"Applejack, early as always!"
Applejack returns the principal's smile readily, doffing her hat. "Mornin', Miss! Yer lookin' mighty peppy today,"
Principal Celestia smiles down at her. "I suppose I am 'peppier' than usual- I've been looking forward to your visit for some time now," she lifts an elegant hand to brush her high cheekbone as her expression gains a note of curiosity. "Is it just you today?"
Glancing over her shoulder as if to verify, Applejack hums. "Hard to get away from the farm this deep into the season. Ah reckon Big Mac won't be goin' out 'til wintertime,"
The window for idle small talk closes with her words, and Applejack ducks to scoop up the crate of bottled cider at her feet.
"Just in here should do," the click click click of the principal's heels echo throughout the currently unoccupied school. Applejack follows closely behind, tracking mud with each squelch of her square-toed boots.
"The mud's deep 'nuff to drown in this time a year," she says after a particularly loud squelch. "Don't you worry none, Ah'll clean it soon as-"
"There's no need, Applejack. Trust me; the second the rest of the student body get here, the floors won't even be visible anymore,"
They reach the far corner of the atrium, where a pair of sparsely-stacked machines stand side-by-side. The sight alone brings dollar signs to Applejack's mind.
"Students are always asking when we'll restock on Sweet Apple Cider," Principal Celestia summons a silver key-ring from her breast pocket. She inserts one into the metal keyhole beneath the vending machine's buttons, and the front pops out in one smooth motion. "Just yesterday, someone snuck into the teacher's lounge in search of a 'secret stash',"
Applejack chuckles, eyes locked on Celestia's hands as she flicks through the stack of cash she retrieved from the vending machine. "Sounds 'bout right. Cider has a way of givin' folks the crazies,"
Principal Celestia's eyes squinch half shut. "Crazies," she echoes, a hint of laughter in her voice. "You certainly have a way with words, Applejack,"
"Heh, thanks, Miss," Applejack has heard as much before, though people tend to look more annoyed when they say it. That's what's great about Principal Celestia; for all her elegance and importance, she never comes off disingenuine like other fancy folks do.
Applejack makes short work of restocking the machines. She steps back and admires the fruits of her mild labour with a grin. "That should do it," she casts her gaze about the atrium in search of a clock. "Ah should be gettin' back to the Acres. Them fields ain't gon' plough 'emselves,"
She moves to scoop up the now-empty crate only to pause when Principal Celestia noisily clears her throat.
"Just a moment, Applejack."
When Applejack peers up at Celestia this time, she is all too aware of the foot separating them. The dull early morning light illuminates the sharp contours of the principal's face, lending her expression gravity Applejack can't recall witnessing before.
Applejack blinks. "Uh...sure," at her response, Celestia nods and click click clicks towards the front of the school. Applejack follows suit, retracing her muddy bootprints and mentally weighing the likelihood of Celestia murdering her.
Don't be silly, AJ, she admonishes herself as Celestia makes a sharp left turn. Chances are she wants to discuss sales- seeing how good things are going, it'd only make sense if she wants to add a few more of our products to the roster. I bet them city kids would kill fer some apple squares.
Principal Celestia stops in front of a door labelled Pr. Office. Again, she slips out her key-ring, and, within the time it takes Applejack to realise Celestia has never conducted one of their business meetings outside of the public eye, the door eases open.
"Make yourself comfortable," the principal's steps are soundless against her office's carpeted floor. Applejack misses the familiar heel-clicks.
She settles on one of the two armchairs stationed in front of the principal's desk and searches for a comedic angle. "Been a long while since Ah got called into the Principal's office," her armchair's worn seat sinks under her weight. This thing must get a whole lotta use.
Opposite to Applejack, Principal Celestia steeples her fingers atop her desk. "Is that so?" her stare lances Applejack's very core. "Did you get into a lot of trouble, growing up?"
Applejack resists the urge to skirt the older woman's gaze. She shifts in her seat, placing both hands on her inner thigh. The familiar texture of her business jeans(her only pair of jeans without patches sewn all over the legs) brings her some small comfort. "S'pose Ah did. Not on purpose, 'course, but l'il me had no filter, 'n my teachers didn't take to kindly to a grade-schooler pointin' out their foul breath, or what have you."
Celestia's lips quirk briefly. "I see," her expression hardens as quickly as it thawed. Now, she assesses Applejack in a manner better suited to a history paper. "Where was it that you attended schooling? Canterlot Elementary?"
