” I say, shrugging. Why can’t I accept the compliment? Why do I have to snap back like this? “It’s definitely nicer than the places I used to live.”

She frowns. “In Equestria?”

“No, here in Canterlot City.” She doesn’t need to hear this. Don't be such a sad sack! “I only moved to the place I’m in now back in February. Before that, I lived in this really crappy building on the other side of town. I picked it because rent was really cheap, but my apartment was in the basement. Didn’t even have hot water half the time.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Twilight cringe at the description, but her smile comes back quickly. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well. No. No, I’m not.” Her smile sags a bit, and she keeps playing with her hair, twisting it around her thin fingers. “By the way, can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

The disclaimer sets off alarm bells in my brain. “Sure,” I make myself say.

“How,” she starts. She pauses, and I see the gears turning behind her eyes, probably trying to calculate the least offensive wording possible. “How do you afford rent and food and clothes and all that? You don’t have a job, do you?”

Everyone asks this question eventually. I hate answering it every time.

“It’s a long story,” I say, waving my hand and hoping she’ll drop the question. But I should know better — that just makes her lean in closer, ready for a thorough explanation. She’s even stopped twisting her hair, and has both hands folded neatly in her lap. If her curiosity wasn’t so endearing, I’d go nuts.

I take a long breath. “In Equestria, the currency is called bits. They’re coins made of pure gold. When I jumped through the portal, I brought about 300 bits with me, which isn’t much. I figured it’d last me a month, but it turns out that on Earth—”

“Gold is worth exponentially more,” Twilight finishes. She’s nodding along with the story. “How much did you get for them?”

“Enough to keep me alive for four years.” I run my hands along Spike’s back, trying to focus on his plush fur. “With enough rationing, at least. I thrifted my clothes, rented that awful basement apartment.” Don’t say it. “Shoplifted. Sometimes.”

She doesn’t react. Just more nodding.

“But around the time that Princess Twilight came here and, y’know, everything happened, I was running out of money. And things got sorta tense for a while.”

Understatement. I was on my last $100 when the Battle of the Bands rolled around. I’d started selling my things, skipping meals, missing rent payments. I subsisted on Pinkie Pie’s food-filled sleepovers. The few jobs that worked with my school schedule didn’t want to hire a depressed teenager. Anxiety haunted me every day, and its roar sounded like the growl of an empty stomach.

She doesn’t need to know that.

“So what did you do?” Twilight asks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” I say, putting my smile back on. “Around the start of the year, I told the Princess what was going on, and she loaned me another 1000 bits. That’s enough to last a long time.”

Twilight’s eyes go wide at the number — but then sharpen. “Wait. She loaned the money to you?”

Holy crap. How does a girl with absolutely busted vision always manage to see through me like this?

“Okay, she meant it as a gift, not a loan,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But I’m not a charity case. I’m gonna pay her back someday. Even if she’s a powerful alicorn princess who can definitely afford it.”

She puts her daggers away. “I was about to say — I know we’re technically different people, but forcing you to pay the money back doesn’t sound like something I’d do, even if I were royalty.”

“Good point.” I throw my hands up a bit and let them fall limp onto the grass. “So, that’s my story. Make sense?”

“It does. You’ve lived a pretty fascinating life, huh?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Not the phrasing I’d use.

She scoots a bit closer to me. “We’ve known each other for months, talked to each other almost every day. And there’s still so much about you I don’t know!”

That’s how it should be. I shrug and grab another handful of popcorn. “I’m sure there’s stuff about you I don’t know either. Like your fancy house.”

“It’s not that fancy.”

I shoot her a look, and she sends it right back at me. When a few seconds pass without either of us backing down, she stands up, walks over to the house, and kicks the foundation. A beat later, two roof shingles crack off and tumble to the ground, shattering. She picks one of them up and walks back to me. It’s covered in moss and mildew.

“Nice party trick,” I say. “Do you kick your house a lot?”

“Only when I’m showing off to my friends,” she says, tossing the tile to the side. “It might look good at first glance, yeah, but it’s falling apart. My dad inherited it from my great-grandmother, and it’s been like this for as long as I can remember.” She motions to the sliding backyard door with her head. “I’d take you inside, but my mom would kill me for bringing guests over without cleaning first.”

I nod. The envy in my gut fades away, only to be immediately replaced by a new sort of sickness. Twilight’s life isn’t as good as I thought, and that makes me happy? What kind of friend am I?

“I’ll admit that the koi pond is a bit bougie,” she says, smiling at the water. “My dad actually wanted to get rid of it a few years ago. But it’s my favorite spot in the world. It’s the only place I always feel calm.”

We watch the fish glide by, their silver scales shining in the afternoon sun. Occasionally one stops and turns to us, and I swear it’s staring me right in the eyes, like it can see through me even clearer than Twilight can. But then it swims away, while I just sit statue still. The pond’s water filter gurgles gently but relentlessly, flooding my thoughts.

“These fish have it made,” I say. “Got cute girls watching over them, not a worry in the world. Wish that were me.”

“Same.”

If I were still a pony, my ears would’ve perked up at that. I just smile to myself. “I guess it’d be a bad idea to hit them with Equestrian magic and give them sapience, huh?”

Twilight shakes her head. “Definitely. Spike already doesn’t like them — I doubt that giving them a way to lob slurs at one another would help.”

We grin and start coming up with imaginary animal slurs. Ass Sniffer. Sardine. Landlubber, because the koi fish are also pirates for some reason. Both of us are giggling at each one, but then Twi leans down low and in a near perfect Spike impression growls, “Chum.” It hits me like a roundhouse kick, and I fall back into the grass, laughing my head off.

On my lap, Spike wakes up and whips his head around. “What happened?”

Now Twilight breaks out laughing too, tipping over right onto her stack of textbooks. We lay together in the grass, and our cackling echoes through the neighborhood.

I stretch my arms out like a snow angel, as far as they can go, and close my eyes. A moment later, I feel Twilight’s palm fall onto mine. She squeezes me tight, and I squeeze her right back. Her hands are impossibly dainty, impossibly soft. I keep my eyes closed. The laughter dies down, and we’re quiet, listening to the birds chirping in the trees.

My thoughts swirl together as seven hours of school, two hours of rehearsal, and the horrendous early Summer humidity take their toll. Koi fish are swimming through my head.

But they scatter when Twilight softly says, “Sunset, can I tell you something sort of personal?”

I can’t open my eyes, but I murmur, “Yeah.”

Silence, but for the tiny pop of Twilight opening and closing her mouth.

“Did you know that I’m autistic?” she asks.

That opens my eyes. She’s still laying in the grass like me, hand in mine, staring up into the sky, expressionless.

“I didn’t,” I say.

“Well, I am.” Her hand is shaking. “I don’t usually tell people about it. I feel like they always treat me differently after finding out. Like I’m weird, or a little kid or something.”

She looks at me. “But you’re my best friend. And I trust you. And I wanted you to know.”

My heart beats faster. How should I respond? Tell her I think she’s awesome? It’s true, but is it patronizing? I could ask if there’s anything I can do for her — but she doesn’t necessarily need help, does she?

She’s still staring, face tight, waiting for something.

So I just do the last thing that sticks in my head: I squeeze her hand again and say, “Thanks for telling me. You’re my best friend too.”

If the wide smile growing across her face means anything, I’d guess it means that I got it right.

And it’s true. I can’t think of anyone I love spending time with more than her. She gets me like none of the other girls do, sees through my bullshit like no other. Likes me even though I’m a hot-tempered, jealous wreck. I just hope I don’t screw it up.

“You know,” she says after a moment, sitting up again, “my parents aren’t going to be home for a few more hours. And the mosquitoes will be out for blood soon. Do you wanna come inside and help me study?”

“Hell yeah.” I sit up and lift Spike, dozing again, off my lap. He doesn’t even wake up. “I gotta get some work done on the yearbook, too.”

“You’re still not done? Finals start in a week!”

“It’s almost ready, I swear!” I start counting off with my fingers. “I just gotta find spots for the Track Team and Mineral Appreciation Society, finish up the superlatives, find the class photos for Blue Note, Soarin, and…”

My brain stops short.

Twilight leans in. “And?”

“And.” For a second I can vaguely see their face, but the picture burns out in milliseconds. And the name is nowhere to be found. “And someone. It’ll come back to me when I see it.”

“Sounds like a lot to me.” Twilight stands, smoothes out her skirt, and lifts all her books in a single telekinetic bubble. She’s getting really good at that. “Why don’t we start there? You can drill me in Chemistry later.”

“You sure? I heard that this year’s Chem exam is gonna be really hard.”

“I’m sure.” She turns to the house, but casts me a smirk over her shoulder. “The exam might be hard, but I’m harder.”

We stare at one another.

Her smirk wilts and her face goes bright red. “That’s not what I meant to say,” she mutters, power walking away.

I try to call out “No comment!” but I’m too busy doubling over in laughter again.

SATURDAY, JUNE 17, 10:57 AM

10:57AM

Good morninggggggggggfggg

R u at the beach yet?

Leaving now

11:20AM

Sorry gonna be late, bud stuck in traffic

Bus****

Did you guys get a spot?

11:35AM

Twiiiiiiii answer your phone

11:54AM

I’m here

Gonna get changed

Where are you

12:05PM

Helloooooooo

TUESDAY, JUNE 20, 4:09 PM

I wake up from my fourth nap today to the sound of a phone ringing. My joints are unbearably stiff, but I manage to grab my cell off the nightstand.

Twilight’s calling.

I stare at her photo for a few seconds, squinting at the too-bright screen. She’s smiling with her teeth, putting up double peace signs. I reject the call, then close my eyes and press my face into the pillow until it’s hard to breathe.

She shouldn’t see me like this. I just want to lay here. Do nothing. Think about nothing.

The phone rings again. This time I just let it go to voicemail.

A minute later, it rings again.

I almost start screaming. Instead I spit a few curses at my pillow, then take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. I grab the phone and, as brightly as I can, say, “Hello?”

“Sunset? It’s Twilight.”

I rub my eyes. “Twi! What’s up?”

“Are you okay?”

I made her cry the first time we met.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather, y’know? Allergies and all that.”

“Okay. It’s just — no one’s heard from you since yesterday. We got worried.”

It was during the Friendship Games. I screamed at her until she ran away sobbing.

No, no, no. I swallow the memory. “Yeah.”

“Can I come over?”

I want to hang up. “I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to come all this way.”

“I’m already outside, actually,” she says. “I’ve been here for ten minutes.”

I look at the time. She must have come here as soon as school let out. Did she tell any of the other girls?

“It’s just you out there?” I ask.

“Just me.”

There’s still a part of me that wants to tell her to leave, hang up, and flush my phone down the toilet. Instead I sigh and say, “Ring the bell.”

She hangs up, and my apartment’s doorbell shrieks. Groaning, I lift myself out of bed, down the ladder, and limp over to the ringer box to let her in.

This is the first time I’ve gotten out of bed today, and my legs are jelly under me. I’ve got at least a minute before Twilight makes it up the stairs to my apartment on the fifth floor, and that gives me barely enough time to squeeze into a pair of jeans that I grab off the floor. With the lights off and the shades drawn, it takes me a good twenty seconds just to find them.

I lift my arm and sniff — not that bad, considering I haven’t showered since getting back from Equestria. But I’ve got a headache pounding in the back of my skull, and scrambling out of bed was enough to make me lightheaded, so who knows how reliable my senses are right now.

Goddess I don’t want Twilight to see me like this. She saved me, and now I’m a disgusting mess. What a way to repay her.

Footsteps, getting louder. Then a knock. I open the door — the light from the hallway burns out my retinas.

Through my squinting, I see Twilight recoil away, either from the smell or my pure disgustingness. Then she grips her backpack straps and stomps her way into the apartment like a soldier through a jungle.

“Hey, Twi!” I say, closing the door behind her. We’re plunged into shadow again, but I do my best to keep grinning as wide as I can.

She looks around, notices she’s standing on a pair of my leggings, and frowns. “It’s very dark in here.”

“Oh, sorry!” I scramble over to the wall and flick on a lightswitch. My headache goes from pounding to stabbing. “Just wanted to get some decent shuteye. I’ve been feeling sorta under the weather, y’know?”

Twilight nods slowly. “Yeah. You said that on the phone.”

Shit.

“Right, right.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and look away. “So... You were outside for ten minutes?”

She heads over to the couch and drops her backpack. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. I got a bit nervous.”

That’s genuinely the last thing I want to hear right now. My chest hurts from the effort it takes to force out a laugh. “What? C’mon, Twi. You know I love hanging out with you!”

She frowns at me again and I want to stick my hand down the garbage disposal. Why am I lying to her? She’s my friend. Right?

“We finished putting the yearbook together,” she says, crossing her arms tight. “We even got Wallflower’s picture. Do you want to check it out?”

I can still hear Wallflower screaming that she hates me.

“Nah." I wave my hand. “I trust you guys. I’m sure you did a great job.”

“Mm.” Twilight motions to her bag. “Finals start on Thursday. Do you want to study together?”

I’d rather stick my head down the garbage disposal.

“Maybe later.” I step back over to the ladder up to my bed. “I’m really not feeling great, Twi. Probably not the best time to hang out. I’m just gonna be napping the whole time.”

She’s quiet as I climb up, pull the covers off, and settle back into the corpse-shaped indent in my mattress. When I close my eyes, she calls out to me: “Have you eaten today?”

“Yep!” I turn away from where she’s standing.

“What did you eat?”

Water.

“A bunch of stuff!”

No response. I bury my face into the blanket. With my eyes closed, I can see her crying, sprinting away from me as fast as she can. I made a lot of people do that.

No, no, no! Stop thinking! Stop remembering things!

I hear the thunking sound of my refrigerator opening and closing, and the clink of silverware against ceramic.

“I’m fine, really!” I shout through my blanket. The sounds stop for a second, then start again. I shove my head under my pillow, but even that can’t block out everything. The sharp clinking sounds stab into my brain like syringes, pumping my headache into a migraine.

I sit up fast enough to tweak my back. I can’t stop myself from glaring at Twilight, but she’s not looking. She’s over in my kitchen, spreading grape jelly on two slices of (probably stale) bread. She’s got a knife in hand and a stick of butter next to her.

There’s something missing from this picture.

I cross my legs under me. “Where’s the peanut butter?”

She jumps a bit and looks up. “Huh?”

“Peanut butter. You’re making a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, yeah?”

“Oh. Um.” She looks down at the bread, then back to me. “No. I’m making a butter & jelly sandwich.”

“Why?”

She blinks. “I don’t like peanut butter. Sorry. This is really good, though! Really.”

It looks sort of dumb, to be honest. And I still want her to leave. But I can smell the grape jelly from my bed, and just the first sniff is enough to make my stomach roar in delight. And watching her make a sandwich, knife sliding against bread with the precision of a master swordsman, is more interesting than any murky nap-dream I’ve trudged through today.

So I just lean against the loft railing and stare as she stacks two sandwiches on a plate and floats them over to my coffee table, along with a glass of apple juice.

“What, I don’t get breakfast in bed?” I ask.

“It’s more like dinner,” she says, sitting down on the couch. “And that’s how you attract ants.”

“I thought you loved ants.”

“Yeah, but I prefer to keep them in a formicarium, not my bed.”

Damn, she’s good.

I try not to groan as loudly this time as I haul myself out of bed, down the ladder, and over to Twi. When I sit, she floats the plate onto my lap. I ask, “Aren’t you going to have one?”

“Nope. They’re both for you.”

“Twi, I—”

“Eat. Please.”

My stomach is still growling loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but I put on a pouty face and take a bite. Then another. Then another. Then the entire sandwich is gone, and I’m left licking sweet flecks of jelly off my fingers. Goddess, this is so much better than chewing my fingernails. And Twilight doesn’t look disgusted at all. I guess once you watch Rainbow Dash eat, nothing compares.

“This is amazing.” I tear into the second sandwich, and already my lightheadedness is fading. It’s like a PB&J, but unhealthier — absolutely my jam. No pun intended.

Twilight finally smiles. “The secret is to spread the jelly as evenly as possible. You don’t want any big globs.”

“You’re a big glob,” I say through a mouthful of bread.

“And you’re buttery smooth.” Twilight scoots closer to me. “Now can we talk?”

In my sandwich splendor, I’d almost forgotten what was making me so upset. But it all comes back into focus, and now I’m too nauseous to take another bite. I put my sandwich down. “Talk about what?”

“I know something’s wrong,” she says in a quiet voice. “I came over because I was worried about you.”

I’m a practiced liar. Until Princess Twilight came, I’d never met a situation I couldn’t talk my way out of. And all those old instincts are sparking back to life now as Twilight’s words bounce around my head. I need to hide. I need a way to escape this, escape her.

She’s gonna try to make me feel better. And that terrifies me. There’s nothing I deserve less.

I take in a breath, ready for another excuse. I turn to her. But when I look into her eyes, my mind goes blank.

I let the breath go and hang my head. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh?”

“What Wallflower did was awful. Even she admits that.” She reaches out, touches my shoulder. I can’t tell whether the anxiety I feel is hers or mine. “It’s okay to be upset.”

“I’m not mad at Wallflower."

That’s not true. Just hearing the scrawny green bitch’s name sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. But she apologized. And we forgave her. So I can’t be mad. And anyway, everything she did — it was all my fault for not noticing her. So.

Twilight moves closer. “What is it, then?”

“When you got your memories back, what did you see?”

“A lot,” she says. “It only lasted a few seconds. But it felt like completely rewatching every memory I had of you, all at once.”

“Sounds about right.” I’ve got my eyes focused on the sandwich crumbs. “When I got my memories back, I remembered every single horrible thing I’ve done since coming to Earth. Even some stuff I’d forgotten on my own.”

“Oh, gosh.” Twilight takes her hand off my shoulder and holds it to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I mean, nothing bad actually happened to me, right?” I chuckle, way too loud. “All Wallflower did was jog my memories. And after all the awful stuff I did, the least I can do is remember everyone I hurt.”

Twilight shakes her head. “Don’t talk like that. Everyone—”

“I know.” Don’t clench your fists. “That’s all in the past. It doesn't define me. Everyone — everyone’s forgiven me.”

Saying those words feels like drinking mud. We both know it’s a lie, especially after this past weekend. But it’s an accepted lie.

“I can handle the memories." I think that’s true. “It’s just, having to relive them all at once like that — I wasn’t ready. It really shook me. And I took the day off to rest, but laying here alone with my thoughts… I just feel worse than ever.”

Even now, the memories are swirling like a storm inside my brain. All the rumors I spread, the insults I slung, the hate I stoked. How many people were scared to come to school because of me? Too beaten down to even get out of bed? And how many more Wallflowers are out there, ready to show me exactly how much I hurt them?

My head feels as heavy as wet sand, and even less stable. I want Twilight to leave. I want to lay down again, stop thinking, and go completely numb—

Twilight leans forward and hugs me.

The storm stalls for a moment as I look down at her short arms. She can’t even reach all the way around me. But she’s got her cheek pressed to my shoulder, eyes closed. She’s warmer than anything in this apartment.

Slowly she starts to rock back-and-forth, carrying me with her. I don’t resist. And eventually I even lean into it, letting her grip tighten around me until it’s near suffocating. It’s like we’re at Camp Everfree again —- she even starts running her hand in circles across my back.

A year ago, I would have kicked anyone grabbing me like this in the stomach. But I’m so touch-starved that even this, a sad and sweaty embrace in my dim studio, is as lush as a five-star spa treatment.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” she says, barely louder than a breath. “Instead of sitting here in the dark — I know how crummy you must feel.”

I don’t think she does. The hug still feels good, though.

I rest my chin on top of her head. “I thought I needed some alone time. But after a weekend of being forgotten, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”

I make it sound like a joke. But I’ve got no family, no caretaker. And no matter how many plants I hang up, or video games I buy, there are days when this apartment becomes as lonely as a locked prison cell.

Twilight pulls away. “Have you tried crying?”

The question ricochets off my brain like a dodgeball, and it takes a second to understand what she just said. “What?”

“When I’m really upset, I try to cry,” she says with a smile somehow. “I can’t do it on command, obviously. But when the feeling comes, I just let it take me. And it always helps me feel better.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t cry.”

“Everyone cries sometimes, don’t they?”

I shrug. “That’s just not how I express myself. Sorry.”

It’s true, I don’t. Not at sad movies, not at animal shelter ads, not during period cramps. Not even when all my friends completely forget who I am.

I only remember crying once since I was a filly. And it was the Fall Formal, the worst night of my life, so it doesn’t even count.

“That’s okay.” Twilight folds her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you, then?”

I already miss the warmth and security of Twilight’s hug. Briefly, I consider asking for another. But instead, I say, “Stay with me? Just for a little while?”

My voice cracks as I speak. I’m a foal again, begging someone to care about me. Twilight should laugh in my face, spend her free time doing anything else.

And yet, she doesn’t. She nods. She says, “Wanna play a few rounds of Death Dance? And maybe later, we can go for a walk and get dinner?”

I cross my arms tight enough to feel my own sweaty armpits. “Sure. I think I’ll need to take a shower first, though.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” she says. As I rise from the couch, she looks up at me. “‘Whatever happens, we stick together.’ Remember?”

Staring back at her, it takes a second for me to stop gaping and say, “Right.”

She turns on the TV, and I go pull a clean set of clothes from my closet. I walk over to the bathroom, but before I can go in, I’m frozen still by her voice, calling my name. I turn.

She’s smiling, face soft. “I just wanna say: When Wallflower gave me back all my memories of you, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.”

No words. There’s nothing I can say to explain the hot twist in my chest, the static in my brain, the shocked expression on my face. I just give the most awkward peace sign of my life and head into the bathroom.

THURSDAY, JUNE 22, 7:51 AM

I’m watching TV, and Pinkie Pie is dancing naked on the screen. She’s naked, then she’s got clothes, then she’s naked again.

Does watching this make me a bad person? I don’t want to be a creep.

I look away. I turn to Twilight and try to explain why Pinkie is nude on my TV, but she’s not paying attention. She’s looking straight up at the sky, so I look up too, even though I’m horrendously dizzy.

The sun is passing overhead. It’s moving faster than I’ve ever seen, even though it’s in the same spot.

“Is that your mom?” Twilight asks.

I shake my head. “Not anymore. I finally talked to her, though.”

Twilight grabs the sun out of the sky. “You can still have it,” she says, handing me the butter-and-jelly sandwich.

“I need to eat fast.” I sound like I’m twelve beers deep, my words sloshing and slurring around. I can barely hear myself. “My Statistics exam is in an hour.”

“That was yesterday,” Pinkie says.

“What?” I scream, shooting up out of bed. Drool is still dripping down my chin as I snatch my phone off the nightstand and check the time.

7:51 AM. Nine minutes before my alarm is set to go off. I didn’t miss my Statistics exam, and I haven’t flunked out of high school.

Sighing, I collapse back into my pillow. That’s the third stress dream I’ve had this morning, and the fourth time I’ve woken up. Why in Celestia’s name is my brain torturing me with these weird ass fantasies?

That seals it: No more raw cauliflower before bed.

Sunlight is already peeking through the blinds, and I hear the familiar thud of steel-toed boots against the floor as my upstairs neighbor gets ready for work. No point in going back to sleep.

Instead I grab my phone again and swipe it open. The first thing I see are two text messages from Twilight.

One to the Rainbooms group chat:

Happy first day of exams, everyone! Here’s a joke to get us in the testing mood:

Q - Why does Shakespeare hate standardized tests?

A - He can never figure out what kind of pencil to use: 2B or not 2B

And one just to me:

Good morning! How are you feeling? Want to meet up for a quick study session before the test? I’ll be in the library! Usual spot by the staghorn fern?

I smile and rub my eyes. If anything’s gonna motivate me to get up this morning, it’s a private tutoring session from CHS’ coolest nerd.

A frame from my dream flashes in my mind: Twilight sitting next to me, holding something. For a moment I consider telling her about it, but the more I try to remember the dream, the less I recall. Pinkie was there, I think? And we were staring at the sun?

Nope, it’s gone. So I just yawn and text back:

Def

Getting up now

Lemme text you when I get on the bus

Sun shining, temperatures rising, days as long as they can be. A week of exams is all that stands between me and the freedom of summer vacation. Two months of no school, no homework. Just junk food, trips to the beach, loitering at the mall, waking up at noon, and hanging out with my best friends.

I haul myself out of bed and slip out of my pajamas. Standing buck naked at the top of the ladder, I ball up my fists, look up at the ceiling, and whisper, “Let’s rock this shit.”

Then it hits me.

“Oh!” I slap myself on the forehead. “2B — like ‘to be!’”

MONDAY, JUNE 25, 11:12 AM

I flip through my Art class portfolio. “Sucks. Shit. Crap. Eh. Horrible.”

All the while, Pinkie is leaning over my shoulder. “Cool! Cool! Cool! Adorable! Cool!”

We both just got out of our Art class final — er, “final.” No test or anything. Mrs. Vermillion just handed us back portfolios filled with our “best work,” and we had to give a presentation explaining each piece. Gave us our grades back in, like, five minutes.

I got an A! I’d be ecstatic if I deserved it.

I don’t talk about it a lot, but I love to draw. Always have, even as a filly, doodling pictures of Celestia on the wall next to my bed. When I came to Earth, I learned how to use my hands by drawing every night before bed. I still carry a sketchbook with me everywhere, and I try to fill at least half of a page each day. Got a bunch of colored pencils and a digital tablet back at my apartment too. If you ever catch me staring intently at my notebook during class, rest assured that I’m not studying — I’m drawing.

In other words: There’s no reason why my art portfolio should have so much garbage in it.

Wobbly lines, terrible attempts at perspective, alien anatomy, color combos that make me want to gouge my eyes out — an endless conga line of trash. My portraits look like I drew them while strapped to the roof of a moving car. I barely deserve a C, let alone an A.

That’s why I can only cringe when Pinkie hugs me from behind and says, “Gosh, Sunset! You’re, like, the best artist in the world!”

“Right.” I shake Pinkie off and close my portfolio. “C’mon, you don’t need to sugarcoat it. You know my stuff sucks.”

Her face lights up at the word ‘sugarcoat,’ but darkens at ‘sucks.’ She sits down across from me and pouts. “I think your drawings are super-tastic! Especially compared to mine…”

Unlike me, Pinkie’s got the contents of her portfolio scattered across the cafeteria table. Also unlike me, hers is actually good.

Pinkie’s art is vibrant and wild and expressive, just like her. Her sketches jolt around the page like lightning, and I swear she’s managed to invent at least five new colors, none of which stay inside the lines. Acrylic landscapes, abstract collages, pastel portraits — everything she produces radiates joy and life. She doesn’t always follow the “rules” of art (she never does, really) but that just makes her work all the more stunning.

I grab one of her pieces — a portrait she painted of me, just a few weeks after the Fall Formal. I’m smothered in fiery oranges and reds, more inferno than human.

“Are you serious?” I ask, smiling. “I’d kill to be as creative as you! You’re a brilliant artist, a legit inspiration for me.”

When Pinkie blushes, it’s hard to tell. She’s never not pink. But when I compliment her like that, I can see her cheeks go red. She beams and giggles and bounces in her seat. Takes a second to even get her attention when I hand the painting back.

As she puts her portfolio back together, I pull my sketchbook out and crack it open. The early pages embarrass me just as much as anything from art class, but the more recent stuff — cleaner shading, more expressive poses. I’m getting better every day.

I skip through the fan art and half-assed action comics to this past weekend’s drawings. That’s when I hunch over the book, hiding it from Pinkie’s ever-moving eyes.

Over the weekend, we all went to the beach again. I brought my sketchbook. And while my friends were playing and swimming and laughing, I drew them all. Nude.

Okay, not really nude. I didn’t give them any, y’know, details. But I didn’t give them any clothes, either. I was trying to get a handle on their different body shapes. Fluttershy’s long neck, Rainbow’s toned tummy, Pinkie’s thick thighs. Purely for artistic purposes. Clothing not required.

The anatomy is almost perfect, faces on point. These studies are probably the best work I’ve ever done.

And no one is ever going to see them. Not my friends, not Mrs. Vermillion, not the Goddess above. I’ll eat this sketchbook before I let that happen.

Of all the portraits, I think Twilight’s is my favorite. The hard thing about Twi is that she’s not tall, but she’s lanky. She’s got these spindly stick figure limbs, with thin hips and small, softly curved breasts. You can see her ribs when she stretches.

When I first met her she’d walk with a permanent hunch, curled in on herself like a withered flower. And though she’s still a bit slouchy — like I’m one to talk — she stands so much straighter now. Her knees don’t knock together anymore. She looks proud, not petrified.

She’s beautiful, honestly. No wonder Timber made sure to snag her the same weekend they met. Even without magic, there’s a sparkle to her. Hell, even a shimmer.

Keeping my face close to the page, I giggle. Goddess, I’m good at puns.

Twilight pulls out the chair next to me and sits down.

In a burst of total instinct, I slam my sketchbook shut and jump out of my chair fast enough to knock it over. Both Twilight and Pinkie recoil away, staring at me in confusion and shock.

I’ve got the book clutched so tight to my chest that it’s hard to breathe. “Sorry,” I say, eyes flicking between them. I put my sketchbook away and sit back down. “Coffee just hit.”

Pinkie’s eternal grin returns. But Twi’s already stopped paying attention. She’s got a Chemistry textbook open in front of her, and she’s flipping through the pages faster than I can comprehend them.

I scooch my chair closer to her. “Studying for the Chem exam?”

“No,” she says. “I just finished it.”

“Did you win?” Pinkie asks.

“I don’t know!” Twilight skims faster. “I think I did well. But I didn’t finish breakfast this morning, and halfway through I forgot whether antimony is a pnictogen or a chalcogen, which is such a beginner mistake, and my short responses might have been too long, it’s hard to accurately describe the concept of a half-life in only five sentences, but—”

I put my hand over hers, stopping it in place. “Twi. Breathe. If you didn’t ace that exam, I’ll walk Spike for the next month.”

It takes a moment, but eventually Twilight folds her hands, closes her eyes, and takes a long breath. When she exhales, she looks at me and says, “I’m holding you to that.”

I hold up three fingers. “Filly Scout’s honor.”

Twilight snorts and puts away her textbook. “What are you two doing? Getting ready for a test?”

“Nah,” I say, “we just got out of a final too.”

“Studio Art!” Pinkie adds, holding up her folder. “I only got a B, but you should check out Sunset’s. She got an A!”

Twilight turns to me, and I want to crawl under the table. I don’t need anyone to see the crap I’ve wasted this year on, let alone my best friend.

But then she smiles that adorable smile of hers and asks, “Can I see?”

Resistance is futile. I slide my portfolio folder over to her and cover my eyes, then wait for the laughter.

But it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. Silence. And when I edge open my eyes to see what’s going on, I just find Twilight slowly sifting through my drawings. She’s studying the art with the same sharp eyes that she usually reserves for difficult tests or intense fighting game matches. Her fingers traipse over the lines, as if she’s seeing them by feel instead of sight.

She doesn’t say anything as she moves through the collection. It almost makes me jump again when she reaches the last drawing and lightly gasps.

“This is brilliant,” she says, eyes darting from corner to corner. “You really drew this?”

I lean in to get a better look, then immediately cringe back.

It’s a charcoal sketch of a ruined city. Broken concrete and destroyed buildings cover the page, jagged blocks of black and gray. A burning crimson sky hangs above it all. But below, thick green vines — they look more like tentacles — snake up from the dirt and wrap around the rubble, sprouting with leaves and flowers.

I don’t know what it means. I drew it during a depressive episode in January. Colors clash, perspective is non-existent. It’s edgy and awful, one of the worst pieces in there.

So I don’t say yes. I just nod.

And right when I do, Twi asks, “Can I have it?”

“What?” I stare into her eyes, trying to find the joke, but there’s nothing. “I can draw you something way better, you know.”

“I like this one!” Twilight says, studying it again. “The colors are so vivid. And there’s so much feeling in it!”

Goddess, she sounds like Mrs. Vermillion. I throw a hand into the air and let it fall. “Sure, whatever. Keep it.”

She beams like I’ve given her a diamond ring. “The rest is lovely too,” she says, handing the folder back to me.

“Told you,” Pinkie intones, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

I scoff and brush my bangs out of my eyes.

“Speaking of which,” Pinkie says as she pulls two sheets out of her portfolio, “I’ve got some presents for you too!”

She hands the sheets to us. Mine is the portrait from before, and Twi’s is a portrait of her. She’s practically glowing with purple glitter, and she’s surrounded by massive golden stars. Her smile is as thick as her torso.

Pinkie’s signed her name at the bottom of both in big block letters, and finished them with a wet pink kiss.

“Like ‘em?” Pinkie asks, hand on her hip. Her lips twinkle with fresh lipstick and old glitter. “These are gonna be worth big bucks someday, so hold onto them!”

“Now, this,” I say, showing off my portrait to Twi. “This is real art.”

Twi’s not looking. She’s squinting at her portrait and adjusting her glasses. I’m not sure she’s even figured out that it’s her yet.

THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 1:33 PM

Not to be dramatic, but if anyone ever asks me to write an essay on Renaissance-era political alliances again, I’m gonna drown myself. Just gonna hook a cinder block to my leg and jump into the public pool. Like how Queen Luscious VII drowned her husband in a public bath to assume the role of absolute monarch and begin the Fifth Ruby Peninsula War.

…And if I ever make a comparison like that again, someone needs to hit me with their car.

I refrain from saying this to Mr. Lacuna’s face as I hand him my final exam, give a quick “Thank you!” and powerwalk out of the classroom.

As soon as the door closes, I laugh and throw a few punches in the air. Thank the Goddess for carrying me through the hell that is finals — and for not making any of my tests too hard.

When it comes to stressing out over grades, I’m generally a “C’s Get Degrees” kind of girl. But my college of choice — the Manehattan Institute of Science — is probably expecting a bit more than the bare minimum.

College. The thought still makes me stumble.

A year ago, I was certain that I’d be ruler of Equestria by now. I had my mind set on another universe, not university. No friends, no bandmates. I couldn’t walk down this hallway without stopping to make someone’s life hell. I spent more time talking to myself than anyone else.

But the sky shines brighter now. The air tastes sweeter. I sing, laugh, smile without struggle. Fantasies made real.

A lot can happen in a year. No one knows that better than me. And 365 days from now, who knows where I’ll be?

Hopefully not at the bottom of the public pool.

For the last time this school year, I shut my locker. I’ve pulled out all the forgotten study sheets, taken down the photos and flyers and half-assed scribbles of my friends and I fighting monsters. After giving it one last glance — I’ve become so damn sentimental these days — I walk away.

Mr. Lacuna’s exam was the last one on my calendar, and the very last exam of the entire CHS school year. My third-period classmates and I should be the only students left in the building.

That’s why my eyes light up when I step outside and see Twilight standing next to the Wondercolts statue. She’s wearing a cute summer skirt that shows off her legs and her hair is untied, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. The school year’s over, but she’s still reading a textbook. It’s thick enough that she has to hold it with both hands, and she’s totally engrossed.

No one else could look this good with their face shoved into a physics textbook. But as pretty as she is, she’s still just Twilight Sparkle. Still a total dork.

Just like me.

“Is that...?” From the entrance staircase, I squint my eyes tight, turn my hands into binoculars. “Is that the Twilight Sparkle? Lead singer of the Rainbooms? Smartest girl in town?”

Twilight looks up, a bit startled — but then smiles. She starts squinting too and adjusts her glasses. “Is that Sunset Shimmer? Best guitarist in the country? Gamer Queen?”

I laugh and jog over to her. “That’s a new one! And what does it make you? Gamer Princess?”

“I like to think of myself as more of a Gamer Secretary of Education,” she says with a quick curtsy. “How’d the test go? Did you remember Archduke Stormhill’s Thirteen Decrees?”

“At least ten of them. But what about you?” I say, nudging her. “Didn’t you finish your Spanish exam, like, three hours ago? What’re you still doing here?” I eye her textbook. “And what’s with the Physics book? You don’t even take Physics.”

“I will next year! Never too early to brush up on the fundamentals.” She holds her textbook tight against her stomach, rocking on her heels. “And I was waiting for you.”

I blink. “Why?”

Very gracious, me.

“I mean, it’s sweet as hell!” I sputter. “But you didn’t have to stand out in the sun for three hours just for me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m wearing sunscreen. And besides, after that exam” — she reaches into her backpack and pulls out some green plastic — “I figured you’d be hungry.”

She hands me a granola bar. It’s oats-and-honey flavor.

I gape for a second before taking it and thanking her — right on cue, my stomach grumbles. “I swear, you know me better than I know myself.”

“Final exams burn a lot of calories!” she says. But then she looks away. “Also.”

“Also?”

“Also,” she says, digging her toe into the concrete, “you’re still the only person I know who has a copy of Tirek’s Revenge. Can I come over and try the campaign?”

I grin. “Sí!”

THURSDAY, JULY 6, 1:02 PM

✽ PART TWO: SUMMER ✽

I love girls. Short girls, tall girls, fat girls, skinny girls. Love ‘em all.

And you know what I love more than girls? Girls in swimsuits.

That’s why I’m standing at the edge of the Canterlot Beach boardwalk, staring out at a beach full of skimpy bikinis. An ocean of skin tight fabric, an expanse of barely hidden tan lines. And don’t even get me started on the hot moms.

Not that the guys aren’t cute too! But there’s something about watching a girl spread sunscreen on her best friend’s back that makes me want to scream like I’m at a hockey game.

I used to feel like a creep for leering at sexy women like this. But if I were really a creep, would I be feeling any guilt in the first place? I don’t think so. And besides, it’s not like any of them will ever know. I’d rather bury myself in the sand than shoot my shot with one of these girls. I’m even wearing sunglasses, so no one can tell where I’m looking.

I’ve got all my bases covered. So I reserve the right to fantasize about some thick bikini babe pulling me into a changing room and—

“How froze it, Sunset?” Pinkie Pie asks, materializing next to me. The bikini babe in my head runs away.

The people standing near us jump at her sudden appearance. I just smile and turn to her, tearing my eyes away from the beach.

“Get it?” she asks, handing me the frozen grape slushie I ordered. She grins and leans in close. “Froze? Like ‘goes?’”

I chuckle and sip my slushie. “That’s a cool pun!”

“You think so? Thanks, I—” Pinkie stops, stares, and then gasps. “Oh my gosh! I get it!”

The wide-eyed awe on her face makes me laugh louder than the pun. And as usual, my laughter makes her start laughing, which makes me laugh harder, which makes her laugh harder, until we’re both gasping for breath.

There’s nothing that gets me to laugh faster than someone else laughing. I fully believe that laughter is contagious — and that Pinkie Pie's laugh is some kind of Pavlovian giggle-bomb.

“Thanks again for coming,” I say, rubbing the tears from my eyes. “Twilight texted me while you were gone — she and Timber are just a few minutes away.”

Pinkie nods and takes a big drink of her slushie. When she pulls it away from her mouth, she’s got a strawberry ice mustache. “Those crazy kids,” she says, shaking her head. “So busy smooching that they missed out on Slushie Time.”

The thought of Twi and Timber sucking face makes me shudder a bit. But I brush it off and turn up my nose. “Absolutely shameful,” I say in my best Fancy Person impression, which mostly just sounds like Rarity But Stoned. “Truly, what is happening to today’s youth?”

Pinkie somehow twirls her slush-tache. “I blame rock music.”

“Especially those ‘Rainboom’ girls. An absolute blight on our society.”

We clink our slushies, take a gulp, and then choke with giggles.

“For realsies though, I’m so excited!” Pinkie says, vibrating in place. “There’s so much I wanna do today! We gotta hit the beach, of course. But I wanna check out the sand dunes, too! And down by the pier, there’s a dude who sells fried raw cookie dough! It’s got the sweet flavor of salmonella with the savory taste of heart disease!”

Pinkie keeps talking, listing off every single activity within three square miles of us. It’s the second week of summer, and the Canterlot Beach boardwalk is finally open for the season. That means carnival games, rides, overpriced food — the works. The rest of the girls were busy, but Pinkie jumped at the chance to tag along with me.

Yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t pay attention to what she’s saying. The swimsuit she’s wearing is super tight, and my primate mind won’t stop looking down at her boobs.

Again, I swear I’m not a creep. And again, I’d never try hitting on her. But I’d be lying if I said that Pinkie isn’t hot as hell, especially in a tiny one-piece like this. She’s got curves for days, and when she runs, I have no idea how her swimsuit doesn’t rip apart.

I’m not having any fantasies about her! Absolutely not. But she has to be wearing a swimsuit this small on purpose, right? She definitely knows how cute she is.

“What about you?” Pinkie asks.

That hits me harder than the brain freeze. “What’d you say?”

“I asked what you wanna do today,” she says. She’s got an innocent smile, but then she looks out at the beach full of women, and it twists into a devilish smirk. “I bet I can guess!”

Keeping my eyes locked firmly on her face, I open my mouth to answer — but then she jumps towards me, moving close enough to press her body against mine.

“I know what you are,” she hisses, eyes slicing into me like scissors.

I blink, blink, blink. I swear our eyelashes are touching. “Gay?”

She keeps her glare for a moment more — then backs up, beams, and says, “Yep! And honestly? Mood.” Then she downs the rest of her slushie in one gulp.

“Talkin’ about moods, dudes?”

We both turn to see Twilight and Timber walking towards us. Timber’s wearing plain swim trunks and a tank top, but Twilight’s swallowed up in a green Hoofington High sweatshirt that’s so big it almost touches her knees — his, no doubt. She’s carrying a stuffed lion in her arms, cradling it like a baby. I don’t see her amulet, but her face is slathered with a thick layer of sunscreen.

“Er, dudettes,” Timber says, waving. “If you prefer.”

“I prefer Cutie Patootie,” Pinkie says, hand on heart.

I put my hands on my hips. “Sunset’s fine,” I say before realizing I totally look and sound like a bitch.

Timber doesn’t seem phased by my passive-aggression. “Hm. Talking about moodies and moodets, Cutie Patootie and Sunset?”

That only gets a smile out of me, but then Twilight bursts out snort-laughing and I can’t stop myself from chuckling either. Twi might be better at that than Pinkie is.

“Sorry we’re late,” Twilight says. “We were on our way over, but then Timber noticed a target practice game and just had to give it a go.”

“What can I say?” He wraps an arm around her. “It was calling to me.”

“Look at the stuffie he won me!” She holds the lion up for us to see. “His name is Leonardo.”

“Yeah, I’ve got pretty good aim,” he says, checking his nails. But then he smiles at her. “Of course, I probably would've wasted all my tickets if Twi hadn’t calculated the exact speed of every target while we were still in line.”

“You’ve got your strengths and I’ve got mine.” She hugs her lion tight. “We’re the Brains and the Brawn!”

“The Brawn... Sounds like a damn good wrestling name!”

Twilight giggles and looks up into his eyes. “Kiss?”

“You know it,” he says, and presses his lips to hers.

Holy shit these two are disgustingly sweet. I don’t know whether to coo or puke into the nearest garbage can.

“D’aww!” Pinkie says, literal stars sparkling in her eyes. “You two are so cuuuuuuuuuute!”

As if they just remembered they’re in public, their eyes snap open and they move apart. Timber’s grinning like a fool, and Twilight’s playing with her hair. I guess even when she’s making out with the dude of her dreams, Twi is still Twi.

“Don’t worry, you’re barely late,” I say, offering her a smile. “And besides, you’re the couple here — you should get to set the schedule. Pinks and I are just third-wheeling you.”

“There’s two of you, though,” Timber says. “So really you’re more like third and fourth wheels. And it’s basically just a normal car at that point.”

Huh. “Good point,” I say.

“It’s like a double date!” Pinkie says, pulling me as close as the real couple are. “Except Sunset and I don’t kiss. We just hug. Hard.”

I bet Twilight would like to hug Timber pretty hard too.

…Nope, no, erasing that thought from my head immediately.

Twilight shakes her head. “I don’t think Timber and I need any special scheduling privileges. I’ve got some ideas, but what do you want to do first?”

Pinkie turns to me and wiggles her eyebrows. I ignore her.

“I wanna check out the arcade,” I say, pointing towards the pier. “I heard they’ve still got an old Death Dance 2 machine from the ‘90s.”

“Death Dance?” Timber repeats, frowning. “Isn’t that the game Twilight beats my ass in every week?”

“Oh hush,” Twilight says, waving away his words. “You won a match last night.”

“You let Spike move the joystick for you!”

“Are you sure about that?” Twilight asks. Then she takes off her glasses, closes one of her eyes, and in a low, gravelly voice says, “Coulda been them aliens!”

Timber doubles over with laughter. Pinkie and I just stare.

Twilight puts her glasses back on. “Sorry. Inside joke.”

Pinkie throws her arms out wide. “I love inside jokes!”

I nudge her. “I bet you’d love to live inside a joke.”

“You’d win that bet,” Pinkie says, shooting me a thumbs up. Then she extends her index finger and aims a finger pistol around. “I wanna play one of those games where you shoot zombies with the cool plastic gun!” She points the invisible gun my way. “Wanna be my partner?”

“You know it,” I say, and we high-five.

By now Timber has started to recover, and he smirks. “Now that’s a game I could beat you all in.”

I want to laugh — Seriously? He thinks he can beat me in a shooting game? — but before I can finish the thought Pinkie leaps forward and gives him a glare. “I’d like to see you try, Tree Boy.”

Timber looks shocked, even scared by her sudden transformation — but soon returns with a steel-eyed look of his own. “You’re on… Party. Girl. Party Girl.”

“I told you,” Pinkie says, turning up her nose and walking past him, “the name is Cutie Patootie!”

She starts down the boardwalk to the arcade by the pier. Timber runs after her, trying to come up with more things that rhyme with Patootie. That leaves Twilight and I to walk along together.

She draws close to me, her thick sweatshirt brushing against my arm. “He’s right,” she says, “I do beat him in Death Dance a lot. Is that bad?”

“He doesn’t seem too beat up about it. No pun intended.” I tug at her baggy sleeve. “Still lovey-dovey enough to give you his big-ass sweatshirt. You got a swimsuit on under there?”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Yes, of course. I just burn easily.” She smiles up at me. “I love the new bikini, by the way. You look really good.”

My face heats up at that comment. I’d almost forgotten about the new two-piece I’ve got on — a tiny red-and-white number that I picked up from the mall last week — but now I’m hyper aware of how the top straps dig into me, how my stomach spills out over the bottoms. Of each perfectly shaped girl we walk past. I want to take the compliment, but it bounces off of me and dies in the sand.

“Thanks,” I make myself say. I shrug and keep looking straight forward. “Hard to compare with some of the supermodels around here.”

“You’re plenty super,” Twilight says with a scoff.

“But am I a model?”

“Yes, technically. We model for Rarity all the time.”

“Come on.” I roll my eyes. “I could be a dead rat and Rarity would still insist on sewing dresses for me.”

“And you’d look hot then too!”

There are so many things wrong with that statement. I could spend an hour just picking apart the claim that I’m hot. But instead I smirk. “You’re hotter.”

She grins. “No, you!”

“You’re hotter than the sun.”

“Well, you’re hotter than star WR 102, which at approximately 210,000 degrees Kelvin — or around 377,500 degrees Fahrenheit — is the hottest object ever observed in our universe.” She pauses. “Except for you. Because you’re hotter.”

My jaw falls loose. “I think you just fuckin’ owned me.”

“Good.” She speeds up a bit, head held high. “And once we get into a Death Dance match together, I’ll do it again.”

Timber wasn’t lying; he sucks at this game. Forget quarter circles, the dude barely knows how to pull off a basic combo. He just mashes every button and hopes for the best. I’m not even sure he has his eyes open.

But he’s laughing as he loses. He doesn’t rage (like I do) when Twilight catches him in one of those stupid-ass infinite combos Death Dance 2 is infested with. Hell, he even cheers when she wins. And when he saw that the character Brawlsome wears a green beanie just like he does, I swear to Celestia I heard him squeal. So maybe he’s not a complete tool. Maybe.

Look, I want to like Timber. Really. And when I slow down and actually think about it, I know that he’s not a bad guy — he might even be cool, in some dorky way.

But Twi is my best friend. So it’s my job to be suspicious of anyone and everyone she dates, cool or not. When it comes to being Twilight’s boyfriend, my standards are even higher than hers.

And to be fair, Pinkie isn’t good at the game either. But she doesn’t even play video games, unless you count those bland tile-matching mobile games that she sinks all her allowance into. Which I don’t, because I’m a gatekeeping girlboss. Deal with it.

Still, she’s having fun too. I do wish that she wasn’t so rough with the arcade machine, though.

For the third time this match, Twilight catches her with one of Godessa’s special moves — the Thrusting Poison Fang, cheapest move in any game, I swear — and Pinkie’s eyes bug out of her head. “Huh?!” she cries, nearly pulling the joystick off the cabinet. “How do you keep doing that?”

“Six-two-three-six,” Twilight says. She hasn’t blinked in five minutes.

“Seventeen?” Pinkie asks. She mashes the buttons, making her character frantically kick the air — she won the first round by running out the clock, but Twi isn’t gonna let her have this one. A last second joystick shift lets her roll away from Twi’s character with just half her health left. “Sunset, help me! I’m too young to die!”

Holding Twilight’s lion stuffie, Timber grins and looks at me expectantly. I sigh, step forward, and assume the position.

First I bend my knees until I match Pinkie’s height. Then I press my body against her back and rest my chin on her shoulder, close enough that our faces smush together. I lay my arms over hers, grab her hands. When all is said and done, it looks like Pinkie is wearing me as a jacket, or some sort of robotic exoskeleton.

“Okay,” I whisper, tapping into my amulet’s magic. “Let’s wreck her.”

It feels like a heavy vibration thumping through my brain, a stadium rock concert held entirely inside my skull. My thoughts crash against Pinkie’s, faster and harder and tighter, until the boundaries break. I hear her thoughts, and she hears mine. I see what she sees, she sees what I see. We move as one.

We grab the joystick and move our hand to the special move button.

Twilight still isn’t blinking. She dashes forward and swings her poison dagger.

We dodge to the side just in time. Twi stumbles.

She’s got fifteen frames of invincibility, then five frames of lag — now!

Quarter circle back, forward, kick. Our leg, wrapped in green lightning, rams into Twi’s neck. She flies away at just the right angle for a follow up. Dash forward, low kick, low kick. She rolls away and we chase, but she’s guarding, so we trap her in a throw.

In real life, we hear Twilight grunt. We smile.

Twi comes at us again, chaining combo into combo, forcing us to block. The chip damage is getting us dangerously low, but it’s also building our Super meter.

We have an idea.

No, she’s gonna kill us!

It’s gonna work!

Twi pulls off another combo, and her own Super meter peaks. We drop our guard. Immediately, she swings the joystick one quarter circle forward, a half circle back — her Super move.

In the single frame between her activating the move and hitting it, we jam down on the Block button. Her Super collides uselessly with our shield, doing almost no damage. And as she recovers from the miss, we trigger our own Super.

Three seconds later, Twilight goes flying off the edge of the stage. Her health bar disappears, and the announcer shouts, “Player Two wins!”

I let go of Pinkie, my thoughts disentangle from hers, and I stumble backwards, lightheaded. Everything’s blurry for a few seconds, but as soon as the world comes back into focus, Pinkie tackles me with a hug.

“We did it!” she says, jumping up and down. “We’re the best!”

“Yeah we are,” I slur out. After controlling two bodies, it takes some time to reorient my limbs and mouth. Also her boobs are bouncing right in my face.

I can read anyone’s mind, memories, and emotions. But Pinkie Pie is the only person I’ve ever done a full on mind meld with. She’s the only person willing to get that close and vulnerable. The warm tingle of love that lingers in my head after detaching more than makes up for the wooziness.

Back at the arcade cabinet, Twilight is glaring at us — but there’s still a smile on her lips. “Good game,” she says. “Even if it was two-on-one.”

Timber steps up and wraps an arm around her. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re still the master to me.”

There’s a joke in there somewhere. I don’t want to find it.

“Now that we’ve thoroughly kicked your ass,” I say, “wanna find a new game? I think we’ve given this machine more attention than it’s seen since the ‘90s, anyway.”

“Sounds good,” Timber says. He turns and points to the skee-ball lanes at the other side of the arcade. “And I’ve got a suggestion.”

Twilight claps. “Ooh! A physics game!”

Timber gives us a thumbs up and an exaggerated nod. “My girl loves her physics.”

We all follow Timber over to the skee-ball lanes. When we get there, he picks up a ball and tosses it around. “This is my game. So, who’s brave enough to face the Ballmaster?”

Twilight and Pinkie giggle, while I just raise an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a nickname,” I say.

He locks eyes with me. “Are you challenging for the throne?”

“It’s a monarchy?”

“Absolute.” He adjusts his beanie. “Got a crown and everything.”

“Do it, Sunset!” Pinkie says. “Master those balls!”

I’m not particularly interested in skee-ball — or good at it — and I’m about to decline. But Timber’s confident smirk holds my tongue.

Rolling my eyes, I step forward and take my place at the lane next to Timber. “When I win, you can keep the hat.”

“Crown,” he corrects, passing me a token to start the game. “And when I win, I’ll let you be my jester.”

Off to the side, Pinkie pouts and mutters, “No fair.”

“Go Timber!” Twi calls, thrusting a fist into the air. “Also Sunset!”

Sorry, Twi, but I’m about to kill your boyfriend.

We take our places. We insert our tokens. The gates covering the score rings fall, and nine balls roll down.

In one fluid motion, I snatch a ball and roll it full-speed toward the 50 point ring. It bounces off and rolls down to the 10 point hole. Damn it.

Next to me, Timber picks up a ball, squints at the targets, winds up — leg lifting off the ground like a baseball pitcher — and rolls. It flies up to the 100 point ring, but misses and falls to the 10 point hole.

Silent, he grabs another ball and shifts a few inches to the right. Another throw towards the 100 point ring, and another miss.

This is King Ballmaster’s strategy? Only aim for the hardest target and pray? He’s toast.

I toss my second ball. It rolls smoothly and flies into the 20 point ring. I toss another, and hit another 20 pointer. And another after that. Nothing but net.

Timber tries the 100 point ring and misses again, just in time for me to score a huge 50 pointer.

I’m winning 120 to 30. Pinkie leaps into the air and cries, “All hail Ballmaster Sunset!” Twilight watches with wide eyes, hugging her lion.

I grab my next ball and turn to Timber. “Wanna forfeit early, Your Highness?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me. Instead he tilts his torso away a few degrees, tosses a ball to the 100 point ring — and sinks it. His score shoots to 130. Now everyone goes quiet.

What the hell. I turn back to the game, toss another ball, and hit another 50.

At the exact same time, Timber hits another 100. And then another. And another. Twilight cheers. Pinkie’s jaw is legit touching the floor.

It’s 170 (me) to 430 (hipster asshole). Only a few balls left for both of us.

My breathing picks up. The roar of the arcade floods my ears. I can’t let him win this, can’t let him beat me. But at this point, there’s only one way to win.

I take one of my patented calming breaths — Timber hits another perfect shot and I almost choke — then toss a ball towards the 100 point ring. It bounces off. So does the next one.

We’ve both got one ball left, but it’s over. As Timber hits his last 100 pointer, I limply roll my ball down the lane. It doesn’t even make it to a hole — it just falls into the gutter.

190 to 630. He straight up beheaded me.

Bright yellow tickets pour out of his machine. As they pool around his sandals, he throws up his hands, whoops, and says, “The Ballmaster strikes again!” Twilight runs over and they do an annoyingly cute dance, hopping around and giggling like idiots, before Twi whispers something and they kiss. Makes me wanna stuff my head into one of the point holes.

How did he do that? One perfect shot I could believe, maybe two. But six in a row? Impossible, totally impossible. Either he cheated, or this game is rigged. Maybe both? Yeah, definitely both. He looks like a cheater, and all these arcade games are rigged. They’re rigged, and I still got nearly 200 points — if anything, that basically makes me the real winner. Yeah.

But six in a row?

“Good game?”

Timber appears next to me, and I realize I’m clenching my jaw hard enough that it hurts.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to look like I was hustling you,” he says sheepishly. “I was just trying to find the right angle. And once I did, I kept throwing in the exact same way. I’ve got good muscle memory.”

“That’s how he won me Leonardo!” Twilight says, holding up her lion.

He nods, then holds out his hand. “So, good game?”

I stare at his dumb hand. If this were an online game, this is the point where I’d curse him out and then switch servers before he had the chance to report me.

But this is real life. And he’s got an honest smile. And Twilight is watching me, still hugging that stuffed animal.

So I sigh and return the handshake. His hands are rough, like an old man’s. And as we shake, I’m ready to let him have this one.

But the devil on my shoulder grabs my tongue.

“Good game,” I say, “Timmy.”

She’s not a very clever devil.

He freezes up for a second, and his face — it’s caught somewhere between confusion and shock, like he’s not sure whether to be offended or not. But soon his smile returns with an extra helping of smarm, and he shakes my arm even harder.

“Great to hear,” he says, “Shimmy.”

He says the name with this bizarre half-British accent. And I want to stay mad at this dude, I do.

But I keep staring at his curled nose and evil smile. And as he stares back at me, his chin starts quivering with barely contained laughter. And something starts rising up my throat too.

No, stop it! Stay strong!

He throws his head back and legit guffaws. That’s all it takes for a horde of giggles to ram their way out of my mouth.

And that makes Twilight start laughing! And then god damn it Pinkie starts laughing too!

Now I’m literally laying in the skee-ball alley, wheezing like I’ve got Twi’s asthma. I can’t believe I lost to this dude, and I can’t believe he’s got me falling over like this. Is this how he picked up Twilight? Or am I just easy as hell?

By the time I stop laughing, my stomach hurts and my face tingles. Timber offers me his hand again and pulls me up, out of the alley. Behind him, Twilight is beaming, smile as wide as I’ve ever seen it.

Sure enough, Timber beats all of us in skee-ball. We only manage to win once we blindfold him and Twi levitates all the balls directly into the 100 point ring.

Soon enough we move on, and Pinkie finds the “shoot zombies with the cool plastic gun” game she was looking for. Timber calls Player Two, and they immediately start mowing down dozens of zombies.

While they play, Twi and I stand off to the side, leaning against a coin pusher. I’m just checking my phone — damn kids always on their phones instead of talking, I know — and mindlessly chewing my nails. But then in the corner of my eye, I notice Twilight staring at me. When I turn to look at her, she darts her eyes away.

I lock my phone. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She strokes Leonardo’s mane. Then in a murmur, “Just — do you like Timber?”

I raise a brow. “You mean as a friend, right?”

“Yes, as a friend,” Twilight says, rolling her eyes. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah!” I give a thumbs up, pushing away all the snarky jokes I could make about him and his beanie. “He’s cool.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

I pause, then smirk and lean a bit closer. “Do you like him?”

She spins her head to look right at me again. “Of course!” she says, nodding fast. “I love him. Why wouldn’t I?”

The wild enthusiasm is enough to make me flinch. “Just joking!” I say, adding a laugh.

“Oh.” Her voice is quieter. A thin blush fills her cheeks as she looks down at Leonardo. “Sorry. But yes, I love him. A lot.”

Any response I think of gets stuck in my mouth, so I just pull out my phone again.

What set her off like that? The two of them have been inseparable all day. Obviously I wasn’t being serious.

But she’s sensitive, and it was a dumb joke. My fault.

Timber drops his light gun and pumps a fist. “Hell yes!”

“Aww,” Pinkie says, drooping. “I was two zombies behind! Curse my merciful nature.”

He pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry; once the real zombie apocalypse hits, I’m definitely letting you join my human resistance army.”

Pinkie spends two seconds giggling, then jumps forward and stabs a finger into Timber’s chest. “It’ll be my human resistance army, bucko.”

Timber gulps and backs away. Once he’s out of Pinkie’s reach, he perks up and steps over to Twilight. “You wanna join our army too, babe?”

She looks up at him with starry eyes. “Definitely. Any army needs a logistics expert, right?”

“Most important role in the whole damn unit,” he says. Then he closes his eyes, dips his head, and gives Twilight a long kiss on the lips.

The stars in Twilight’s eyes burn out. She keeps them open, staring straight ahead at his eyelids. Her hands are curled into a stiff claw-like grip, nails digging into Leonardo’s fabric.

She stays like that until he pulls away. Then, with a gentle smile on his face, he runs a finger down her cheek. “I love you,” he says.

Twilight nods. She’s wearing a tight smile. “Me too!”

“Yo, Ballmaster!” Pinkie calls from the light gun cabinet. “There’s more levels!”

Timber cheers and runs back over. That leaves us alone again, and I watch as Twilight puts a hand over the cheek that he touched. She’s got glassy eyes, and her legs are pressed tight together.

“Twi?” I ask, whispering. “Are you okay?”

And as quickly as it came, Twilight’s daze disappears. “Yep!” she says at a normal volume. “Are you?”

“Yeah! Yeah.” I glance down at her knees — they’re not pressed together anymore. “Just, y’know. Sorta hungry.”

“Me too.” She pulls out her phone. “We should go get food after this! I hear that there’s a remarkably well-reviewed diner a few blocks away.”

I give her a toothy smile. “Def.”

While she searches for the restaurant, I look between her and Timber. That was weird, right? I didn’t imagine it? He’s kissed her loads of times today, and she’s never reacted like that. And the way she reacted to my joke — what’s wrong?

What’s happening with them? Is she hiding something? Why? I thought we were best friends. What isn’t she telling me? Is he hurting her?

My eyes drift down to her hand, hanging free at her side. My amulet burns against my chest.

I lift my hand, but bring it to my mouth instead and start chewing my nails again. No, no, no! Twilight is my best friend, not some magic-crazed villain. I’ve got no right to snoop through her head.

If something is actually wrong, she’ll tell me. I trust her. Just like she trusts me. Yeah.

MONDAY, JULY 10, 1:21 PM

I’m used to seeing Twilight in a lab coat, so it doesn’t surprise me when she answers the door wearing one. But I’m caught off guard by the dark oil stains that dot her clothes, and the tiny bandages plastered all over her hands and face.

“Whoa,” I say. A memory from last week flashes in my mind, and a cold rock lodges itself in my stomach. “Are you alright?”

“Yep! Why?” Twilight must notice me staring, because she holds up a bandaged hand and frowns at it, then lights up again. “Oh, this? Sorry, the can opener robot I’m working on temporarily gained sentience. You know how it is.”

I don’t, but I guess that explains the oil. My stomach thaws out.

She jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Wanna help me rewire its brain chip?”

“Maybe another time,” I say, stepping inside. “We’re meeting Rarity and Shy at the mall, remember? Summer sale at Oatlinens?”

Twilight hits the side of her head. “Oh crud, I totally forgot! Are they waiting for us?”

“Nah, we’ve still got about an hour.” I reach down to pinch the hem of her lab coat. “You wanna go get changed? Not that I don’t love the fit.”

“You might, but I doubt Rarity will appreciate the smell.” She moves to the staircase. “C’mon. You can say hi to Spike, too.”

I nod and follow close behind.

I’ve been inside Twilight’s house a few times now. It’s not quite as pretty inside as it is on the outside, but it’s just as gothic. Steep staircases, dim hallways, old portraits on the darkly painted walls. The floorboards creak louder than a banshee, no matter how lightly I try to tiptoe. I hate to say it, but the house feels cold — it reminds me of the echoey castle halls back in Equestria, and how imposing they seemed without Celestia at my side.

Ugh, thinking positively about Celestia still twists my brain up. Playing out an entire chess match in my head would feel simpler.

We start up the staircase. But before we’re even halfway up, Twilight stops. “Hey,” she says, turning to me. “Do you wanna meet my mom?”

That freezing stone thunksinto my gut again.

But this is the kind of question that only has one polite answer.

“Sure,” I say.

Twilight’s got a Pinkie-sized smile on her face. She slips past me and heads back down the staircase, beckoning me to stick with her.

My thick, dirt-stained combat boots feel five times as heavy. While Twilight leads me down a hallway I’ve never seen, I look down to count the holes on my jeans and hide the exposed bra strap on my shoulder.

I’ve got no idea who I’m about to meet. Twi’s only ever mentioned her mom in passing. But between her genius daughter, her (apparently) star quarterback son, and this mansion, I’m picturing an über-woman with sharp eyes, sharp heels, and an even sharper tongue, ready to slice me down at the slightest misstep.

I wasn’t picturing another Twilight.

When we get to the kitchen, we find Twilight’s mom on the phone, scribbling into a thick leather notebook. “Okay,” she mutters every few seconds. She’s leaning over the center island, wearing sweatpants and a frayed Manehattan University t-shirt. No high heels — no shoes at all. “Chrysanthemum Glory… Could you spell out that first name for me?”

Twilight’s mom looks exactly like her daughter, just with paler skin, half-gray hair, and some wrinkles. They’ve got the same tiny nose, same round chin, same spindly limbs. Their boobs are even about the same size, which I mentally slap myself for noticing. And that focused expression — eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, chewing lip — is the exact same as Twilight's when she’s thinking.

“Right. Okay.” Twilight’s mom closes her notebook. “Tell her to call me if there are any updates. Thanks, bye.” She hangs up and right away her focused face softens. “Sorry, source call. Hi! Who’s this?”

“Mom,” Twilight says, stepping to the side so there’s a clear line between me and the older woman, “this is my friend Sunset Shimmer.”

I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, mom—ma’am.”

Oh my goddess why.

Her smile grows. “Call me Velvet,” she says, returning my handshake. She looks me up and down. I swear I can feel her gaze running along my leg hair. “Are you the one who taught our dog how to talk?”

I don’t know if I can get any stiffer. Twilight sighs. “No. That’s Fluttershy.”

“Right, right!” Velvet scratches her chin, squints. “So what’s your superpower?”

“Mom.”

“What? I’m curious!”

“Um.” I glance at Twilight, like I’m waiting for permission to answer. “I can sorta look into people’s minds. Feel their emotions and see memories. That kind of stuff.”

“You can read minds?” Velvet says, chuckling. Before I can explain that’s not exactly what I mean, she bows her head to point her scalp at my face. “What am I thinking about right now?”

Again I look at Twilight, but she’s got her face in her hands. So I take a long breath and reach forward, laying my palm gently on her mom’s head.

There’s a dull itch in the back of my skull. A purple and white blob floats into view. I focus my power, delving deeper into her head until the blob hardens into a concrete image: Twilight standing at a sink, wearing big rubber gloves and scrubbing plates.

I let go of her head and frown. “Twilight washing dishes?”

Velvet gasps and throws a hand to her heart. “My daughter, actually doing chores? You didn’t just read my mind — you saw my dreams!”

By now, Twilight has her face pressed against the island, arms crossed over her head. “You are so embarrassing,” she says through the wood.

“Oh, hush. What’s ‘embarrassing’ is you bringing in a guest when I don’t have any makeup on. I look like an old crone!” Velvet drags a hand down her face, temporarily smoothing out the few wrinkles. “It’s bad enough that I met your boyfriend like this. But now a cute, hip teenage girl? She’s gonna SnapGab all about it!”

Cute? Are her eyes as screwed up as Twilight’s?

I put my hands up defensively. “I’m not SnapGabbing anything, trust me. And you look great!”

Velvet’s eyebrows perk up. “Hmph. Maybe this new generation isn’t as vain as I thought.”

As Twi and her mom bicker about generation gaps, I start to feel nauseous. Not because they’re actually angry at one another, definitely not — Velvet is still smirking and Twilight is even laughing while she whines — but because she reminds me of Celestia.

She used to joke and tease me in the same way. But I was so self-obsessed! I had such a big ego that I took the slightest jab as a personal attack. Even that ‘my little pony’ pet name of hers sent me into a rage. It took becoming friends with Pinkie for me to realize how much love you can pack into a joke.

As a filly, all I ever wanted was a mom. Someone to love me unconditionally, to laugh with when I was happy and hold when I got scared. Then I found one. Then I threw her in the trash.

I know that Celestia’s forgiven me. I know. But I wasted her, and our relationship can’t ever go back to how it was. No matter how many times I apologize, or how many times she forgives me. It’s just been too long.

Velvet seems great. Funny, warm. Just straight up nice. I see where Twi gets it from. But looking at her is a reminder that no one will ever love me like that again.

“Is that true?” Velvet asks me.

I look at her and blink. I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about — the dangers of angsting in the middle of a conversation — and I’ve spent the last minute chewing my tongue so hard that my jaw hurts. “What’s up?”

“Twily says that you’re ‘the coolest girl at CHS,’” she says. “That’s a heavy burden to bear!”

I flick my eyes over to Twilight, but she’s looking at her fidgeting hands with a thin blush across her face.

I shrug. “I dunno if I’d say that. But Twi’s pretty cool too, so I’ll trust her.”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Who in the world thinks I’m cool?”

Both Velvet and I raise our hands. “Also Timber,” I add.

She waves us off. “You three are biased. Outliers. Removed from the data set.”

Velvet snorts — Goddess, even that’s are the same — then grabs her empty coffee cup and steps over to the brewer near the fridge. “I have to admit, Sunset, that I’m screwing with you a bit,” she says. “I’ve actually been dying to meet you. Twily talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, really?” I giggle and lean into Twilight, deliberately towering over her and leering with wide eyes.

“Not that much,” Twilight says with a pout. Her blush keeps growing.

“More than any of your other friends!”

“And what does she say?” I ask, speaking into the top of Twilight’s head. I’m standing on my tiptoes now.

When Velvet turns to grab some sugar, Twilight tilts her head back so she’s looking directly upwards into my eyes. “You’ve got five seconds before I tell her you’re a horse.”

I jump away.

Velvet turns back to us, stirring her coffee. “She says you’re a great student, like all the same games. You play guitar in your band, right?”

“Yep.” I smile at Twi again, who’s playing with her curls. “That sums me up pretty well.”

Velvet closes her eyes and nods, then takes a long sip of coffee. But halfway through her eyes snap open again and she says, “Oh, and she tells me you’re a fantastic artist!”

…What?

“Am I?” I ask, frowning at Twi. “What kind of art?”

She looks back at me, just as confused. “You know, drawing and painting and all that. I’ve seen the stuff you make in art class — like the city picture you gave me! It’s beautiful.”

I blow a raspberry. “No way. That stuff’s so trash! All my paintings look like a ten-year-old did them.”

“Well, what about your sketchbook?” Twilight asks, stammering. “It’s loaded with cool drawings.”

A chill runs across my back. “When did you look at my sketchbook?”

Twilight’s mouth hangs for a second. “We sat next to each other in Statistics. You spent half our classes drawing in it.” She pauses. “I didn’t see much. Just a few pictures of people.”

That doesn’t make me feel much better. The anatomy studies I did of all my friends linger behind my eyes.

“Oh. Well,” I start, but it takes a few seconds to come up with a rebuttal. And when I do, it’s just, “That stuff’s crap too. I just do art for fun.”

“It can be both fun and good,” Twilight says. She crosses her arms. “Honestly, I thought you were thinking of it as a career. You’re not going to college for art? Or music?”

“Nah, def not,” I say, shaking my head. Where is she getting this from? I don’t think I’ve ever even considered going to an arts school, let alone told Twilight about it. Sounds like a waste of time, honestly — I do not have the skill to be a professional artist. “Art is a hobby. I wanna go to Manehattan Institute of Science, get a Chem degree.”

Twilight looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Really?”

“Well, good for you!” Velvet says, raising her mug. I’d almost forgotten she was standing there. She taps her thick notebook. “Not my sort of thing, but there’s certainly more money in science than journalism.”

She puts her mug down and wags a finger at me. “But remember—”

“Money’s not the only thing worth caring about,” Twilight says in a monotone.

Velvet swings her finger around to point at Twi. “Exactly.”

“Of course,” I say, nodding. I turn to Twi. “But I’ve gotta make a decent salary if I’m ever gonna pay the Princess back.”

Velvet tilts her head. “Who?”

Both Twilight and I freeze up. I open my mouth, but all that comes out is, “Um.”

Before I can sprint out of the kitchen, Velvet’s phone rings. She glances at the screen, sighs, and then smiles at us. “Sorry girls, source call. You two go have fun, alright? And be safe.”

Twilight gives a quick salute and walks away, back towards the foyer. I wave goodbye and start following, but then Velvet calls me back with a quick, “Wait, Sunset!”

I turn to her. She beams. “Thank you for being so good to Twilight. It’s been lovely to meet you.”

The nausea from before is gone, replaced with a proud warmth in my chest. I shoot her a peace sign and leave.

As we climb the stairs to her room, Twilight gives me the same confused look as before. “You want to be a chemist?”

I shrug. “Why not? I’m good at chemistry.”

“Do you like it?”

“Sure. I mean, as much as any other STEM field.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Twilight says as we reach the third floor. She keeps her eyes low. “I don’t mean to nag. You’re just such a fantastic artist, so I figured...”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, following her to her bedroom. “I love art! But I’m nowhere near good enough to make a career out of it.”

“Isn’t that why you go to college? To learn more? To improve?”

“Or to score a degree. Y’know, so I don’t starve.”

Twilight rolls her eyes and walks faster.

She might as well have cursed me out. If I still had a tail, it’d be stuck between my legs. In hindsight, that probably isn’t the kind of joke to make with a girl who legit writes thank you notes to all her teachers.

Despite my crappy joke, she still opens her bedroom door and holds it open for me. Before she can follow, I throw out my arms and flop across her bed.

Spike’s already sleeping there, and I impact hard enough to launch him a foot into the air. When he lands, he glares at me. “Nice to see you too.”

I giggle and scratch under his chin. “Sorry, bud. But this bed is too big for just one pup.”

“I think it’s the perfect size,” he says. He’s still glaring, but his tail wags faster with each scratch.

Twilight’s bedroom is pretty big, but it’s so packed to the brim with stuff that it feels cramped. Science equipment, computers, anime figurines, books, plants, half-built robots, stuffed animals — there’s barely a foot of free space in the entire room. She claims it’s all too important to put away, but I suspect her mom might not agree.

Once she’s taken off her lab coat, Twilight sits down next to us. “I think you’re more than talented enough to make it a career.” She motions to the picture I gifted her — the drawing of vines reclaiming a ruined city — that’s pinned to a bulletin board near her PC. From this distance, it’s not quite as shitty as I remember.

I shrug again. “Maybe. But even if I were, how much money is there in it? I’m not exactly the ‘starving artist’ type. I really like food.”

That gets a tiny titter out of her. Friendship saved. “Well,” she says, “I think you’ll be a fantastic chemist too.”

I grin. “And if I discover a new element, I’ll name it after you.”

“Twilightium?”

“No, dorkium.”

Now she breaks into one of her signature snort-laughs. Friendship really saved.

“You’re going into engineering, right?” I ask, reaching over to scratch Spike’s belly. “Where are you gonna go? Everton?”

“They have the best robotics program in the country, yeah. And their main campus is only an hour away.” She lays back and folds her hands over her stomach. “But they’re incredibly competitive. And transferring schools junior year — especially from private to public — doesn’t look great on an application.”

“That’s such bull. You’ve got perfect grades. Who cares where you earned them?”

“Everton, unfortunately.” She turns over and smiles at me. “MIS has a great program too. If they accept me, maybe we could go together? I know friendship solves everything, but I’d much rather have you as a roommate than someone I’ve never met.”

My stomach locks up. The thought of moving to a new town, paying thousands in tuition, committing four years of my life to university and the rest to chemistry — it makes me wanna puke.

But it’s my plan. It’s the best plan. I need money, food, a place to live. Art and music are great, but they aren’t stable careers. And I can’t keep relying on Princess Twilight to support me, especially once I start doing taxes and the feds ask how I’m paying my bills.

The future is hurtling towards me. Am I ready for it?

Ugh, of course I am! Every teenager goes through this. I’ve faced worse. Can MIS teach me how to suck it up and stop whining?

“Sunset?”

“Definitely,” I say. “And then I can teach you how to draw, and you can become an art major for me.”

She scoffs. “If you don’t have the talent, then I definitely don’t.”

“How do you know? Do you ever draw?”

“No.” She looks away, fingers fidgeting. “Not really.”

Twilight. Oh, Twilight. You’re not getting away that easily.

I raise an eyebrow. “So you do. Anything recent?”

“Sort of. It’s nothing.”

Now I sit up. “Can I see?”

For a few seconds, she’s quiet. Then she sits up too. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Totally.” I hold up three fingers. “Filly Scout’s honor.”

“Okay, there is no way you were an anything scout.”

“True,” I say, putting down my fingers. “But I still give my word. From one scientist to another.”

She’s pouting. But soon she stands up, walks over to her desk, and opens one of the drawers. She takes a moment to sift through, then pulls out a sheet of paper with something purple drawn on it. Her stance is stiff as she walks back and hands it to me. I give her one last smile before taking a look.

Goddess above it takes every scrap of acting prowess I have to not burst out laughing.

It’s a picture of Twilight, scribbled in colored pencil — a picture of Twilight as a pony. She’s got the same hair and glasses, but she’s down on four blocky hooves. Her entire body is purple, just a shade darker than the Princess, and her wings are bigger than the rest of her body. No horn, though, and no cutie mark. She’s a blank flanked pegasus.

“This is,” I start, biting the inside of my mouth so I don’t grin, “nice.”

Her face is red. She crosses her arms. “I know that I have a pony counterpart in Equestria, and I was trying to imagine what she looks like — what I’d look like if I crossed over. Is this close?”

“Pretty close! She’s got smaller wings, though. And she’s got a horn.”

Twilight’s eyes go wide. “She has wings and a horn? When I pony up, I only have wings.”

“Yep, that’s what makes her a princess.” I tap Twilight’s flank. “Also you forgot your cutie mark.”

Her wide eyes narrow. “What’s a cutie mark?”

Right. Magical ass tattoos aren’t a universal concept.

“It’s a thing ponies have,” I explain, scooching over to let her sit down. “When you find your ‘special talent’ — basically what you want to do with your life — a symbol appears on your flank to represent it. Sort of like magic puberty.”

She nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Did you have one?”

“Yep. Mine was a gold-and-red sun. And the Princess’ is a pink star — like the ones on your skirt.”

Twilight looks down at her skirt, dotted in tiny pink stars, and frowns. “This is my cutie mark? What does it mean?”

I scratch my chin. “Well, Princess Twilight’s represents how she’s an expert at magic. But an Earth-born human has never crossed into Equestria before, so there’s no guarantee that you’d have the same mark.”

“Interesting.” She takes the drawing from me and touches her blank flank. “Sounds convenient, having a surefire way to know what you’re destined for. Maybe my cutie mark could be an atom, signifying my love for science? Or a wrench, to represent engineering?”

“Sure! Anything’s possible.” The smallest giggle slips through my lips as I nudge her. “After all, it’s your fursona.”

She grabs a pillow and smacks me in the face with it.

Author's Note

I hope that you can forgive me for the totally self-indulgent act of making Velvet a journalist

WEDNESDAY, JULY 12, 10:26 AM

I have a bad case of chronic lateness. No matter what time an event starts, you know I’m arriving at least five minutes behind. I’ll probably end up running late to my own funeral.

But early in our friendship, Applejack taught me a saying: “Better to arrive early, lest your friends get surly.” Once I got over the shock of hearing her say ‘lest,’ I took the meaning to heart: Don’t keep AJ waiting, or she’ll chew your ass out.

That’s why, half an hour before our first summer rehearsal starts, I’m already tuning my guitar in Applejack’s shed. She’s off somewhere finishing her morning farm work, meaning I’m alone.

My eyeballs are twitching and my brain feels like it’s vibrating, but I don’t know whether that’s because of how early in the morning it is, or the two cups of coffee I’ve already chugged. Waking up before noon in July should be considered as offensive as public nudity.

Twilight walks in and hands me another steaming mug of coffee. I take the mug, grunt in thanks, and swig half of it down. I’ve already burned away most of the skin in my mouth, so now it’s just a bitter and muddy tingle.

