The Final Game of the Season

by Admiral Biscuit

Rating: teen
Tags: Kerfuffle, Equestria Girls, Sunset Shimmer, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe, Rarity (EqG)
Length: 9313

Sunset and Kerfuffle were the best combo on the volleyball court that Canterlot High had ever seen . . . until the accident took Kerfuffle's leg.

Going into volleyball season, everybody expected Sunset and Kerfuffle to shine—an unstoppable combo at the net, they proved their talent in the first game, crushing rival Crystal Prep.

Then Kerfuffle lost her leg.

And it's all Sunset's fault.

Written for Rewan Demontay for Jinglemas 2023

Published 2023-12-29 11:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2023-12-29 11:30:02 UTC

Morning

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit
Written for Rewan Demontay for Jinglemas 2023

Sunset tugged at her shorts—today was the big game, and everyone on the volleyball team wore their uniforms all day to build spirit or something. They were comfortable enough on the court, but for class? Too short, too cold, too revealing.

Didn’t help that the shorts didn’t have pockets. What was she supposed to do with her cell phone without a pocket? She didn’t like carrying a purse with her volleyball outfit, it just felt weird.

Her head snapped around at the sound of the crash, and she just as quickly turned back, hoping she hadn’t been noticed, hoping that she could fake interest in—in what, the contents of her locker? The school shouldn’t have let us change lockers, she thought. They were assigned by some Byzantine process at the beginning of the year, and friends and teammates often traded to get clusters of lockers together . . .

It’s not her fault, it’s your fault.

Shut up, shut up. Sunset grabbed the paper bag containing her lunch out of her locker, even though her appetite was gone.

Six lockers down, mercifully obscured by the locker door, Kerfuffle was once again performing her terrible transformation. She’d limped to her locker and leaned up against her neighbor’s (Cloudy Kicks, Sunset’s brain reminded her) and was completing the change from normal-girl to pirate-girl.

That wasn’t quite right, but it was close. Kerfuffle had sported two legs when she walked to her locker, and now the ends of the crutches were poking out, and when the door slammed shut, Kerfuffle only had one leg. Well, one and a half.

A great magic trick.

Do you have to do that right in front of me? The words never crossed Sunset’s lips; she slammed her locker door shut and spun her combination wheel while Kerfuffle notched the crutches into her armpits, balanced on them, reached back into her locker for her own lunch.

Sunset was already storming around the corner when she heard High Winds offer her assistance to Kerfuffle. “I can carry your lunch . . . your bookbag . . .” do you want me to take tests for you, too? Maybe write an essay?

She crumpled her brown bag in her fist and then spiked her uneaten lunch into a wastebasket, a brief flash of regret at the time she’d spent making it, and then stomped down the hallway. Sunset huffed out a breath as she passed the parking lot entrance. A small alcove alongside the shop classroom made it a favored hideout of a few of the ne'er-do-wells, a good spot to sneak a few puffs on a forbidden cigarette.

Right now would be a good time to take up smoking. She could get through a whole pack on her lunch break. Maybe that would help alleviate some of the stress.

If for no other reason than it was hard to be stressed when coughing her lungs out.

The Day After The Accident

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

The day after The Accident, Sunset could feel the mood as soon as she arrived at school. She knew she would; she knew that the gossip had already traveled far and wide.

She didn’t share a morning class with Kerfuffle, but she could imagine what that classroom would be like; students would have shown up earlier than normal, and they’d’ve first looked to see if Kerfuffle was at her desk—she wouldn’t be.

Then they’d’ve been watching the door for her to arrive, and of course she wouldn’t. Some students would have known for sure, others would have only heard what had percolated through the rumor mill. Some would have been blithely unaware, maybe getting filled in at the last moment, hushed whispers around the classroom.

Or maybe it was just silent in the classroom as everyone waited. Why not? Her homeroom was quieter than normal; the morning gossip had only one subject, discussed in hushed voices, every ear turned for the crackle of the speaker on the wall, the voice from On High: an appropriate funerary atmosphere.