Applejack nods, rubbing her palms against her thighs. "Up 'til the 6th grade. Nowadays, Ah take classes at Franks," the moment she says this, Applejack gets the distinct impression of falling into a carefully laid trap.
"Franks Spragins High School, is it?" The principal tilts her head, her pastel hair following the movement gracefully. How do these classes work?"
There's no mistaking this for friendly small talk anymore. Applejack knows, because Principal Celestia only ever tilts her head to that angle when she means business. But what type of business involves the classes I'm taking? Is she checking whether or not my education's up to snuff?
"Uh-" easy going, AJ. Just answer her question..."Same as any ol' class, jus' that you do the work on yer own time,"
"Independent learning, then? I can certainly see how that would be favourable to your schedule; it's difficult to find time outside of your farm work, no doubt,"
Something about her tone clues Applejack in. The farmgirl hesitates, running her own words through her head anew. Did it sound like I was complaining when I said that? "It's time-consumin', but it don't bother me none. Us Apples start workin' young, so we get used to it right quick,"
Celestia nods, but Applejack can tell it's not in agreement. "You have two siblings?"
"Big Mac 'n Applebloom," Applejack says. She wonders if she can leave it at that, but Celestia doesn't speak, and her expectant silence commands the farmgirl to continue. "Big Mac's a few years my senior, and Bloom's jus' finishing' up 6th grade,"
"And where will she go, once she's done?"
Applejack hesitates. "...well. We haven't decided, as of yet,"
"But you expect she'll follow in your footsteps," Principal Celestia doesn't bother framing her statement as a question as she did before. Applejack feels a clutch in her belly.
"...Miss, s'there a point to all this? Ah got work to git back to."
Celestia's smile is knowing. Applejack feels like a criminal in an interrogation room with blood-red hands, insisting against all reason that she's innocent to no one's belief- not even her own.
"The point, Applejack, is that you know what's right for your sister. You know what's right for you. And Canterlot High would be honoured to have you both."
Three and A Half First Impressions
" 'Member Applebloom, no matter what they tell ya, always say no! Even if they dress it up all purdy with them new-fangled vape pens, it's still gonna give ya lung cancer, ya hear?"
Applebloom, to her credit, does not roll her eyes at her big sister's fourth anti-smoking PSA of the morning. Instead, she keeps the straightest face she can manage and gives a very solemn nod.
"Loud 'n clear, AJ,"
Applejack gives her one last once-over, ensuring the laces of her brand spanking new Converse are tied, and that her ribbon's tight enough to hold for the duration of the day, before stepping back and sighing. "Ah'll see you after school, then. Go make me proud, AB," she musses the shorter girl's bangs, earning a yelp.
"Hey- Ah spent 3 hours on this!" Applebloom rears back and shoots her sister an entirely ineffective glare. Applejack resists cooing at her, if only to avoid destroying her l'il sis' reputation on her first day.
They walk through the final set of doors separating the outside world from CHS, and Applebloom wastes no time in disappearing into the chaos. "See ya, sis!"
Left to her own devices, Applejack tugs the brim of her Stetson and awkwardly joins the fray of puttering students. Immediately, she's hit full force by the mingled stench of B.O. and spray-on deodorant. No biggie, she smiles to herself, compared to the pig pen, this is almost a nice smell. A particularly smelly fella trundles past, and she wrinkles her nose. Almost.
Applejack digs into her jeans pocket and fishes out an aggressively folded piece of paper. It crinkles as she unfolds it and passes her palm over its creases. "Alrighty, let's see here..."
Her locker number, blotted at the very top of the page in nearly illegible writing, appears to be 2006. Applejack frowns at the lack of any additional information. Guess I gotta do some sleuthing, then.
Some sleuthing turns out to be a good ten minutes spent manoeuvring through the randomly spaced throngs of teens(who are all inexplicably drawn to the middle of hallways instead of, say, the sides) until she finally unearths the fated locker #2006 near the back of the school.
Of course, even this dark corner of the school is occupied. A twiggy girl with a fall of blush pink hair and a cozy-looking pullover stands by the locker beside Applejack's, face screwed up with a shiny squint.
She shuffles a little further to the side when Applejack pulls up to her locker, an action the farmgirl chooses to ignore. "Howdy," she flashes the wet-eyed girl a smile.