At least Applejack isn’t the only one who believes in arriving early. Only difference is that AJ does it out of old fashioned respect, and I’m pretty sure Twilight does it out of crippling anxiety.

She sits down on the bale of hay next to me and pulls a thermos out of her bag. While she uncaps it, I nod at her. “What, too good for AJ’s coffee? I’m pretty sure Granny Smith grinds it by hand.”

“It’s orange juice.” She takes a small sip. “I don’t drink coffee. It scares me.”

I swallow way too much coffee at once so I can blurt out, “Explain that, please.”

“I’ve got an addictive personality. I just know that once I taste a sip of coffee, I’m gonna end up drinking it every day.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“For my wallet, yes.”

“Aw, that’s what you’ve got friends for!” I lift my mug. “Fun times and free caffeine!”

She smiles and points her thermos at me. “You, Miss Shimmer, are a true coffee addict. But I’m not taking any chances. I’ll leave the free caffeine to all of y’all.”

While she takes another swig, I try not to laugh. “What did you say?” I ask, staring.

“I said,” she says, then pauses. Her lips purse. “I said I’m leaving the free caffeine to you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did!”

I shake my head and lean into her. “Nope. You said you’re leaving it to ‘y’all.’”

“Same thing,” she says, waving me off, but then she starts twiddling with her hair.

“Applejack’s rubbing off on you!” I say, grinning. “No shame in it! She’s a cool girl!”

“No one’s rubbing off on anyone,” she says. She twiddles faster. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“You sure? I think y’all did mean to say it.”

She sneers. “That doesn’t work! ‘Y’all’ is plural!”

“Says who?” I point at her. “Y’all?”

“Yes, me!” She slams her thermos down, laughing. “Y’all are driving me crazy!”

That gets me to giggle. “Oh, so now y’all are okay with it?”

“Y’all better stop this now, or I’m gonna get real upset.”

“And what’ll y’all do about it?”

A giggle storm is raging behind her lips. Some of the storm slips out as she shakes her head and says, “Y’all don’t even want to know.”

I poke her bouncing leg. “Tell me, y’all!”

She’s shaking, but she takes a long and deep breath. Then she grabs my poking finger and looks me in the eyes. “When I’m done with y’all, y’all are gonna wish that y’all never decided y’all could stand up to me. Y’all.”

Quiet. We’re both breathing hard.

I snort. “Man, y’all are a bitch.”

Twilight throws her head back and cackles, hard enough that her feet leave the ground. Like clockwork, my breaths sputter into chuckles. I dip my head between my knees and let the laughter spill out like air from a balloon. It doesn’t take long for my face to ache from the smile.

We stay like that for a minute, but soon enough we both recover and sit down again, panting.

Applejack walks into the garage, carrying her bass. “What are y’all laughing about in here?”

Shit.

The next thing I know I’m falling off my hay bale, choking on chortles. Twilight is right behind me, on her knees and doubled over the hay bale.

Through my tears, I see Applejack cross her arms. “Are y’all okay?”

Spit flies from my mouth as I roll, heaving with laughter, onto my back. Twilight slips off her hay bale and howls into the floor.

Applejack steps forward. “Seriously y’all, what is so funny?”

“Stop!” I try to say but I’ve taken a hammer to the stomach. Everything hurts and I can’t stop laughing and it hurts so good. Twilight dives into her bag and pulls out her inhaler.

I don’t know how long we spend on the floor. Every time I think I’m about to calm down, I look at Applejack and start laughing again. Can’t tell whether she’s annoyed or frightened. Goddess help us.

All I do know is that once we eventually do pick ourselves back up — faces red, chests aching, lungs heaving — us three aren’t the only ones in the room anymore. Rainbow Dash and Rarity walked in at some point, and are watching us with the same annoyance/fright as AJ.

“What, pray tell, did we just walk into?” Rarity asks, hand on her hip.

I wipe the drool off my chin. “Sorry, guys — heh. Inside joke.”

Twilight chugs orange juice between shallow breaths.

Applejack snorts, turns to Dash and Rarity, and then jabs a thumb in our direction. “I’m pretty sure these two have finally gone insane.”

“Don’t worry!” I run a hand through my sweaty, knotty hair and lean back. “We’re fine, y’all.”

Orange juice shoots out of Twilight’s nostrils.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 19, 3:32 PM

Rainbow Dash holds up a $20 bill. “Here’s the deal: We all put in twenty bucks, and the last person to scream wins it all. I’ll start.”

Applejack frowns. “Ain’t that the $20 I let you borrow last week?”

“Of course not,” Rainbow says. “I already spent that. This is from my allowance.”

While Applejack lifts Rainbow off the ground and tries to wrest the money from her hand, Rarity scoffs. “Please. It’s bad enough that we’re spending a beautiful afternoon like this watching an awful, gory horror movie. I don’t need to lose even more money.”

“Aw, the movie’s not gonna be that bad,” I say, leaning back in my creaky food court chair. “But I’m with you on the money thing — you know how expensive popcorn is, right?”

“And candy,” Pinkie adds, nodding. “And soda. And nachos. And slushies. And fries. And at least three hot dogs.”

Fluttershy doesn’t even look up from her knitting.

“Aw, come on,” Rainbow says as AJ stuffs the $20 bill into her own pocket. “What, are you all salty ‘cuz you know I’ll win?”

Next to me, Twilight raises her hand. “You didn’t ask me.”

Rainbow smirks. “Right. Twilight, do you wanna challenge me in a bravery contest?”

She takes out her wallet. “Sure.”

While Twi takes out some money, Rainbow blows a raspberry. “What? It’s a super scary horror movie! You’re totally gonna scream before I do.”

Now Twi’s the one smirking. “Should be an easy win, then.”

Rainbow narrows her eyes. “You’re baiting me.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, you are.” Rainbow fishes another $20 out of her wallet, slams it on the table, and grins. “And I’m taking the bait.”

The logical part of my brain knows that Rainbow’s winning this. She talks a big game, but she backs it up too. And Twi is jumpy at the best of times. There’s no way she keeps a straight face through all of Blood Curl.

But there’s something about her smile that’s keeping me hooked. She’s too smart — and too self-depreciating — to challenge Rainbow if she couldn’t follow through. She’s thought about this.

I grab my wallet and pull out some bills. “I’m putting $20 in.”

Pinkie joins me a second later. “Samesies!”

“Me too,” Applejack says, putting down the $20 she took from Rainbow. “I wanna see how this turns out.”

Fluttershy follows after, and then Rarity, albeit with some grumbling. And through it all, Twilight just sits politely, hands folded while the money piles up around her.

Rainbow is glaring at us like we’ve spat on her fancy sneakers. But then she takes a breath, slaps herself in the face, and puts her grin back on. “Fine, doubt all you want. But when I win this, I’m gonna take your money and buy a ticket to next week’s Canterlot Wizards game. And one of those tiny baseball helmets filled with ice cream.”

“And I’m going to buy a new bed for Spike,” Twilight says, holding her head high. “Memory foam.”

Fluttershy gasps.

“Oh, this is serious serious,” Pinkie says, eyes wide.

Chuckling, Rainbow steps forward, spits in her hand, and offers it to Twilight. “May the best woman win?”

Twilight cringes back. “Can I just accept the handshake in spirit?”

“No, you gotta shake for real.”

“But that’s your spit!”

“Yeah, it’s tradition! It’s a metaphor!”

“A metaphor for what?”

“My fighting spirit!” Rainbow says, balling her hand into a fist. The saliva in her palm squelches and spills through her fingers.

“Can I shake for her?” I ask, raising my hand. “Like, as a proxy?”

Rainbow turns to Pinkie. “She can’t do that, right?”

Pinkie pulls out a massive book labeled ‘The Laws of Handshaking, Revised Ed.’ and puts on a tiny pair of reading glasses. She murmurs to herself as she skims through the chapters, then slams it shut and shakes her head. “There’s nothing in the rules that says a half-pony teenager can’t act as a spit-shake substitute!”

Rainbow growls, but then spits in her hand again and turns to me. I do the same and we shake.

When I pull away, Twilight hands me a pile of napkins and a tube of hand sanitizer.

Neutral party Applejack gathers up everyone’s cash, then we all get up and start heading over to the theater. Rainbow’s strutting along with her chest puffed out like she’s already won. But Twilight still looks as calm as ever.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” I ask her in a low voice. “I know I bet on you, but you don’t strike me as the horror movie type. No offense.”

“None taken,” she says, smiling. “But don’t judge my book by its cover. I happen to be something of a horror movie aficionado — you’d be surprised what sort of things a girl can find when given unsupervised internet access from an early age!”

I blink. “Should that worry me?”

“Leave the worrying to my therapist.” She starts strutting like Dash. “The point is that I’ve seen far worse than an overproduced mainstream jumpscare-bloated slasher flick like this. It won’t faze me one bit!”

Maybe it’s just the dark theater, but halfway through the movie, Twilight looks a lot like her mom: Pale.

She’s still got a smile, though it’s tight, like it’s taking a world of energy just to keep her lips closed. She’s sitting ramrod straight, gripping the armrests. And every jumpscare makes her kick her leg out like it’s a doctor’s reflex test.

But she hasn’t screamed. Hasn’t made a sound, not even a squeak. I’m not sure she’s breathing. That scares me more than the movie.

Rainbow Dash is three seats away, shrunken into her seat like a dehydrated grape. Can’t say for sure how she’s doing, but it doesn't look great!

And besides, even if she did scream, I wouldn’t be able to hear it over the other girls. Pinkie’s yelping at least ten times a minute — probably because she just likes to scream. Fluttershy’s pulled her shirt collar over her face. Even Applejack’s hollering!

Rarity went to the bathroom an hour ago and hasn’t come back. Good chance that she snuck into the romcom they’re showing one theater over.

All this said, the movie is almost over and both Twi and Dash are still going strong. Er, “strong.” What happens if the movie ends and neither of them have screamed? Is it a tie? I better get my money back. I wanna have burritos for dinner tonight.

On screen, the main character — some skinny chick with shining blond hair and a tiny tank top — is creeping through a dark attic with a flashlight, snail slow. It’s been nine seconds since the last scare, so everyone in our theater is on edge. As the chick reaches the wooden box at the edge of the attic, Twilight takes a long breath.

The wooden box shoots open and a snake, shining red with blood, leaps into the camera.

Twilight jumps in her seat and her hand darts over to clutch mine and holy shit oh my goddess what is happening.

While the rest of the theater explodes with screaming, Twilight’s fear surges through her and directly into me. I scream a curse, don’t even know which one, at the top of my lungs. Waves of terror crash in my bones. I feel like I’ve been drugged — hell, like I’ve been thrust into the movie, fighting for my life harder than Skinny Chick is for hers.

All this happens in the span of two seconds. And soon enough the jumpscare fear fades away, and I’m left heaving for breath. Twilight’s still holding my hand, and she’s still scared, but the teeth-clenching terror is gone.

I lean over to her. “You good?”

She flinches at my voice — I mutter an apology — but nods. “Yeah, yeah, totally.” She notices our hands and lets go of me. “Oops. Sorry.”

We move apart, sitting up straight again. Without hers nearby, my palm is cold in the full-blast movie theater air conditioning. So I lean into her again. “You can keep holding my hand, y’know. If it’ll help.”

She glances at my hand, then my eyes, then back down to my hand. She smiles and slips her warm, trembling fingers between mine again.

It’s just in time for another jumpscare. Her grip is blisteringly tight, and the terror comes rushing back. But this time I’m ready. And I do my best to absorb it, to let the fear flow out of her and into me.

If it helps her, I’ll stand it. Whether it’s spit-shakes or bloody snakes, I’ll be her proxy.

In front of us, Skinny Chick gets stabbed.

Rainbow shrieks and super-speed jumps out of her chair, soaring high enough to land butt-first in Applejack’s popcorn tub.

FRIDAY, JULY 21, 2:36 AM

I live at 434 Pinfeather Avenue, right in the heart of Canterlot City’s Lower East Side. It’s the kind of neighborhood that a lot of concerned moms online would call “sketchy.” In other words, there’s a lot of concrete, and the sandwich guy at the corner bodega lets his cat sleep on the counter. Her name is Coconut, and she loves grilled chicken.

I’ve spent my entire human life living in the LES, and although it took a few years, I’ve come to love it. My one complaint: It’s loud.

That’s not always a bad thing! When the couple living next door to me blasts pop music while I’m making dinner, I dance my ass off. But when it’s 2 AM and there’s a dude outside blasting his car stereo while I’m trying to relax, things get annoying. Even with headphones on, I can feel my bed frame rattling at every bass beat. As if drawing freehand wasn’t hard enough.

I grip my pencil, almost tight enough to snap it, and stab into my sketchbook. This picture of Ray is gonna come out perfect, whether the dude outside cares or not. The galaxy’s greatest gecko deserves more than wobbly linework.

I’m stuck so deep in focus mode — noise-canceling headphones with pounding low-fi beats, hunched horribly over my sketchbook, snapping gum bubbles ‘til my jaw hurts — that I almost miss my phone ringing. It’s only when it vibrates itself over to my toes that I glance over and see a shot of Rainbow scoring a goal.

It’s no surprise that she’s up this late — if there’s anyone I trust to have a worse sleep schedule than me, it’s her — but why is she calling? And does it make me a bad friend if my first thought is, “Oh goddess, she’s been arrested and needs me to bust her out of prison?”

I pause my music, sit up straight enough that my spine pops, and accept the call.

A torrent of different voices explode out of my phone’s speaker. And even more startlingly, the voices aren’t coming from a phone call — it’s a video call.

Rainbow is grinning at the top, and she’s running so fast that everything but her face is a blur. Below her are Rarity and Applejack, half-naked in bed (their own beds, to be clear) and yelling at Dash for waking them up. Pinkie is somehow both holding her phone and still asleep. Fluttershy and Twilight just stare bleary-eyed into the camera.

“What’s going on here?” I ask when Rarity and AJ stop to breathe.

“Ooh, ooh, Sunset!” Rainbow says. She sounds like she’s talking at super-speed too. “You’re here! Finally!”

“Ugh, can you keep it down?” Applejack asks, covering her ears. “You’re barking louder than Winona!”

“Can’t quiet down! I’m too hype!” Rainbow jumps onto her bed and starts trampolining. “Guess what band just got booked for Summer Sunfest in August?”

“The big concert series over in Hoofington?” I ask. It only takes a second of thought for my heart to leap. “Wait. Is PostCrush coming back early?”

Pinkie’s eyes snap open. “PostCrush? Who said PostCrush?”

“It’s not PostCrush!” Rainbow says, rolling her eyes.

“Oh.” Pinkie closes her eyes and starts snoring again.

“If it’s not them, then—” Rarity gasps. “Rainbow, are we playing Sunfest?”

Rainbow pumps her fist. “Bingo! My dad is friends with the talent booker’s orthodontist’s cousin, and he said he wants us on the New Artists stage, night one!”

“Holy crap!” I say. “That’s so cool!”

“Gosh, that’s a big concert, isn’t it?” Fluttershy asks. “Are you sure we’re ready?”

Rainbow scoffs. “Of course we are! And even if we’re not, we’re gonna rehearse five times as hard so we can get ready!”

Twilight just gives a weak thumbs up.

“Yeah, it’s real cool,” Applejack says. She still isn’t smiling. “But this couldn’t wait ‘til morning?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you,’” Rainbow says, smirking. “How do you people go to sleep so early? Are me and Sunset the only cool ones here?” She holds up her fist and moves it toward the camera. “C’mon, SunShim. Virtual fistbump.”

I giggle and return the gesture. “Insomniacs forever.”

Applejack snorts, says, “Goodnight, y’all,” and hangs up. Down in the corner, Twilight smiles.

“Yeah, you better run,” Rainbow says.

“I think I’ll join her,” Rarity says, yawning — but then her eyes widen. “Join her in going to sleep, I mean. Not anything else.”

Everyone’s quiet until she hangs up.

Rainbow, Fluttershy, and Pinkie hang up soon too. That leaves Twilight and I to stare at each other, eyelids drooping.

I wave. “Hi.”

“It’s very late,” Twilight says. Her voice is a dry croak.

“I think it’s early, technically.”

“I’m going to float you into a volcano.” She adjusts her body, and I notice a tuft of brown fur near her armpit.

“Is that Leonardo?”

She furrows her brow, then glances down at the brown fur. “Oh. No. This is Owlowiscious.” She pulls her phone back to show off the big stuffed owl nestled under her arm.

I puff out my lips and ask in a cutesy voice, “Did Timmy get that for you?”

Twi brings the camera so close to her face that I can see her eye crusties. “Go to sleep, Sunset. You’re killing brain cells staying up this late.”

“Not yet.” I toss my sketchbook to the side and fall back onto my pillow. “You need to tell me a bedtime story first.”

“Volcano.”

“Pretty please?”

She takes a long, long breath, like she’s about to dive underwater. “Once upon a time, there was a pony named Sunset—”

“Was she a sexy pony?”

“Yes,” Twilight says, glaring. “Very sexy. She had a really long horn, or whatever the standard of beauty is for unicorns.”

“D’aww.” I squish my face in my hands. “You’re so sweet.”

“There was a pony named Sunset Shimmer. And it was late at night, and she got very tired. So she went to sleep. And she let her best friend go to sleep too! And they all lived happily ever after. The end.”

“And what did they dream about?”

“Galloping around together, eating apples and carrots.”

“Hm.” I tap my chin. “That wasn’t a very good story.”

“Volcano.”

FRIDAY, JULY 28, 5:21 PM

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” That was one of the very first things Princess Twilight taught me. But whenever I see Filthy Rich’s face, I can’t help but wish I were judge, jury, and executioner.

As if owning the biggest department store in Canterlot City wasn’t enough, the dude has a massive double-sided photograph of himself hanging from the ceiling. In it he’s winking and puffing out his chest, surrounded by bold lettering that reads, “Barnyard Bargains: The Best Bargains the Barnyard Can Buy,” whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. And it’s big enough to see from every corner of the store, leering over the customers like a vengeful consumerist god.

I used to shoplift from this place back in the day. Now I just give his photograph a dirty look whenever I walk in. I like to think I’ve still got the spirit, even if my protest is more subtle now.

“Found them!”

Twilight skips back up to me, her arms filled with bulky brown boxes. They’re each decorated with a bunch of cartoon cows dancing around a very fecal-looking dollop of pudding. She unloads them all into our cart, smothering my innocent bag of apples.

“Pudding?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “We spent an hour on the bus for instant pudding?”

“This is the only store in town that still sells Choco-Loco brand,” she says, wearing a massive smile. “Everyone else stopped carrying it.”

“Still, it’s a long way to go for pudding.”

“I love pudding. Everyone loves pudding.”

“Eh. I could take it or leave it.”

“For the sake of our friendship, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” She cranes her neck to look up at Filthy’s filthy mug. “Do you think he knows he almost got us killed?”

“Nah, he’s a venture capitalist. That’s every day for them.” I click my tongue. “Should we be boycotting this place?”

“Probably.” She leans on our shopping cart’s handle. “What’s next on the list?”

I turn to her. “You know a lot about pens, right?”

“I’d like to think that my decade-long subscription to the Writing Utensil of the Month Club hasn’t been a complete waste.”

“You wanna help me pick out a new set of lettering pens?” I jerk my thumb towards the other end of the store. “Mine are running dry.”

“Ooh, fancy!” She pushes the cart forward and we head to the stationary aisle. “Working on a comic?”

Yes. It’s about Sky Blaster and Deep Slate from Queen From a Torn World helping one another through their war trauma. And then making out. Wildly.

“Sorta,” I say, looking down. “But fine-tipped pens like that are good for outlining and sketching, too.”

“That’s so cool. Can I read it when you’re done?”

No. No. Definitely not.

“Maybe!”

Twi rolls her eyes. “I don’t get why you’re so shy about your art. It’s fantastic! Let me praise you, gosh darn it.”

“I’m not being shy. It’s just not that interesting!” I say . “Trust me, you’re not missing out on much. Just imagine your pony drawing, multiplied like a hundred times.”

She pouts. “I thought you promised never to speak about that again.”

“I only promised not to laugh. Which I’m still not. Even if it’s super adorable.”

We step into the stationary aisle. It’s filled with oversized binders, overpriced calculators, and the overpowering scent of whiteboard markers — it’s only July, but the Back to School sales are already in full swing. A lucky break for my wallet, even if being reminded of the upcoming semester freezes me with dread.

“What if I asked you to draw something specifically for me?” Twi asks while I browse. “Would you show me it then?”

“Probably. Depends on what you ask for, I guess.”

She furrows her brows, taps her chin. “What if you drew me?”

I try not to drop the package of pens I’ve picked up. “Hah!” I grin. “As a pony?”

“No, a human. Just me.”

Don’t think about what I’ve already drawn. Her lithe legs, her small breasts. Don’t think about all my friends, sketched naked in permanent ink.

I kneel down to look at another package and hide my face in case I go red. “Maybe. It could be fun.”

She crosses her arms. “I’m not posing naked, though. Clothes stay on.”

No comment. No comment.

I smile at her. “I think I’ll leave those drawings to Timber.”

Okay, one comment.

Now she’s the one with red cheeks. “Very funny,” she says, arms crossed tighter. “But seriously: Can you draw me?”

I take a breath. “Sure. Once I’m done with the project I’m working on now, just remind me.”

Nausea worms through my gut at the thought of Twilight looking at my art, let alone a portrait of her. I barely even let Pinkie see my work, and she sat next to me in art class. What if I draw her neck too long or something? Give her a weird facial expression? Make her ugly as hell? I can already see her looking at the final product with a clenched smile, swearing that she loves it when she’s really never seen anything worse.

She giggles and kneels down next to me. “I’ll hold you to that!” she says, handing me a pack of pens. “This is my favorite brand, by the way.”

Those sweet notes of laughter bounce through my bones like electric jolts. She’s right — why am I so ashamed of my art? And why do I always assume the worst? She’s my best friend, not some asshole art critic.

I take the pens from her and toss them into the cart, alongside a cute set of kitty cat ink stamps. You can never have enough kitty cat ink stamps.

“This is exciting,” she says with a tiny clap. “Selfies are nice, but I always wonder what I look like to other people.”

“You’re beautiful,” I say, nudging her. “You know that.”

“I haven’t even brushed my hair today,” she says, running a hand through her curls. “I’m a frizzy mess.”

“Still cute. Sweaty, but cute.”

She shakes her head, but smiles. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“You better. Otherwise I’m not making you my special radish-wheatgrass-pasta casserole.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss that!” She looks away. “Speaking of beauty — could I ask for your help buying something?”

“Jeans?” I tap my bare knee. “Trust me, buy the pre-ripped ones. No one can tell the difference.”

“No, no, not that.” She lays her hand over mine. “You’re an artist. So you have a good sense of color theory, yeah?”

“Sure? I can’t see any special pony colors, if that’s what you’re about to ask. I’m not a shrimp.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

She pulls me left, away from the stationary, away from the groceries, and towards a section of the store I’ve never dared enter. Rarity’s favorite section.

“Twi?” I say as the first whiffs of strawberry perfume flood my nose. “I don’t think I’m the right person to help you pick out makeup.”

“Sure you are!” She leads me down an aisle lined with two dozen different brands of nail polish in hundreds of colors. “I just need a second opinion.”

I don’t wear makeup. Like, ever. Even during my Queen Bee days, I just saw it as a waste of money — at most I’d throw on some lipstick before each year’s Fall Formal. And let’s be honest: There’s a big difference between Twilight wearing makeup and me wearing it. No reason to put lipstick on a pig.

She picks up two bottles of nail polish — one a bright matte red, and the other a twinkling purple, a bit darker than her skin. “I’ve narrowed my choices down to these two. Now: Which color best says ‘I’m a cool, cute girlfriend who knows how to have fun but also deeply cares about our future together?’”

“This is for Timber?”

“It’s his birthday tomorrow,” she says. “I’m going out to his house in Hoofington for the first time, and I want to make it special.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hoofington? He moved?”

She blinks at me, then frowns. “Sunset, did you think he and Gloriosa lived at Camp Everfree? It’s a summer camp. There’s barely any running water.”

“Uh. No. Of course not.”

“Right.” She holds one bottle in each hand. “So, thoughts? I’m leaning towards the red, personally.”

“Nah, it’s too bright. But you can do better than that purple, too.” I look around the aisle and grab a bottle of sparkly pink polish. “How about this? It matches the streak in your hair.”

“Ooh, good idea! Told you that you’d be helpful.” She takes it from me, turns it over to check the price tag — and flinches. “Let’s try to find a cheaper brand, though. I’m a fun girlfriend, not a rich one.”

While Twi starts searching the shelves for more pink polish, I stand by our cart and bite my nails. Ever since that day at the boardwalk, I haven’t been able to hear about Timber without remembering Twi’s reaction to his kiss: Those wide eyes, those shaking legs and wringing fingers.

I still don’t know what’s going on between them, if anything even is going on. Twi barely mentions him, and when she does, it’s in passing. Which is weird by itself, right? We’re teenage girls — gossiping about romance is, like, our lifeblood. It’s the natural order of things.

“How is Timber?” I ask while she compares two vials. “Are you both doing good?”

“He’s fine,” she says plainly. “We’re great.”

“Did you get him a present yet?” I smirk. “Paying for a Death Dance coach?”

She returns to my side, placing a much smaller and less sparkly bottle of nail polish in our cart. “Not quite. I bought him a book on the history of the Everfree Forest.”

“Awesome! I bet he’ll love it.”

She sighs. “I hope so.”

Why is she sighing? What’s wrong?

But before I can ask anything, she chuckles. “Picking the right nail polish, the right birthday present, the right thing to say in every conversation… Being a good girlfriend is so much harder than I expected. Sometimes I feel like I’m running in the dark with no flashlight.”

I touch her shoulder, and a pang of anxiety vibrates through me. It takes all my restraint not to look through her memories.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say with a smile. “You’re a great girlfriend. And besides, he’s your first boyfriend ever, it’s natural to—”

Burning anger flashes through her. I let go.

“What’s up?” I ask. Her entire body has gone tight.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I just… Nothing. It’s dumb.”

“Twi.” I try to speak slowly, softly. “Talk to me.”

She doesn’t look at me. She’s staring off into the distance, down the endless aisles. Then, quietly: “When you say ‘first’ boyfriend — I don’t like that. It sounds like you’re just assuming Timber and I will break up someday.”

I am. What, are you gonna get married?

“Crap, sorry!” I say, waving my hands. “Def not what I meant! Just saying that you haven’t dated anyone before, so it’s normal to be confused.”

“Mm.” She takes a long breath, then turns to me with a totally normal smile. “You’re right. Thanks.”

I nod, though maybe I shouldn’t. “No problem.”

What aren’t you telling me, Twi? What’s wrong?

We leave the makeup section together and head towards checkout. While we walk, Twilight leans against me. “You know,” she says, “I bet this color would look great on you, too. When we get back to my house, can I paint your nails?”

“My nails are a lost cause,” I say with a scoff. When she frowns, I lift my hand and flash her my fingernails. My uneven, chipped, and savagely chewed fingernails.

“Ooh,” she says with a wince. “A nailbiter, huh?”

“Yep. And I was a hoofbiter back in Equestria, too.”

“I used to do the same thing. But then my parents put this awful bitter stuff on my fingers so it’d taste terrible.” She grins and holds up her palm, covered in callouses. “Now I just wring my hands. When you gotta tic, you gotta tic!”

“Another genius Twilight Sparkle innovation.”

She curtsies, then says, “What about painting your toes? That could be cute.”

“It’s 90° out right now, Twi. And I’m wearing boots. My feet are gonna smell like rotting death.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, waving me off. “I have magic. If I can clip Spike’s claws from twenty feet away, painting your toenails will be a cakewalk.” She pauses. “Also I own a military grade gas mask. I’m a fun girlfriend, not a stupid one.”

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 2, 3:43 PM

I can’t feel my fingers. Or my feet. Or my eyes. All I can feel are Twilight’s hands on my shoulders, shaking me back into reality.

“Stay with me, Shimmer!” she says.

“No, no.” I limply shake my head. “Just let me die!”

“I have ice cream.”

“What flavor?”

“Pistachio.” She holds up a cup of green ice cream, emblazoned with the flashy Equestria Land logo. “With chopped nuts.”

I sniffle and nod. “I do like pistachio…”

She smiles, sits down on the bench next to me, and hands me the pistachio cup. I try to take it from her, but I can’t move my stiffened, bandaged fingers without jolts of pain shooting through my hands. When she sees me wince, she sighs and balances her own ice cream (Double Chocolate Chunk, as usual) on her knees.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” she says, grabbing my ice cream with her magic. She scoops up a chunk of pistachio — all with her magic, no spoon involved — and levitates it towards me.

It takes a moment for me to move past the shock and open my mouth. She gingerly floats the ice cream past my lips and rests it on my tongue. Her magic is warm, and it pulses inside of my mouth like an ethereal heartbeat.

I can’t help but blush. Hell, I can barely look at her. “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I say as I wipe my mouth.

“Uh-huh.” She takes a bite of her own ice cream, totally plain-faced. “I hope I’m making the Princess proud with my Friendship Skills.”

I open my mouth again and take another pistachio scoop. “Sorry I couldn’t win you that stuffed parakeet,” I say through a full mouth. “I bet you had a cool name picked out for it and everything.”

She shakes her head. “No, I was too busy running the numbers to think of one. The best I came up with was ‘Harold.’”

“I like Harold.”

“Eh. I guess it’s more creative than the stuffed dog I just named ‘Spike II.’”

I giggle. “I bet Timber could have won it, rigged or not.”

Twi snorts and shoots me a grin. “Is that all you think we do? Just go to carnivals and win all the stuffed animals?”

“Maybe! I mean, you don’t tell me about anything else,” I say with a shrug.

The entire sentence hasn’t even left my mouth and already I’m cursing myself. Twilight’s smile disappears faster than it came. I swear I see her hold on my ice cream flicker for a moment.

I cringe away. “That sounded bitchier than I meant it to be. Sorry.”

She takes a bite of ice cream, and then slowly swallows, and then asks, “How bitchy did you mean it to be?”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Twilight swear before. I’m not touching her, but that stabs into my gut like a burning needle.

“Not at all,” I say in a tiny voice. More excuses bubble in my throat, but I feel like someone’s glued my lips together.

She nods. And she keeps eating. By herself.

Clenching my fists hurts like hell, but I do it anyway. I’m pissed off — at Twilight, at Timber, and at myself. Twi says she’s in love with this dude. But whenever I bring him up, her mood goes downhill. He’s the common denominator.

Or am I?

Back at Camp Everfree, Twi said that Timber could be a safe place for her, away from the magic and mayhem and everything else I’ve brought here. Maybe that’s it: The reason she loves Timber is that he’s not me. And every time I bring him up, that gets ruined.

I’m content to keep cursing myself. But then Twilight startles me awake.

“Do you really want to hear about our relationship?” she asks, staring at the ground. She’s just as plain-faced as before, but her voice has the slightest quiver.

“Yeah.” I sit up straighter, unclench my fists even though it’s torture. “For real.”

“What, do you think I’m going to lie?”

That quiver sharpened into an arrow. I frown. “No, of course not! I trust you.”

Hands on her lap, she clutches and wrinkles her skirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m being so defensive.”

“Is everything okay?”

“That’s why it’s weird: Everything’s fine! Great, even. We go out, and we talk, and we joke, and we kiss. Things are totally normal. It’s just”—she looks into the air for something invisible—“stressful. It takes a lot of work. And sometimes, talking about it makes me tired. You know.”

Do I? “What’s hard about it?”

“Little things. Like, he lives an hour away by car and two hours away by bus. And I can’t drive, so he has to come here. So every time we hang out or go on a date, I have to make it special. It needs to be worth the effort.”

“You’re worth the effort.” I scoot closer and try to offer her a smile. “Aren’t you?”

If she appreciates it, I can’t tell. “That’s true,” she says, but her words are lifeless.

My first instinct is to shit talk Timber — no dude is worth this sort of stress. But she loves him. I think. So that would just piss her off more.

But the seconds are ticking by. And she’s upset. And I need to help her. And I’m opening my mouth without a plan. So my second instinct will have to do.

“It won’t always be like that.” I’m shooting from the hip, making up each word on the fly. “You could learn to drive. Or once we graduate next year, you could move in together.”

“Yeah.” She takes a bite of ice cream. Still not looking at me. “Next year.”

Goddess above. I’m so smooth. So helpful.

Before I can apologize, she perks up again like none of this ever happened. Just like she did at the arcade and Barnyard Bargains.

“Like I said: Little things.” She smiles, scoops up my ice cream, and feeds me again. “But every relationship has its bumps. The important thing is that Timber and I are doing great.”

“And is he still cool?” This is the first time she’s opened up about their relationship — I might as well scrounge for whatever scraps of info I can get. “Like, he treats you okay?”

“Of course!” She adjusts her glasses. “I mean, he—he’s great! Really. He’s been such a fantastic first boyfriend, especially for a relationship dunce like me.”

I want to scold her for the self-depreciation, but I hold my tongue. “Good. The most important thing is that you’re happy.”

She chuckles. “You sound like my mom.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. She’s a smart woman.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” Twilight feeds me the last dollop of ice cream, then stands up. “Come on. We should get to sound check before Rarity goes on a rampage.”

I hold up my ruined fingers. “I dunno if I can even hold a guitar, let alone shred.”

“Don’t worry. If that new song Rainbow Dash sent you is anything to go by, she’s fast enough to play both guitars now.”

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 9, 12:11 PM

Twilight won’t answer my texts or my calls or my game invites. And when I arrive late to band rehearsal, she barely even looks up from her phone.

“Sorry,” I say as Applejack holds open the barn door for me. “Bus stuck in traffic.”

Across the room, Rainbow grins. “I keep offering to pick her up, but she won’t take it.”

Rarity scoffs. “Truly, who wouldn’t want to risk their life on that deathtrap you call a motorbike?”

I don’t hear Rainbow’s comeback. I straight up jump over Applejack’s amp to reach Twi as quick as I can. And when I do, I collapse into the plastic folding chair next to her hard enough to bend the seat.

“Yo,” I say, unloading my backpack and guitar case. I powerwalked from the bus stop, and still haven’t caught my breath. “What’s up?”

She gives me a smile smaller than a grain of salt. “Nothing. How are you?”

“Where’ve you been? I haven’t heard from you in days.”

“Oh.” She looks back down at her phone. “I’ve been busy.”

I lean into her. “With what?”

She shifts in her chair, moving away. “Nothing important.”

“Then why—”

Fluttershy appears behind her. “Sunset?”

I snap my head to look at Fluttershy hard enough that I pinch a nerve in my neck. It takes that twinge of pain to realize I’ve got my teeth grit, my fists clenched, my shoulders stiff — no wonder Twi won’t look at me. I’m going monster mode on her.

“Hey, Shy.” Breathe. Ignore Twilight ignoring me. Breathe. “What’s up?”

She’s holding a cutesy pink notebook. “Could you go over the bridge in my song with me? You have such a way with words, and I’d love your help.”

Saturday night’s group chat convo pops into my head. Crap, I did say I’d help her today, didn’t I?

“Sure,” I say, nodding fast. I turn back to Twilight. “Just give me a little while, okay?”

But she doesn’t leave. “Well,” she says, digging her toe into the hay, “I’d really like to finish these lyrics before we start practicing. Summer Sunfest is coming up soon, and I want to be ready for it.”

I nod again, but I don’t look at her. My neck still hurts. “Yeah, yeah. In a bit.”

“Oh. Okay.” She steps away. “I’ll come back later.”

Please don’t.

No, no! Stop being such an asshole.

I relax my hands, my jaw. “Twilight, you need to talk to me.”

For the first time, she puts down her phone and looks at my lap. “About what?”

“About—?” I hold down the urge to scream. Gotta keep my voice steady. “About Saturday, when you texted me. You needed help.”

“I needed advice.” She shakes her head. “And I told you, it wasn’t important. I figured it out.”

Important enough that she tried to call me twice. But if she doesn’t want to admit it, that’s fine — I’m not scared to dig deeper.

I put on a smile. “How was your date with Timber, then?”

A buzzing wave of anxiety pulses from her skin, strong enough that I can feel it without touching her. But it doesn’t show on her blank face. “Really great. We had fun.”

“What’d you do?” What did he do?

She shrugs. “Just dinner. Nothing big.”

“And everything went alright?”

“Yes! Obviously.” She frowns, deep. “Do you always have to interrogate me like this? It makes me really uncomfortable.”

There’s enough ice in her voice to freeze me to death. The two of us used to be able to share anything. No fear, no judgment. But now that’s all gone. She sounds like a stranger. Weren’t we supposed to stick together, whatever happens?

“I’m sorry,” I say. My stomach has turned into a nausea mill. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine. And I can take care of myself.” She furrows her brow. “I’m not a little kid.”

Damn it. She knows just how to scare me off.

“You’re right.” I shift away from her. “Sorry.”

She pulls out her phone again and keeps scrolling. “It’s fine.”

It’s not, you lying bitch.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“Sunset?” Fluttershy calls from a few yards away. “Is now a good time?”

Breathe.

“Gimme another minute,” I say, and I don’t listen to her response. Instead I reach into my bag and pull out a messy bundle of sheet music, spread it out across the music stand in front of my chair, and try to focus.

But my brain is too far gone to focus on anything. All I can think of are the angry words I want to shout at Twilight until she stops lying to me, and of Timber’s idiotic face, and of a future where Twilight and I’s friendship never comes back from this brink. Where she never confides in me again, and I’m alone, and she’s left to suffer.

And all the while, I can’t ignore the cold bump of my amulet against my collar.

What will she do if I just hold her hand and look into her mind? If I find out what’s wrong with her all by myself?

She’ll probably never talk to me again.

She’s barely talking to me now, though.

It’s her mind. She has a right to privacy.

Even if that privacy means total misery?

I’ve read the same page of music five times now and haven’t absorbed a single chord. An impressive feat, considering each bar is stuffed with about fifty of them.

Wait. This is Rainbow Dash’s new song. The one she wrote with super-speed. Goddess, no wonder my mind is so scrambled — this sheet music is complete nonsense. I’ve been meaning to ask Rainbow about it for weeks.

If Twilight doesn’t want to chat with me, then I might as well make use of the free time.

I shuffle the pages together — I swear they’ve got at least a pound of ink on them — and stand up. Fluttershy starts to speak, but I give her a firm, “In a second,” and walk over to Rainbow. “Hey, Dash?”

She’s so busy adjusting her effect pedals that she doesn’t notice me until I’m a foot away. “Hey SunShim,” she says with a beam. “How you doin’ this fine morning?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“Same. School doesn’t start for a month, but Harshwhinny already has us waking up at sunrise for Track practice.” She chuckles. “Doesn’t she know that some of us are professional insomniacs?”

I drag a hand down my face and groan. “Ugh, don’t even say her name. If I had to wake up early every day just to spend time with her — I think I’d rather cartwheel into traffic.”

Rainbow’s chuckle turns into a full belly laugh. “Double same. Anyway, what’s up?”

“I wanted to ask you about this song,” I say, handing her the sheet music. “Your new one.”

“Ooh, ‘Trail of the Comet?’” She beams. “It’s awesome, right? No joke, I legit wrote it while I was asleep. I had this dream where I was riding on a meteor, right? Then it turned into a soccer ball! Made of diamonds! And then my aunt’s labradoodle, Angelina, showed up and was all like—”

“It’s great!” I say, loud enough that she stops short. “I just wanna ask about my guitar part.”

“You mean the best part of the song?” She puts her hands on her hips and lifts her chin up high. “I’m pretty proud of it, yeah.”

“You know that it’s impossible to play, right?”

She keeps her hands where they are, but her chin falls. “What do you mean?”

“Every bar has, like, a million chords stuffed into it.” I point to the messy pages. “The whole thing is way too fast. I’d need six arms to play it.”

“It’s not that fast.”