And then the morning announcements began: the usual morning dreck that everybody ignored. Would there even be an announcement about Kerfuffle? Or, when it came down to it, was that not really school business?

As the Tannoy droned on and on, it seemed less and less likely anything would be said, and then right at the very end, there it was, just a brief mention. Official confirmation of The Accident.

Not that confirmation was needed; Sunset knew all about it already.

Her ears started burning as soon as Kerfuffle’s name got mentioned; Sunset slid down in her seat. Nobody is looking at you. That was probably true; everyone was focused on the loudspeaker, either hearing about it for the first time or recognizing the confirmation of the rumor. School kids gossiped, but the voice from the loudspeaker was the Truth.

Bits and pieces of the announcement stuck in her mind to play back later; it was so weird to hear the news delivered with an even, steady voice. There was an accident, Kerfuffle’s at the hospital, her condition is serious, the counselor and Nurse Snowheart will be available to talk with students—the last parts of the announcement were covered by an ever-increasing babble of whispers.

I heard she was in a coma.

It isn’t serious, she’ll be back in a couple days, you’ll see.

Someone told me last night that she was paralyzed.

It’s really bad, she might die.

Sunset closed her eyes but that didn’t make the words stop, it was like a roar in her ears, as inevitable as the ocean crashing on the beach, carving away the shoreline. The silence from the loudspeaker had been replaced with an ever-increasing volume of chatter, growing until it became unignorable.

Sunset didn’t participate; she had lots on her mind and nothing to say.

•••••

Morning classes were a waste, especially today. When the bell finally rang, Sunset shuffled out of class with all the other students and with no memory of what had been taught. If the teacher had decided to give the lesson in Greek it might have stuck better in her head; everything was in a weird mental fog.

It didn’t help that her mind was easily able to fill in all the details that hadn’t been announced. The tangled wreckage of Kerfuffle’s bicycle up against a building, the red sports car still up on the sidewalk, showing a surprising lack of damage for the tragedy which had occurred.

What did they call the car in the detective novels? The accident vehicle? The striking vehicle? Why did she need to know that, it changed nothing.

The slow sweep of lights from the emergency vehicles painting everything in an eerie play of color and shadow; paramedics and firefighters working on her limp body while a cop took statements from onlookers and from the driver. Spray-painted markings on the ground and little yellow triangles with numbers beside all the evidence: depending on how things turned out at the hospital, this might change from a tragic motor vehicle accident to a crime scene.

And it didn’t end when the ambulance went away with its sole passenger; the scene still needed to be cleaned up so nothing was left in the morning, so it looked like nothing had happened. A wrecker to haul off the car—and, bizarrely enough, Kerfuffle’s bicycle; the sidewalk still needed to be cleaned, and a fire truck was perfect for that morbid duty. The little yellow triangles got picked up, but nobody bothered to clean off the spray paint . . . it would fade in time.

•••••

Notes had already started appearing on Kerfuffle’s locker. The first, scrawled in Rainbow’s atrocious handwriting, had already been there when Sunset had arrived in the morning; after first break there were almost a dozen. Sunset tore a sheet out of her notebook and wrote something while agonizing if it was too much or not enough. Did she say the right things? Would Kerfuffle ever even see it, or was it a futile exercise, whistling past the graveyard?

Would they stay there, would they be collected and delivered to the hospital, or would the janitor clean them up on his nightly rounds and pitch them all into his wastebasket?

It ate at her, gnawing inside her.

Rumors kicked into high gear; there was only one topic of discussion between classes and then during classes as well. Teachers gave up on actually teaching anything; there was no point. Nobody was paying any attention to the lessons at all. Someone had a sister who was a nurse who was texting updates, or maybe it was a cousin or a parent or a friend of a friend. The ‘no cell phones in class’ rule was ignored; the teacher was as curious as everyone else.