The girl startles, shoulders shooting up to her chin. A few beats pass without an answer, and Applejack considers calling the interaction a nonstarter and moving on.
Then, quietly..."Hh...hi," the softest voice Applejack's ever heard is followed up by a sharp, wet, hiccup.
Again, Applejack chooses to ignore it. Aiming to encourage a continued conversation, the farmgirl says, "Looks like we're lockermates,"
A beat. Another beat. A hiccup. "....yeah,"
She's answering- that's gotta count for something! "Ah'm Applejack. Jus' transferred this year. Are y'all, uh. New as well?"
This time around, the interim is only a couple seconds. "N-no. Well, I....no,"
Applejack perks up. "That so? Maybe y'all can help me get a round a l'il," she chuckles, fiddling with her padlock. "Honestly, Ah don't know what's up 'n what's down in this place. The tour they gave us was clear as mud inna dry creek bed,"
The girl stills her trembling comb-through of her locker. "Y...you want me to...?"
Realising her offhand comment hit too close, Applejack reels it in. "Easy does it, sugarcube," she pitches her voice a little softer. "Ah was jokin', mostly. Ah'm sure Ah'll be able to find my way 'round with some practice," she pops her locker open at last, checks it for anything unscrupulous, then shuts it once more.
Stepping back and stuffing the paper back into her pocket, Applejack sets her mental sights on her next destination. "Was nice meetin' ya...oh, Ah plum forgot! What's yer name, sugar?"
The girl shudders, ducking her head even further. Applejack can just barely hear her mumbling something beneath her breath.
"Pardon?"
A little louder, this time: "...tter...shy..."
Huh. Probably not getting any better than that. Unwilling to cause her locker-mate to implode from anxiety this early into her first day, Applejack makes do with what she's got. "Err, right. Nice meetin' ya, Shy!"
The farmgirl turns tail and starts in what she hopes is the right direction. First time back in a classroom since I wore pigtails and was missing one of my front teeth. Applejack takes a steadying breath. Can't be all that different, right?
•
Wrong. So, so wrong.
Applejack spends the entirety of her first class(english with Mrs. Quill) poring over their surprise reading comprehension. According to Mrs. Quill, the best way to gauge a student's skill is to catch them off guard and see how they react. So the moment Applejack and her unsuspecting classmates walk in, she hands them two sheets, one with the wordiest text the farmgirl's ever seen, and the other with the most questionable questions.
'What emotion does the author aim to invoke in the reader with the line her eyes were like twin headlights ?' Applejack squints at her paper like it did her wrong. What, was she a car?
She leans back in her seat, allowing her gaze to wander the room. For the most part, her classmates seem to be in the same boat as her; staring down their sheets in befuddlement. The boy sitting to her right cradles his head in his arms, and to her left, a girl mutters hushed prayers.
"20 minutes left, everyone," Mrs. Quill sounds especially delighted. She prowls through each row, occasionally slowing down to peer over a student and read whatever their writing. When she walks past Applejack, she pauses. "Remember to double-check your answers,"
Dagnabbit, Applejack lets her pencil drop, and her now free hand comes up to tug down her Stetson. Come on, AJ, think! Eyes like headlights...well, headlights help ya see what's ahead, don't it? They clear up what's dark...
"Pssst."
Applejack startles. She whips her head around to face the source of the voice.
The first thing Applejack registers is her hair. No way that's natural. A motley combination, each colour occupying its own clear section. Her messy bangs go from yellow, to orange, to red, while the rest of her shoulder-length hair represents a rainbow's colder colours. Colourful strands flick up at random, lending her a windswept look reminiscent of a wild horse's unbroken mane.
"You got an eraser?" The rainbow-haired girl holds up a tiny pencil and shows off its missing bottom end. "Mine's shot,"
Applejack blinks. "Uh," she picks up her own worn eraser, the same one she's had since the seventh grade, and sets it down on the girl's desk. "Here ya go,"
"Sweet," Rainbow-girl snatches up the eraser and grinds it into her page. Within seconds, she reduces half of Applejack's trusty eraser into puny pink shavings. When she's done, she holds it out and flashes the farmgirl a grin. "Thanks, cowgirl,"
What. Applejack takes back her considerably reduced eraser and turns to face the front once again. That was...something.
"15 minutes left," Mrs. Quill, who seems none the wiser to the little eraser exchange going on near the back of her class, points a lean finger towards the wall clock.