“Says the girl with super-speed? Trust me, it’s pretty fast.”

Her smile falls now too, and for a moment I’m worried that she’s just gonna walk away. But then she shrugs. “I think it’s fine,” she says, squatting down to look at her effect pedals again, “but if you want, you can rewrite it.”

Nuh-uh.

“Me?” I shake my head. “It’s your song.”

Over her shoulder, I see her frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not gonna rewrite it. You’re the one who wrote it too fast. You can rewrite it.”

Behind me, Rarity yawns annoyingly loud. “Are we ready to rehearse? I need to leave by three to pick Sweetie Belle up from theatre camp!”

“Keep your skirt on,” Applejack says, stretching in her chair. “We’ll start once Pinkie gets back from the bathroom.”

“I still need Sunset’s help with my lyrics!” Fluttershy says.

Rainbow stands up again. “Why do I have to fix it? You’re the one who has an issue. Besides, I’m busy.”

“I’m busy too.” I hand her the sheet music, but she doesn’t take it. “And it’s an issue that you wrote.”

“I didn’t write an issue! I wrote a banger.” She crosses her arms. “No one else complained.”

“No one else but us plays guitar.”

“Did you even try to play it?”

“Of course I tried!” I say, rolling my eyes. I’m getting louder. I need to stay calm. Breathe.

She snorts. “Show me, then.”

My deep breath turns into a scream, rising in my throat. But before it escapes, Fluttershy appears next to us. “Sunset, I really don’t want to interrupt, but—”

I raise my palm in front of her face, fast enough that she flinches and goes quiet. Rainbow’s glare sharpens.

“I don’t have to show you anything,” I say. Breathe. Stay calm. But I want to yell. Breathe. Show her the sheet music again. “Just look at it.”

She doesn’t look. She sneers and shouts, “It’s fine!”

“It’s a mess!” I’m shouting back.

She throws up her arms. “So fix it!”

“It’s not my song!” Louder. Louder.

“And it’s not my problem!”

The sheets crumple in my fists. “Yes, it is!”

Fluttershy raises a finger. “Sunset, I—”

I turn to Fluttershy. “Could you please shut the fuck up for one second?”

It takes me less than a millisecond to realize I’ve screwed up. My voice echoes off the barn walls and I swear the entire room shakes. Then I feel it: A biting gust of fear from Fluttershy. And a wildfire of rage from Rainbow.

The combo makes me dizzy. I flap my lips, trying to apologize but babbling instead. Then Rainbow grabs my jacket.

“Hey, asshole!” Rainbow tries to pull me towards her, but I don’t move. “You don’t get to talk to her that way!”

My alien apology disappears. And instinct takes over.

“Don’t touch me!” I wrap my giant hand around her wrist and squeeze, hard enough that I can feel her bones, hard enough that she squeaks.

I want to keep squeezing until she cracks. But Applejack runs between us and pushes us apart. She’s the only one here stronger than me, and I stumble backwards, knocking over a music stand.

Rainbow falls into her chair. She jumps back up and tries to run at me, but AJ catches her by the collar before she gets going.

“Both of you, calm down!” Applejack says, holding out her arms to keep us separated. “You’re acting like damn kids!”

Rainbow jabs a finger at me. “She’s the one whining!”

I step forward and make Applejack hold me back. “I’m telling you your song sucks!”

Applejack scowls. “I said stop it!”

Twilight and Rarity are staring. Fluttershy is frozen in place.

“I don’t know what’s got into you two, but I ain’t putting up with it. You’re friends, not fools.” Applejack shoves us away again. “Both of you: Apologize.”

Rainbow scoffs. “Apologize for what? I didn’t do anything!”

Applejack looks at her and grunts. I swear I see fire coming from her nostrils.

It’s enough to make Rainbow shrink. She looks at her feet, then growls. “Fine. I’m sorry, Sunset.”

Everyone looks at me.

Screw this.

Screw them. Screw Rainbow. This is so stupid. Why should I apologize to her? For telling the truth about her shit song? For defending myself? Applejack’s acting like we both caused a problem, but she grabbed me first. That’s how it always goes: Rainbow ruins everything and gets a pass, then I call her out and everyone hates me.

I’m not sorry. Rainbow can get bent.

But everyone’s still looking. And I know what’ll happen if I don’t apologize. What they’ll do to me. It’s a year of progress, gone. It’s back to everyone treating me like the waste of life I am. Wallflower Blush, all over again.

Applejack glowers. “Sunset.”

“I’m sorry.” It shoots past my lips faster than I can think. “To both of you. Rainbow, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy’s squirming in place, but she nods. Rainbow just shoves her hands in her pockets like a scumbag.

With that, Applejack smiles at us both, then walks back to her seat. Rarity and Twilight look at their phones again. And Fluttershy walks over to her backpack.

Might as well try, I guess. “Hey, Shy,” I say, ignoring how she jumps. Try to sound happy. “Again, I’m really sorry for snapping at you. Do you wanna work on your song?”

She doesn’t look up. “Thanks,” she says. She puts her notebook away. “But we should probably start practicing.” Then she picks up her bag and goes to sit next to Rainbow, who’s tuning her guitar and muttering to herself. Probably about me.

And that’s fine. She can say whatever she wants. Doesn’t change the fact that she tried to fight me and gave up as soon as AJ stepped in.

I sit back down, take out my guitar, and try to focus on tuning. But what if AJ hadn’t stepped in? I could have kept crushing Rainbow’s wrist. And she would have started crying for me to stop. And she’d try to hit me. But I’d kick her in the stomach and she’d fall down. And I’d jump on her and punch and punch and punch. And they’d all regret treating me like this.

Something rips between my fingers.

I look down. At some point I stopped tuning, put my hands on my lap, and started wringing my leggings. And now I’ve torn a hole in the fabric, big enough to shove three fingers though.

Goddess, what’s wrong with me? I owe these girls my life. How am I still so horrible to them?

I can’t ever get upset like this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Twilight moves her chair closer to mine. “Are you alright?”

Oh, now you want to know about me?

But she lays her hand on my knee. And a soft wave of love rolls through her and into me. And I wish someone could touch me like this every day. And I could read her thoughts right now. But I won’t.

“Yeah, just — annoyed.” I sigh. “It was a dumb argument.”

“Not really. You’re right, it’s impossible to play.”

Thank you!

“Sure. But I didn’t need to yell at Fluttershy like that.”

“Of course. But things happen. You said sorry, and she forgave you.”

I smirk. “It’s really nice to talk to you again.”

“Same to you,” she says with a nod and a simper.

The barn’s back door flies open and Pinkie Pie sprints inside, holding two platters of pastry. “Guess who baked a dozen miniature apple pies on her way back from the toilet?”

Fluttershy strokes her own hair. “Um. You?”

“I hope you washed your hands,” Rarity says.

“Scrubbed underneath my fingernails and everything!” Pinkie giggles, but then scans the room and winds down. “Hey, things got kinda mopey in here. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Rainbow says, pulling her guitar strap over her head. “Just ready up. We’re not leaving until we go through the whole Summer Sunfest set.”

Pinkie frowns, then shrugs and balances the platters on a nearby shelf. “Okie-dokie!” she says, and skips over to her drumset. Our eyes meet briefly as she passes.

Twilight takes a drink of water and clears her throat. I put on my guitar strap and flick on my amp. I haven’t had time to calibrate it — too busy angsting — but the girls will have to deal.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes. I quickly take it out and check the screen.

It’s a text from Pinkie: “Are u okay?? ☹️❤️☹️”

I look over at her, but she’s busy adjusting her cymbals.

So I just text back, “Totally.”

Who’s the one lying now, huh?

Author's Note

Hello friends! This weekend I’ll be at Everfree Northwest in Seattle to sell books, sign autographs, and kiss babies. Check out this blog for more details!

SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 2:14 PM

Pinkie is trying so hard to hold in her giggles that I’m scared her brain might pop. “I spy with my little eye,” she says through clenched teeth, “something super cute!”

I’m 99% certain I know the answer, but I point out the window anyway. “Is it the dog in the backseat of the car next to us?”

“Nope! But good try. He is an adorable lil’ pupper.”

Right. I sigh. “Is it me?”

“Yes!” She leaps forward, nearly breaking her seatbelt to hug me. The belt strains against her chest and throat, and it makes her sound like a happily suffocating frog. “It’s Sunset Shimmer, the cutest ponygirl I know!”

“Pinkie, you’ve used me as your ‘I Spy’ target six times now.”

“What can I say? You’re a looker!” She ricochets back into her seat, then reaches into the driver’s seat and taps her sister’s shoulder. “It’s your turn, Maud!”

Maud doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “I spy something bituminous.”

“Uh.” I look at Pinkie, who’s smiling back at me expectantly. I can see an answer bubbling behind her lips. “Can you define that?”

“Something made of bitumen.”

Right.

I go silent, waiting for Pinkie’s bubbling answer to boil. It only takes a few seconds before she blurts out, “It’s the road!”

Maud nods. “Correct.”

Sometimes I forget that Pinkie grew up with rock farmers too.

“Yippee!” Pinkie cheers and darts forward to grab my shoulders and shake me. “I’m the best spyer in the world!”

With every shake I feel my gut juices gurgling and churning. We stopped at a roadside taco stand on the way here, and the Double-XL burrito I scarfed down feels like it’s reformed itself inside my stomach and started dancing.

Maud’s driving doesn’t help — she stops on a dime whenever we hit a red light, making us all jerk forward. We’ve been on this ride to Hoofington for Summer Sunfest for an hour, and I’m surprised her tires haven’t exploded yet.

I put one hand over my mouth to hold back a burp and push Pinkie back with the other. “You’ve got the eyes of an eagle.”

She frowns for a second — I don’t need my gem to tell she’s imagining herself as a bird — then shakes her head. “Nah, I’m way more of a seagull. They get to eat hotdogs!”

We hit a bump in the road, and my burrito jumps. “Don’t talk about food.”

“Oof, feeling carsick?” Pinkie asks.

“Please don’t vomit in my car,” Maud says.

“Not planning on it,” I say. She’s got great bedside manners, this girl.

Pinkie pats my leg. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there. Then you’ll be too busy having fun to throw up!”

A different, sharper kind of pain hits my gut. I snort. “Assuming Dash and Fluttershy even want to talk to me.”

And Twilight. She’s texting me again, but still doesn't want to hang out.

“Of course they do, silly!” She traces her hand up my leg, up my chest, and onto my shoulder. A calm breeze rolls through me. Her voice is soft as she says, “Fluttershy couldn’t stay mad at anyone, especially once they say sorry. And I know Dashie — she’s not upset. She’s just stressed and stubborn.”

“She’s not the only one,” I say, thinking back to our argument. I’ve spent this week doing nothing but rehearsing, just to make it up to her.

“The point is that they love you. And you love them!” She holds a hand over her heart. “And it’s like I always say: Love is all you need!”

I raise a brow. “You come up with that yourself?”

“I didn’t say that I came up with it! I just say it. A lot.” Pinkie leans over Maud’s shoulder, and for the twelfth time this ride, asks, “Are we there yet?”

And for the first time, Maud says, “Yes.” In unison, Pinkie and I both press our faces against the windows to get a better look, then remember that you can roll down car windows and do that instead.

Maud turns off the main road and onto a bumpy gravel path that leads toward some forested fairgrounds. I can smell the greasy food carts from here, and it’s doing wonders for my stomach.

We’re in a rural town called Hoofington. It’s about half the size of Canterlot City, and only has a third of the population. Not much happens out here, but there’s some rich record producer who holds a big music festival every summer on the outskirts of town. It’s the one time of year when the town has more people than cows.

The only other things I know about Hoofington are that everyone drives a truck, the kids at Hoofington High are poster children for why anti-drug programs don’t work, and it’s where Timber Spruce lives. Fortunately, I don’t think those last two facts are related.

Crap, Timber. He’ll probably be at the concert tonight. I hope Twilight doesn’t freak out. And I hope I can resist the urge to read his mind and/or strangle him.

These last few weeks have felt like stepping from one pile of shit into another. Timber, Twi, Rainbow, Fluttershy — I’m on the outs with all of them. I’m supposed to be the kind one, the understanding one. The Friendship Chick. But right now I’m more of a wrecking ball, smashing my world apart without a care.

I close my eyes to push back the nausea, and try to savor the last sweet wisps of Pinkie’s kindness still drifting through me. I hope she’s right about everyone forgiving me. No idea what I’ll do if she isn’t.

Maud doesn’t bother to find parking. She pulls her blocky gray sedan up to the fairgrounds, takes out our bags and instruments with a single hand, then gives Pinkie a hug and drives off. Pinkie claims that she wanted to stay and see us play, but she has to get home for the “mid-summer sand census,” whatever that is.

Even on solid ground, my stomach feels funky. The grease-tinged, humid air doesn’t help. I take a long swig of water, then sling my guitar over one shoulder and my backpack over another and walk on. Pinkie follows close behind, with a glittery pink suitcase and her entire drum kit balanced on her back.

I glance at my phone, trying to compare the map Rainbow sent us to real life. “Dash said to meet up outside the New Artists stage. Any idea where that is?”

“Hmmm...” Pinkie leans against me and smiles. “Probably twenty yards to our right!”

“Where do you see that?” I ask, zooming in to try and find our current location.

“Nowhere. But I do see Twilight and Fluttershy.”

I look where she’s pointing. Sure enough, Twi and Fluttershy are sitting at a picnic table next to a ticket booth. Twi is reading, while Fluttershy is petting and chatting with Spike.

Fluttershy. She’s spent the last year learning to love herself, working so hard to build her confidence. Then I screamed at her to shut up, and she looked at me with the same terror as she did when we were freshmen.

I knew I’d have to face her again eventually. Now’s as good a time as any.

Pinkie starts for me, sprinting ahead and yelling, “Hey besties!”

“Good afternoon!” Fluttershy waves as we approach. “We were starting to wonder where you were.”

“Sorry, traffic on the highway,” I say, smiling at her. I’m expecting her to frown and turn away, even cower, but she just smiles right back. Maybe Pinkie had the right read here. “Also we stopped to grab lunch.”

“Tacos?” Twilight asks, peering over the edge of her book.

“Yeah. How’d you guess?”

She lifts a glowing finger. “You have salsa on your shirt,” she says, pulling a red glob off my boobs. I smirk and bite it out of the air — she gapes at me like I just picked my nose — and I cackle until my stomach cramps up again.

“Are we the last ones here?” Pinkie asks. “Are we rotten eggs?”

“You don’t smell like it,” Spike says, nostrils flaring. “You smell more like strawberries and stale sugar cookies.”

Pinkie curtsies.

“Rainbow isn’t here yet. She’s driving up after soccer practice.” Fluttershy gestures into the distance, towards Hoofington proper. “Rarity and Applejack came up earlier, but right now they’re back at our hotel.”

Pinkie and I smile at each other. Twilight rolls her eyes and keeps reading. Spike looks between all of us, then shrugs and starts chewing his crotch.

I slip off my guitar and bag and take a seat next to Twi. Before I can even ask about it, she slides her book over to let me read along. “So,” I say, scooting closer to her, “you all ready to rock tonight? Looks like it’s gonna be a big crowd.”

“Not too big, I hope.” Fluttershy plays with her hair. “Not that I don’t want people to hear us play. But going from school concerts to Sunfest is a steep step.”

“Steps don’t matter when you can fly!” Pinkie says, stepping onto the bench and leaping off. “We’ll just swoosh right over them!”

“I think the ‘steps’ were a metaphor,” Twi says. Fluttershy nods.

“No way! This isn’t a poem, Twilight.” Pinkie wraps a rubbery arm around Fluttershy. “Besides, loads of Canterlot folk come to Sunfest! We’re sure to see a few friendly smiles while we jam. I invited all the girls I work with at the diner!”

“I guess you’re right,” Fluttershy says. A tiny blush crosses her cheeks. “I invited someone too. She—”

“Oooooooooh!” Pinkie jumps to her feet and points at Shy. “Fluttershy has a girlfriend!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Fluttershy’s blush heats up until her whole face is red. She turns to us, waving her hands in front of her face. “She’s just a friend! Who’s also a girl! That I like spending a lot of time with!”

“A likely story,” Pinkie says, stroking her chin.

While Fluttershy turns into a steamed tomato, Twilight and I giggle. I’m about to ask Fluttershy what her ‘friend’s’ name is when Pinkie spins and fixes her mischievous gaze on Twilight.

“What about you, Miss Lovebird?” Pinkie asks, hands on her hips. “Timber is gonna be here, right?”

Spike’s ears perk straight up, then fold back. If I were still a pony, mine would do the same.

And on cue, I feel Twilight’s anxiety spike — but it’s different than before. Before, her anxiety was an electric buzz, like the fuzzy static on an old TV. Now it’s muted into something duller. An ache.

And for once, her face doesn’t change at all. She keeps her level smile, looks Pinkie straight in the eyes. “Maybe! He’s been pretty busy lately, wrapping up the summer camp season.”

Fluttershy gasps. “Oh, gosh. Summer really is ending soon, isn’t it?”

“Time’s cruel march waits for no lady,” Pinkie says, shaking her head solemnly. Then she lights back up. “Anyway, where’s the bathroom ‘round here? The five quesadillas I had are going to war down there.”

“I can show you,” Fluttershy says, standing up. “Twilight, Sunset? Could you watch our bags?”

“What about me?” Spike asks. “I’m the guard dog around here.”

“Sorry, bud.” I pick Spike up, cradle him like a baby, and scratch his tummy. “Ponies are the new dogs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says, but sinks deeper into my arms.

Shy and Pinkie leave, leaving us three alone. I retake my spot next to Twilight. “You’re lucky. No instruments to carry — just your sweet-ass voice.”

“Trust me, my spine thanks me every day.” Twilight sighs and closes her book. “I hate to say it, but I’m sorta on Fluttershy’s wavelength here. This is a big concert, even if we’re just performing with other amateur bands. I hope I’m ready.”

“Aw, of course we are! How many other garage bands can say their songs have literally saved the world?” I hold my head high. “We’re gonna rock it, and everyone’s gonna love us, and all the cute girls in the crowd are gonna throw us their underwear. Guaranteed.”

“That sounds like a safety hazard in so many ways,” Twilight says. But then she looks away and simpers. “A fun safety hazard, though.”

“That’s the spirit.” I offer her my hand, and we high-five.

“I also wish we didn’t have to wait so long for the concert to start,” Twilight says, glancing over to the still-closed ticket booths. “More time to sit around just means more time to worry.”

“Just gotta find a way to kill time, then.” I pull out my phone. “I just found this video on the history of competitive Death Dance character tier lists. It’s two hours long. Wanna check it out?”

Twilight stares. “There is genuinely nothing I’d like more.”

While I find the video, Twilight puts her book away and then cuddles up next to me. She smells like coconut sunscreen. With Spike on my lap, we’re a bundle of warmth and dorkiness.

I need to get out of my own head — everything’s fine! Things are going great. No need to worry about anything.

Except for the queasiness still lingering in my stomach. Goddess, I hope that goes away before we get on stage.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 8:28 PM

Author's Note

This chapter contains descriptions of nausea and vomiting. Discretion is advised.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 19, 8:28 PM

After Camp Everfree, Pinkie and I came up with a cute little ritual for the Rainbooms to do before every show: We all stand in a circle. We all close our eyes, and we all hold hands. And with my powers, I link our minds, letting us share our thoughts and feelings without saying a word.

Right now, we’re crammed backstage, minutes away from hitting the stage for our Sunfest set. Stagehands and audio engineers are sprinting in every direction. We’re all dolled up in Rarity’s sparkling new concert outfits. Hearts beating, beating, beating.

The girls form a circle. Pinkie holds out her hand so I can join. I step forward.

Rainbow Dash looks at me. No emotion on her face. I stop.

As soon as I link us up, Dash will feel my shame and my fear. And every bit of her anger will flow right back into me. I can’t handle that. Not before the biggest concert of our lives.

But Pinkie reaches out farther. And on the other side, Fluttershy offers her hand too. She’s smiling.

Take a breath. Swallow my spit. Ignore the stomach pain.

Hold their hands. Focus. Break the barriers. Mind flowing into mind, into mind, into mind—

Like water droplets, our minds merge as one. I hear Applejack’s husky drawl, Fluttershy’s squeak.

Then comes the emotion. Love and fear and excitement. Tingling heat rolling along my bones, beams of passing sunlight. It’s almost enough to knock me flat on my ass.

Pinkie thinks first. “Hey there, cuties!” Even with the crowd grumbling and music blaring through the PA, we can hear each other completely clear.

“I’m ready,” Twilight thinks. She’s breathing fast, and every exhale pushes jittering waves of nervousness out of her and through us. “I’m ready for this. I am. I can do this.”

“You can,” Applejack thinks with pride. “We all can. We ain’t some third-rate, rinky-dink garage band. We’re the Rainbooms! Best in Canterlot, best in the world!”

Rarity hops onto Applejack’s pride and rides it. “And the best dressed. No competition.”

“I want to say something,” Rainbow thinks.

All of us quiet down. I grit my teeth, curl my toes, anything I can do to keep the fear from leaking out.

But a wave of fear hits me anyway. It’s coming from Rainbow Dash.

“I wanna tell Sunset that I’m sorry,” Dash thinks. She’s more afraid than I am. “I screwed up. I wrote ‘Trail of the Comet’ too fast without realizing, and acted like a dick when you pointed it out. I’m taking it off the setlist tonight. You’re my best friend, and you deserve better.”

There’s a lull. The connection between us falters for a second — at least one of the girls is opening their eyes to look at me.

If we weren’t all silently linked, I’d scream and jump for joy.

I send all my love crashing back into Rainbow Dash. “Apology accepted,” I think. Then I smirk. “And I gotta be honest, Dash — I sorta assumed we weren’t gonna play it anyway, and didn’t practice. Sorry.”

“I don’t blame you,” Dash thinks. A jolt of joy. “Just gives us more time to do an encore, right?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Applejack thinks. “We gotta put on a good show, first!”

“We got that in the bag!” Pinkie screams in our heads. “‘Cuz who are we?”

“The Rainbooms!” we yelp back.

“And what do we do?”

“Kick ass!” all of us think — except for Twilight, who substitutes “butt.”

We all giggle internally until something touches my ankle and a new, smaller mind joins our chorus: “Did I miss the weird brain pep rally?” Spike thinks.

“Just wrapped up,” thinks Dash. “Sorry, dude.”

A flash of furry frustration. “Aw, man! I always miss the cool part. But you gotta understand, there’s this super comfy couch in the dressing room with the chewiest pillows—”

“Rainbooms!” yells a gruff voice a few yards away. “You’re on in two minutes!”

“Let’s do this, ladies!” Pinkie thinks, and everyone cheers and lets go.

I stumble backwards, head spinning as my thoughts realign themselves. My vision goes dark, and my stomach flips — but I plant both feet down and regain my balance.

It takes a second to realize Twilight is talking to me. “I can’t blame him,” she says, watching Spike sprint back to the dressing room and his chewy pillows. Her hands are clasped in front of her, fingers struggling against each other. “I’m sure he’s heard enough of my singing at home.”

“I’d love to be in his place.”

“Sleeping on a couch?”

“No — well, yes. I’ll never turn down a nap.” I nudge her. “But I meant listening to you.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. No wringing hands anymore, though. “I’m sure. Well, I’ll say the same to you, Guitar Queen.”

“I thought I was Gamer Queen?”

“You can be both!”

“Twi! Sunset!” Applejack yells from the curtain. “We’re about to go on! Get your butts in gear!”

We giggle and hurry over to our places. The crowd rumbles behind the curtain. Camera phones flash and smoke machines steam. Nausea spiders through my gut — push it away. Push all the anxiety away.

The director counts us down. Five, four, three, two—

The curtain opens. Rumble becomes roar.

When I get up on stage and start performing, I go into a weird fugue state. I’m so focused on playing that my brain completely closes up, and I barely remember anything about my performance once it’s over. Ask me what playing Sunfest was like, and I couldn’t tell you. It never even entered short-term memory.

All I remember are the bright flashing lights, a blister opening on my thumb, and Twilight dancing — always an unforgettable sight. The lights were too bright to pick any faces out of the crowd, but I know that it doubled in size during our set, then tripled when Rainbow grew wings during a guitar solo.

Some people think using magic during our shows is cheating — trust me, I’ve read the angry SnapGab posts. But no one knows how to work a crowd like Rainbow Dash when she’s twenty feet in the air. Hell, she could give PostCrush a run for their money!

As we scurry back through the curtain, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat, the crowd gives us one final cheer. It’s the loudest applause I’ve ever heard, and absolutely makes up for the fact that no one threw their underwear on stage. Absolutely. Mostly.

“We’re so awesome,” Rainbow keeps repeating, super-speed running in a circle. Next to her, Pinkie vibrates.

Rarity and Applejack hug. And keep hugging. And keep hugging. Fluttershy collapses against a wall, touches her heaving chest, looks up, and then smiles. I’m still lightheaded.

And Twilight — Twilight is looking through a gap in the curtain, back into the crowd. She’s got her inhaler in one hand, and she’s grabbing the fabric with another.

I wipe the sweat from my face and sidle up to her. “You good?” I ask, shouting over the crowd.

“Totally,” she shoots back without a pause.

We join the rest of the girls and hobble back to our dressing room. Applejack gets there first, running in and tearing open her backpack, then tosses us each a cold bottle of apple cider. I try to catch mine and miss, but Twilight catches it with magic before it shatters against the wall. We clink bottles and chuckle, while Spike jumps off his couch and circles our feet, tongue wagging.

“Listen up, y’all!” Applejack says, hopping onto the couch. “I don’t usually do this, but I—”

“Speech, speech!” Pinkie chants.

Rarity cups her hands around her mouth. “Talk your shit, darling!”

“—wanna say a few words,” she finishes, frowning at them. Especially Rarity. She takes a deep breath.

I’m gonna throw up.

I bite my tongue and slip away from the girls. It feels like a spiked balloon has swelled up in my intestines and is trying to force its way out. I was lightheaded before, but now I’m genuinely dizzy with pain. I lean against the wall next to the door, but even there my legs are shaking.

Oh goddess, did I catch a bug? Some kind of summer flu? I had my period last week.

The roadside taco stand flashes in my mind. Did it have a health department rating on the side? The black flecks in my burrito were pepper, right?

AJ yells something. The girls laugh. A sledgehammer cracks into my gut. I almost fall over.

But then the pain passes. My stomach is still gurgling, my head’s still pounding, I’m disgustingly sweaty. But no pain.

Concert’s ending. AJ’s wrapping up her speech. Let’s get undressed and get out of here — the sooner I can get back to the hotel and close my eyes, the better. There’s no better way to cure a tummy ache than to lay down in a dark room and close your eyes.

Our dressing room door opens — Does no one knock before entering anymore? — and some lady with a headset on peeks inside. “Girls,” she says, “you have some fans out here looking for autographs!”

The room goes dead quiet. It takes a second for Rainbow, voice shaking, to respond, “Send them in, then!”

Holy crap. Holy shit, even. The only person who’s ever asked me for my autograph is my landlord on his rent checks. Hell, even the kids whose lives we’ve saved don’t ask us for autographs. We’re just some random teenage pop rockers. Autographs are for superstars.

But then the dressing room door opens wide. And the fans come flooding in faster than I can count.

It’s mostly girls, around our age or a little younger. They’re decked out in shiny yellow Sunfest merch, glow sticks hanging from every bit of clothing. Lots of pride flag pins — not a surprise, considering our frontwoman is a walking rainbow. They swarm the room like sharks, circling around each of us and squealing compliments and questions.

Rainbow and Rarity score the biggest crowds, and they look like complete naturals, handing out high-fives and signatures without a second thought. Pinkie is bouncing like a pogo stick, chatting and laughing and Twilight and I stay near Applejack, letting her take charge of the conversation.

But as more fans crowd in, Fluttershy runs out.

Crap, Shy. I got so hyped that I didn’t even think about how she might react to all this. We’re the ones thirsty for attention — she just wants to play her tambourine and chill.

I step away from the crowd, murmuring apologies. I should go find her and see if she’s okay.

But then the pain comes back, sharp enough to make my hair stand on end. I limp over to the couch and collapse. There are spots on the edges of my vision as I clutch my stomach, doubled over, head between my knees.

No, this is our big night! It’s just a stomach ache. I can’t be such a drama queen.

I force a toothy smile and unscrew my bottle of apple cider. The sweet smell floats into my nostrils and sets my stomach on fire. I shut my eyes, my chest heaves, and slap my hand to my mouth.

So much for acting normal. I need to get out of here.

Fluttershy reappears at the door. She beckons to someone outside. “In here!”

Oh, right. Her ‘friend.’ I rub my eyes and stand up — gotta stay stable for a minute more. Be a friend first, and die later.

“You guys were amazing!” Wallflower Blush says, running inside.

I fall back onto the couch. My stomach splits in two.

No. No. No. She shouldn’t be here.

Rainbow stands on her tip-toes and waves. “Yo, Wally! When did you get here?”

“Like, first thing this morning!” Wallflower’s grinning like a brat in a candy store, spinning around to take in every inch of the dressing room. “I’ve been wanting to see you guys play for months, and my aunt lives in Hoofington, so when Fluttershy told me you were playing Sunfest, I had to come!”

Fluttershy nods. “We’re in a birdwatching group chat together.”

I hear laughing. Don’t know who from. I can’t stop staring at Wallflower.

Why did Fluttershy bring her here?

Because she hates me. Pinkie was wrong.

I have to be nice. Be nice.

“The show was awesome!” Wallflower says. Everyone’s watching as she bounces from Rainboom-to-Rainboom. “Rarity’s keytar is so cool. And Pinkie’s such a good drummer! And Twilight’s the best singer ever.”

Twilight smiles, folds her hands behind her back, and steps closer to me.

Wallflower watches her move. And then her eyes meet mine.

Everything’s blurry, my mouth is dry. I’m breathing like an asthmatic, shallow and raspy.

Wallflower shrinks a bit. I want her to shrink into nothing. “It’s been a while, huh?” she says, sheepish.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

“Yeah,” I say.

No, no. I can’t hate her. We all forgave her. And if I’m not nice to her, she’ll hate me again. And then it’s all over.

Wallflower steps closer, and I feel her radiating emotions: Worry, excitement, exhaustion. Her emotions are hard, cold, uneven.

She feels like the Memory Stone.

When she took my memories, it felt like having my brain pulled out through my ears with a fishing line. I feel the same thing now in my stomach. Is she doing this?

Twilight touches my shoulder. I look up at her but sweat drips into my eyes and I can’t see her face, and she whispers something but I can’t hear her over my breathing. The spots in my eyes are getting bigger, darker. Wallflower did this.

When I look back at Wallflower everyone is staring at me. The girls and the fans and the walls. There are Wallflowers in the makeup mirrors, tinged with glowing blue light.

Wallflower steps towards me, closer and closer. “Are you okay?” She’s frowning, she’s angry.

Oh goddess I knew this would happen. Is she gonna hurt me? She’s gonna take everyone away again. That’s what I get for not being nice.

She’s close enough now to grab. I can stop her. I’m bigger than her, way bigger. That’s why everyone’s scared of me.

Then she smiles again. And she reaches into her back pocket.

I jump up and grab her arm tight enough that she shouts, then activate my powers and tear through her mind. I’m not going down without a fight.

Search her memories and emotions to find out what she’s planning. What’s in her pocket? The Memory Stone? Some new artifact she’s found to ruin my life?

A solid arm wraps around my torso and lifts me off the ground. I drag Wallflower with me for a few steps, but she pulls back hard enough that her shirt rips and I lose my grip.

Her memories disappear, and I black out as my mind reorients itself. When the world comes back into focus, I’m back in the dressing room, and Applejack is holding me.

Wallflower’s on the floor, collapsed onto her ass, face pale. Her Sunfest t-shirt is ruined. She’s holding a sunflower.

“What’s gotten into you?” Applejack yells. My ears are ringing.

All the fans are gawking at me. The headset lady is trying to herd them all outside. I stare back, blinking, lightheaded. Then the pain in my gut triples — and starts to rise.

I wriggle out of Applejack’s grasp and sprint out the door.

Down one hallway, down another. Can’t breathe. I hate her. Can’t breathe.

Crash through a set of double-doors and into the night. I skid to a stop in the grass and fall to my knees.

A waterfall of vomit flies past my lips. I can barely take a breath before I heave again and I erupt again. I’m gripping the earth for dear life, even as the world twists and melts around me.

I don’t know how long this lasts. But eventually the heaving stops, the pain eases up — but doesn’t disappear — and I fall over onto my side. The puddle of puke in front of me smells like rancid cheese.

Cool night air wisps through the trees and along my clammy skin. It’s 80 degrees out, but I’m shivering — I cross my arms in front of my chest and curl up into a ball. Cold, cold, cold.

Footsteps in the distance. “Sunset!” Pinkie calls, and a few seconds later she’s at my side, along with Twilight and Rainbow Dash.

“Hey guys,” I say, then cough. My throat has turned into rusty metal.

“Do you need my inhaler?” Twilight asks. She rubs my back in circles.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

Rainbow scoffs. “Dude, you are not fine.”

Twilight touches my forehead. “You’re on fire!”

“Yeah, I play guitar pretty good.” I flip over onto my back and stare up into the stars. “Pinkie. I think the burrito betrayed me.”

“What? No!” Pinkie tugs on her curls. “That’s impossible!”

The girls let me catch my breath. Then they pick me up, and I drape my arms over Twilight and Pinkie’s shoulders. “Sorry for ruining the concert.”

“Eh, you’re not the first rockstar to puke after a show,” Rainbow says, waving me off. “Most of them do it ‘cuz they’re on drugs, though. Here, lemme get you some water.” She super-speeds back inside.

Twi and Pinkie carry me back over to the door. But I plant my feet and stop before we get there.

“I don’t want to go back inside,” I say, hanging my head. “I don’t want to see her.”

They glance at each other. Then they turn me around, and we walk around the side of the building.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 20, 5:43 AM

Author's Note

This chapter contains some sexual situations that may be distressing to readers. Discretion is advised.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 20, 5:43 AM

Question: Why does the neon sign say ‘Hoofington Free Clinic’ if they’re still gonna charge me $45? How much work does it take to stick a thermometer under my tongue and tell me, yes, a 100 degree temperature probably means I’m sick? “Rest and drink water” headasses. Could’ve at least given me a damn lollipop. Not that I’d be able to keep it down.

The point is that I’ve got food poisoning. My tummy is growling louder than Spike at the vet, but even the slightest foodie smell sends my stomach flipping.

When Applejack, Twilight, and I got back from the clinic, I collapsed into the stiff motel bed and closed my eyes. But it wasn’t enough — I got barely two hours of sleep. I spent the rest of the night sweating and cursing and craving the sweet release of death. By the time morning came, I actually felt good enough to eat some white bread and plain crackers. But I still wasn’t anywhere near healthy enough to spend a day rocking out and partying my ass off at Sunfest.

So I looked up a bus schedule and bought a ticket for the first trip back to Canterlot City. Applejack volunteered to drive me, but I insisted that she stay. No need to miss the second day of Sunfest for my sorry ass.

Then Twilight volunteered to stay with me on the bus. And she bought her ticket before I could say no.

That’s why, an hour later, we’re huddled in the back of the CC37 bus from Hoofington to Canterlot City, sitting on stained fabric seats and breathing in bus fumes.

Well, I’m breathing them in, at least. Twilight’s wearing a face mask. I don’t know if food poisoning is contagious — though my stomach hurts enough that if you told me my burrito was alive and evil, I’d believe you — but she’s smarter than me, so I’ll trust her.

She’s wearing headphones, too. And she’s been quiet the whole time, staring off into space.

I rest my head against the cool window and close my eyes. But the old highway road is covered with bumps and grooves. And I still hear Wallflower’s voice. And see the fear in her face. And I get queasier with every mile.

Fluttershy apologized to me. “I didn’t mean to make you upset,” she said.

And I believe her. She didn’t think about how I’d feel. They never do.

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I just played a sold out concert in front of thousands. And after what I did to Fluttershy — hell, after what I did to Wallflower, demon I am — I deserve some comeuppance. Be grateful. Be nice. That’s why I’m here.

We hit a bump. My skull clacks hard against the window, and my stomach twists. Screw this. I need a distraction.

I turn to Twilight. She’s still looking blankly ahead. I nudge her. She doesn’t respond. Nudge again. She jumps and takes off her headphones. “Yeah? Are you okay?”

“Talk to me,” I say. I barely have the energy to speak over the bus engines. “What are you listening to?”

She looks at her cans and pauses for a moment before saying, “Nothing, actually. It’s just really loud in here, and I’m trying to block some of the sound.”

“Oh. Sorry. You can put them back on if you want.”

“No, no!” She stuffs them away in her bag, but recoils when we hit a bump. “Let’s talk. How are you feeling?”

“Like absolute garbage. But at least I’m not puking anymore.” I cross my arms tighter. “You didn’t have to come back with me, you know. You could have stayed and partied with the rest of the girls.”

“I’m not just gonna leave you to suffer alone. Food poisoning’s no joke.” She smiles and shakes her head. “Besides, I wasn’t really in the mood for a big festival like that. No offense to the other artists.”

Not in the mood. I know she’s not into loud music, but that sounds... deeper.

And it hits me.

“Did Timber end up coming?” I ask. It takes a second for me to remember that I’m not supposed to bring him up. My diseased brain is moving sixty frames behind my mouth.

Her smile shrinks. “No.”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.

“What a dick,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Yeah.”

Yeah?

“I know he’s busy, but you’re his girlfriend. And we’re literally in his hometown.”

“Mhm.”

I lean against the window again. “He’s a douche, Twi. I’m sorry, I know you love him, but I have to say it.”

“Right.”

Okay, what the hell.

“Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?” I ask, closing my eyes. My stomach is still flipping, but getting pissed at Timber is a nice distraction. “Are you two fighting or something?”

Her breathing picks up, and I wait for the response. We drive another mile before it comes.

“Timber and I broke up two weeks ago,” she says.

Eyes snap open. I lift my head to look at her. She’s gazing straight ahead, and her mouth is a hard, straight line.

I search for words. All I come up with is, “What?”

“The night I tried to call you.” Her fingers are twitching, and I can tell she’s trying so hard not to wring them. “I was going to ask you if I should leave him, and how. You didn’t answer, so I did it myself.”

Are you blaming me for this?

“Oh.” I blink, then frown. Whatever respite trashing Timber gave me is gone, replaced by boiling anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugs. “I was a little embarrassed, I guess.”

You guess? You lied to me for two weeks, and you guess it’s because you were embarrassed?

Hold it in, hold it in. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Oh my goddess.

“Why did you break up?” I ask, trying to keep a straight smile. “You always said that you guys were doing great.”

“We were! Kinda.” She shrugs again, but her posture is tighter, smaller now. “We liked each other a lot. And he’s a cool guy. But we just weren’t into the same things, you know? And he lives far away, so we didn’t see each other much. We just weren’t meant to last.” She glances at me. “I guess you were right about him being my ‘first’ boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mean for it to be a prediction.”

“I know.” She smiles, but it’s wistful. “Honestly, it’s for the best. I was never cut out for the whole ‘girlfriend’ thing. Way too stressful for, y’know, someone like me.”

“You’re great,” I say, but it’s totally automatic. I’m running with half-a-brain, and it’s not anywhere on this bus. It’s traveling two months back, to our double-date on the beach. “What was with you and Timber at the arcade?”

“The arcade? What about it?” She’s trying to sound confused, but I see in her eyes that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. And I’m not in the mood for this shit.

“Timber kissed you, and you freaked out.”

She flinches. “I didn’t ‘freak out.’”

“Well, you did something! You froze up. You looked like someone stabbed you.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, then turns away and says, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I scowl. “Come on, Twi! You can’t lie to me for weeks, drop a bomb on me, and then start hiding things again. That’s—” A spike drives through my stomach, and I have to stop to hold down a burp. “That’s bull.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she repeats. She clenches her fists. “I’m serious.”