Applejack returns her focus to the question that's had her stumped for a third of her first proper High School class. 'What emotion does the author aim to invoke' ? Suddenly, the answer is crystal clear.
Confusion.
•
Her next couple classes are a good deal less stressful than English. Her second period is chemistry, wherein Mr. White talks their ears off about some uncertainty principle before handing out a Get To Know You sheet. Next is a class Applejack's actually looking forward to; woodshop!
Of course, they don't start on any projects for the first day. Instead, they go over safety requirements that high schoolers should definitely know by now. Don't stick your hand in the klin, don't stick your hand in the bandsaw, don't stick your hand in your mouth...Applejack's excitement gradually veers into concern for the cognitive functions of the student body.
Alas, the bell rings once again, signalling lunch. Applejack tucks her safety guidelines brochure into her backpack(never to be seen again) and makes her way out of the classroom, though not before wishing Ms. Tool a good day.
Boy am I starving! The farmgirl tugs either strap of her backpack, weaving through the river of mingling students. Just gotta find a microwave to get my stuff warmed up...
" ' Scuse me," she squeezes past a particularly bunched-up group of girls and comes upon a door labelled Foods Room. Seems about right.
Smiling, Applejack raps the door in quick succession. After a moment, she hears footsteps from inside. The door swings open and thwap!
"What in tarnation-!" Applejack stumbles out of the stranger's grip, bumping into something solid behind her.
"Whoa- who are you?" In the dark of the room, Applejack can hardly make out the person's features, but she can hear their voice loud and clear. A distinctly feminine, bubbly voice that reminds the farmgirl of the cartoons her l'il sister insists she's too mature to watch anymore. "You're not Dashie!"
Suddenly, the person pinches Applejack's cheeks. "Or are you Dash in disguise!"
"What- no! No, Ah'm not," Applejack pulls the touchy hands off her face, eyes blown wide. "Ah'm Applejack, not Dash, or Dashie, or what have you!"
"Hmmm," The person, who's a tad shorter than Applejack if her spatial awareness is to be trusted, begins circling Applejack like a vulture around its prey. "You're definitely taller than her,"
The person reaches for Applejack's Stetson, earning a yelp. "Hey now, keep yer mitts off the hat!"
"Oopsies!" The person steps back. "Sorry about that, Not-Rainbow Dash! Love the whole southern thing you got going on, by the way!"
Applejack's starting to get dizzy, here. "Uh- thanks? Listen, Ah was just-"
"Looking for a place to warm up your food?" The strange stranger clasps their hands together with a giggle. "Yeeah, I probably should've guessed! Dashie's not all that good at impressions anyway, so no way you're her! Hehe, don't tell her I said that,"
"....how did y'all..." Applejack squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. Not worth it, AJ. "Ok, well, if ya don't mind, Ah'm jus' gonna-"
The lights flick on, washing the dark room in an aggressively vibrant yellow. The person's features come into focus and Applejack finds she looks exactly like expected. Magenta hair curled jubilant as any storm-whipped sea, wearing a white blouse, and a ruffled baby pink skirt over a truly audacious pair of dessert-themed tights. Her platforms are pink(go figure) and ribbon-toed.
This girl looks like she jumped right out of one of those Ani-may cartoons! Applejack blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the confrontational light. "Y'all're like a walking dessert catalogue,"
"Awe, thanks!" The girl's smile grows. "You're looking pretty great yourself! Now, just over here,"
She skips towards the back of a room, where a whole mini kitchenette sits unattended. "We've got all your munchy needs over here- a fridge for perishables, an oven for cooking, a sink for washing away evidence annddd, ta-da!" She presents an older looking microwave like game show host revealing prizes to the audience. "A microwave!"
Applejack draws closer, giving a short, baffled chuckle. "Slap my knee 'n call me Sally, y'all do have a microwave!" She sees the girl raise her hand and quickly backtracks. "Not literally!"
"Oops, silly me!" She says a little too innocently. "Well, go ahead! I'm sure you've got something super duper tasty in there,"
"Sure do," Applejack shucks off her bag and zips it open. After some rifling, she pulls out a red-lidded container. "This here's mah Granny's specialty Hoppin' John. She only makes it when Hoppin' John turns up in her dreams,"
The girl leans in as Applejack pops the container open. One whiff of the cowpeas and rice and she gasps pleasurably. "Wowzers, I haven't seen a Hoppin' John since I was back on the farm!"