Oh, you wanna get mad?

“Timber kissed you, you bugged out, and I wanna know why. What happened to sticking together? Why won’t you—”

“I’m not telling you because if I say it, I’m going to sound like a psycho!”

She says that loud enough that her voice echoes through the bus’ aisle. In the front, I see the driver look at us through his rearview mirror. She curls in on herself like a dying insect, head hanging low.

I lay a hand on her back. When she doesn't move away, I say, "You're not a psycho. Whatever it is, I won’t judge. Promise.”

Her heart is beating quick. She loosens her fists and sits up a tiny bit straighter. “He kissed me without asking first.”

I wait for more. Nothing comes.

“That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it. I don’t like it when people touch my face without warning. I panic.” She spits her words at me. “I told you it would make me sound crazy.”

“No, no, it’s just—” I try to find a nice way to say it, but I come up blank. “I thought he was, like, abusing you.”

She actually chuckles at that, though dryly. “Nope. Just freaking out over nothing. Because I—yeah.”

“Because what?”

She looks away. “Because I’m autistic.”

“C’mon, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means that I’m too weird to keep a boyfriend like him.”

I smile and shake my head. “We’re all weird, Twi. You can move stuff with your mind. I was born a horse.”

“You don’t get it!” Anger flashes in her eyes. “When you take off your amulet, you can just be a regular girl. That’s not how it works for me!”

She motions to the headphones sticking out of her bag. “I wear headphones without playing any music, because loud noises make my brain feel like it’s snapping. Half the food at every restaurant is off-limits because the texture freaks me out. Back in middle school, Indigo Zap could make me cry just by knocking one of my pencils on the floor. Can you relate to any of that?”

My mouth's as dry as it was before I threw up. I shake my head again.

“Yeah. Of course.” She rubs her eyes. “I’m not saying that I wish I wasn’t autistic. I’ve lived like this for so long, and it’s what makes me, well, me. I just — ugh, I don’t know! I wish I could stop being so neurotic, just for a second! When I met Timber, I thought I could handle things. But it turns out I’m too anal even for him.”

“Screw Timber!” I say. My throat burns with the effort, and the driver looks at us again, so I duck in my seat. “You’re better than him in every damn way. He’s nothing compared to you.”

“Maybe,” she says, sighing. “You’re right, I freaked out when he kissed me. And I was mad, because I’d already told him not to do that.”

“You see? Absolute scumbag.”

“But he’s never gonna get it! No one ever does.” She furrows her brows. “I can tell him all about my tics and triggers, but it’s my body, my messed up brain. I can’t make him feel what I feel.”

We quiet down as the bus turns off the highway and into the outskirts of Canterlot City. Cricket chirps and bird songs replace our voices. Farms and forests slowly give way to neighborhoods, lit in dim orange hues.

I come up with an idea. And it’s stupid. Really stupid.

But the part of my brain that’s supposed to incinerate the bad ideas — I’m pretty sure I’ve puked it out already.

I offer her my hand. “Would it help if you showed me how it feels?”

She glances down at my fingers. Then she stiffens up. “No. I mean, I can, but — I can’t do that to you. It’ll be awful.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I say, lowering my arm. “But if it helps you feel less alone, I want to help. I don’t want to be Timber.”

She purses her lips, studies my hand. Then she pulls some hand sanitizer out of her pocket and spritzes my palm. “Alright,” she says. She lays her hand over mine. “I’ll try.”

My head’s still pounding. But I focus my power anyway, closing my eyes, letting the magic slip through my fingers and into Twilight’s, along her shaking arm and up her neck, into her mind. With my other hand, I grip the dirty bus seat.

What I’m about to try — merging not only with Twilight’s mind, but her memories — I’ve never done before. I don’t know if it’s possible.

And Twilight’s mind is so much different than Pinkie’s. Pinkie is a living sugar rush: Every thought races at you like an excited puppy, begging to be heard. But Twilight is a dark forest. Her memories peer at me from a distance, vague shadows against shifting backgrounds, but then they scurry away whenever I get near.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. Her breath hitches. “Whatever you want to show me, I’m here. And if you wanna back out, that’s fine.”

Her mind keeps shrinking away from my touch, memories slinking deep into the undergrowth — but then I hear her voice. “One. Two. Three. Four.” Pause. Long exhale. Pause. “One. Two. Three. Four.”

And with each beat, her mind grows smaller, less foggy. The memories crawl back into view. I feel the edges of her consciousness, rough and spiky. She interrupts her count with a gasp when I press against it, as I slip further inside, until our boundaries break—

The sound of the bus snaps out. We hear the creak of a wooden bed, and the tinny jingle of a pop song playing out of phone speakers.

We open our eyes to an unfamiliar wooden ceiling, cornered by cobwebs—

No, not unfamiliar. This is Timber Spruce’s bedroom. It’s July, his birthday. We flex our hands, grasping at the soft fleece blanket beneath us. The fan is on, but we’re burning hot, sweat running down our stomach and thighs.

We turn our head. Timber is laying next to us. His shirt is unbuttoned, and looks so good like this, rugged chest hair over toned muscle. We’ve only touched that chest hair twice, but both times it was an adventure, running our fingers through and savoring the tingle. Do we look good to him? Sweaty and frizzy and small?

We try to stop trembling but we can feel his breaths traipsing across our neck, down our shirt. Fear and excitement and confusion and desire swirl around in our chest, and we have to open our mouth to breathe.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” we say past a mouthful of spit. “Just, you know. Anxious. This is really new for me.”

He shifts closer to us. “It’s alright,” he says, wrapping an arm around us. His forearm presses against our breasts, and our heart leaps. “You lead. Whatever you want to do.”

We’ve spent so long wishing for this. So many lonely nights alone in our bedroom, longing for someone to love us, fantasizing about moments just like this, about hands like his touching us all over. And now we’re here. And we can’t move, can’t even speak.

But he holds us like that for a few long minutes, silently nestling his face into the crook of our arm. He stays there even after the music stops. We close our eyes, count his heartbeats, try to sync our shallow breaths with his calm ones.

Our legs are still shaking. But we swallow. We take his hand and lead it to our chest. He doesn’t speak, just cups our breast in his hand and starts massaging. We lose our breath again as pleasure arcs through us, sparks from a wire, making our toes curl and our thighs stick together.

“God, you’re hot,” he whispers into our collar, and we bite our lip trying not to moan. “Can I take your shirt off?”

We nearly pop the buttons off our shirt trying to get it off. He tears off his flannel too, throwing it across the room onto the book we bought him, then returns faster, more ferocious. His hot breaths travel down our chest, our stomach.

With a shaking hand we take off our glasses and set them on the nightstand. “Is this good for you?” we ask. We don’t ask the real questions: Are we doing this right?

“Def,” he says, nodding fast. His smile — wide, toothy, eager — we haven’t seen him this happy in weeks. We worried we’d never see this again, never earn it again. But he’s beaming. He’s beaming as we wrap our fingers between his and slip his hand down, along our side and under our waistband.

And then takes the other hand off our chest and lays it on our cheek. And all the pleasure in us turns to lead.

“I love you,” he says, and he kisses us, and we stop breathing. No time to brace ourselves, to prepare for the awful sensations. Our cheek is burning hot, and cold nausea roils inside our gut.

We try to say “Stop,” we try to say “Please give me a second,” but the words won’t come out. He moves back an inch, takes a breath, comes back and kisses us again. His tongue slides against our teeth, prying its way inside. We’re recoiling as far as we can, back sinking into the mattress, but he’s swallowing us. His other hand is still sliding down. The world shrinks around us. Alarms going off, ears ringing, no, no, no, no, no.

He pulls back again to wipe his mouth, and we use all our fear to push a hand hard against his chest. “Stop!”

He jumps back and holds his hands up. “Stopping, stopping! What’s wrong? What’d I do?”

We turn away from him, curl up like a dying insect. We can still feel the germy outline of his fingers on our face. We try to say, “I told you, don’t touch my face without warning,” but half the words come out as squeaks.

“What?” He crawls forward and leans over us, blocking out the ceiling light. “What’s wrong? I can’t hear you!”

He’s loud, so loud. The air still won’t stay in our lungs. We curl up tighter, touching our chin to our bare chest and shaking our head. Our head’s spinning with panic and humiliation.

Our eyes are closed. But we hear him sigh, and all the frustration in it. He backs off again, and the bed squeaks as he stands up. “Lemme grab your inhaler,” he mutters.

Tears well in our eyes and run down our cheek into the fleece blanket, but we cover our face with both hands to hide it.

And darkness eats at the edges of our vision. A sharp pain cuts through our brain, and seconds later I’m back on the bus to Canterlot City, collapsed against the window and panting.

My face still tingles, and my ears still ring. The nausea inside me has turned into an exploding oil rig, and I have to close my eyes so I don’t hurl all over the seat.

But as the thrum in my head fades away, it’s replaced by a frighteningly familiar sound that opens my eyes again.

Twilight is hunched over in her seat, head in her hands. She spasms with every sob.

Guilt coils around me like a snake. “Oh, goddess, Twi,” I say. I move to touch her, then freeze — but I’m saved when she sits back up and collapses into my arms. I wrap my arms around her torso and kiss the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you relive that, I didn’t know—”

“No,” she says through hiccups, tears spilling down her face. “I think about it every day! I just—I loved him so much.” And her words dissolve again.

“I know you did,” I say. “You were an angel to him. He didn’t deserve you.”

“I tried so, so hard. But I was so tired. I couldn’t do it anymore.” She coughs, choking on her spittle. “He just kissed me, and I couldn’t handle it, I shut down, I feel like such a failure—”

“You’re not. You’re the best. You’re kind, you’re caring. Unbelievably amazing.”

She turns to drape her body over mine, burying her face in my shoulder. I wrap her in a tight hug and stroke her back. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

We stay like that for miles, even as the suburbs turn to concrete city streets. The sun is rising. It peeks over the squat brownstones and corner shops, and fills the bus with light at every intersection. It glints off of Twilight’s tears.

I curse myself, not only for dredging these emotions back up to the surface, but for pushing Twi so hard these past few weeks. I just wanted to know what was wrong. But I got so aggressive that I probably ended up pushing her further away. Another win for my wonderful personality.

By now Twilight’s sobs have turned to trembling whispers. She uses magic to pull a pack of tissues out of her bag, but can’t open it — I grab the pack out of the air and tear it open. “Thanks,” she says through drool, and blows her nose.

“No problem,” I say, brushing the ends of her hair. “You can keep crying if you want. As long as you need.”

“No, no, I—” She hiccups, covers her mouth, and a few more tears fall. Then she shakes her head. “I’ve cried enough these past few weeks.”

“I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I wish I’d told you. But I was so embarrassed.”

“No need. You were in a relationship that made you feel like crap, so you left. That’s brave as hell.” I chuckle. “And you know I love you. No shame, ever.”

She sniffles and nods. “I did feel like crud. So why do I keep thinking about him? Why do I still miss him?”

“Eh, our brains suck like that. I still have dreams about Flash Sentry, and I’ve got less than zero interest in going out with him again.” I pause. “Don’t tell him I said that. I think it’d break him.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Good, good.” I help her sit up. “Someday you’re gonna fall in love again. And it’s gonna be with someone who loves you and respects you. And he’s not gonna touch you like that.”

She nods. And then a tiny smile grows on her face. “And they’ll be better at fighting games.”

Remind me to invite her to the first Pride Alliance meeting in September.

“Way better. And you’ll build robots together and raise stuffed animals and take over the world.”

She giggles, then leans over and lays her head on my shoulder, nestling into the crook of my neck. “That’s be nice.”

I tilt my head towards hers, but then stop. “Can I rest my head on yours?”

A tiny jolt of surprise runs through her — then radiating warmth, hotter than the sunrise. “Yes, you may.”

We ride like that for the last twenty minutes, keeping each other stable whenever we hit a pothole.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 22, 12:09 PM

Dear Princess Twilight,

Hey! I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. Things have been weirdly busy here, considering it’s summer vacation.

I guess the biggest thing is that Rainbow Dash got us a gig at this huge festival called Summer Sunfest. Familiar name, right? Weird that it doesn’t take place on the solstice, and even weirder that it’s not in Canterlot. But I guess we don’t really have a princess here to raise the sun — unless Principal Celestia is hiding something.

It mostly went great. But while I was there, I had a weird experience that I wanted to tell you about. Do you remember all that stuff that happened with that girl Wallflower Blush? She

And my pen trails off.

Princess Twilight is my hero. She was my first confidant, the one who reinvented my life. And most importantly, she’s the one who taught me what friendship should be. She’s spent so long mentoring me, so how am I supposed to tell her that I straight up attacked someone I was supposed to have forgiven? How would that make her feel, knowing I’ve failed so badly?

After a few minutes spent chewing my pen, thinking in circles, the doorbell rings. I hop off the couch and head over to the intercom. “Who is it?”

Through the static comes, “Twilight P. Sparkle!”

“What does the ‘P’ stand for?”

“Petunia!”

I snicker and let her in the building.

Saved by the dork. I snatch my journal back up and scritch out a quick, “Sorry! Twilight (our Twilight) just came over. Busy busy! Talk soon!” Then I Hail-Mary it up onto my loft bed, but it sails straight over and knocks a bunch of pictures off my wall shelf. I’m not good at football.

When I open the door, Twilight skips through like she’s the happiest girl in the world. “Good afternoon!”

“Good afternoon to you, Petunia,” I say, cackling at the frown she gives me. I point at the oversized canvas bag she has slung over her shoulder. “What’ve you got in there?”

“I brought my laptop, my notebook, one of the books I’m reading right now, and some stomach medicine.” She drops her unusually lumpy bag on the couch. “I know you said you’re feeling better, but I figure it’s good to have on hand.”

It’s true, I’ve mostly recovered from my bout with bad burritos — although the mention of medicine is enough to make my stomach gurgle again.

“Now, are you ready to finish Tirek’s Revenge together?” she asks, sitting down. “I had eggs for breakfast and everything.”

“You sure that’s gonna be enough? I’ve been stuck on the last Carnivore Cage for a month.”

She holds a hand over her heart. “I am willing to break my curfew to beat this game today.”

I cross my arms, raise a brow.

“Okay, maybe not my curfew. But past dinnertime, definitely.”

“That’s more like it.” I jab a thumb towards my bathroom. “Lemme go pee, then I’ll be ready.”

Twi seems taken off guard by that. “Oh,” she says, standing a bit. She glances at her bag, then me, then sits down again. “Sure! I’ll be here.”

Hm. That’s not suspicious.

Still, I turn away and head for the toilet. This is the first time that Twilight and I have chilled together in weeks, and I’m not about to look a gift-human in the mouth.

I close the door, take my seat, and run a hand through my knotty hair. It’s hard to describe, but when Twi and I were apart for those two weeks — her dealing with the breakup and me stewing in my own self-pity — I can’t remember the last time I felt so awful. It felt like a part of me was missing, and I had no idea how to get it back. Even now, every text she sends me, every word she shares feels like a tiny gift. She’s constantly on my mind.

I haven’t felt like this about any human before. Even when I dated Flash Sentry, he could’ve disappeared and I probably wouldn’t have noticed for a week. Though that says more about me than him.

Is this what it feels like to have a true best best friend? A partner, a second half? If I’d known how good a friend like Twi’s love could feel, I would have redeemed myself years ago, no Elements of Harmony required.

From the other side of the bathroom door, I hear Twi’s voice, as slender and slight as the rest of her: “Ouch!”

I look up and ask, “Are you alright?”

It takes a few seconds for her to call back, “I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!”

“Don’t sue me, please.”

“Uh-huh!”

No witty comeback? Just ‘uh-huh?’

Okay, something’s up.

I finish up in the bathroom and head back to the living room. On arrival, I’m assaulted by the thick smell of cinnamon.

Twilight’s sitting politely on my couch, holding a lighter in one hand and sucking on her other thumb. She has a notebook open on her lap. And on my coffee table sit two burning red candles, with a big box of tissues between them.

She slips the lighter into her bag, then pats the empty couch cushion. “Sunset. Let’s talk.”

“Um.” I walk over to the couch, and sit down slowly, treating the cushion with more care than a bomb squad does a blue wire. “We talking Tirek’s Revenge strategy, or…?”

“On the bus, we had a great heart-to-heart about my issues. It really reminded me how important truthful, honest communication can be. Now it’s your turn.”

I feel the tickle of sweat running down my side. “I haven’t broken up with anyone lately, though.”

“No, but something’s bothering you, and it isn’t just food poisoning.” Her knees are twitching —- she’s dying to knock them together, but trying her best to keep a confident face. “I could tell on the bus. You kept pursing and relaxing your lips. You only do that when you’re thinking really hard about something, or playing guitar.”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever noticed that before,” I say, though I immediately know she’s right.

“You helped me feel better about what happened with Timber.” She slows down a bit at his name, and reaches up to touch her hair. “So now I want to help you feel better. I brought candles to help you relax, and tissues in case you need a good cry. And after I got home on Sunday, I started reviewing the minutes from my last two years of cognitive behavioral therapy, just to prepare for this conversation.”

I blink. “Your therapist takes minutes?”

“No, I do,” she says. Before I can respond, she adds, “He doesn’t like it.”

I’ve never been a fan of psychoanalysis. Mandatory guidance counselor meetings give me hives, and I’d rather bare-knuckle box a dragon than go to therapy. But there’s an infectious enthusiasm in Twilight’s voice, a happy lilt usually reserved for tutoring Rarity in math. Her words keep speeding up and then slowing back down again, like she’s uncontrollably excited and has to consciously reel it back in.

So I crack my neck, cross my arms, and settle back into the couch cushions. “Alright. Work your magic, Dr. Sparkle. But I’m not gonna cry.”

She titters at the title, then takes a long breath and folds her hands on her lap. “Alright. Before I say anything, I want to give you a chance. What’s on your mind?”

A whirlwind of words rush to the front of my mind, most too vulgar or embarrassing to let loose. But one phrase sticks to the roof of my mouth — a nugget of raw truth, begging to be let out. “I’m supposed to be honest with you, right?”

She nods, then leans in.

I turn off my brain censor and let the nugget out: “When Wallflower showed up at the concert, I wanted to walk into traffic.”

She moves back again, slowly. “Okay, that’s... that’s valid.”

“No, it’s not!” I say, rolling my eyes. “Be real with me, Twi: It’s an awful thing to think. I shouldn’t be thinking like that about anyone anymore, and definitely not someone we all forgave.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we.” I motion vaguely in the air. “Y’know. All of us. You and me and the girls.”

“Hm.” She writes something down, lifting her knees so I can’t see. This is why I don’t like therapists.

“The point is,” I say, “that I’m not supposed to hate people. Hell, I’m probably not even supposed to dislike them.”

“What do you mean by ‘supposed to?’”

“I mean that I’m a good guy now. The Friendship Chick. Hating people is Old Sunset’s shtick.”

“So, what, you have to love everyone?”

“Yes, exactly.” I nod, nod, nod. “That’s exactly what it means. I’m a good person now, and that’s what good people do. That’s why I’m here.”

She taps her pen against her lips a few times, then points it at me. “Question: Am I a good person?”

I thought this was my therapy session. “Of course. You’re the best.”

“But there are people that I dislike. Most of my old classmates at Crystal Prep, for starters — they’re half the reason I’m in therapy.” She chuckles. “Not that I don’t understand feeling guilty about it. I mean, I’m Catholic.”

I stare at her. “I don’t know what that means. That’s a religion, right?”

She stares back at me, then waves her hands in front of her face. “Nevermind. I’m just saying that disliking someone doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“What about grabbing their arm and pushing them to the ground in front of dozens of people?” I ask, scoffing. “The whole reason that Wallflower… happened in the first place was that I wasn’t nice to her. I treated her like trash, and she got me back for it.”

At that, Twilight’s expression changes. She frowns, shrinks back a little. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

“Of course I do. It’s what everyone told me.” I pause. “Why, what do you think?”

“I think Wallflower had issues. Deep, internal issues.”

“Issues I caused.”

“I’m not sure that you did. And even if you did, it doesn’t mean that you deserved to have your mind violated that way.”

I scoff. “Whatever. Point is that I still need to like her, no matter what.”

“Do you like Timber?”

Bile rises in my throat. “Totally different.”

“How?”

“What’s your goal here, Twi?” I stand up, turn my back to her, and walk to the kitchen. “Do you want me to hate Wallflower? Do you hate her?”

“After everything? I’m glad she has friends, like Fluttershy. But I don’t particularly care for her.”

That actually makes me happy, and I can’t stand that it does. “And the other question?”

“Just trying to help. Because it feels like you’re holding yourself to an impossible standard.”

I open the fridge. “Maybe I am. But—never mind. You don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

It only takes a second to grab a can of soda, but I don’t stand back up. I pretend to keep searching, staring at my moldy reflection in the tupperware and trying to think of an answer. “I dunno. Me.”

I cringe at my own voice, echoing off the refrigerator walls. That’s a hell of a charge to throw at my best friend, that she doesn’t understand me.

But when I finally stand back up and turn around, she’s just waiting patiently, clipboard at the ready. “Can you explain what you mean?”

Can I? I’m not even sure what I meant. I shrug.

She watches me as I walk back over and sit down. Then she says, “I guess what I’m trying to ask is this: You keep saying that you have to do things, love everyone and keep your feelings inside. What do you think will happen if you don’t do that?”

I grip my soda can tight. I know the answer. I think about it all the time, before I go to sleep, when someone talks over me, when the girls make their stupid jokes about who I used to be. When I hear Wallflower’s name. And I always push the thought away, like just comprehending the words will make them real.

But at this point, I trust Twi more than I trust myself.

“I’ll go back to how I was. And I’ll lose all my friends.” I stand up again before Twilight’s sadness and pity can hit me, so fast that some soda sloshes out of the can and onto the carpet. “And I know you’re gonna say that’ll never happen. But you don’t know what I was like before the Princess came here! How much of a scumbag I was, and how much people hated me!”

“But you’ve changed!” she says. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“No, because being awful is all I’ve ever known, ever since I was a kid! It’s what I am!” I take a deep breath and press the cold can of soda to my forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep yelling, or arguing with you.”

“If arguing helps you put your feelings or problems into words,” Twi says, crossing her legs under her, “then you should argue.”

“But you’re the therapist here,” I say with a stupid chuckle. “Isn’t the whole shtick that I say something, and you tell me what my problem is?”

“I don’t think so,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’ve been in therapy since middle school, across five doctors in three different practices. And the best therapists I’ve had are the ones that just let me say whatever I wanted, and helped me turn my abstract thoughts into concrete words. Because once I have the words for something, I can study it. And once I can study it, I can understand it, and then solve it.”

I let her words roll around my head for a sec. Then I put a hand on my hip. “That’s a very Twilight Sparkle way of looking at things.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” she says, beaming. “So, let’s turn those thoughts into words — let’s argue! I say that you’re a changed woman. You say that you’re still bad. Explain! Defend your thesis!”

I still despise therapy. But this beautiful dork’s grin is enough to spark a smile of my own.

I rub my face again and turn my thoughts inwards. I’m not a good person. That’s true, I’m sure it is. But why?

There’s so much that Twilight doesn’t know. There’s so much that no one knows, because I’ve kept it hidden. But if I’m ever going to move on — or even escape this conversation — maybe it’s time to let loose.

There’s only one logical place to start. But pushing out the words is as painful as passing a kidney stone.

My first sentence comes out quiet, slow: “I don’t really talk about this much, but — I never knew my parents, Twi. They died, or abandoned me, I dunno. But I grew up in a group home with dozens of other kids, and I had to learn how to look out for myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Twilight says, turning her eyes down.

“Yeah, so am I.” I collapse back into my seat. “All I ever wanted was attention and power. And I’d get it any way I could, even if it meant hurting others. I made sure I was always the teachers’ pet, beat down anyone else who tried to steal my spot, and cheated in every class I wasn’t perfect at. I spent every day angry, hating everyone around me. It was instinct.

“Then I got good enough to impress Celestia, and she took me in! She basically adopted me! And I finally had someone who paid attention to me every day, who actually loved me!”

When I sleep, I still dream of her. I dream of the long marbled hallways, the plush red carpets, of those sparkling pink eyes. We’d end every day watching the sunset. And I’d lay against her side, listening to her heartbeat, bathing in the soft glow of sunlight filtered through her mane, warm and awesome.

I take a sip of soda. “But that wasn’t enough for me. So I abandoned her. And I came here, and tormented everyone at CHS for years. Screamed at them, abused them, made them afraid to wake up. Turned into a literal demon. Hell, I’m still tormenting them.”

Twilight knits her brow. “How?”

“What else do you call Gaia Everfree, Vignette Valencia, and Juniper Montage?” I ask. “I brought that magic here. I made them.”

“You can’t blame yourself for their actions.”

“Well, I do.” I swing my arms in a wide arc in front of me. “Now I’ve got all this great stuff — friends, a place to live, you — and I don’t deserve any of it! I should be rotting in Equestrian prison, not playing in a rock band! The only reason the Princess didn’t punish me was because she wanted me to make friends. So that’s my job now: Being a good friend. It’s why I’m alive.”

Part of me hopes that saying something so intense will shut her up. But instead, she nods and says, “So, locking away your feelings, loving everyone no matter what… Are you doing it because you want to? Or because it’s your way of punishing yourself?”

I blow a raspberry and look away. But I can’t bring myself to deny what she's saying.

Is that really what I’m doing? Punishing myself because I don’t think the rest of the world has? I’ve never thought of it like that. But when I put it that way, it sounds so stupid!

“It’s not that I’m punishing myself,” I say, lips pressed to the edge of the can. “I’m just being grateful. My life is great right now. Amazing! So I shouldn’t complain about Wallflower. Or how it feels like people barely listen to me.”

I didn’t mean to say that last bit. But the words are spilling from my mouth like chunks of lead, too heavy and toxic for me to stop.

“What do you mean?” Twilight asks. “Who’s not listening?”

The rest of the girls. But I can’t say that. It’ll make me sound like a complete asshole.

“I dunno,” I say. Her eyes are boring into the back of my head. “The rest of the girls.”

Damn it.

Concern radiates off her skin in waves. “Do you want to talk about that?”

I feel just as nauseous as I did at the concert. Badmouthing Wallflower already makes me sound like a jerk. So how can I criticize my first friends, the ones who helped me realize life could be worth living even without absolute power?

It takes a lot of energy to open my mouth. “It’s nothing. Stupid stuff, like Rainbow writing that impossible guitar part, or Fluttershy bringing Wallflower to the concert, or whenever they make some joke about me ‘going demon mode’ or whatever.”

“Or when they forgot about your Halloween costume?”

The memory comes flying back like a knife at my head. I spin to look at her. “How the hell do you remember that?”

“It was the same day we realized we both loved anime and I texted you for the first time,” she says, smiling. “I was the only one who recognized your Halloween costume, and I could tell you were upset. Was I right?”

“Yeah.” I nod slowly, then hang my head, staring at my feet. “I know it’s stupid, but it just feels like they don’t consider my feelings sometimes. Like I’m there to be their friend, but not the other way around.”

“It’s not stupid.” She touches my knee. “It’s okay to be upset about it!”

“But is it? It’s so small, compared to all the awful shit I did!” I grab my scalp, as if it’ll make the whirlwind of thoughts slow down. “I can’t let myself get angry! When I get angry, I get mean. And if I get mean, I’m gonna go back to being a bitch that everyone hates! It’s in my blood!”

The room goes quiet. A million seconds pass, and my tinnitus is about to turn my brain to mush when Twilight raises her hand. “Can I offer an opinion on that last thing you just said?”

I blink at her. “Sure?”

She puts her hand down, tents her fingers over the clipboard, and clears her throat. “That argument is complete nonsense.”

Ouch. “Are therapists supposed to say that?”

“Maybe not. But you got an A in Biology — you know that there’s no Bitch Gene that runs in your blood.”

All the breath leaves my lungs. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Twilight swear, and in her voice, it’s the dirtiest word ever spoken. My words turn to mush, and it takes a good five seconds for me to say, “It was a metaphor, Twi.”

“But it’s what you actually believe!” she says, throwing up her hands. “Objectively, I know that you know none of this makes sense. If our places were switched, would you be telling me that I needed to be grateful for feeling miserable?”

“No.” Just the thought of putting her through that makes me angry. “But we’re different!”

“We’re both teenage girls who desperately wanted attention and love, and would do anything to get it.” She presses a hand into her chest. “We both messed up, bad. We both hurt people. And now we’re both here together, trying our best. So how come you’ll forgive me, but won’t forgive yourself? Give me a logical answer.”

I turn away and fiddle with my fingers, trying to come up with something.

Because I wanted to hurt people, while Twilight just did it accidentally?

But I’ve spent so long atoning for that. Even if not everyone’s forgiven me, the most important people have.

Because it encourages me to be nicer to people?

But I’m nice to people because helping them feel happy helps me feel happy. Putting a smile on someone’s face is the most glorious thing in the world.

Because Twilight is infinitely kinder, smarter, more beautiful than me?

But if she’s really so smart, then she’s probably right about this.

Goddess damn it, Twi! Why can’t you just let me suffer with my delusions in peace?

“I don’t know,” I finally say.

She takes my hand, and I can’t ignore the electric rush of love that runs through my veins. “You’re not a monster. You’re human — a wonderful, amazing human who makes my life better every day. And you know that you can’t suck everything in and be perfectly lovely to everyone all the time. It’ll drive you insane.”

I so badly want to deny it. The demons in my brain are screaming arguments at me: I’m worthless, I’m evil, everyone hates me.

But Twilight doesn’t hate me; my brain is wrong about that one. So why would I believe the rest of its lies?

“Maybe you’re right,” I say in a breath.

She grips my hand tighter. “You don’t have to get over everything right now. You don’t even have to believe me! But can you try being nice to yourself? For a little while, at least?”

I could just accept and leave it there. It’d get me out of this conversation. But I can’t force out the words.

When I finally speak, my voice cracks: “I don’t think I know how to do that.”

My voice has cracked like this before: One year ago, when I was crawling out of a pit in front of CHS, sobbing that I didn’t know the first thing about friendship. The sound scares me as much now as it did back then.

But Princess Twilight gave me her hand.

And now, Twilight is giving me her clipboard. “Hold this.”

I take it from her, and she stands up to grab her bag again. While she rummages through it, I steal a glance at her notes — but they’re all written in such tiny, tight cursive that I can’t glean a single word.

“The best way to tackle a problem,” she says, pulling a thick metal square out of her sack, “is to write it down!”

With a grunt, she tosses the metal square upwards. As it flies, the metal panels unfold, sliding outward and over each other, revealing a blank white surface. By the time it starts coming down, it’s sprouted three thin tripod legs. It hits the ground with a sharp thud, shaking the entire apartment and knocking a box of cereal off the top of my fridge.

I stare at the semi-reflective white surface. “Is that a whiteboard?”

“My patent-pending expandable whiteboard!” Twilight says, pulling a red marker out of her bag. “I came up with the idea yesterday and built it overnight!”

While she uncaps her marker and starts writing, I wolf-whistle. “You know that you’re the smartest girl in the world, right?”

She turns around to curtsy, then turns back to keep scribbling. “You have a lot of confusing, conflicting thoughts. That’s natural! What we need to do is break down those thoughts to identify the main problem, the secondary problems that build to the main, and then the solutions for each one.”

“Divide and conquer?” I say, leaning forward.

“Exactly.” She steps away from the whiteboard to reveal a giant red circle with the words ‘THE HUMAN CONDITION’ written inside. “The main issue, as I see it, is this: You’re caught between being human — flawed, imperfect, sometimes angry — and a fear that being less than perfect will scare people away. Does that sound right?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

She nods, then pulls a few more markers out of her bag. “So, together, let’s think: What are the smaller issues that the main issue is causing?”

Hesitantly, I put my soda down, then stand up and take a black marker from her. I roll it between my fingers. “Can you give me an example?”

She uncaps a green marker, draws a smaller circle, and writes ‘WALLFLOWER’ inside of it.

Just the name makes my stomach lurch. I take a deep breath. “Can we skip that one?”

“We’ll come back to it later.” She steps aside again. “Your turn.”

I walk up to the whiteboard and draw another circle. I comb through the last few minutes of ranting and raving. And then I write ‘FRIENDS NOT CARING’ inside the circle.

“Good!” she says. “Well, not good. But good job!”

The two of us spend the next few minutes drawing more circles and making more problems. Some get bigger circles than others.

On the left side of the board, I add: ‘BLAME MYSELF FOR BRINGING MAGIC HERE,’ ‘FEEL LIKE I SHOULDN’T BE HAPPY,’ and — embarrassingly, when I think Twi isn’t looking — ‘WHY AM I SO UGLY.’

Not gonna lie, the whole experience is pretty depressing. It feels so much better to lock these problems away and ignore them. I repress trauma easier than I breathe. Laying all my issues out like this makes me feel like such a broken sad sack. Is this how therapy is supposed to work? How does Twi stand it?

I sigh and glance over at her. On the right side of the board, she’s added two circles for me: ‘BEING TOO GOOD AT GUITAR AND VIDEO GAMES,’ and ‘THINKS HER ART IS BAD FOR SOME REASON.’

When she steps back and walks over to my side, I point at that last circle. “I’m not sure that one fits the prompt.”

“Sure it does,” she says. “You’re an amazing artist. But you always degrade your work, because you’re comparing it to a Platonic ideal of what it should be. It all connects back to that conflict between reality and perfection.”

I stare at the whiteboard and think about my art. I’d rather crash through a car windshield than show any of it to my friends — but why? Why am I so ashamed? Because it’s bad. Compared to what? Why am I never satisfied?

And there’s another common denominator there: I love my art when I’m the only one looking at it. Showing it to others is what riles me up. Is Twilight right? Is it just me being scared to show anyone I have flaws?

“Sunset?”

I shake myself awake. “Yeah, sorry — just thinking about what you said.” And I’ll think more about it later. “Are you sure you’re not a therapist?”

She giggles. “I just take copious notes.”

For the first time, I zoom out to take in the entire whiteboard at once. There are so many circles, so many problems, that it makes me lightheaded. “Now what?”

“Now we start trying to solve the problems.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

“Some might only take a little while,” she says, folding her arms. “Some might take years. Some you might never figure out.”

I can’t help but slouch. “I’m already tired.”

“Yeah, it stinks.” She leans into me, her bare armed peach fuzz tickling my skin. “Trust me, I know. My problem web can’t even fit on this whiteboard. Although it’s gotten a lot smaller since meeting you.”

“I won’t ask for payment.”

“I think we’ve established a pretty stable symbiotic relationship.” She tilts her head. “I’ll also mention that I do have opinions on some of these.”

How friggin’ prepared is she? “Gimme a hint?”

She motions to the ‘BLAME MYSELF FOR BRINGING MAGIC HERE’ circle. “This might be selfish, but if you hadn’t brought magic here, we never would have met.”

That’s meant to make me feel better. But all I can see is the fear in Twilight’s eyes at the Friendship Games, at Camp Everfree, whenever we’ve fought some horrible Equestrian villain. She could have been a normal teenage girl, not some magical child soldier.

It’s true, I love her. But have I really made her life better?

“Sure,” I say, “although you’d probably be safer.”

“At Crystal Prep?” She snorts. “I’d be depressed, alone, and everyone’s #1 bullying target. Before I left, I was probably weeks away from snapping. I’d hardly call that safe.”

For a half-second, I picture myself punching out Indigo Zap. I should feel guilty for that, right?

She looks up at me and grins. “Also I can talk to my dog, move things with my mind, and grow wings. You have to admit, that’s pretty cool.”

“Facts,” I say, and we fist bump.

Right next to that circle is ‘FEEL LIKE I SHOULDN’T BE HAPPY.’

I sigh. “This one is gonna be hard.”

“Talk it through,” she says. “Why shouldn’t you feel happy?”

“Because I hurt other people,” I say. She opens her mouth, but I interrupt with, “But how does me being miserable help those people? It doesn’t undo the pain I caused.”

“Wallflower’s a good example of that.”

I nod. “If I can never be happy, I’ll just depress myself to death. And then I won’t be able to help anyone.”

“That’s true,” Twi says, “but also you aren’t alive just to serve other people, right? You don’t have to justify enjoying life.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rub my forehead and take a sharp breath. “Goddess, I’m sorry — I’ve just spent so long thinking about everyone else, that putting myself first makes me feel like a total jackass.”

“I think you make the world better just by being yourself.”

Logic is going to war with emotion again. I know Twilight’s right. But I still feel like I’m teetering at the edge of a cliff, head swamped with vertigo, seconds away from falling back into the dark.

“What if I get complacent?” I ask, massaging my eyes. “Thinking about myself is how I went bad in the first place. Or what if it’s like a snowball effect, and I mess up once and can’t stop?”

“You won’t go bad. You’re not an egg, or a snowball. But even if you do, you have us now. Your friends. We’ll always pull you back.”

“I don’t know if I want to risk getting Friendship Blasted into a crater again.”

“Not like that. No magic. Just us reminding you how much we love you.”

I let the shapes meld and melt behind my eyelids for a few seconds more before letting go. “Okay. I’ll try.”

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to readjust. When the blurriness clears out, I notice that Twi is offering me the box of tissues.

“No thanks,” I say, waving it off. “I don’t cry, remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you say so. I’m telling you, it helps!”

I’ll save that for the next appointment.

…I probably should look into seeing a real therapist after this, huh? Or at least book some sessions with my guidance counselor.

We look at the next bubble. The one about me being ugly. I can’t read it again. Instead I stare at the ground. I can’t see my feet over my stomach.

Twilight scratches her chin. Then, for a brief moment, her brows shoot up and her eyes go wide — it’s her “I just came up with the perfect solution” face. I stand up straighter and wait for the explanation.

But it doesn’t come. A flame of embarrassment bursts to life inside of her, and that look of realization melts away. She goes back to thinking.

“What?” I ask. “You had an idea.”

The embarrassment gets stronger. She shakes her head. “Nothing. Very dumb idea.”

“Tell me? ‘Dumb’ from you is usually still pretty genius.”

“No, no, it…” She bites her lip. “It’s just an exercise I read about online. I used to do it sometimes. But it didn’t come from an academic source, and it’s definitely not peer-reviewed, so it’s not worth thinking about.”

“Did it work for you?”

“Sort of. A little.”

“Why not try it, then?” I ask with a shrug.

“We could,” she says, twisting her fingers together, “but it might get loud. If we start yelling, will your neighbors complain?”

Okay, now I have to know what she has planned. “Nah, loud noises come with the building.”

“Okay.” She puts her marker down. Her cheeks are practically glowing pink. “But I’m telling you, I don’t know how trustworthy the science behind this is.”

“Eh, don’t worry — I trust you.”

That makes her smile, though her blush doesn’t get any weaker. She motions for me to back up, then lights up her hands with magic and starts rearranging the furniture. She folds up her whiteboard, snuffs the candles, pushes the couch back towards the door, and floats the coffee table up to my loft. A minute later, there’s a wide open space in the center of my apartment, big enough to fit all the Rainbooms and our equipment.

While she destroys the Feng Shui, I lean against the sink and nibble my thumb. There’s no sugarcoating it: I feel like garbage right now, worse than when we started. Twilight’s enthusiasm is pretty much the only thing keeping me alive. I expected a lazy day playing video games, not an hour spent dredging up my deepest worries. I usually save that for bedtime, when I stare at the ceiling and beg the universe to let me fall asleep.

But underneath the mud in my brain, there’s something new — some shining light, sparkling in the muck.

It’s the realization that after all this time spent drowning in the sludge, there might be a way out. Twilight’s throwing me a lifeline. And grabbing hold of it is exhausting. But I need to hold on. I need to get out of this.

I deserve to get out of this. I do. I do. I do.

“Okay,” Twi eventually says, wiping her forehead and looking around the empty space. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and hand it to her — she takes a long drink and stares into space. She’s silent, but somehow getting redder every second.

I take a step towards her. “What’s next?”

“Next,” she says, fiddling with the water bottle’s cap. She looks at me — no, somewhere past me. “You’re supposed to take off your clothes.”