A bell goes off in Applejack's head. "Hold on there- y'all aren't sayin' you're from a farm, are you?"
"Eeeyup!" The girl pulls open the microwave preemptively. "Born and partially raised on a rock farm in the middle of nowhere!"
"No kiddin'," Applejack's gaze roves over the girl's outfit once again. " 'Scuse my rudeness, but y'all don't look it one bit,"
"Oh, I know! I moved here about..." she counts her fingers, "6 years ago, when I was 10! I guess the farm-ier parts of me went away with time,"
That admission brings a chill up Applejack's spine. She doesn't respond for a second, putting her container into the microwave and setting the time for a minute 30. With time, huh...
"Say, you're from a farm too, aren't 'cha?"
Applejack turns to face her, hooking her thumbs into her jeans pocket. "Sure am. Y'all heard of Sweet Apple Acres?"
"OMIGOSH," the girl gasps, hands flying to her mouth. "No way!"
Applejack chuckles a bit at her reaction. Celestia was serious when she mentioned the students' love for their cider. "Yes way. S'pose y'all're a fan of our cider?"
"No!" Applejack frowns at that. "I mean, yes! But that's not why I OMIGOSH'd!"
The farmgirl cocks a brow. "Ah'm lost,"
"I mean- Dashie's gonna freak when she finds out! Oh, this is great! The greatest news ever, even!"
Applejack watches her bounce up and down, combing through the conversation in her head to pinpoint at what point she lost the plot. The microwave gives a shrill beep, and she fetches her now steaming container from inside.
"Well, thank ya kindly for yer help..." Applejack nearly facepalms. "Shoot, Ah forgot to get yer name. Guess my manners're still rusty from..."
Turning around, Applejack realises she's alone in the room. "...huh,"
•
The rest of lunch goes off without a hitch. Applejack finds a nice bench out front and eats her food there, soaking in the warm midday sun. A little ways off, a few students throw around a football. At some point, one of them chucks it straight toward Applejack mid-bite. She drops her fork just in time to catch it one-handed.
"Easy there," she calls out, flinging the football back their way. "Don't wanna go 'round concussing folks on the first day,"
"Ack- my bad!" The guy who caught the football shares a look with his fellows. Then, he jogs up to the bench. "You're good, right?"
Applejack smiles. "Right as rain," she holds out a hand. "Ah'm Applejack,"
The guy accepts her handshake, albeit with a much looser grip. "Glass Jaw. You new?"
"What clued ya in?"
"You're sitting on the Bang Bench,"
Applejack glances down at the bench, then back at Glass Jaw. "The what now?"
"Uh- Nevermind," he coughs. "So! Applejack, you planning on joining any clubs?"
Suspicion brewing from Glass Jaw's nonanswer, Applejack treads carefully. "Why do ya ask?"
Glass Jaw sets his hands on his hips, ditching his earlier cautious smile for a full-fledged smirk. Consequently, Applejack realises his jaw is sharp enough to pierce concrete. "Simple; you'd be perfect for the team!" His friends(who Applejack hadn't noticed approaching) nod from behind him. "I know talent when I see it, and the way you caught our ball just now was nothing short of talentful."
"Shucks, don't think anyone's called me...that, before. But-"
"Ah-ah-ah! I know what you're gonna say; you're too busy to join a club, right? You got too many responsibilities?" He scoffs. "Nonsense! Listen here, Applejack, there's like ten athletic people in this school, and half of them are in the soccer team. Our football team is on the rocks! And what's CHS gonna do without football, huh?"
"Better."
A new voice, that's not really new on account of Applejack having heard it just an hour or two beforehand, joins the fray. If his scandalized gasp is anything to go by, Glass Jaw's familiar with the voice, too. He whips around with murder in his eyes.
"Rainbow Dash,"
Not the most creative name, Applejack looks at the not-so-newcomer, who stands with her arms crossed and her lips quirked in what Applejack's realising is her signature grin.
"What's up, Glass Jaw? You tryna convert newbies, now?"
"Shut up, Crash!" "Yeah, nobody was talking to you!"
Glass Jaw snaps his fingers, silencing his friends, or lackeys, at once. "I got this, guys," he steps forward, straightening up to make the most of the inches he's got on Rainbow. "Lookin' especially butch today, Rainbow. You get a haircut?"
Rainbow doesn't flinch or cower. Instead, she presses forward, eyes asparkle. "Opposite, actually; I've been letting it grow out," she holds up her hand to flippantly observe her short nails. "Aerodynamics, 'n all that. Wouldn't expect a doofus like you to understand,"
" 'Doofus'? That the best you got, fruitcake?"
"Oh I've got better alright," she lowers her voice to a stage whisper. "Twinkie."
Glass Jaw's smug look drops right of his face. He snarls like Winona when she spots a squirrel, and Applejack decides to put an end to...whatever this is.
"Hey now!" She stands up as everyone's eyes flicker back to her. Applejack wouldn't be surprised if they forgot she was there altogether. "Both of y'all, simmer down. No need to be nasty,"
Rainbow blinks those confusing eyes of hers. Then, she frowns, refocusing on Glass Jaw. "I got this handled, cowgirl, so you can run off now,"
....WHAT. Applejack ditches the whole peacekeeper thing in a split second in favour of fixing Rainbow with a wicked glare. "Ah beg yer pardon?"
"I said, I got this. Ass Jaw is all talk, anyway,"
Glass Jaw goes beet red. "I'll show you talk, Rainbow Crash!"
Applejack can feel her eye twitching. Who does this gal think she is, telling me to run off like I'm some damsel? "Ain't nobody gonna be showing anyone anything," she steps forward, pushing up her hat. "Glass Jaw here was just asking whether or not Ah'd join his club, no 'converting' involved." She zeroes in on Rainbow. "And Ah don't need any defending, thank ya very much,"
Turning on her heel and gathering her backpack, Applejack bids them all a terse goodbye and marches off.
It’s a quarter past two, and instead of milking ol’ Betty back on the homestead, Applejack’s listening to her Financial Management teacher drone on about blockchains.
“Now, all the companies claiming to ‘break’ the industry with blockchains have yet to yield any actual results. That’s the issue with you upstarts, all you’re good for is throwing out crazy ideas and never following up,” Mr. Doodle mats down his dark combover, and Applejack notes his hair has the same synthetic shine as those pompadour wigs she found in the cellar a few months back.
She drops her eyes to her notebook. All I’ve written is ‘Intro To Financial Management’. Not for a lack of trying— in her 16 years of life, Applejack has yet to listen as hard as she is now. I’m listening, alright, but this fella’s got his head so far up his hiney, all that’s coming out his mouth is dookie.
Giving up on her efforts to keep up with Mr. Doodle’s raving, Applejack busies herself with doodling in the margins of her page. Sweet Apple Acres has been using the same branding since back when Granny was still spry enough to crouch down without keeling over from her back pain. As of late, there’s been talk of updating the logo to something ‘with the times.’
Applejack knows why modernizing is good for business— folks prefer flashy stuff over the vintage charm they’ve got going— but hiring a stranger to make Sweet Apple’s image more appealing to the public rubs her in all the wrong ways.
I’m no artist, but it can’t be that hard to come up with a logo, right? Applejack knows she’s better suited to blueprint sketching than concept art— back in elementary, the art teacher failed her drawing of a bottle of cider, claiming it was ‘wildly inappropriate’.
Applejack’s still a little sore about that one.
Leaving her childhood gripes aside, the farmgirl carries on doodling for a spell before a noisy creak draws her attention to the classroom door.
In walks a girl dressed up to the nines, her chin held high and her polished pumps clicking with every measured step she takes. She flashes her watching classmates a smile before turning to Mr. Doodle and handing him a slip of paper.
“Do excuse my tardiness, Mr. Doodle,” she tosses her curled violet hair over her shoulder. “I was…otherwise occupied with an important matter,”
“Show up late again, and you’ll be ‘otherwise occupied’ with detention,” he takes the proffered slip with a sullen frown. “Find a seat, Ms. Belle.”
A shadow flickers across the girl’s face, though she recovers quickly, turning to scan the classroom for a vacant seat.
She realizes at the same time as Applejack that the only available spot is next to the farmgirl.
Hold on, that face…
The girl makes her graceful way over and pulls out the chair. Her perfume washes over Applejack as she flumps down on her seat, a smell best described as ‘expensive’.
In hushed tones, she mutters, “What a miserable, insipid man. No wonder his wife left, the poor thing,” she stops herself short of further complaining, turning to face Applejack with a strained rendition of her earlier smile, “Ah, this isn’t a great first impression, is it? Hello, I’m…”
“Rarity,” Applejack utters the name the moment it washes up on the shore of her mind, freed from the sunless depths of her memory. “Good grace, it is you!”