I burst out laughing. “What?” I say, covering my mouth. “What the hell are we doing?”

Her face is so flushed that you’d think she was having an allergic reaction. “It’s a body positivity exercise,” she mumbles, eyes darting around. “I told you, it’s not peer-reviewed, it might not — oh, never mind, we don’t have to do it!”

“No, no!” I wave my arms around and hold my breath to kill the giggles. “It’s fine! You just caught me, like, totally off-guard.”

“Right. Okay.” She stiffly steps over to where my couch was, remembers that she moved it, and then scurries across the room to its new location and sits down. She tries to fold her hands in her lap, but her knees are rocking too fast, so she just pulls out her phone and stares at it. After a second, she adds. “You can keep your underwear.”

Her awkwardness is flooding the room, and now I can feel the sweat dripping down my back. I roll my eyes at myself and lift up my shirt.

I’ve stripped in front of other girls a million times. Never in the exciting way, but usually in the necessary evil way: Sleepovers, the doctor’s office, Rarity’s workshop. And my cheap bra and panties are barely one step removed from a bikini. So I’ve got no good reason to feel shy.

Besides, I could strut naked down Pinfeather Avenue, and it still wouldn’t be as embarrassing as five minutes spent in a CHS locker room. Spitfire, Fleetfoot, Blossomforth — our gym class has some of the sportiest girls in the state. And when we undress, I can’t help but stare at their lithe arms, their tight tummies. Perfect, beautiful. And I know they’re looking at me, bloated and huge. And they’d never say anything to my face. They don’t need to.

Twi and I are close enough that I know she hates her body just as much as I hate mine. But how? She’s so thin, so pretty. What could she ever see in someone like me?

Does she look at me like they do? Disgusted, amused?

No, of course not. She’s not like that.

So why does my heart speed up as I unbutton my jeans, peel them off my oversized thighs, and drop them around my ankles? Standing half-naked in this steaming, humid apartment, I feel so… vulnerable? Ashamed?

I step out of my crumpled pants, pull my panties out of my ass, and try to smile. Thank the goddess I put on underwear before going out to the bodega earlier. “Ready to scream!”

Twilight looks up from her phone. Her eyes run across my bare skin, legs to crotch to stomach to boobs to face, and I swear she’s never looked at me so intently. Her bashfulness disappears, replaced by a moon-eyed amazement. I’m a new textbook, big and shiny, that she’s just opening for the first time. For a second, I feel pretty.

But then she hides her face again. “You look really good,” she says, voice cracking. It’s not very convincing. She stands up and takes another drink of water, then puts on her headphones, walks to the center of the room, and stretches out her arms. “Come hold my hands.” I do. Her palms are sweaty, and discomfort still boils in her bones. “Repeat after me. And remember my disclaimer about this exercise’s lack of scientific backing.”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath — I feel it against my chest — and then lifts her head high, and yells, “My name is Sunset Shimmer, and I’m unbelievably hot!”

It might be the loudest I’ve ever heard her. Her voice booms against the walls, and her embarrassment spikes. My face is burning too.

But I swallow. I close my eyes too. And I lift my head. “My name is Sunset Shimmer, and I’m really hot.” The words don’t feel natural in my mouth.

“Unbelievably,” Twilight says. “Also, louder.”

“Unbelievably hot!”

Some of her embarrassment fades. She nods, then yells, “I’m Sunset Shimmer, and I am so, so beautiful!”

“I’m Sunset Shimmer, and I’m so, so beautiful!”

“I’m super sexy!”

“I’m super sexy!”

“There’s no one cuter than me!”

“There’s no one cuter than me.”

And we keep going like that, platitude after platitude.

The point of this, as I see it, is pretty simple: I’m supposed to keep repeating this until I internalize it and stop hating myself. But in my voice, I don’t believe any of them — they’re fantasies, lies. Twilight sounds like she believes what she’s saying more than I do.

But how could she? How could she find me, sweaty and stretch marked, “super sexy?”

This isn’t working. Every affirmation is a slap to the face.

So when Twilight finishes her next line — “People look at me in awe!” — I let go of her hands and ask, “Why?”

She opens her eyes, blinks at me. “Why what?”

“You keep saying I’m sexy, I’m beautiful.” I squeeze one of my stomach rolls. “Why am I sexy? What about me is beautiful? Tell me. Be specific.”

Twilight stares. Then she starts going, “Well, um, uh.” And then, maybe because she realizes that what little self-confidence I have is draining like blood from a wound, she puts on a smile and says, “I’ve always loved your hair.”

I pinch some of my frizzy hair between my fingers. “Okay. What about my body?”

Her face starts splotching again. She clasps her hands and sways on her feet. “I mean,” she mumbles, eyes darting, “I don’t want to objectify you.”

Please do. “I think that’s the name of the game here, Twi. I don’t mind.”

She stands there, pink, twiddling her thumbs and staring at her feet. Long seconds pass before she says, “You’re soft.”

“I’m soft.”

“Yeah! Really soft, and it’s great because, y’know, I love hugs, but not everyone gives good hugs — Rarity is sort of bony, and Rainbow and Applejack are kind of hard. But when you hug me, it’s very soft, which means I can lean into it and really let you hold me tight, which I love.”

“Oh.” I press my palms into my gut. Those are my favorite kind of hugs, too. “Go on.”

“You’re very tall, which was intimidating at first, but now I appreciate it because I can rest my head on your shoulder. And your eyes are a nice aquamarine that I like to look at.” She gestures vaguely at my half-naked body, and then with an awkward chuckle, says, “I like looking at your whole body, really! Like your legs, and your arms. And your, you know, thighs. I like when you wear leggings, because I — I get to see more of them.”

I look down at my massive thighs, squished up against each other. “Good to know—”

“And your boobs.”

Hearing that in her voice might be stranger than a swear.

I snap my head up to look at her, and her blush hits a fever pitch. “Your breasts, I mean. They’re just, like. Big. And soft. And very nice. To look at. Sometimes.”

Silence, silence, silence. Say something, anything.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling. I have to push the words out, but I really do mean them. No one’s complimented me like this since — well, ever. Flash, as smooth as he might look to the uninitiated, spent way more time hormonally gawking at my body than praising it. Even Rarity never gets this detailed. “I appreciate it.”

But she isn’t done fidgeting. Digging her toe into the carpet, she asks, “Can I tell you something immensely embarrassing and that I feel sort of guilty about so please don’t laugh or be mad?” She says it all in a single breath.

A slight gust of fear rolls down my bare back. I nod. “Of course.”

“I never told you this,” she says, voice shrinking with every word, “but going to the beach with you — and Pinkie, and all the other girls, but especially you two — is sorta the thing that made me realize I might like girls.”

I’m disassociating. I can’t feel my limbs.

Twilight’s cheeks are so hot that I’m afraid my apartment might catch fire. She buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, it’s super weird I know, oh my gosh this is so embarrassing—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” I force myself to walk forward, and I spread my arms out for a hug. “That’s super cool! Really!”

Still covering her eyes, she edges her fingers open to peek out at me. She looks at my face, and my boobs, and my legs. And then she closes her fingers again, turns around, and scuttles backwards into me.

I make sure to hug her extra tight, just how she likes. “That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, making her squeak. It’s an adorable sound, too. I rest my forehead on her ponytail. “Honestly, it’s hard to believe it, coming from you — I mean, you’re beautiful. Like, legit gorgeous. I’d kill to look like you.”

Maybe not kill. But Twi is thin, delicate — I bet no one’s ever scared of her. I bet no one looks at her as a cautionary tale, glances at her in the locker room and wants to puke. I could stare at her all day.

She lowers her hands, laying them over mine. “Ironic. I’ve always wanted to look more like you.”

“Bull. You’re so pretty, you could be a supermodel.” I pause. “A real one, not just a girl with superpowers who models for Rarity.”

“I’m serious. Do you know how bizarrely proportioned my limbs are compared to other girls? Because I have. I’ve measured it. And I’m pretty sure I have less muscle mass than a jellyfish.” She sighs. “You know that in middle school, my classmates called me ‘Toothpick Sparkle?’ I appreciated the creativity, but it never felt good. Being a scrawny wimp isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I’d rather be a toothpick than a bulldozer. Even you said it was intimidating how big I am.”

“At first. But then I got to know you.” She squeezes my hands. “You’re not scary now. You’re safe.”

She leans back, pushing her body into mine. Pressing my boobs against anyone else’s back like this would be unbearably awkward — and to be fair, this isn’t the most relaxing situation either. But I feel leagues more comfortable around Twi than I do anyone else. And the cotton t-shirt she’s wearing is so soft.

Also her limbs aren’t that bizarre. She’s just got lanky legs. And arms. And a really squat torso. Nice butt, though.

I tilt my head down, burying my face into the top of her ponytail. She smells like her laboratory: Sweat and smoke and Spike. But also something sweet — citrus? Pineapple?

“I feel like this exercise didn’t quite work the way I intended,” she says. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Sure,” I say with a smirk. Then I raise my head high and say, “My name is Twilight Sparkle, and I am the prettiest girl in Canterlot!”

“Oh, gosh,” Twilight says, covering her face again. Her blood vessels are working overtime today, she’s so flushed.

I hug her tighter and wiggle her around. “Saaaaaay it!”

She sighs, rubs her face, and then slides her headphones back on and yells, “My name is Twilight Sparkle, and I’m the cutest girl in Canterlot!”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle, and I have a really cute butt!”

She looks over her shoulder at me, gaping.

“What,” I say, shrugging, “you think that you’re the only girl who oogles her friends from time to time?”

“Honestly? Yes.” She turns back around and shakes her head. “You don’t have to do this. This is supposed to be your self-love session, not mine.”

“I insist! It’s only fair.”

A hot burst of adrenaline flares through Twilight’s veins. “Fine,” she says, pulling away from me. She’s got a crooked smile on her face. “But if this is going to turn into a real dual compliment exercise, then I have to make it totally fair.”

In one swift motion, faster than I can blink, she takes off her shirt and tosses it across the room. It lands crumpled next to my discarded pants.

I try to keep my gaze locked with hers. But I can’t fight the urge to glance down at her chest. And then one glance turns into a long stare, taking in every frill and stitch of pink fabric.

“Cute bra,” I say, tearing my eyes away. “Oatlinens?”

“Barnyard Bargains.” She twiddles her fingers. “On sale.”

She’s smiling, but she’s trembling. “You okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. She manages to meet my eyes. “If I can take my shirt off in front of Timber, I can take my shirt off in front of you. Besides: The whole point of this exercise is to become more comfortable about our bodies. Right?”

“Right, right. More confident about my big belly,” I say, grabbing hold of my tummy folds. Maybe it’s Twi, or maybe it’s the exercise, but suddenly I don’t feel quite so gross. I feel kinda hot. Even as I smirk and jiggle my stomach. “And my fat butt?”

“Yep. And my chicken legs?”

“Yes!” I throw my arms out wide. “I’m Sunset Shimmer, and I am wildly sexy!”

Twilight smiles with her teeth. “I’m Twilight Sparkle, and I’m wildly sexy.”

“Wildly!”

“Wildly!” Twilight says, as loud as I’ve ever heard her. “Unquestionably! Unequivocally!

I lean forward and offer her my hands. She takes them in hers.

“I’m Sunset Shimmer,” I say, “and everyone’s jealous of how big my boobs are!”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle, and apparently I have a nice butt!”

“A phenomenal butt!”

“Phenomenal,” she says through a burst of snort-laughs.

Oh, goddess damn it.

The next thing I know, we’re both cackling, swinging our arms from side-to-side like a pair of drunken apes. I try to come up with a new compliment, but I only make it three syllables in before I notice Twi wiggling her hips, her wonderful hips — I wish she’d taken off her skirt too — Is that a weird thing to think? — and I choke on my own spit.

Like, legit choke. To the point that Twi has to lead my back over to the couch and fetch me a glass of water. I gulp it fast enough that it spills down my chin, and as soon as I can breathe again, I keep laughing.

Once the heaving stops, I groan and lean back into the cushions. Twilight slips off her headphones and does the same. And we listen to the hum of Ray’s vivarium, and the cars roaring outside, and the slight wheeze under Twilight’s breath.

I know I shouldn’t ruin the moment. But there’s something on my mind, and I need to know more before I explode.

“So,” I say, trying to hide how inordinately gleeful I am, “you like girls, huh?”

Twilight’s lips curl into a tiny, furtive smile. “Yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

“Good point.” I turn to her. “Is that part of why you and Timber...?”

“No, it’s not like that. I mean, you felt my memories, you know how into him I was.” She shrugs. “It took a while for me to understand, and I’m sort of still figuring it out, but I think I just like everybody — boy or girl or whatever. You know, Equestria-style.”

That almost makes me choke again. But I swallow it and nod. “Genius.”

We’re quiet for a moment more before Twilight asks, “So, what now? Do you want to keep going with the, uh, ‘therapy?’”

Suddenly my legs feel even heavier than I know they are. “Maybe we can break for today. I’m sure you’ve got a bunch more great ideas, though.”

“No, no, not really.” She shrugs again. “Maybe a few.”

“Hit me.”

“Everything you said about the rest of the girls,” she says, “about how they don’t listen to you. I have an idea about how to solve that.”

I scoff. “You have a solution for everything, huh?”

She turns to me and says, “Sunset, I’ve been thinking about you for almost three days straight. I’m prepared.”

At least one of us is.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 25, 9:41 AM

I’ve folded and unfolded this letter so many times that the ink has started to smudge off onto my fingertips. Every time I open it, I mutter a small prayer that all the text has disappeared — but my hope crumbles when I see those same solid black words, formed into single-spaced rows of self-pity.

What if I rip it up? Tear it into a million pieces and toss them out the bus window? It’d probably be for the best — today’s rehearsal is already going to be so busy. No need to distract everyone with my nonsense. It can wait. Forever.

“Just so you know,” Twilight says over the bus engine’s roar, “I brought a second copy.”

I turn and frown at her. “Why?”

“In case you lost this one,” she says with a gesture toward the weathered sheet in my hands. “Or tore it up. Or dropped it in a puddle. Or ate it.”

“C’mon. I’m not Spike.”

“I know! But still.” She shrinks into her seat a bit. “Can you tell that I don’t like playing Bad Cop?”

“You’re not a cop. You’re just keeping me honest.” Which means she’s more of a miracle worker.

She smiles. “For what it’s worth, I think you wrote a really nice letter.”

I just nod, try to return her smile (I don’t think it works) and then flip open my letter again. I wrote it out so I wouldn’t forget anything, but at this point it’s carved into my brain. Even after Twilight’s edits — she cut out at least three paragraphs begging the girls not to hate me and offering excuses for why they shouldn’t listen to me, and replaced them with tiny notes reminding me to breathe — it’s still pretty pathetic.

To my best friends,

I want to start by saying how much I love and appreciate all of you. You’ve changed my life in so many wonderful ways, and I can never thank you enough for that. Without you, I’d still be a miserable bully, or worse.

But I’ve had some stuff on my mind lately. And you’ve taught me how great it feels to talk about my feelings instead of letting them boil over. So here goes.

(Take time to breathe! We’re all with you! ♡)

When we fall into an Equestrian magic situation, everyone looks to me to figure things out. But when I talk about my regular, everyday life — the shows I like, my artwork, even my plans for the future — it sometimes feels like you don’t hear anything I say. I love hearing you all gush about your favorite albums and movies, and I’m always happy to be a shoulder to cry on if you need it. But when I need someone to listen to me, I usually just get a few nods and a smile.

Like you all forgetting my Halloween costume, even though I explained it a dozen times. Or Rainbow writing that song way too fast, and not caring when I complained. Or Fluttershy bringing Wallflower to the festival without telling me first. Or all the times when you’ve joked about me turning into a demon, usually after I get even the slightest bit upset. And yeah, I laugh along sometimes too, but it still makes me feel like shit.

(Breathe. Focus on the words. You’re almost done, you’ve got this.)

I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to seem whiny, or ungrateful. Like I said, being friends with you girls is the greatest gift in the universe. And I don’t want to ruin that. But I’m more sensitive than I seem sometimes. And I want our friendship to go both ways, not just one. So please, listen to me, and think about my feelings a bit more. That’s all I need.

I really hope you’re not offended by this, and we can still be friends. I love you.

~Sunset

I fold the letter up again and try to steady myself, but then I see their faces, twisting in anger and shame when I read my letter. I’m basically stabbing Pinkie Pie, my best friend, the nicest girl in the universe, in the back. And how is Fluttershy going to take it when I literally call her out in front of everyone? It’s gonna break her.

I’m such an asshole. I could’ve just sucked it up and rolled with the punches. But I’m a whiny mess, and now I’m going to pay for it. Good work, me. They’re definitely not going to care about me once I read this.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t I can’t I can’t.

Twilight tries to wrap her hand around mine, but I’m gripping my knee too hard, so she just sort of presses her palm into my knuckles.

“I’m not ready for this,” I say, trying to loosen my grip.

“You are.”

“I’m really not!”

“You really are times one million!” she says, shaking my hand around. “The girls love you so, so much. And letting them know how you’ve been feeling will only make them love you more.”

“I don’t want to make them do anything.” I groan and flop forward, hugging the guitar case wedged between my knees. “I want to go home and sleep. Forever.”

Twilight furrows her brows, purses her lips. Then, a grin: “What if I give you one of my patented Twilight Tips for Public Speaking?”

“I’d have to ask why you didn’t give me these tips last night, when we were practicing over the phone.”

“Hey, a cute autistic girl like me can’t reveal all her secrets,” Twi says, turning up her chin. “Also, I wasn’t expecting you to be quite so nervous. Maybe I should have brought some Xanax, too.”

“That’s an Equestrian villain name if I’ve ever heard one.” I sit up again and turn to her. “So, public speaking tips. Hit me.”

She claps her hands, does a little shake, and pulls a tiny blue notebook from her backpack. When she opens it, all I can see are dense lines of cursive, tight enough to fit on a grain of rice. She flips through the pages, somehow deciphering the scrawls, until she reaches a bulleted list.

“Here’s a great eye contact protip,” she says, underlining one of the bulleted sentences with her finger. “If you can’t handle looking into someone’s eyes, look at their forehead or hairline instead. It reduces anxiety, and they usually can’t tell the difference. I do this all the time!”

“Really? I’ve never noticed it.”

“Exactly!” She snaps the notebook shut again. “And if you can’t handle that, you can just look at me.”

“I’ll probably just end up reading off the paper the entire time.” I cross my arms. “Any other tips?”

“Sure — but that was just the Twilight Tips for Public Speaking free trial. You’ll have to pay for the rest. Preferably by helping me fix my e-bike this weekend, or reorganizing my stuffed animal collection by genus. Ideally both.”

I snort. “Giving me the first taste for free? What are you, a drug dealer?”

“No, I’m an enterprising entrepreneur.” She rolls her eyes. “I swear, you offer a girl Xanax one time...”

The two of us are the last to arrive at rehearsal, almost an hour past when Applejack wanted us to. I’ve got my letter in one hand, but I clench the other tight as we walk into her barn, already prepared for her to chew me out.

But she’s not angry — not yet, at least. She greets us at the door with a beaming grin, offers us both a hug that lifts us off the ground, and ushers us inside.

As I look around, I wonder for a moment if I got the date wrong. It is Friday, right? And we rehearse on Fridays. But aside from my guitar bag, there are no instruments in sight. No amps, no microphones. Just Rainbooms, folding chairs, and party store’s worth of multicolored balloons. Seeing my friends feels like an ice cube sliding down the outside of my stomach.

Before I can say anything, Pinkie jack-in-the-boxes up in front of us and screams, “Yay, you’re here!”

Twilight makes like Fluttershy, eeping and leaping behind me. I reach behind myself to pat her shoulder with one hand, and wipe some of Pinkie’s spittle off my nose with the other.

“That we are,” I say, then tug on a nearby balloon string. “What are we partying about? New Earth holiday I haven’t heard about?”

Pinkie scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. “No, silly! Labor Day’s still a week away.”

“I know about that one!” I blurt, jabbing a finger. I might be the former student of a literal monarch, but make no mistake: Sunset Shimmer is for the working class.

Over on the other side of the room, Rainbow Dash is sitting backwards in her chair. She lifts a bottle of cider and says, “We’re partying because we just played, like, the absolute best concert ever! Why spend the day rehearsing when we’re already at the peak?”

Next to her, Rarity winces. “Please don’t say it like that. ‘Peak’ implies it’s all downhill from here. And I’d rather not peak in high school.”

Dash frowns, gears churning behind her eyes, then grins again and waves her hand out straight. “Nah, it’s a flat peak. No going down, just staying awesome.”

“So you’re saying we’ve plateaued,” Twi says, stepping out from behind me.

“That doesn’t sound very good either,” Fluttershy says.

“Y’all have gotta learn how to take a compliment,” Dash says, rolling her eyes. “I’m saying we’re based.”

Fluttershy blinks. “Based on what?”

Pinkie leaps into the air. “And I’m on third!”

Applejack pulls Pinkie back down to the ground. “The point is, we played a great show. And since our post-show celebration got” — for the sharpest of milliseconds, she flicks her eyes at me — “cut short, Pinkie and I figured it’s better late than never.”

There’s that ice cube again. I’m not sure whether to feel remorseful or aggravated.

But then Pinkie appears in front of us again, carrying a tin of steaming cupcakes. “I made treats!” she says, and plucks out one that’s piled with fiery red and orange frosting. “Yours has a strawberry-and-peach swirl!”

I take the cake from her; she reaches up to tousle my hair, and then she moves onto Twilight.

The cupcake is as heavy as lead in my free hand, and the letter in my other hand isn’t any lighter. I should be happy. Pinkie is so nice, one of my favorite people in any universe, and she cares about me. They all do, right? How can I criticize them after this? Is it all in my head? My stupid, selfish head?

“So, SunShim,” calls Rainbow, grinning. “You feeling better?”

I take a deep breath, build my smile back up, and walk over to her, Rarity, and Fluttershy. “Pretty much. Still got some stomach cramps, but my fever’s gone.”

“Thank goodness,” Rarity says.

Fluttershy stares at her lap, picking at a half-eaten slice of apple pie.

Right. Haven’t seen her since she brought Wallflower to our concert without warning me. My letter is hot in my palm.

But why should she need my permission to invite a friend to our show? She’s just a good person. I’m the jackass here, not her.

No, no! Remember what Twilight said. I’ve got a right to feel upset. I’m not just the Friendship Chick.

“I gotta tell you,” Rainbow says, interrupting my internal argument, “you picked the worst time to get sick. Summer Sunfest was frickin’ awesome.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say. I try to put on a big smile, but the memory of laying limp next to a puddle of my own puke drags it down. Hell of a choice I made!

Rainbow beams. “You have no idea. Since we were technically on the lineup, they let us skip the line for pretty much every performance. Even for Latchkey Kid’s surprise set. And when we had downtime, we got to hang out backstage with all the other bands.” Her giggles get faster as she leans forward. “Guess who I got an autograph from?”

I try to recall the Sunfest lineup poster — and my heart sinks. Please don’t mention Burnout Queens. Please don’t say you met Tinderbox. Please don’t tell me I missed my chance to meet my favorite guitarist from one of my favorite pop-punk bands. “Who?”

“Tinderbox! Y’know, from Burnout Queens?” She throws her head back and nearly screams. “Holy crap, she is so cool. Totally laid back and chill. She signed my neck!”

The cold in my stomach disappears, replaced by a boiling jealousy. I’m the one who got Rainbow into Burnout Queens — where the hell is my meet-cute with the sexiest guitarist on Earth? I feel the edges of my smile drooping, and holding them in place feels like dragging sandbags up a mountain. “No way! You’ve got Tinderbox’s autograph on the neck of your guitar?”

“Huh? No.” Rainbow spins around and whips her hair over her shoulder, exposing a smudged black scribble on the back of her neck. “I’m never washing this off!”

Rarity’s smile looks as strained as mine as she scoots her chair away from Dash. “You know, Rainbow, it’s not very polite to brag.”

You tell her, Rares.

Brushing her hair back into place, Rainbow rolls her eyes. “I’m not bragging, I’m… giving a news report. Yeah. And besides, Sunset doesn’t care. Right?”

They all look at me. Even Fluttershy. My lips are very dry.

Tell them. Tell them. You’ve got a script and everything.

I spend an endless moment running my tongue across my lips, then nod and say, “Of course.”

Rainbow simpers. “See? SunShim’s cool.”

My smile tightens. So does my grip on the letter.

“Well, alright,” says Rarity. Now she grins at me too. “In that case, I have to tell you about the fans! We had swarms of adoring admirers all weekend!”

While she delves into another story about all the amazing stuff the girls did without me, I stretch back on my chair — just enough to see Twilight, still standing near the door with AJ and Pinkie.

Twilight’s speaking, saying something about the coming school year. When she finishes, AJ and Pinkie laugh and keep chatting. But Twi looks at me.

I wave.

She waves too. Then motions to her hand.

I look down at the crumpled sheet in my fist. It’s still burning hot against my palm.

When Rarity pauses for breath, Rainbow gestures at the letter with her cider bottle. “What’re you holding?”

I lift up the paper and open my mouth — but before I can even think of my first word, a wave of panic rocks my chest, like I’m peering over the edge of a skyscraper.

Almost fast enough to rip it, I shove the paper into my pocket. “Nothing,” I say, “just a flier someone gave me on the street.”

“Thank you for taking it,” Fluttershy says, suddenly sitting up straighter. “Handing out fliers can be very discouraging when people ignore you. I know from experience.”

Rainbow scoffs at her. “I don’t get how anyone looks at you and doesn’t want a flier. You’ve got, like, the most adorable face ever.”

Fluttershy blushes and covers her mouth. “I do?”

While the three of them gush over how cute Fluttershy is (and to be clear she is cute, I’m just bitter right now) I take a bite of Pinkie’s cupcake. The frosting is sweet enough to make my teeth hurt. I hope it’s not the last one she ever bakes me.

Maybe it’s the lingering burrito poison. Maybe it’s the letter burning a hole in my back pocket. But no matter how much cider I drink or cupcakes I devour, I can’t relax. I’ve spent the last half-hour barely keeping up with conversation, shifting in my chair every minute. I swear I can hear my own heartbeat, even over Pinkie’s laughter.

We’ve been chatting, joking. Rainbow and AJ even jammed a little bit. And I want to enjoy it. This — peace with my friends, love and respect — is all I ever want. But then I remember what I have to do, and my heart speeds up again.

Is this anxiety? Or is it guilt? Is there a difference?

I tune back in just in time to hear the last sentence of Pinkie’s anecdote (“And then it turned out she wasn’t covered in blood — it was strawberry jam! Mostly!”), chuckle, then grab my plate and stand up. Another visit to the snack table won’t hurt, right? It kills some time, and as everyone knows, copious amounts of high fructose corn syrup are the solution to all ailments.

But before I can even consider what I want to ruin my arteries with, Pinkie pops up from the other side of the table. “Hi again!”

I whip my head over my shoulder and see Pinkie’s now-empty seat, right next to mine. “How did you get here before—”

“Are you okay?”

That gets me to look at her again. She’s still grinning, but not as wide as when I got here. No teeth, just a soft curve. I know this smile. It’s her ‘I Need to Cheer Up the Sad Kid at the Birthday Party’ smile.

“Yeah,” I say, casually inspecting the snack collection. “Why?”

She stays on the other side of the table, but follows me down it. “You just don’t look super happy. You’re not smiling the way you usually do!”

Guess we’ve got each other figured out. I look away, hoping that Twi is nearby so she can save me from this friendly interrogation, but she’s across the room laughing with Fluttershy.

I shrug. “Sorry. I’ll try to look happier.” I realize halfway through that this sounds way more sarcastic than I mean it, and internally kick myself.

Pinkie doesn’t react. “Did you like your cupcake? Are you still feeling sick?”

Like you wouldn’t believe.

I press my hand against my stomach. “A lil’ bit, yeah. Nothing serious. And the cupcakes are great.”

“You’re great!” she says, reaching over to tousle my hair.

Her touch sends tingling notes of glee down my neck, along my back, all the way to my toes. I can’t help but smile wider than I have all day — in days, really. She takes her hand back, but before it can reach her side, I grab and hold it in mine, savoring the softness.

I run my thumb along the lines of her palm. “You know you’re my best friend, right? And that won’t ever change?”

“Of course I know, silly!” She tilts her head. “Why?”

“Just wanna be sure. Even if I don’t always seem grateful for it.”

Pinkie rolls her eyes. “We all know. And we all love you! That’s not gonna change either.”

I chuckle and let go of her hand. “Good.”

“Even if you turn into a flying red she-demon with pointy teeth and big scary wings again.” She flaps her elbows like wings.

It takes a few seconds for me to say, “Right.”

Across the room, Rarity gets up out of Applejack’s lap — AJ looks a little sad at that — and stretches. “This has been marvelous,” she says, “but I need to get going. I have a one p.m. pedicure appointment, and one does not keep Miss Lotus Blossom waiting!”

Fluttershy raises her hand. “Oh, before you go! I wanted to ask…” And the two of them huddle for a private talk.

In the meantime, Twilight sidles over to me. “It’s now or never.”

“What is?”

“Your letter. You want everyone to hear it, right? But Rarity is leaving, and the party’s close to ending.”

The vertigo returns as I reach into my back pocket and pull out the letter. It’s barely more than scrap now, creased and crumpled without care.

Should I really do this? We’ve had such a fun party, and I don’t want to ruin it for everyone. And we jammed together! And Pinkie’s snacks were so delicious, and she told me all about how all the girls love me!

But then she made a joke about me turning into a monster again. And Rainbow spent all that time bragging about the concert I missed. And I spent the last two hours upset, but Pinkie’s the only one who noticed. Or maybe she’s just the only one who cared.

The two halves of my brain tug at each other, two hurricanes crashing into one another, throwing rain and rocks and lightning. I need to do this. But I can’t. But I have to. But I won’t.

Twi touches my shoulder. Her concern swirls into the storm, a calm breeze in the midst of the chaos.

I clench my fists, close my eyes. Then I turn to her. “I need you to push me.”

That concern twists into confusion. “Elaborate?”

“Like skydiving. I’m too scared to jump. Push me out of the plane.”

She blinks a few times — then her brows unfurrow, her mouth opens into an understanding ‘O’ shape. She nods, smooths out her skirt, and steps forward.

Sorry to put you to work, Twi. But you’re the one who wanted to be my wingman. Wingwoman. Wingdork.

“Um. Girls?” she says, voice barely a decibel higher than normal. When no one reacts, she clears her throat and tries again, this time shouting, “Girls! Can I have your attention?”

The conversations freeze. All our friends turn to look at Twilight. She cringes.

“Could all of you come over here?” she says, vaguely gesturing to where I’m standing. “Sunset has something she’d like to say, and she — we would really appreciate it if you listened.”

The girls exchange a few quick looks. Pinkie is the first one to say “Sure!” and skip over to us. The others follow a few steps behind.

Rainbow crosses her arms and leans against Applejack like she’s a wall. “What do ya got for us, SunShim?” Her voice sounds light, but I don’t know if she’s smiling because I can’t bring myself to look at anyone’s face.

Looking down doesn’t help — the floor is swirling, the edges of my vision have blurred away. The only thing that stays razor sharp is the piece of paper in my hands. I unfold it, hoping the words have smudged together into an unreadable blob, but no luck. Every pathetic complaint stares back at me in bold black ink.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m the ultimate beggar, pulled sobbing out of a hole in CHS’ courtyard. These girls gave me a second chance, something I never deserved, and here I am whining for more. Even rats aren’t this greedy.

I take a deep breath, but that just stokes the nausea. I grit my teeth and try to focus, but I’m swaying on my feet, dizzier now than when I had food poisoning. All the spit has left my mouth.

“Is everything alright?” Fluttershy asks.

Twilight steps closer and whispers, “You can do this.”

A familiar pain rips through my gut. My right thumb rips a hole in the paper.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” I say, finally managing to pull my head up.

Rarity raises an eyebrow. “That’s what you wanted to tell us?”

“No! No.” I look down at the letter, then up, then down, then up again. Then I step forward and push the paper into Applejack’s hands. “You can, um. You can read this, if you want. Sorry.”

And then I spin on my heel and bolt out of the barn’s back door. I don’t look at Twilight, and I don’t stop until I’m inside Applejack’s house and behind a locked bathroom door.

Heart pounding, I scramble over to the toilet, lift the seat, and lean over it with my mouth open. I close my eyes, take heaving breaths, and wait for the bile to come rushing up my throat — but after a moment the stomachache fades away, and all that falls from my lips are a few strands of drool.

Even with the pain gone, my heart is thumping hard enough to shake my skull. I flip the toilet’s seat and cover back down, then sit and start biting my nails.

This is how it feels to blow up your whole life, huh? To take the only good parts of still being alive and throw them off a cliff? I shut my eyes, but I can still see Applejack reading my letter to the others. I can see their faces change from confusion to anger. There’s no way my friends look at me the same way once I walk back in there. And I deserve that.

I left my phone in the barn, so I have no idea how long my panic attack lasts. But eventually I manage to take a full breath. I focus on the steady tap of the bathroom’s leaky faucet, the low hum of the fluorescent light, the muffled roar of cars outside. I count my breaths, count my heartbeats. I slow down.

Another minute passes before I stand up, walk over to the sink, and splash some cold water into my eyes. Doesn’t make them look any less baggy, and my cheeks are still splotchy red, but it feels good.

I turn to lean against the sink and look out the bathroom’s tiny window. Probably too small to climb out, huh?

The doorknob jostles and I nearly scream. “Who’s in there?” comes Granny Smith’s voice, barely audible above the sound of her fist hitting the door. “Don’t you kids know my schedule by now? I’m regular, consarnit!”

It takes less than five seconds for me to unlock the door and vacate the premises.

That leaves me standing in the dim hallway, knees together, fiddling with my fingers like I’m Twilight. I glance to the right — the house’s front door, slightly ajar, waiting for me to sneak through and run away. And then the left — the back door, leading to the barn and the consequences of my actions.

I could run away. Turn off my phone, fall asleep on the couch eating macaroni and cheese. That’d be easy.

I sway from side-to-side. Then, muttering a tiny prayer to all the human gods that I don’t know the names of, I turn left and head for the barn.

I push open the barn’s back door as softly as possible and slip inside, preparing for the wave of anger. And the girls are exactly where I left them, huddled around Applejack, staring down at the letter in her hands. When the door creaks shut behind me, they look up.

They’re all crying.

Well, all except for Applejack. She just looks sort of downcast.

But they’re not just crying — they’re sobbing. Tears flowing, snot spilling, mascara running. And I only have a second to take it all in before a wave of sadness runs through me, almost strong enough to make me cry. Almost.

Pinkie lets out a banshee wail and breaks away from the pack, sprinting forward and locking me in a hug. She buries her face in my chest, and instantly my shirt is soaked.

I look down at her as she heaves, a shuddering pink mass of sorrow, and try to come up with a response. The only thing I can sputter out is, “Hi?”

At that, the rest of the girls run over too, circling and burying me in a crushing hug. I can barely hear my own strained breath over the cacophony of sniffles and gasps. Even Twilight is there, resting her cheek on my back, just like she did all the way back at Camp Everfree. At least I have a shirt on this time.

...Okay, Sunset. If you’ve got time to make jokes, you’ve got time to think of something to say. Their emotions have flooded into me so quickly that it’s managed to drown out most of my anxiety. It feels less like I’m having a panic attack, and more like I’ve woken up at midnight to chug a gallon of coffee: My brain is buzzing, but my body is made of lead.

I try to chuckle, but it comes out sounding more like I’m choking. “I guess you read my stupid letter, huh?”

Rarity’s head snaps up so fast that drops of her wet mascara fly into the air. “It’s not stupid! Not at all!”

Next to her, gripping my arm, Fluttershy takes a shuddering breath. “We never meant to ignore you! We love you!”

Rainbow Dash lifts her head — she’s got tears pouring down her face, gobs of mucus peeking out of her nose. “You’re, like, my best friend!” she says through choppy breaths. “The coolest, magical-est, most awesome ever! I’m sorry!” And then she breaks down crying again and shoves her face into my armpit.

Applejack might not be crying, but she’s gripping me as tight as anyone. “We’re all sorry, sugarcube. I had no idea you felt this way, and I hate that you felt like you couldn’t tell us! Heck, I hate that you had to go hide in the bathroom instead of reading your letter, too!”

“I suppose it’s true,” Rarity says, wiping her eyes. “We have taken you for granted, haven't we? Always expecting you to solve every problem, have every answer — it sounds suffocating.”

“And all that ‘demon’ talk,” Applejack says, lowering her eyes. “We spend all this time yapping about forgiveness, then turn around and make jokes about the worst night of your life. We must have sounded like real pigs, huh?”

“Not anymore!” Pinkie says. All her tears evaporate in an instant. “We’re here for you! One hundred percent! No piggies allowed!”

Rainbow snorts up some boogers. “Yeah, even for the little stuff! Like, I know you’ve got killer taste in music. I wanna hear your playlists!”

“Same here!” Applejack says.

“They’re very well-crafted,” Twilight says, her head still resting between my shoulders.

“And I’m not exactly one for cartoons,” Rarity says slowly, “but I’m sure that animẽ is lovely! I could give it a try.”

Fluttershy nods. “I used to watch Fleur the Rose Warrior with my brother on the weekends. That’s anime, right?”

Twilight tenses up behind me, and I don’t need any powers to know exactly what she’s thinking: Not really, that show was made in France, it’s more of an anime imitation than the real thing…

But I nod back anyway. “Yeah, definitely.”

She’s got the spirit. I’m sure I’m in for a Twilight Sparkle lecture on the bus ride home, though.

Pinkie leaps onto me, planting her feet on my shoulders and snatching my collar for leverage. If it weren’t for the other girls surrounding me, we’d both topple over. “I’ve made up my mind!” she says, somehow arching her back even harder to put her face centimeters away from mine. “I am going to take you to the Starswirled Music Festival next month, and we are going to see PostCrush.”

Rainbow sniffles. “Tickets for that sold out months ago, dude.”

“I don’t care!” Pinkie shouts, climbing back down. She’s practically foaming at the mouth. “I’ll make it happen! I swear on my name as a Pie! I’ll sell all my stuffed animals if I have to!”

Twilight gasps. “That’s big.”

If we’d done this a week ago, I know what I’d say: “You don’t have to do that.” “Don’t worry about me.” “I’m fine.” The words are still sneaking around my tongue, trying to find their way out.

But for the first time, I can hold them back. I hold them back until they start to disappear, forced out by the sheer amount of love running through my veins. My chest is tight, I can’t stop blinking — but I hold that back too, pulling my arms free to rub my stinging eyes.

I spread my arms out to return their hug. “Thank you.”

They return the gesture, burying me so deep in love and friendship that I can’t move. I can’t tell most of their emotions apart — they’re just a warm blob of affection — except for Pinkie, jumpy like a grasshopper, and Twilight, gentle like a lakeside wave. I could pick those two out of a packed auditorium if I had to.

Ironically, our group crying session actually managed to pump a little life back into the party. We spent the next half-hour in a cathartic afterglow, sniffling and hugging and gorging ourselves on snacks. Rarity even risked missing her pedicure just to stay with us.

But all things have to end eventually. Especially after Rainbow Dash tries to stuff two dozen marshmallows into her mouth and nearly suffocates. Not the first time that’s happened, unbelievably! Girl needs to learn how to chew.

While Applejack escorts Dash to her bike — she spends the whole walk insisting she had it all under control and definitely didn’t need to get Heimlich’d — the rest of us grab our belongings and step outside.

Rarity glances at the time on her phone, gives a shrill squeak, then gives us all speedy cheek-kisses and dashes off to her car. And Pinkie is heading home on the back of Rainbow’s bike, so she’s the next to leave, but not before wrapping me in a tight hug. She plants one hand on my back and the other on the back of my head, pulling me deep into her cotton candy hair.