“How— oh my,” Rarity’s mouth drops open. “Applejack!”
“It’s been— well, years! Ah can’t believe…” Applejack breaks into a grin. “Rares, it’s great to see y’all again,”
A sequence of expressions flash on Rarity face, each brief and each unreadable, before she settles on a tentative smile. “W-why, yes. Great. At first— I didn’t recognize you, at first,”
“Same here,” Applejack notes Rarity's lipsticked mouth and the touch of red on her cheeks. “Y’all look like a proper lady now,”
This comment seems to spur Rarity to give the farmgirl a once-over of her own. “And you…have a hat,” she titters, “a very fitting hat, that is— you do still work on the farm, don’t you?”
“Sure do,”
“Right, of course. I was just wondering if…” Rarity purses her lips. Then, she reshuffles. “What brings you to CHS? You weren’t attending last year,”
Principal Celestia’s stern face pops to the forefront of Applejack’s mind. “Well. Principal Celestia offered to have me ‘n Applebloom— my l’il sis, if ya don’t remember— start goin’ here, and…” and what? “Ah accepted, and here we are,”
“Here we are indeed,” Rarity shifts in her seat, her eyes not quite meeting Applejack’s.
A flag shoots up in the back of the farmgirl’s head. If her memory serves her correctly, Rarity couldn’t stand an awkward silence anymore than she could a smear of dirt on her blouse. For her to be letting the conversation snuff out this easy, she must be some flavour of teed-off.
Applejack makes to say something— to ask Rarity why she was late, or how her life’s been the past 6 years, or if she forgives her— but Mr. Doodle beats her to the punch, announcing their very first in-class assignment. Besides throwing off her momentum, the assignment takes away her excuse of not having anything better to do, and she resigns herself to working.
Their conversation hangs open-ended in the inch wide distance separating their desks.
•
After Financial Management is pre-calc, which plays out without any ghosts of the past or eraser-ruiners popping up, and is better off for it.
Applejack doesn’t enjoy maths, but she sure as sugar understands them. No confusing metaphorical nonsense to puzzle out here— only cold, hard, axiomatic facts.
Continuing on the thread of good and understandable things, Applejack’s next class is Phys Ed with Mr. Magnus. The first half of today was just a flunk. There’s no backing out now— everyone’s adjusted to me and Bloom being away already, and Principal Celestia is keeping an eye on me. I gotta make the best out of this, for their sakes.
Applejack gets changed into Canterlot High’s mandatory gym clothes(mesh shorts and a t-shirt with the CHS logo slapped in the middle) and switches her pointed-toe boots for a pair of old runners that Big Mac lended her. The runners are too big for her on their own, so she shoved wads of crumpled paper inside to make ‘em fit.
Alrighty. The door to the girl's changeroom swings shut behind Applejack as she spills into the gym, where a smattering of students sit around and talk amongst themselves in hushed tones. Let’s get this over with.
“Is this everyone?” The gym teacher, Mr. Magnus, stands before the students wearing a tracksuit and the harried frown of someone who’s sucking the hind teat. “Really? There’s like…” his eyes sweep over the group again. “twelve of you. Tell me everyone’s still just changing?”
His plea is met with dead silence. Mr. Magnus takes a very deep breath. “Cool. Awesome. Guess no one likes gym anymore, huh? Everyone’s too busy with their, their earbuds and MP3’s to run around and play with balls, is that it?”
Applejack’s hopes of a normal Phys Ed class die a very sad, and very fast, death. She looks to her classmates and finds some comfort in the fact that they all look just as baffled as her.
This comfort is short-lived, though, because it’s this very moment when a familiar voice makes itself heard;
“Coach, we gonna start doing stuff sometime this century?” Rainbow Dash says while stretching her hamstrings in the hurdler position.
How didn’t I notice her when I first walked in? Rainbow’s hardly inconspicuous, with sneakers that look like they were dipped in liquefied rainbows and with a lightning bolt emblem on her t-shirt instead of the typical CHS logo.
“Sure. Just ignore me and my concern for the youth, I don’t mind,” Mr. Magnus’ exasperation is so clear he might as well have the word defeated tattooed on his forehead. “Right, uh…who’s up for dodgeball?”
Author's Note
Sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoyed this one. Also, let me know what you think about the new cover. Did you prefer the first one?
Thanks for reading 