“You’re super-duper,” she says in the quietest voice she’s ever spoken, so low that even I can barely hear it. From anyone else, a line like that would sound like patronizing nonsense — but in her voice, it’s enough to make me tremble again. She holds on for a moment longer, then pulls back, kisses me on the forehead, and skips away.

That leaves me, Twilight, and Fluttershy. Twi is looking up the bus schedule, but Fluttershy is staring at her feet and fidgeting in place.

“You okay?” I ask.

She flicks a glance up at me, then sighs. “Yes, but I want to apologize again. I should have told you that Wallflower was coming to the concert.”

On instinct, I open my mouth — but before I can muster up a single syllable, she frowns and says, “Don’t tell me it’s okay, because it’s not. I knew you two had a bad history, and I should have at least warned you! I just wasn’t thinking! So I’m sorry.”

Fluttershy can be assertive when she wants to be, and it always startles me. Yet, I can’t help but smile. I’m a bit embarrassed, but happy too. Is this what it’s like for someone to put you first?

So instead of making an excuse, I just take her hand. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

She nods, and I know I could end the conversation here. But as much as I don’t like Wallflower, I have to ask.

“How is she, by the way?” I try to keep my smile. “Wallflower, I mean. After, y’know. What happened.”

“She’s doing fine,” Fluttershy says. Then she looks away. “Well, she was a bit shaken afterwards. And kind of upset. And mad. But she’s fine now! Really!”

But we’re still not fine.

“I’m glad she’s okay.” I offer Fluttershy a hug. “Thanks again.” She returns the gesture, then heads off to her tiny car.

A few minutes and a couple more goodbyes later, Twilight and I are on our way back to the bus stop. I’m so tangled in my thoughts, recounting everything that happened today, that I almost don’t notice Twi’s toothy grin.

I snicker. “What’s got you so hyped up?”

“You! I’m proud of you,” she says, her pitch rising and falling in excitement. “You did so great!”

“Yeah, real great.” I roll my eyes. “I had a panic attack and hid in the bathroom.”

“Trust me, there are way worse ways and places to have a panic attack. The point is that you told them about your feelings! You stood up for yourself! That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, shooting her a wink. “You’re the one who pushed me out of the plane, after all.”

She holds a hand over her heart. “Any time you need a shove, give me a call.”

“Glad to hear it. Because I might need another push real soon.”

Her hand falls. “To do what?”

I take a long breath. “I’ve gotta talk to Wallflower again.”

SUNDAY, AUGUST 27, 6:27 PM

Twilight is undeniably cute. But of all her cutest traits — her full-bodied laugh, her creativity, her penchant for awful puns — the most adorable is her passionate love for stuffed animals.

By my count, Twilight owns twenty-two stuffed animals: Six bears, five dogs, four cats, three horses, two birds, one lion, and one earthworm. They all live in her bedroom, lined up on top of her dresser in tidy rows that I’ve helped reorganize at least twice. She sleeps with a different one every night, each specially picked according to a schedule she’s been updating since 2nd Grade. It’s serious stuff.

Her favorite is Owlowiscious the Owl, but the oldest is Smarty Pants the Horse, a patchworked Frankenstein of a doll with missing eyes, re-sewed limbs, and grody blue-gray fur. He’s a lil’ bit scary and kind of gross, but so am I, and Twi loves him, so I guess I should too.

He’s definitely easier to look at when Twilight holds him, squeezing him so tight against her chest that whenever she speaks, his head jostles like he’s talking too. I’ve already spent half of our current conversation staring at him instead of her — and at this point, I think I need the distraction.

“My point is,” Twilight says, adjusting her glasses, “you want to confront Wallflower again. Even if you don’t do it now, you’re bound to run into one another once the school year starts. Either way, you need a plan. And the best plan, in my eyes, is to be totally honest.”

“Honest, right.” I slump backwards on her bed, fast enough that I bounce when I land. “Tell Wallflower exactly what I think of her. That’ll go great, I’m sure.”

I don’t need to lift my head to tell that Twi’s rolling her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. The two of you just have a ton of baggage, and you shouldn’t be around each other anymore. That’s all you need to tell her, clear and simple.”

“That’s such an asshole move, though!” I say, covering my face with my hands. “Aren’t I just forcing her to deal with my baggage? It’s not her fault that I freak out whenever I see her.”

“Is it not?”

“Well — yeah, I guess it kinda is. But she’s trying to be nice now! She’s trying to change.”

“And why do you need to be around that change?”

I spread my fingers just wide enough to glare at Twi — but then I catch sight of Smarty Pants’ ugly mug again and just snicker.

Twilight sighs. “There has to be a compromise here somewhere.”

My snicker turns to a snort. “Like what? I only avoid her every other week?”

When a second passes without a response, I edge my fingers open again. She’s shooting me a manticore glare of her own, even bloodier than the one I tried to give her. And Smarty Pants doesn’t have eyes or eyebrows, but his snout is pointed at me in a scarily aggressive manner.

It’s enough to make me sit up straight. “Sorry. You know I get sarcastic when I’m nervous.”

“I do. But the point of all this is to let you live without being nervous.” She crosses her arms. “Maybe we need an outside perspective, someone with less emotional attachment to the situation. Like an arbitrator.”

“Good idea. You think Spike has an opinion?”

“He has an opinion on everything. But it might be a better idea to ask someone who’s had more than six months of sapience.”

Running a hand through my hair, I start flipping through my mental rolodex of potential advice-givers. It doesn’t take long for my fingers to catch on a knot — and as I sort out my messy curls, someone with an even wilder mane comes to mind.

“What about Pinkie?”

Twi grimaces. “I don’t know. Pinkie is great, but she’s not exactly the most logical girl I know.”

“She’s plenty logical, in her own Pinkie Pie way. And besides, she’s pretty much a friendship expert. Probably Princess-level, even.”

“I can’t deny that.” Twi floats my phone over to me and I grab it out of the air. “If you trust her advice, I’ll trust it too.”

“I’d trust Pinkie with my life,” I say. And that’s not hyperbole — aside from Twi, there’s no one whose opinion I care about more. There’s a reason I’ve got her contact photo, a shot of her drinking directly from a chocolate fountain with a comically long straw, pinned to my phone’s home screen.

I tap that photo and start a video call. We don’t even get through a single ring before Pinkie answers — at least, I think she’s answered. It says the call is connected, but her camera is totally black, and there’s no sound.

I wait a moment before trying, “Pinks? You there?”

We both jump when someone’s wet breathing comes roaring through the phone’s speakers, thunderously loud. And then, muffled and barely audible over the noise: “Pumpkin, that isn’t food!”

The breathing gets louder, and we cringe at the disgustingly drippy sucking sounds — but then the noise fades away and the darkness disappears, replaced with a blurry shot of a colorful carpet. There’s a flash of white as Pinkie wipes her phone clean on her shirt before she finally brings it to eye level.

“Hi, Sunset!” She says it with a beaming grin, but I can see the bloodshot veins in her eyes. Pumpkin Cake, one of the kids she babysits, is slung over her shoulder like a sandbag. “How’s it goin’?”

“It’s going.” I spin the phone around. “Twi’s here too.” She waves.

“Ooh! Double the cuties!” Pinkie says as she slumps down onto a couch. There’s another baby — Poke? Punch? — on the seat next to her, slamming his fists into the cushions. Pinkie leans forward and stands her phone up against something, then takes both toddlers and makes them wave at us. “Say hi to my favorite Geeky Gals!”

Twilight tilts her head at the nickname, repeating it under her breath. But I can only breathe relief — if we’d talked to her a week ago, there’s a high chance she’d jokingly call us the ‘Demon Girl Gang’ or something like that. Shame on me for doubting her.

“Sorry for the call out of nowhere,” I say, “but we need you to settle a debate.”

“It’s not really a debate,” Twi says. “We just want your thoughts on an issue we’re having.”

Pinkie nods. “I can do that. I’ve got loads of thoughts! Have I ever given you my take on slightly undercooked brownies?”

I nod back. “The salmonella risk adds to the experience.”

Twilight looks at me like I just spat in her food.

“Exactly! It’s the secret that doctors don’t want you to know!” Pinkie gazes sweetly into the distance for a sec, but then Pumpkin bites her and she slingshots back to reality. “So what’s up?”

“Do you remember what I told you about Wallflower Blush?” I ask.

“Oh, you mean the way she makes you feel like there’s a tiny gnome in your stomach jumping around and jabbing you with his pointy hat?”

Twilight looks at me, and I look at her, stammering. “That’s not how I remember describing it.”

“I saw the truth in your eyes,” Pinkie says. “Also she took all our memories. That’s pretty messed up.”

I start to chime back with an automatic, “I deserved it,” but a single glower from Twilight stops me. Instead I just shake the gloom away and explain our dilemma: I need to confront Wallflower, but don’t know how. Should I apologize and just deal with it when she makes me uncomfortable in the future? Or follow Twilight’s advice by straight up saying that I don’t want to be around her, and that she should stay away from me?

Once I’m done, Pinkie falls back into the couch cushions. Both babies are tussling for space on her lap, but she stays silent, just tapping her pursed lips. “That’s a toughie,” she says after a few moments. “If I had to pick one plan or the other, I’d probably go with Twilight’s.”

Twilight cheers, thrusting Smarty Pants into the air. I grumble.

But Pinkie doesn’t stop talking. “Honestly, though, I wouldn’t do either of those things.”

Twi brings the stuffed animal back to her lap. “Okay, what would you do?”

“You know my big sister Maud, right?” she asks, and we both nod. “Well, she’s got this really close friend named Mudbriar who — please don’t tell her this — I don’t like very much.”

Pinkie Pie not liking someone? Haven’t seen that since the sirens. This dude must be a real dick. And as if she’s reading my mind — maybe she can see the truth in my eyes — she quickly adds, “It’s not that he’s a bad person! He just sorta yucks my yum sometimes, y’know?”

“That’s a good phrase,” Twilight whispers. She levitates a pen and notebook over to herself and scribbles it down.

“At first I tried to take Sunset’s route,” Pinkie says, “and I ignored how I felt just to make Maud happy. But that got me so frustrated that I almost went the Twilight route and told him off to make myself feel better!”

Twi clicks her pen shut and frowns. “That’s not quite how I’d describe my ‘route.’”

“So eventually, I took a middle route: I just stopped going places that I knew Mudbriar would be!”

We share a glance. Twilight’s the one who finally asks, “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said! If I know he’s gonna be someplace, and I don’t super duper have to be there, I don’t go there.” She winks. “That way we don’t see each other, but I don’t have to hurt his feelings, either!”

I stick a fingertip in my mouth to gnaw on a nail while I mull over Pinkie’s plan. Getting to avoid Wallflower and a painfully awkward conversation? Those are two absolute wins in my book. “Yeah. That might work.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Twilight says, waving her arms out wide. “I don’t know if I like this idea. Why should Sunset have to restrict herself like that? And isn’t this sort of lying?”

“I’m not lying. I’m just not telling Wallflower what I really think!”

“It’s a lie of omission.”

“C’mon, that’s not how it works. Like, I think Mrs. Harshwhinny is a rancid bitch” — Pinkie gasps and covers the babies’ ears; I offer a speedy apology — “but I wouldn’t ever tell her that. It’d be rude as hell.”

Twilight lids her eyes. “Also, you’d get detention for a month.”

“Sure, that too, but mostly because it’s rude. And am I really ‘restricting’ myself if it’s to avoid someone who makes me feel horrible? It’s not like Wallflower and I share that many spaces anyway.”

“Yearbook.”

I wave her away. “Aside from that.”

“It’s pretty big.”

Wave harder. “Aside from that.”

Pinkie shrugs. “You do you, girl. It’s just my two dollars.”

“Two cents,” Twi corrects.

“No way,” Pinkie says, blowing a raspberry. “You can’t buy anything with only two cents. But two dollars gets you four gumballs from the machine in the back of the mall!”

“I’ve always heard it as two bits,” I say, mostly to annoy Twilight. Which I succeed at, based on her frown.

“What do you think, Pound?” Pinkie asks, lifting the brown-haired baby towards the camera. He opens his mouth, and a torrent of puke comes out. “Oh my god” is all we hear before the video call cuts.

“I still don’t like Pinkie’s plan,” Twilight says as I stuff my phone into my pocket. “I mean, having to plan your life around avoiding her? Is that healthy? It feels like you’d be substituting one problem for another.”

“I don’t think there’s any perfect way to handle this,” I say, “but this seems the least painful. And you were looking for a compromise — this is one, even if it sucks.”

“And it does.” Twi bows her head, touching her nose to Smarty Pants’ ragged scalp, and takes some long breaths. After a few quiet moments of thinking, she looks up again and says, “But I guess it’s not the worst plan of all time. So if this is how you want to handle things, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks.” I offer my fist for a fist bump. She returns it, then raises one of Smarty Pants’ hooves so he can join in too.

“But seriously,” she says, “how are you going to handle yearbook? You’re the president.”

“I’ll quit,” I say. It takes more strength to say that I expected. “And I’ll hand the reins over to Wallflower.”

“But you love yearbook!”

“Yeah, but it’s me or her, and she’s way better with the layout program than I am.”

Twilight pouts. “I’ll quit too, then.”

I touch her knee. “You don’t have to do that.”

“90% of the reason I joined yearbook was to hang out with you. If we both quit, it just gives us more time to do that.”

That brings a grin to my lips. Yearbook be damned, I’d never turn down more time with Twi. But then another worry appears: “What about the rest of the girls? I don’t want to leave Wallflower as the only member.”

“Fluttershy is friends with her, so she’ll probably stay.” Twilight starts counting on her fingers. “You know Rarity loved designing the cover, so she’s not going anywhere.”

“And if Rarity stays, AJ stays,” I say with a snicker.

“Pinkie had a blast picking all the superlatives last year. And chances are that Rainbow will stay, if only to make sure there’s enough pictures of her in the book.”

I nod, then fall backwards, letting my head slam into Twi’s frilly pillows. “Only problem now,” I say through a sigh, “is that someone has to tell Wallflower I’m resigning.”

Twilight crawls over and lays next to me, still holding her doll. “One of us can do it. Heck, even me, since I’m quitting too.”

Avoiding a confrontation with Wallflower would be ideal — but I shake my head. “No, it has to be me. It’s only fair.”

Twi rests her hand on my arm. “Are you sure?”

“I still need to apologize for attacking her at Summer Sunfest. Besides, it’d be a total coward move to do this via proxy. Even Flash Sentry broke up with me face-to-face, and I was two weeks away from becoming a literal demon at that point.”

“Fine. But can I help you write a script to practice with, like we did for the girls?”

“Absolutely. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

Twilight spends only a second smiling before she turns over onto her back, takes off her glasses, and closes her eyes. “Just give me a few minutes to think of the right angle to take.”

I chuckle. “The angle?”

“What you should focus on in your conversation with her.” She places her glasses neatly on her chest, just above Smarty Pants. “I’m tapping into my mom’s journalism genes.”

“How come you can have journalism genes, but Rarity can’t have keysmashing genes?”

For a good five seconds, Twilight opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling. “No comment,” she finally says, shutting them again.

Giggling, I turn over onto my side to watch her think. The furrowed brows, the slightly parted lips, the chest that rises and falls in sync with mine. She’s wearing her Lazy Sunday outfit, an old t-shirt and a pair of snug boxer shorts, and I can trace the outline of her slender torso and thighs. And her shirt is riding up just enough to give me a peek at her tummy — again, undeniably cute.

I use the word ‘cute’ a lot. Pinkie is cute when she’s laughing or baking. Twilight is cute when she’s brainstorming, or reading, or playing games with me. Fluttershy is cute when she’s infodumping about the vital need to maintain local beaver habitats. They’re cute when they’re excited, and when they let me share in that excitement. Passion, mixed with kindness.

And taken far enough, it’s not just cute — it’s sexy. I mentioned Flash Sentry a minute ago, and he’s still hanging out in my mind. Sure, I mostly dated him to secure my spot as CHS’ Queen Bee. But even at my worst, I couldn’t deny his charm. From the outside, he might look like some aloof, impossibly cool, hunky rockstar. But spend even a day with him, and you’ll uncover what he really is: Goofy and trusting and passionate and kind. He’s sexy, and back then, I was ugly. He deserved (deserves) so much better.

By the time our relationship ended, it’d become sickeningly toxic: Daily fights, insults, and lies. But I still remember those humid Friday nights when he’d scramble up the five flights of stairs to my apartment, guitar case slung over his back, and serenade me with every cheesy ballad he knew. He’d close his eyes, lift his head, and croon the night away. More beautiful than any misty Canterlot waterfall or scarlet sunrise. I could stare for hours.

I feel the same way about Twi when she leans to the side to magically make herself turn faster in a racing game, or when she laughs and her whole body shakes. When she runs with Spike and pants just as hard as he does, or when her eyes light up as she flips the switch on some new invention for the first time. When she stops to welcome Fluttershy or Trixie or Derpy or anyone into a conversation so no one gets left out. When she asks someone how they’re doing, and actually wants a real answer. When she sings with so much emotion that spit flies out of her mouth. When she holds my hand and her love pulses through me, a second heartbeat, hot and tingling.

I loved Flash. But I love Twilight more.

The thought echoes.

I look at Twilight. Her eyes are still closed. Her shirt is still riding up.

Again. Again.

My vision blurs as a chill creeps down my chest and into my gut.

Do I like Twilight?

I mean, of course I like her. But — at risk of sounding like a middle schooler — do I like like her?

Goddess, it’s Twi. We’re best friends. What a weird thing to think.

But we are weirdos, both of us. And that’s not even counting the magic powers.

We’ve danced around half-naked together. Melded memories and probed each other’s minds. She’s cried in my arms, and I’ve collapsed into hers. She’s rubbed ointment on my bare, sweaty back. Pretty intimate for just friends.

What would it be like to date Twi? Incredibly fun, I imagine — even if it just meant spending, like, 50% more time with her and nothing else. And we’ve got so much in common, so there’s loads of stuff we could do together. Movies, day trips to the beach, walks in the woods. Rock concerts are probably out of the picture, a bit too loud for her, but we would listen to music together. She would probably even make museums interesting.

Help her in the lab. Write songs with her. Cheer her up when she’s depressed. Hold hands and share thoughts. Hug her the way she likes to be hugged, our bodies pressed so tight together that our atoms could merge.

I’d treat her better than Timber, that’s for sure.

I haven’t dated anyone since Flash, and that was a lifetime ago. Do I still know how?

Her parents like me, I think.

What if I bought her a new stuffed animal?

I wonder what it’d be like to kiss her.

“Sunset?”

I jerk awake, moving my hands so fast that I accidentally slap myself in the nose. “Ow!”

Twilight cringes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I check my nose for blood — nope, just boogers — and nod. “Yeah, I’m… yeah.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been staring off into space for almost a minute now, pursing your lips like you do when you’re anxious.” She sits up and motions to her own face. “And you’re very flushed.”

I touch my cheek, and find it phoenix hot. When did Twi’s room get so stuffy? And my clothes, so tight? Or, a better question: What the hell am I doing, thinking about my best friend like that? The last minute of fantasies flicker through my mind again, and I can feel my internal thermometer rising to a feverish peak.

“I’m sure,” I eventually say. Excuse. I need an excuse. “Just remembering an embarrassing moment I had with Flash Sentry, back when we were dating.”

“Oooh,” Twi intones, leaning in so close that I can smell her kiwi shampoo. “Storytime?”

Damn it, Sunset, you stupid lying clown.

“Maybe later.” I jump to my feet. “Gotta pee.”

I use that excuse a lot, huh? And to think I used to be the best liar at CHS. Aren’t clowns supposed to be good at improv?

She pouts, but lays back down. “I’m holding you to that. Smarty Pants is too.”

With an affirmative grunt, I rush out of the room.

The worn wooden floors turn my footsteps into gunshots as I scurry downstairs, past framed photos of Twi and her family, all the way to the bathroom. The walls are a burning pink, the same color as the streak in her hair.

I hang over the ornate sink, turn on the cold water, and once it’s frostbitingly painful, start splashing it into my face. I’m shocked that it doesn’t sizzle.

Okay, okay, no need to exaggerate. My imagination got the best of me — not exactly a rare occurrence — and I got flustered — just as common.

But I do have to scold myself, self-love exercises be damned. I shouldn’t be ogling Twi like that, no matter how ‘cute’ she is. She’s not a random chick on the beach, some faceless hottie to play with in my fantasies. And I’m not some horny teenager looking for my next fling. She deserves more respect than that. I’m a clown, frizzy red hair and all, but I’m not a creep.

She and I, dating… It’s a fun idea, maybe. The kind of thing that Rainbow Dash would tease me about. And yes, we’re probably closer than most people are — but we’ve experienced things together that no one in this world has. We’re best friends in a different way than everyone else.

Besides, even if I did like her (Goddess, I sound like a stupid kid) there’s no way in hell I’d risk our friendship like that. No way. I’d rather toss myself out her bedroom window.

It takes embarrassingly long for my heart to slow and my blood to settle, even as I do my best to think about anything other than Twi. I shoot myself one last glare in the mirror — I even add a growl for good measure — then snatch a hand towel off the wall and rub my face clean. It smells like kiwi.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 29, 9:31AM

When I reach the shoreline, Princess Celestia is waiting for me. Her wings are spread, her eyes shine with burning fury, and I’m sure that she’s ready to kill me. I don’t want to die, not right now, but I keep walking. I have nowhere else to go.

My lips are too heavy to say hello, so we’re both quiet as she steps aside to let me climb into the wooden rowboat. She follows and sits across from me, taking care not to get her jeans wet. Her eyes don’t burn anymore — they wobble, like she’s some depressed anime chick. Did I do that?

“Where were you?” I ask without opening my mouth.

“The mall,” Wallflower says. “You were supposed to meet me there.”

“Sorry. I got lost.”

I’ve never felt so weak — it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open, and my breaths are shallow, barely enough to keep me alive. Did someone drug me? Did she hurt me again? I smash my fist against the side of the boat, but it doesn’t make a sound, and she doesn’t react.

“We can still go.” She points at the boat’s floor, which is made of clear glass.

We’re floating high above the mall, and I can see all my friends sprinting down the hallways. I try to focus on Pinkie, but my eyes keep rolling away.

“Okay.” I stand up. “But we have to be careful.”

I reach forward to help her up, and she takes my hand. But as she’s standing, an icicle of fear rips through me, and I let go. She stumbles, and the entire boat flips over, plunging us both into the murky, bubbling water.

The water’s too deep for my feet to touch the bottom, no matter how far I sink. I try to flail my limbs, but I’m paralyzed, so I just go still.

Eventually the sunbeams carry me back to the surface. I scramble back to the boat, now splintered and shredded and bobbing in the mud, and grab hold. The metal surface burns my hands, but it’s all I have.

Wallflower’s not here. She’s still in the water below me, drowning. I need to save her — but if I let go, I’ll die, and one me is better than zero us.

I turn to Twilight. “What should I do?”

She floats past me, muck seeping into her labcoat. “Did you call the Princess?”

I nod and take out the journal, but I don’t have a pen to write with, and the Princess shouldn’t hear about this anyway. The journal sinks into the water, and a strand of my hair looped around my arm drags me down with it.

A violent buzzing sound jolts me awake. I’m twisted up in my sheets, one leg sticking off the side of the bed, my arm squished between my boobs. It takes a good ten seconds — and just as many curse words — for me to free myself from the linen pile and snatch my phone off the nightstand.

My phone’s not the one buzzing, though. That sound is coming from my bookshelf, behind me. The journal, wedged between two textbooks, is glowing and jiggling so hard that the entire shelf shakes.

I glance at the clock and do some quick mental math. Time in Equestria moves differently than it does here — the Princess worked out a whole conversion formula at some point. I don’t totally remember how it works, but from what I do recall, it should be almost midnight in Ponyville right now.

The Princess and I have had late night talks before. But she’s never been the one to start them.

The Princess has been on my mind for days now, and I’ve been meaning to write to her, really and truly. But whenever I reach for the journal, a familiar panic crackles in my chest — the same panic I feel when I get called out for sleeping in class, or forget an assignment. I’m a day away from betraying every friendship lesson she’s taught me, and right now, I can’t think of her without seeing her hand, outstretched to pull me from a smoking crater.

Sure, Wallflower hurt me. But I hurt the Princess too, and now we’re pen pals. Living proof that she’s the pony I could never be.

With every passing moment, the journal buzzes harder. I know from experience how destructive the damn thing can get if you ignore it for too long, so I wipe the sleep from my eyes, swallow my panic, and pull it from the shelf.

As soon as I open the cover, the book automatically flips to the newest page, half of which is already filled in. Unlike Twi’s unintelligibly tight cursive, the Princess’ handwriting — hornwriting — is long and flowing, the exact aesthetic you’d expect from a mare who writes using a swan quill. Easier to read for sure, but I’m not sure that’s a benefit right now.

I start from the top.

Dear Sunset,

I’ve spent the past ten minutes staring at a blank page, trying to figure out how to word the following letter. Let it never be said that becoming the Princess of Friendship is a cure for anxiety.

I’ve been wanting to check in on you since last week. You began writing a letter to me about a concert you and the girls had played at, but then began to speak about that girl named Wallflower. Then you stopped, and never wrote anything else.

I took this to mean that either writing about what she put you through is still too difficult — which I will respect — or that she’s re-entered your life. And if the latter explanation is true, I hope that it’s been a positive experience, and that the magic of friendship has healed your old wounds.

But if that explanation is true, and it’s been a negative experience: Please know that I’m always here to support you. You don’t have to hide things from me. I may be a mentor of sorts, but I’m not giving you any sort of grade. I just want you to be happy and loved, like you deserve.

If you don’t want to talk about her anymore, we don’t need to. But I want to know what’s on your mind.

Best,
Princess Twilight Sparkle

It takes three reads for the words to sink in. And when I’m done, I close the journal and sink myself back into my pillows.

Here I was, thinking I was the mind reader of our group. But the Princess is a universe away, and she can still scour my thoughts like a psychic — like Princess Celestia used to. Like Twi still does. I have a type, I guess.

Okay, focus. The Princess saw right through me. What’s the plan now? How do I respond without wanting to immediately swan dive into a trash compactor? What can I admit without making the Princess hate me?

As soon as that thought passes, Twi’s face appears in my head, searing me with a disappointed frown.

Why do I assume that the Princess is going to hate me? Her letter said the exact opposite! She’s my friend, my first friend, so can’t I take her at her word?

She’s the first person I ever truly trusted, yeah. Maybe that’s why I’m so scared that she’ll reject me. She can assure me however she wants, but that still doesn’t kill the fear that I’m just one wrong step, one negative emotion away from failure.

And why wouldn’t I fail? My head hurts, my heart pounds, sweat streaks my pajamas. I’m a mess. Compared to me, the Princess is perfect.

…Right?

I grab the journal again and flip through the pages, skimming the past few months of letters. And once I reach the end, I lean over to grab our old journal off my bookshelf and skim through that too.

Over the past year, I’ve sent the Princess dozens of letters. Life updates, jokes, lessons I’ve learned. But I’ve shared my problems with her, too. And whenever I did, I always ended my letter with the same question: If she were in my shoes, what would she do?

When it comes to Wallflower, I always assumed that if the Princess were in my shoes — horseshoes — she’d have gotten over her “trauma” months ago. By now, she’d be Wallflower’s best friend. She’s everyone’s best friend. That’s her job, just like it is mine.

But no, no, no, that’s not my job. I’m not some emotionless friendship machine. I’m Sunset. I’m human. I’m alive, goddess damn it.

And Princess Twilight is alive too. I’ve seen her angry, sad. I’ve seen her fail.

So again, I ask myself: What would the Princess do?

Let’s find out.

I grab a pen and flip the journal open to the Princess’ letter. Then, slowly, I start:

Dear Princess Twilight,

Thanks for checking in. Before anything, though, I have a question: Is there anypony you dislike? I’m not talking about big bad monsters, like Tirek. Just normal ponies.

~Sunset

I sigh and close the book, then fall over into the blankets, waiting for the journal to buzz again.

Wouldn’t it be funny if she replied with a, “No, I love everyone, you hateful witch”?

…Okay, maybe not funny. More like totally devastating to my self-esteem. But funny in a cosmic sense.

The book buzzes. I count down from five and flip it open to the new letter. The text is appearing quickly, but it starts with a single word:

YES.

Sorry. Can I vent? I’m taking your message as permission to vent. Sorry again.

Have you ever dealt with the Equestrian Education Association? I assume not. They’re a pain, and I say that even in COMPARISON to those “big bad monsters.” I can deal with bureaucracy, and I can even enjoy it to a certain degree. But not when it’s being doled out by a discriminatory jerk like Chancellor Neighsay!

Although our school isn’t technically under his oversight, I try to have lunch with him quarterly as a matter of professional courtesy. But I can’t recall a single meeting I’ve had with the stallion where he hasn’t spoken over me and/or completely discredited my experience! Not to mention the critiques! Our lesson plans aren’t detailed enough. We don’t provide a clear enough path for students to graduate into higher education. Rarity dresses “inappropriately.” She’s the only one who wears any clothes at all!!

What really gets me is this: I understand the importance of educational oversight and peer review. I get that not all curriculums are created equal, and that in many cases, a bad education is more harmful to a child’s development than no education. But can we at least — at LEAST — trust one another enough to assume good faith intentions? We’re both adults, and we’re both educators, even if my teachers might not always “act the part.” Let’s put the petty nonsense behind us and focus on the kids, please.

And if we can’t, leave me alone! We’re meeting all our educational benchmarks. We’re producing well-rounded and socially responsible students. I don’t need that gargoyle of a stallion looking over me, harping on every tiny misstep he sees!

And he always orders the most expensive thing on the menu! And when the check comes he doesn’t even PRETEND to reach for his saddlebags? I’m the Princess, yes, but Celestia above, how is he an educator when clearly no one ever taught him any sort of social skills?? We live in a society here, Neighsay!! ACT LIKE IT!!!

The words stop for a few moments. Then, with each letter appearing slowly:

Sorry. As the Princess of Friendship, I don’t get many chances to air my grievances. I trust that you’ll keep this hidden from the paparazzi.

Why do you ask? I have a guess, but I won’t assume.

My head still hurts, but now it’s for a different reason: I can’t stop smiling. Not at the Princess’ misfortune — this Neighsay guy sounds like an asshole — but her blazing annoyance. Not only that, but she worries about letting other people know her true feelings, too! I guess she isn’t as unflappable as I thought. She’s like me. And the fact that she trusts me enough to confide those feelings… Goddess, it’s got me kicking my feet in the air. This is what makes friendship worth it.

My enthusiasm dampens a bit when I re-read her question. But after that rant, laying out my facts doesn’t feel so torturous.

It’s about Wallflower. Not hard to guess.

You’re right that she’s come back into my life. I thought that I’d gotten over what happened, but when I saw her at the Summer Sun Festival, I just… I don’t know. Broke down? I yelled at her, and grabbed her like I thought she’d hurt me if I didn’t stop her. Then I threw up, though that was because I got food poisoning. Still didn’t help.

Before you ask, that situation is handled. Me attacking Wallflower, I mean. I apologized, and she forgave me. She still wants to be friends and get to know me better, even. And in a perfect world, I’d want that too.

But I just can’t. Whenever I look at her, I get scared and angry and nauseous. All I can think about is how it felt to get the memories ripped from my skull and shoved back in a minute later. She hurt me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get over it. There’s a gap between us, and whenever she takes a step closer, I stumble back.

I’ve been talking it over with Twilight (my our Twilight), and she thinks that Wallflower and I should just make a clean break and stop seeing each other. I agree, mostly.

That’s what’s been on my mind. Sorry for not checking in sooner.

No need to apologize. And let me guess again: The reason you only “mostly” agree with my counterpart is because you feel guilty about not wanting to be Wallflower’s friend?

Nailed it.

I understand. And this might surprise you — or not, depending on how egotistical I come across as — but actually think your Twilight has the right idea.

You’re a wonderful person, Sunset, and you’ve clearly shown yourself to be a thoughtful and caring friend. But as much as we try, nopony can be friends with everyone. Not even me. There will always be those that refuse our kindness, or that put us in a position where a relationship becomes untenable. Based on what you’ve said, Wallflower falls into that second category, and putting space between the two of you would be best for everyone.

But even if you aren’t friends, you can still be respectful of one another — no need for resentment or bitterness.

And as time passes, don’t be alarmed if your feelings about her evolve. Life changes fast, and emotions do too. One day, you might wake up to realize that you actually want to give Wallflower a second chance at friendship. It’s not a sure thing, of course, but it happens!

It happens to me a lot, notably. Just look at Starlight (who sends her regards, by the way).

Does that help at all?

It does. Genuinely. Thank you.

It’s my pleasure.

Let me know if anything else is on your mind. And if not, give my love to the rest of the girls. Especially your Twilight, who I really want to make time to meet with soon. To quote Pinkie Pie: “Imagine the hijinks!”

(Don’t tell your Twilight I wrote that. She’s the only one who doesn’t know firsthoof how painfully uncool I am yet.)

Lol Ha. I think you’re plenty cool.

Now go to bed!

~Sunset

Glad to see you remembered my formula for calculating the time difference across universes!

Goodnight!

Best,
Twilight Sparkle

I close the journal and push it back into my bookcase, then fall back into bed. It’s still way too early to be awake — we’ve only got about a week until school starts back up, and I’m holding tightly onto the small amount of free time I have left.

And as I close my eyes, I savor the soft pillow on my neck, the fluffy blankets that carry me like clouds towards sleep. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

One day until I see Wallflower again. One day until I can stop thinking about her. I’m gonna make it.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30, 1:56 PM

For the third time this minute, I smooth out my shirt collar. “How do I look?” I ask. “Do I look normal?”

Twilight sighs. “You are normal.”

“But do I look it?” I’m trying to keep quiet, but my voice cracks so badly that half the bookstore glances at me. I hunch down until Twilight’s hair brushes my chin. “Because I’ve had trouble with that before, and I don’t want to come off the wrong way, y’know? I don’t want to look angry or weird or intimidating or—”

“Sunset.” Twi reaches up to take my hand off my collar, which at this point I’ve just started twisting between my fingers. “Take a breath. You sound like me.”

I take the long breath she’s asked for. “You’ve got a nice voice, though.”

“So do you, so stop worrying.” She lets go, but immediately starts using the same hand to fiddle with her hair. “Gosh, listen to me, telling you to just stop, like that helps anything. Sorry.”

Were she talking to anyone else, she’d probably be right about that. But right now, the thought that keeping calm will keep her calm is more effective than any breathing exercise. I close my eyes, run a hand down my face, and try to focus on the dry rustle of pages turning around us. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”

“Good, because” – she motions to the clock hanging on the wall above us – “I don’t mean to stress you out, but you’re running late.”

“Yeah, that’s on purpose.” I play with my collar again. “Well, not, like, purposefully on purpose. It’s an unconscious thing, y’know? Stalling. I’m nervous, so I’m stalling. It’s, y’know, hard to control—”

“Sunset.”

”Right.” I walk down the aisle and start muttering, “Just gotta stick to the script. Be nice and stick to the script. Act normal, don’t freak out, be nice, and stick to the script.”

She follows close behind. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? You’ll be alright?”

”I’ll be fine,” I say, half-turning back to her. “And you’ve done so much for me already. You’re a dork, not a crutch.”

She straightens her arms and presses them against her sides. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m skinny enough to be one.”

I pull a crumpled fast food receipt from my pocket and toss it at her. It misses her by a foot, but she still holds her head and groans like I just pegged her with a dodgeball. “I’ll be fine,” I repeat, this time through a giggle. “Besides, I don’t want Wallflower to think we’re ganging up on her. It’s gotta be one-on-one.”

“Okay.” She nods, then sits on the floor cross-legged – right next to my fallen receipt, which she furtively slips into her purse for proper disposal later – and pulls a book from the nearest shelf without looking. “I’ll be waiting right here. Text me if you need anything.”

I shoot her a peace sign before stepping out of the aisle, out of the bookstore, and into the open mall hallways.

I know how to waste time. I spend most of my life wasting time. And I’ve lived as a human teenager for long enough to have mastered the art of Wasting Time at the Mall. Sampling every single flavor at the ice cream shop, sifting through racks of designer dresses I’ll never afford, counting all the coins in the center fountain – I can loiter in ways that not even Hoofington High dropouts could manage.

And right now, as I pass boutiques and luxury car giveaways and cheap sunglasses booths, all my instincts are telling me to stop and smell the floor wax. I’m only five minutes late to my meeting with Wallflower, so why not procrastinate for another hour or two?

But I keep marching onwards, hands shoved in my pockets. There’s a folded piece of paper buried beneath my phone, and I trace it with a finger as I walk, pressing my fingertip into the corners until it hurts. I don’t stop until I can see the neon lights of the food court, smell the grease-scented air – and see a shock of scraggly green hair, parked at a table right in the center.

Nausea leaps in my stomach. I slip behind a nearby pillar and press my back against it, forcing myself to take uncomfortably long breaths.

Twilight and I constructed this meeting to be as peaceful, as non-confrontational as possible. The two of us are meeting in a neutral location, one-on-one, with loads of people/witnesses around. I’m wearing a dark gray t-shirt with no words or pictures on it. I’m not wearing any makeup, and I’ve taken off my earrings and spiked bracelets. The only pieces I’ve left on are my amulet – never know when an Equestrian Magic Emergency will strike – and a friendship bracelet Pinkie made me, only because it’s tied so tightly to my wrist that I’d have to rip it in half.

I peek out at her again. She’s taken the exact opposite route, wearing a bright yellow jumper with green swirls all over it. A far cry from the dingy brown sweater I first met her in.

She’s doing so much better. She doesn’t need me to be happy. Yeah? Yeah.

That’s enough assurance to unstick my feet from the ground and propel me forward.

Act normal, don’t freak out, be nice, and stick to the script.

Let’s do this.

I slip through the patrons and chairs, headed for her table. And when I reach it, I put on a big grin. “Hey,” I chirp, stepping into view. “Sorry I’m late!”

Her face lights up with a sickeningly sweet grin. “Sunset! Hey!” She stands, and she moves forward like she’s going to hug me – but before I can even recoil away and ruin this whole charade, she steps back and sits down again. No more eye contact, just looking at the table and fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Hi! And don’t worry, I didn’t even notice. That you were late, I mean. I figured I was early!”

She speaks quickly and excitedly, but her sentences get quieter as she goes. It’s like if Pinkie and Fluttershy shared a mouth.

I pull out my chair and sit. “Damn, really? Y’know, I’m awful with—”

“Okay, I did notice,” she says, adding a laugh at the end that sounds prerecorded. Then her smile snaps away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt! I just didn’t want to lie. And it’s okay! I got some fries – you can have some if you want – and I was playing on my phone. Playing a game.”

I now realize that Wallflower is Twilight if she were 97% less charming.

Goddess, that’s so mean. Shut up, shut up!

She’s staring at the table, she’s frowning. Dead air, dead air, one second, two seconds. This is going downhill. Four seconds. Abort, abort.

No! Make conversation, dipshit! Be a human being! She’s the shy one, not me!

“So,” I start, just to shank the silence and force my brain into gear. It takes another excruciating second to cough out, “What game was it?”

That gets her to look up again. “It’s called Starsaber Brigade,” she says, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “It’s like a sci-fi deck-building RPG. The story is great too. Have you played it?”

Never heard of it. “I think I saw someone talking about it on SnapGab,” I say, leaning forward. “I meant to check it out but didn’t get around to it. What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s really cool! Basically you create a character and you’re a recruit in this big space military academy. And the more classes you complete, the more cards you can add to your deck. The first few missions aren’t great, they’re all sort of railroad-y, but once you get enough gems and unlock more characters and their unique decks, it really opens up. Like, I main a Sundowner build, which has this special win condition where—”

That’s as far as I get before my attention span starts sputtering. It’s not totally her fault. I’ve just got too much on my mind – the din of the food court, the paper in my pocket, her hands moving as she talks and the jolt of anxiety whenever they pass too near to me – I can’t tell whether it’s her anxiety or mine – I hope it’s mine, I never want to have her in my head ever again – to pay attention and act happy at the same time.

There’s one line I do tune back in for: “Microchips plays too, and we help each other with raids sometimes.”

Microchips. Fluttershy. She has friends. She has nice clothes. She has interests. It’s okay if I abandon her.

I’m not abandoning her. I’m making space. It’s what’s best for both of us.

And I made that decision all on my own. Never asked what she thinks.

This is how it has to be. Twi said it’s okay. Pinkie said it’s okay. The Princess said it’s okay.

That’s what I wanted them to say.

“You do, right?”

My eyes uncross. I lean in an inch farther. “I do…?”

“You play video games a lot? Fluttershy said that you do.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah! All the time.” I chuckle. “Probably too much, to be honest.”

Wallflower laughs again, and this time it sounds real. “Mood,” she says, but then goes quiet. She stares at her food for a long moment before saying, “Thanks, by the way. For inviting me out.”

I shake my head. “No problem. Thanks for coming.”

“Like I’d miss the chance to hang out with you!” Wallflower says way too loudly, spittle on her lips. I guess I can’t hide the shock on my face, because she shrinks back and averts her eyes again. “I just mean, like… I always wanted to be friends with you. Even before, y’know, everything that happened. Really. You’re really cool.”

Funny way of showing it. I fold my hands together so they can’t clench into fists. “Wow. Thank you! That’s really nice.”

She nods. “And then I did all that stuff, and I figured I’d blown my chance. And then you did that stuff at the Summer Sunfest, and I was like, ‘Welp, it’s gonna be awkward forever!’”

She thinks that tearing out all my memories and shoving them back in is the same as me messing up her shirt a little bit?

“But I knew things would turn out okay, because you forgive everyone. And then you texted me, and now we’re here.” She crosses her arms tight against her chest and offers me a faint blush. “So, thank you. You’re awesome.”

She’s radiating a colorful mix of happiness and bashfulness, but it’s all outlined with fear. It stabs into me like a jagged tree branch, digging deep into my organs, twisting and tearing me to shreds.

She’s letting herself be vulnerable because she trusts me. She likes me. And I’m about to shank her right back.

My folded hands are squeezed white. I just chuckle again. “Yeah.”

She giggles, then pushes out her chair and stands up. “So, what do you wanna do? Arcade? Shopping? I’ve always wanted to shop for clothes with another girl. We can have a ‘trying on clothes’ montage moment, like in the movies. Y’know what I mean?”

I’m a horrible person. This is going to kill her.

But I hold out my hand. “Wait a second,” I say. I feel disconnected from my body. “I want to talk about something.”

“Sure.” She sits back down, smiling like a toddler walking into traffic. “What’s up? You want the rest of my fries? They’re a lil’ bit over-salty, but you can probably just brush them off.”

“No, no. Just wait.”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my script, folded and flattened into wrinkled scrap. When Wallflower sees it, her fear spikes. Shit, shit, she knows something’s wrong. I’m so transparently awful, worth less than the air I wish I wasn’t breathing right now.

And my hands are shaking so bad that I can’t even unfold the paper. My ragged nails can’t catch anything. Demon. Bully. She’s getting more scared, smile wilting. I can’t do it.

The half-unfolded paper slips out of my hands and into a wet spot on the table. I snatch it up and shove it back into my pocket. We’re doing this from memory.

I lay out my hands in front of me. “First off,” I say through a dry mouth, “I wanna apologize again for how I acted at Summer Sunfest. I shouldn’t have grabbed you, even touched you. No excuse for that.”

She waves a hand dismissively, fear receding. “I already said I forgive you for that! And I know you were sick. You ate some bad beans, and it messed with your head.”

Not as bad as she did.

“Exactly. But still, you came all the way out to Hoofington to support us, and you deserved better.”

“You played a banger show! You deserved, like, a billion dollars!” Her flush on her face is back. “But thanks again for apologizing. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” I say, and I keep my mouth open, but nothing more comes out.

She tilts her head. “Is that it?”

“No.”

I know what I have to say. I read Twilight’s script a hundred times, and she phrased everything so perfectly, so kindly. But I’m blanking. Wallflower keeps moving her hands, and I swear I can feel every twitch, every fidget.

She lets out a tiny laugh, and it’s back to sounding like it came from a computer. “Are you okay? You’re not sick again, right?”

Deep breath. No more time to stall.

“I’m resigning from the Yearbook Committee,” I say, “and leaving the club.”

Wallflower freezes – legit stops, like someone’s pressed pause on her. Even her emotions stop buzzing. “Oh,” she says without moving anything but her lips. “That’s. Oh.”

“I know it’s sudden, and I’m sorry. Really.” I try to put on a smile, and I don’t know if it works. “But I’m leaving it in your very capable hands. You’re an amazing graphic designer, and most of the girls will still be there to help out if you need it.”

“Most of the girls?”

Crap.

“Yeah.” I gesture in the direction of the bookstore, as if that’ll mean anything to her. “Twilight has to leave too. Unfortunately.”

“Okay.” She blinks, opens her mouth, closes it again. The fear I felt on her skin before has faded, but something new is growing inside her – something deep and dark and burning like a Tartarus pit. “Why are you leaving?”

“Y’know. Just busy.”

“You’re busy.”

“Yeah.” She keeps staring, and now I’m the one giving a canned laugh. I turn my head down towards the table. “Twi’s got her AP classes. And I gotta focus on college applications, and all that stuff. So we really don’t have time to help out with the yearbook.”

Quiet. I study a bloody red splotch of dried ketchup.

She breathes through her nose. “Is that why you wanted to meet up today? To tell me that?”

I nod.

“Did you actually want to go do something with me? Or is this it?”

“Sorry,” I say, and force myself to look up again.

I meet her eyes and suddenly a scathing heat washes over me, like someone’s sprayed me with acid. I jerk backwards, chair squeaking, but she doesn’t react. She just keeps her sulfur gaze trained on me, straight through my clothes and onto my skin. I can’t move, can’t escape.

It’s only when she closes her eyes that my body works again. “You know,” she says under her breath, “if you don’t want to be friends with me, you can just say that.”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not it.”

“Stop it,” she says. Her voice quivers. “Stop lying. I’m not dumb. You’re leaving yearbook because you don’t like me. I don’t need to read your mind to know that.” There’s a lilt in her voice at the end, like she’s just told the funniest joke in the world.

It’s my turn to breathe through my nose, steady, steady, steady. I need another excuse, but under the heat of Wallflower’s gaze, I can’t muster a thought.

But why do I need an excuse?

Screw it. She wants to get real? We’re getting real.

“Okay, yes, fine,” I say, gripping the table for leverage. “But it has nothing to do with liking you or not. I just think the two of us have too much… I dunno. Baggage, I guess. It’s better for us both if we don’t hang out.”

“‘Baggage?’ What does that mean?”

I grip harder. “You know what I mean.”

She balls up her fists. “You lied to me. You made me think everything was okay between us.”

She’s right. I can’t be trusted.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I say. “I just thought it’d be easier.”

”For who?”

Me. Always me.

“Okay, I lied, yes, fine. But—”

“Why?”

“Let me finish,” I say, louder than I mean to. It’s instinct, total self-preservation. My skin is burning. I can’t drag my eyes away from her hands. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

There’s a long, hellish silence. Then, in a shuddering voice, she says, “I just wanted to be friends with you. You’re so cool, and I know I hurt you, I know, but I thought you’d gotten over it.”

My head whips up. Making eye contact feels like touching a hot stove, but I do it anyway.

“‘Gotten over it?’” I spit through gritted teeth. “Do you know what you put me through? How it felt? You tortured me! You took away everyone I love. You tore out all my memories! You made me relive every awful thing I’ve ever done, every shitty moment of my shitty life! I spent days hating myself, hating everything, wanting to die, all because of you!”

The strangers nearby are staring and a cloud of fear is forming above us. Wallflower’s burning anger is gone – she’s cold, pale, shaking. It’s delicious. She deserves every second of this, every bit of pain she inflicted on me.

But then she grips the table too. And grits her teeth. And when she finally looks up again, right into my eyes, a horrible ache cuts across my chest, like she’s shoved a cold iron spike through my ribs. It’s enough to make me heave in shock, crumpling in my chair. And it gets worse when she stands up.

“Do you know what you did to me?” she says. There are tears in her eyes, and her white cheeks are filling with blood. She’s stuttering bad, words barely tumbling past her teeth, but she’s loud, loud, louder than I can handle. “How you looked me in the eye each day and acted like we’d never met? How I did every stupid thing you asked for a year, did anything I could to get your attention, and you never even learned my name? How you made me feel like dirt every second we were together?”

“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but it’s true, I made her life hell, and the air doesn’t make it past my throat.

She’s shouted at me like this before. I deserved it then, too.

“How you slammed doors in my face and threw out my things and kept deleting all my work because you never gave a shit about me?”

Everyone’s staring. Fear and shock and anger and confusion and amusement and sadness and I’m choking.

She slams her hands down and leans across the table, closer and closer until I’m gasping for breath. “How I knew that if I disappeared, no one would care, especially you, the ‘Friendship Chick?’”

No more, no more, no more. I grab my amulet and yank it, once, twice, until the string holding it around my neck snaps. It slips through my fingers and falls to the floor.

My entire body – brain, limbs, lungs – crashes. My ears blow out, my skin tingles, my vision goes starry. I feel like my power cable’s been ripped from its socket.

But when my senses recover, Wallflower is still here.

“You think you’re the only one who hates herself?” she screams. “Who wanted to die?!”

Her voice bounces off the walls. It takes a second to fade, but when it does, the whole food court is silent.

I’m shaking now too. Because without everyone else’s emotions to deal with, I’m finally alone with my own: The anger receding from my fists, the sadness rotting in my chest, and the gaping well of terror in my gut.

Tears spilling down her face, she looks around, sees everyone watching, and goes fully red. Then she sits down again. “I wanted to be friends,” she says through hiccups. “But you’re still an asshole.”

I am. I am. I am.

The pain in my chest subsides. I sit up straight, choke down a few breaths. “I don’t want to fight,” I say after a year. “Let’s just… We shouldn’t be around each other.”

Without any hesitation, Wallflower stands up again. “Fine,” she says, turning away. “Bye.”

And she walks off, head down. The strangers around us watch her go, then all eyes fall on me. Even without my powers, every glance is as heavy as a boulder crashing down on my back and crushing me to death.

But eventually they stop caring. They go back to their lives. And I’m left with mine.

I don’t know how long I sit there, studying the ketchup stains on the table. Listening to the idle chatter. Replaying Wallflower’s words. My words.

At some point I reach down and scoop my amulet off the ground. The necklace is torn, but the stone still prickles my palm. Unfamiliar emotions flicker through my veins, pulsing in time with the flow of the crowd around me. Those faint flashes are all I feel. That and nausea, a curdling sickness in my intestines.

This is what I wanted, right? To never see her again?

Yeah, it is. But it’s not the only thing I wanted. It’s not what I wanted deep down in the basest dregs of my soul.

I wanted to hurt her.

That’s why I snapped at her. That’s why seeing her scared made me so happy. That’s why all this happened in the first place, isn’t it? I never really wanted to settle things between us, did I? My texts, my fake kindness – I built up her hope, made her think I actually liked her, then stepped on her throat.

My big plan, the script in my pocket, all worthless. Because this is how it was always destined to go. Hurting her was the plan all along because that’s what I do. I can’t let anything go. Every scrap of evil, every bit of hatred I tried to leave behind; it’s still there, bound to my blood.

And this time there’s no do-over, no third chance to be Wallflower’s friend. She’ll never forgive me.

She hates me. I’m hated. No different than a year ago.

This is what I wanted.

There’s a tickle of annoyance on the back of my neck, and a buzz in my ear. I glance up. A security guard is talking. To me. She says I’m loitering. She says if I’m not eating I need to leave.

I’m still disconnected from my limbs, I still feel like I’m wandering somewhere far out of my mind, but I stand up. She leads me out of the food court. And when she stops walking, I keep going.

Down the hall, up the escalator, around the corner. Past the clothing stores, past the ice cream parlors. Past the arcade, past the sunglasses booths. Past the crowd of CHS students whose names I don’t know, waving when they see me, smiling and calling out when I glance at them, and going silent when I move on without stopping.

Eventually I reach the bookstore again. An employee greets me when I trudge inside – I head straight for the aisle I left Twilight in along the store’s back wall.

For some reason, I’m expecting her to have left. But she’s still there, smiling, sitting cross-legged in the aisle, holding a book in one hand and rolling my old receipt around in the other. And I barely have to take a step towards her before she looks up and smiles even wider.

“Hi,” she says, but I must look as dead as I feel, because her face falls. “Whoa, hey. Are you alright?”

Her voice echoes down the aisle. And, as I clutch my amulet, her voice comes with something else: A feeling, warm and soft and smooth, running along the hair on my arms like heat from a bonfire on a frozen night.

Love.

A horrible, shuddering sound leaps from my throat. I clench my teeth, but it’s not enough to stop it.

I start crying.

Not just crying but sobbing, gasping for breath as my vision melts to mush. Something’s flipped a switch in me, and now every bit of fatigue, every bit of fear, every bit of rage is escaping, pounding my ribcage with a thousand fists. I need to keep this demon down, shackled and hidden like it always is, but I’m doubled over in pain, and I don’t know whether to cover my mouth or my eyes, and there’s no going back from this.

This is what I am. I hurt people and start crying like I’m the victim. It’s like I’m still a foal. It’s like nothing has changed.

Twi is just a purple blur as she leaps up and runs over to me. But she’s a lit hearth as she wraps her arms around me. As she leads me down to the floor, lets me lay across the scratchy carpet. As she cradles my head in her lap, strokes my back, whispers that it’s okay, that I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30, 8:34 PM

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.”

THURSDAY, AUGUST 31, 2:37 PM

The text arrives two seconds after I shove a burrito into my mouth. My phone pings, Twilight’s name flashes on the screen, and I suck in so much air that a chunk of refried beans comes with it. Once the coughing stops, though, I have to slap both hands against my cheeks and curse.

Okay. It’s been, what, twelve hours since my… revelation? Less? Epiphany? More? Suspicion? And I haven’t heard from her since last night, either; she’s left town, gone upstate with her family.

But here are the facts: I’m stupid and prone to delusions of grandeur. Goddess knows I can’t trust my brain at any time, and especially after midnight. So anything I might have thought last night – about Twi, about myself, whoever – is basically null and void. Psychosomatic.

Right?

I wouldn’t have ever felt this way about a text from Twi before, though. Never had my hair stand up on end just reading her name.

I just miss her, is all. I’m tricking myself into thinking it’s anything more.

It’s been less than a day since I saw her, though. And she’s coming back on Saturday.

Am I that co-dependent? Or—

Another text comes, and with it another ping and another jolt of adrenaline.

I scoop my phone up off the couch and open the messages.

Hi

Hi

Simple enough. Weird of her to double-text, though.

Hiiiiiiiiii

What’s up

Out of the car yet?

That’s the sort of thing I’d usually text, yeah?

The gray “person is typing” bubble appears for a few seconds, then disappears, then returns again. And then, with another ping:

Butts

Yeah, she’s got a great butt.

Don’t type that or I’ll kill you, me.

Yes I agree

Butts

But what about them

The gray bubble reappears before I can finish typing.

🤔🫡🤔🤫😠😰😤😇🤣🤣😰😘😼😾😼😼🤖👻👻👹👹🤕🗣️🧠👁️👣👣👁️🧠

😇🤣🤣😍😙🙂‍↔️😎🧐😋🥰😍😌🤓😕😕😒😏🙂‍↕️😔🙂‍↕️🐱🐱🐱🐭🐭🐭🐭🐱🐭🐱🐭🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐻🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐶🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐻🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

Uh

Are you okay

The way I see you are not a fan but you have been on the right path for many times now you have no shame in your own words you have been doing the same for many times and I hope that your life will come back in your favor I am very happy for your success I am happy to be here and you have a good night my friend and thank your love I hope your family is safe I hope your night is going good I hope to be happy happy birthday birthday I hope you’re doing good I hope you’re doing great and happy Easter I hope you’re doing a good job and happy Mother and happy Mother and Mother and Mother Mother’s Mother Day to all the

Twi contains multitudes. But right now, either the car ride upstate has driven her stir crazy, or someone’s stolen her phone.

Or maybe she got her brain melted by some rogue Equestrian magic. Goddess, I hope not — I’ve got enough regrets already.

Who is this

Alt: A blurry photo, mostly taken up by an opaque blue blob. Yellow fingers stick out from the top of the frame. A few lines in the colors of Twilight Sparkle’s hair stick out from the top-left corner, along with a tiny lavender splotch.

I bring the phone close to my face, squinting to make out anything solid in the multicolored swirl I’ve just received. The purplish-pink in the corner… that’s Twilight’s ear? Finger? Why does it look like the camera lens is covered in grease?

But just as I’m starting to make out some details in the garbled pixels, the picture disappears. Then the message above it disappears, and then the emojis, and then everything else.

Then the gray typing bubble comes back. And it lasts for a full minute before another text rolls in.

HELLO. IGNORE ANY TEXT YOU RECEIVE FROM ME FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS UNLESS IT CONTAINS THE SOLUTION TO THE EQUATION 134.63 * x = 269.26

DO NOT RESPOND WITH THE ANSWER. AT LEAST TWO EYES ARE WATCHING.

I take a few seconds to work out the equation before realizing I’m an idiot.

Is this a reference to something or are you serious

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS IS A LEVEL TWO “MY MOM IS MAKING ME LET MY COUSINS PLAY ON MY PHONE” EMERGENCY. MY SANITY AND POSSIBLY LIFE ARE AT RISK.

Ah. That explains the butts.

Twi doesn’t talk much about her relatives. I know she’s got some aunts and uncles, something called a “godmother,” and at least two cousins — twins, a boy and a girl, only a few years old. I also know that she’s spending the next few days crammed into a wooden cabin with the rest of her family.

I might get lonely sometimes in this crummy apartment, but even I can do without the mandatory yearly family bonding trips. Still, the thought of Twi leaping over furniture, desperately snatching her phone away from two drool-splattered rugrats, makes me smile. Do her parents let her use telekinesis on them, I wonder?

I understand

Good luck

THANK YOU2

And that’s that.

But I’m aching. I feel like a starving dog, chained to a pole with a juicy steak just barely out of reach. I want more Twi.

More time talking with her, I mean. Talking with the juicy steak. Juicy girl. Girl. Friend. Friend that just happens to be a girl. Dork.

Someone needs to put me down.

I lean back on the couch and hold the phone above my head. It’s on max brightness, and staring into the white background of the texting app burns my corneas.

What can I say to start a conversation? Needs to be something casual but funny, cool but engaging enough to spark some banter…

The amateur improv troupe that panhandles in the back alleys of my mind hands me a piece of paper.

If you die though can I have your big telescope

I’m so good at being funny.

It takes a few moments for the texting bubble to reappear.

🤔🫡😬😐🫥😐😨🫡🙄😲🙄😲🤔🤗😮‍💨🤫😮‍💨🫤😮‍💨🫤😮‍💨🤒😯🙄🤢😐🥴🙄🥴🤒😐🥴😐🙄😬😈👿👿😬😬🤕😯😪🤫😮‍💨🤫😮‍💨😪🤐😨😪🤔😪🤔😪

I drop my phone, stuff the last bits of burrito into my mouth, and slump over onto my side.

“Psychosomatic,” I say through the refried beans. “Psychosomatic.”

Author's Note

And the longest August of all time finally comes to an end.

I wonder what other story I’ve read where Twilight has annoying twin cousins?

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 11:10 AM

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!

SUNDAY, JULY 30, 7:29 PM

7:29PM

Yo

You can read music right?

I can! What’s up? 🎵

The new song Rainbow sent

Check out my guitar part

Does it look weird to you??

Let me check.

You’re right. It’s very complicated.

I KNOW EXACTLY

wtf is up with it

Honestly, it’s not that it’s *complex…*

There are just way too many notes stuffed into each bar.

Yeah there’s a million

I’m gonna break my fingers trying to play it

…Wait.

I have a theory.

A *music* theory, if you will.

Lol hit me

Is it possible that Rainbow Dash wrote this guitar arrangement for someone who can play guitar incredibly fast?

Someone, say, with super-speed? 🤔

LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO

YOURE RIGHT THAT’S IT

She’s running too fast, it’s going to her head

Snrk.

The perils of mixing music with magic.

At least it’s not LSD.

Remind me to bring that up at rehearsal

What, doing drugs?

Yeah

Were going sicko mode

MONDAY, MARCH 20, 10:39 AM

✽ PART ONE: SPRING ✽

Most people still cringe when they see me. Not ‘cringe’ in the stupid internet way that Rainbow Dash is obsessed with, but ‘cringe’ like they’re still expecting me to shout their head off or crush them against a locker or worse. It only lasts a second, but I notice it every time.

Normally it’d tick me off, but I can’t blame them today; I spent the entire weekend after the Friendship Games sleeping, and I still look like a corpse. My feet drag, my back is killing me, and I’m sure that the bags under my eyes are bottomlessly deep — forcing a friendly smile is never easy, but right now it’s impossible.

It’s been less than a year since I brought Equestrian magic to this world, and it’s already almost killed us three times. For the sake of my sleep schedule (and my grades) I’m praying that the Friendship Games were the final exam.

When I finally reach my locker, it takes all my energy to not use the stack of textbooks inside as a pillow. But third period History is hurtling towards me like a cannonball — just like the misfired cannonball shot that crippled Lady Goldheart in 1521, leading her to a life of solitude and the eventual founding of the all-woman Marestone Monastery in 1539 — so I try to recreate the taste of caffeine in my mind and trudge forward.

But I only make it a few steps before something new stops me: A familiar head of purple-pink hair, set on top of an unfamiliar body.

Twilight — the new Twilight, I unconsciously remind myself — is huddled in the corner of the hallway, staring down at a messy binder filled with papers. Her hair is still tied up in the same tight bun, her knees knock together endlessly, and her face is screwed up tight like she’s about to cry.

Maybe it’s just the reformed demon in me, but that’s enough to get me standing up straight.

I hurry towards her, putting on my warmest grin. “Hey, Twilight!”

When she hears me, Twilight doesn’t just cringe — she jumps, letting her binder fall to the floor and explode into a storm of loose leaf and scrap paper. “Oh gosh,” she breathes, dropping to her knees to contain the mess.

I drop too, hitting the floor with an achey grunt. “Sorry about that,” I say. “Didn’t mean to scare you!”

Twilight looks up, but her eyes don’t rise past my stomach. “No, no, it’s my fault. Principal Celestia gave me a load of guides in this old binder, and I knew I should have switched it out with a better one from home, but I’ve just been so frazzled today and I didn’t have time.“

“Don’t worry about it.” I hand her a bundle of papers. “It’s your first day. And accidents happen.”

The slightest smile tiptoes across Twilight’s face. “Thanks.”

We both rise to our feet, and she starts refilling the binder. But her knees still knock, and the smile fades faster than it appeared.

I tilt my head. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” she says. A stilted laugh crawls out of her mouth. “Very, very okay!”

Now I raise a brow. “Really?”

Twilight’s eyes flit up to meet mine for a half-second. “I can’t find my next class. Principal Celestia gave me this map, but it’s… not very good.”

She hands me a sheet of paper that’s got so much black photocopier burn it’s unreadable. I flip it over and see that the other side is an actual map — but none of the rooms are labeled.

“Well, these suck.” I give the ‘map’ back. “Do you know which room you’re looking for?”

“Room 233. AP Chemistry with Miss Bunsen?”

“There’s your problem.” I point down the hall in the direction that I came from. “The science labs are numbered super weirdly. They’ve got the highest room numbers, but they actually come before Room 201.”

Twilight nods. “Like an integer overflow error?”

“Exactly. I can walk you there if you want.”

For the first time, her smile reaches her eyes — but soon wilts. “Won’t you be late for class?”

“Nah, I’ve got a free period.” The lie slips past my lips as easily as air. Maybe that should worry me, but right now, if I have to pick between Mr. Lacuna’s lecture on the religious dynasties of Prance and spending time with a friend (or at least an acquaintance), I know my choice.

Twilight squirms in place for a moment, then says, “I don’t want to cut into your free time…”

“You’re not cutting into anything.” I start walking and motion for her to follow. “Hell, I even used to be CHS’ official tour guide.”

She scurries after me. “Really?”

“Yep! Would have kept the job too, except the first students I gave a tour to ended up being a trio of evil soul-devouring sirens that tried to take over the world with pop music.”

Twilight giggles at that, the happiest noise I’ve ever heard her make, so I resist telling her that it’s a true story. She’ll find out eventually.

Once her giggling dies down, she goes snowfall silent, eyes pointed to the floor, binder clutched to her chest. Does she walk like this everywhere? It’s a wonder that she hasn’t fallen headfirst into a garbage can yet.

“So,” I start, somehow making her jump again, “aside from this hiccup, how’s your first day going? What do you think of CHS?”

“It’s nice,” Twilight says. She looks around, but not at me. “The desks don’t have that much gum stuck to them. The library is great — not as big as the one at Crystal Prep, but definitely better than the county average.”

I chuckle. “That’s good to hear. If what I’ve heard about Crystal Prep is true, I figured that a day in our dinky little public school would have you begging to go back.”

“Not at all!” Her knuckles go white around the binder as she stammers, “I’m very impressed, really! And I actually went to public schools most of my life, but of course I understand the absolute privilege that I have from having attended Crystal Prep, but I don’t really consider myself—”

“Twi,” I say, trying to keep my smile as warm as I can. “I’m joking.”

Her grip loosens a tiny bit. “Oh, okay. Sorry. I don’t always — yeah.”

And I thought Princess Twilight could be a nervous wreck. Good to know she doesn’t mind the nickname, at least. I bite my tongue and start coming up with a new bit of small talk.

But now I’m the one caught off guard when she says, “I guess the only weird thing is that everyone already knows my name.” Her face is pointed so far down that I can’t see her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised. After what I did.”

“Hey.” I stop walking and grab her shoulder, and her head bolts up and she looks like I’ve just shot her. I realize that I’m frowning and holding hard — no wonder she thinks I’m gonna kill her — so I release my grip and take a quick breath to rekindle my smile.

“None of that was your fault. No one should put what happened on your back.” I force out a genuine-sounding laugh and put my hand over my heart. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, let me know. I’ll get it sorted.”

Twilight is staring straight ahead. She nods, mutters a response (I think?), and we keep walking. In my head, I’m cursing myself out.

A moment later, we reach Room 233. With just a grunt, I gesture to the door and let her pass in front of me. She grabs the doorknob, but freezes.

Twilight spins to face me, and for the first time actually lifts her head and makes solid eye contact. She’s got a steely look on her face, brows furrowed and lips pursed like a focused boxer. I’m expecting her to say thanks, or goodbye, or even tell me off for touching her — but instead she reaches her hand halfway towards mine and hangs it there.

It takes either two seconds or twenty years for me to realize that she’s offering a handshake.

I wrap my hand around hers, nearly swallowing her fingers in my oversized grip. Her bony palm is hot and sweaty.

We shake once. Twice. We hang there. I let go.

She takes back her hand, gives me a red-faced nod, and slips inside the classroom.

Frozen in place, I wipe my hand off on my jeans and try to recall any time I’ve shaken hands with someone under the age of forty. But soon the third period late bell rings, jolting me awake.

As I begin the slow funeral march up to Mr. Lacuna’s class on the fifth floor, a single thought sticks in my brain: We have got to give that girl some friendship lessons.

THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 5:54 PM

Like the wine she claims to drink, Rarity is an acquired taste.

Spend only a few hours or days or weeks with her, and you’d think she’s just a spoiled drama queen who breathes perfume instead of air. Look deep enough though, and you’ll find a kind, sharp-witted, and generous girl with a brilliantly bright future ahead of her.

But tonight, it’s hard to see past those first impressions. She, Twilight, and I are twenty minutes deep into an Advanced Statistics study session, and her groaning has already gotten us shushed twice by the librarian. Right now, she’s slumped in her chair, head in her hands, as Twilight reads out a question about least-squares regression lines.

“Look at this chart,” Twilight says, helpfully holding the sheet up for Rarity even though her eyes are closed. “It gives us the weight and wingspan of thirteen representative seagulls. Firstly: What does this regression line imply about the correlation between the two stats?”

Rarity doesn’t look up. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“Come on,” I say, slapping my hand on the table and drawing glares from the library guests. I lean in close to hiss at Rarity, “You’re not even trying. How are we supposed to help you figure this out if you’re just gonna whine the whole time?”

“I’m not whining,” Rarity says, shooting me a rancid glance. “I’m just finding it difficult to think under this barrage of bird-based hypotheticals! Ugh, math was so much easier in freshman year.”

I return her glower with one of my own. “You mean Algebra I?”

“Back when things made sense.” Rarity pouts at her worksheet. “I just don’t see the use of all this! Shouldn’t we be preparing for the real world? When in my real world will I be measuring seagulls?”

“That’s not really the point,” Twilight says. She’s looking at Rarity’s blank worksheet and wringing her hands. “This problem is just an example to demonstrate the underlying theory and practice of statistics-based data collection. You can change the variables to extrapolate it to all sorts of situations, like measuring the radial velocity and rotation period of a binary star, or, famously in the work of Dr. Broth, bacteria growth against temperature—”

“That’s all very good, darling,” Rarity says, making Twilight stutter to a stop and making me sharpen my glare. “But it’s just more hypotheticals! What about the real world, hm?”

Twilight winces at that last syllable. “Right. Sorry.”

Between Rarity’s ‘woe is me’ schtick and Twilight’s jelly spine, I can feel a headache festering behind my eyes. Old urges to tell them both off are boiling in my throat—

No. We’re doing high school math. I don’t need to go full she-demon and lose my cool.

I take in a deep, centering breath — thank you, Princess Twilight, for teaching me this — and release, dousing all my fire with it. Even with the migraine, I try my best to tap into my improv skills and come up with a line that’ll hook even Rarity’s skeptical mug.

“What about a graph that tracks customer age against dresses bought?” I ask, flashing Rarity my most sugary smile.

Both Rarity and Twilight look at me blankly. “Come again, dear?”

“Think about it. You’re always talking about how you want to open your own clothing store. And so much of that job is statistics!” I take Rarity’s worksheet and motion to the seagull graph. “You have to track who buys what, and when. You’ve got to look at daily foot traffic, seasonality, your biggest customer bases.”

“Most people,” Twilight softly starts, making both our gazes snap to her. She stalls for a second, but then continues, louder, “Most people think that the majority of handbags are sold around Christmas. But you told me that’s wrong, didn’t you?”

“It is wrong,” Rarity says, rolling her eyes but shifting up in her chair. “Most handbags are bought and sold in late Spring, when tax refunds come in.”

“And how do you know that?” I ask.

Rarity blinks at me. “I read a graph in Hashtag Girlboss Quarterly, tracking sales over a year.”

Twilight beams. “That’s statistics!”

Silent, eyes narrowed, Rarity flips back-and-forth to scan our matching grins for any sign of betrayal. But with Rarity quieter now than she’s been all night, I’m so happy I could scream. And Twilight, my genius little improv partner, is shining as bright as Celestia’s sun.

So, finding no trace of doubt on our faces, Rarity purses her lips and picks up her worksheet. “When you put it like that, this makes a lot more sense! It’s just late capitalist high fashion theory redesigned for burgeoning biologists.”

Twilight and I share a glance — I mouth “What?” at her and she just shrugs — but before Rarity can notice I lay my hand on hers and say, “You’ve got it.”

“Alright.” Rarity picks up her purple glitter pen and scribbles her name at the top. “Give me a moment, and I’m sure I’ll have this worked out.”

Once Rarity puts her head down, I silently pump my fist. Then, as if I’m hanging with Rainbow Dash, I shoot my arm up to offer Twilight a high-five.

She looks at my hand for a second, face blank.

Heat washes over me and I’m about to pull out, but then Twilight smiles and high-fives me back. The clap of our palms echoes through the library.

The head librarian leaps out from behind a stack of books and shushes us.

Twilight and I recoil into our chairs. “Sorry!” she whispers.

MONDAY, JUNE 12, 8:21 PM

8:21 PM

Yo

When a container says its oven safe

That includes microwave ovens right?

8:34 PM

No, it means a regular oven. If it can go in a microwave, it’ll specifically state that on the packaging.

…Why? 🤨

8:50 PM

Sunset?

???

9:00 PM

Hello??????????

LMAO IM FINE

There was a fire extinguisher in the hallway

WHAT?????

SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 9:34 PM

✨Twi✨

9:34PM

MISSED CALL FROM ✨Twi✨

Sunset, are you around?

I called and it went to voicemail

Can I talk to you?

I need help

Advice, I mean.

Soon

MISSED TWO CALLS FROM ✨Twi✨

Are you there?

11:23PM

Hey sorry phone died!

Whats up? Are you okay?

12:01AM

Are you there??

What's going on

12:20AM

CALLED ✨Twi✨ — NO ANSWER

RAINBOOMBOOMBOOMS💥💥💥

12:30AM

Hey has anyone heard from Twi?

Tonight I mean

PP: Nopers 🥺🥺🥺

RD: Nah

RD: Why

RD: Is she okay

Yeah, def

Just wondering

FS: I spoke to her earlier. She was helping me edit song
lyrics. I think that she had a date with Timber tonight.
I imagine that she’s back home and asleep by now.

Probably

Thanks

FS: By the way, Sunset: At our next rehearsal, could you help
me workshop this song's bridge? I’m struggling with a
certain metaphor.

Yeah sure

12:53AM

You’re asleep I guess??

Sorry

My ringer is on so call me Okay?

1:34AM

I’m going to sleep

Ringer is still on

Call me I’ll wake up

9:58AM

Heyyyyy

Are you around?

CALLED ✨Twi✨ — NO ANSWER

10:13AM

Hey! Sorry for the late reply!

I’m fine. Just went to bed early — didn’t mean to scare anyone.

What did you need help with?

Nothing don’t worry!

I’m fine

Oh

Cool

Do you wanna meet up today? Or tomorrow

10:57AM

Twi?

No, sorry 😔

I’m a bit busy

K

Can I help with anything?

SATURDAY, AUGUST 26, 1:50 PM

1:50 PM

Yo

When I come over tomorrow, can your dad make dinner again

I love his meatballs

2:01 PM

Thats not an innuendo btw

He’s a really good chef

4:47 PM

Twiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii where you at

*launches a psychic missle at your house*

**missile

4:50 PM

*intercepts the missile with my state of the art psychic dampeners*

Hi. Sure, I can ask him.

Sorry, I’m really annoyed right now.

Crap, what’s up

My parents grounded me.

I can’t use my garage lab for two weeks.

The hell

How does Twilight Sparkle get grounded

It’s so, SO stupid.

You know how I mentioned that the battery on my e-bike shorted out?

I was planning to just buy a new one, but then I remembered I had a box of miniature ion fusion cores in my closet.

And I figured, why buy the same mediocre battery when I can upgrade the entire system myself? A single ion fusion core makes a standard e-bike battery look like a potato clock in comparison.

Okay

Where did you get ion fusion engines from

Cores, not engines.

And I got them from an acquaintance that posts on the same theoretical physics forum as me.

You bought them from someone on the internet?

Have you met this person

Of course not! I’m not going to meet up with a total stranger.

But you buy ion from him

I didn’t BUY them either! He gave them to me.

I wouldn’t ever pay for untested fusion cores, and neither should you.

Noted

ANYWAY.

To make a long story short, one of the cores had a tiny defect, and it overloaded, and caused a tiny bit of damage to the garage.

And I got grounded! And banned! 😡

It’s so dumb!

…Twi

What kind of damage

I told you, a tiny bit.

Just a small hole in the roof.

How small

SUPER SMALL!!

Like, maybe four or five feet across. Smaller than me, even!

And there was a temporary blackout, but that lasted for literally less than a minute.

I doubt most people in the neighborhood even noticed.

Oh yeah definitely

And I tried to appeal my punishment, as per Article 5; Section 4 of our family’s Collective Bargaining Agreement, but my mom DENIED THE APPEAL.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT???

Wow

That sucks so much

UGHHHHHHHHHH.

I’m so ticked off! I just want to SCREAM! 🤬🤬🤬

Do it

Scream at me

I’m not calling you just to yell at you.

Fine

Key smash it out then

I’m not good at keysmashing. I can never make the random letters look right.

DOESNT MATTER

DO IT

KEYSMASH

FHFHDJDJSS

FINE.

Shdhchjsxjxjdidjdjxsocx kzjslsppcjch y

Oalapgyqowpz4(!!,’nkmmKajxciLooedicjsh

LET IT OUT

SudakJDIDIFJDOAKVJDISODI N JDJ HkKxidizk fb i BS ski.idvjsisjk/&/k@2/&:8&/j

Wisocbqkj saw c de fio vs o Eva eo

Dko asksosocowo7$8-‘ oficieloj

Ducj Dave socio by&Zsigmondy kificOS IO ex po@139?838

Duelo news o c eooLkzoidei87*.£ j&3&:&

IFHOOSIVISO IOIO VIK KWKLEPCIDYU WE’VE MSMXKSKLKXKFISHXMSMAMSKDO BE ES

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!’nnnn

GOOD

How do you feel

…A lot better, surprisingly.

My heart is actually racing! That was exciting!

Although I still don’t think my keysmashes look very good. How does Rarity do it so well?

Idk

Genetics

It’s a DNA thing

I’m too tired to rebut that. Pretend I scolded you for spewing pseudoscience at me.

I’m going to go take a nap. Not used to texting so hard.

Sleep tight

See you tomorrow?

Yes. And remember what I said about paying for untested fusion cores. That’s valuable advice.

I’m writing it down rn

MONDAY, AUGUST 28, 1:16 PM

I gulp down an entire glass of water.

I put the glass down and stare at my phone.

I get up, refill my glass, then drink it all again.

I sit back down on the couch and stare at my phone.

I get up and go to the bathroom.

I sit back down on the couch, again, and stare at my phone.

I start counting down from ten.

When I reach zero, I slap myself, open my phone, and tap on the number that Fluttershy sent me.

(898) 227-9181

1:19PM

Hey Wallflower!! This is Sunset Shimmer

How’s it going?

1:26PM

Okay lemme be straight up

I wanna apologize about Sunfest

I freaked out, acted like a dick

For no reason

Im sorry

Legit

3:40PM

Hey

Sorry, phone died (;-_-)

Lol no problem!!

Thank you for apologizing

I really thought you were mad at me for a while (╯_╰)

But Fluttershy told me you were sick

Being sick sucks, I get grumpy too ( д´) (д´)

Yeah lol

Are we friends again?

3:51PM

Of course

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Woooooo!

Can’t wait to see you at school!!

Actually about that

Could we meet up this week

To talk about yearbook

Wanna get some stuff worked out yknow

No problem of you’re busy

Yeah I can probably meet on Wednesday

At the mall? Is that good ┬┴┬┴┤_・)

Def

I’ll let you know what time

See you there!!

Yep yep

I lock my phone, fall over onto my side, and groan. Clown, clown, clown.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 10:07 PM

Alt: A screenshot of a search engine called “Gallop.” The current query in the search bar is “How to tell a girl you like her if you’re also a girl.” Below it is a window showing Sunset’s search history. These past queries are, in reverse chronological order: “How to tell a girl you like her,” “Best flowers for giving to girls romantic,” “Starswirled schedule,” “Pick up lines fro girls not misogynistic,” “Best pick up lines for girls,” “First date ideas,” “PostCrush Sweet Sickness music video,” “Hollow tongue in dream meaning,” “How to tell if milk gone bad,” and “Can you drink milk after expiration date.” The rest of the page is dotted with small pieces of text that link to other pages in the search engine, including “Privacy,” “About,” “Terms,” “Email,” “Videos,” “#Connect,” “Contact,” “Support,” and “Settings.” At the very bottom-center of the page, there’s a raised fist emoji, followed by the message, “Labor Day: Celebrating workers’ rights.”