She’s gone through surgery and is in recovery, her injuries are serious but do not appear to be life-threatening at this time. What did that mean? A glimmer of hope, maybe it wasn’t as bad as it had first seemed.

Sunset hated feeling helpless, and yet there was nothing she could do; whatever happened next was out of her control.

‘I heard’ or ‘Someone said’ were tossed about during lunch and the communal volleyball table had a conspicuous absence. Several students went over before or after eating their lunch and talked to her friends.

Sunset couldn’t sit there, not today, maybe not ever again. It was still uncertain; everything was still up in the air. Her absence wasn’t particularly notable; everything was in flux. As she looked around the cafeteria, she noticed an unusual number of teachers were eating lunch with the students; even Nurse Snowheart was sitting at a table in the cafeteria and a few students spoke with her.

Sunset finished her meal with no memory of what she’d eaten. It was a collection of tasteless textures that were only an obligation rather than a need, and she gave up halfway through. There was no point in eating anymore.

Even without, lunch break dragged on and on and then it was over; she gathered up everything she hadn’t eaten and chucked it in the trash. To her complete lack of surprise, Kerfuffle’s locker door was no longer large enough to hold all the well-wishes; they were now spreading to either side.

Somebody had brought balloons.

Lunch

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

It was impossible to not notice as High Winds led Kerfuffle to her seat, as she steadied Kerfuffle and leaned her crutches up, as she set her lunch on the table and opened the bag—as if she needed help with that; her hands were fine. It was just her leg that was gone.

Well, not entirely gone; it was currently tucked into her locker. Kerfuffle was still healing and apparently couldn’t wear her prosthetic all day long.

Just a play for sympathy. Even if she couldn’t use her leg all day, why not wait until after lunch to take it off? Or why not keep it strapped on and just use her crutches all the time? Or whenever she needed to take some weight off it? A leg filling out her jeans was less conspicuous than no leg.

Or should have been: Kerfuffle was a burgeoning fashionista, or at least a skilled seamstress. Sunset had noticed conversations between her and Rarity, and now she had a whole collection of pants with a zipper up the inseam of one leg and around the knee—

She doesn’t have to make it so obvious all the time. Like a damsel in distress, one of the worst tropes in fiction. Ever since she’d come back, she’d been one of the most popular girls in school; everybody was constantly doing things for her, and she had a ready-made excuse for being late, for needing to leave class early–Sunset couldn’t help but feel jealous, and she hated herself for it.

Sunset turned her attention back to her lunch, or lack thereof. There was still time to get in the hot food line; she could buy a piece of pizza that would require two or three napkins to blot the grease off of. Or if that wasn’t worth the try, mac and cheese that had been the subject of several culinary crimes, or even take her chances at a carton of malk which may or may not have expired in the current semester.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

Sunset jerked her head up, gave him a non-committal reply—really, more of a grunt—and then returned to her attempt to tune out the cafeteria, the casual conversation, the noisy normal that was anything but. It could never be normal again; it had all gone wrong one night on the way home from a volleyball game and wouldn’t it be better if Kerfuffle had never come back, if she’d—

No.

Sunset couldn’t think that. Even if the weight of her guilt was nearly too heavy to bear, she could carry it. She would carry it, she had no choice. What else was there to do?

“You know,” her tablemate offered, entirely unprompted. “You’d be a lot cuter if you smiled more.”

“And you’d look a lot better with a fork stuck in your eye,” Sunset muttered in reply. “And yet here we are.”

To her complete lack of surprise, her former tablemate muttered something unprintable under his breath, and then gathered up his lunch tray and departed for greener pastures.

The Announcement After The Accident

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

Most of the time, coach Big Bell waited until after the team had changed into their practice clothes and come out on the court to give a pep talk or announcements; this time she was waiting in the locker room, sitting on one of the changing benches. She was still on her cell phone when Sunset walked in, and motioned for her to wait.

Not that she needed any hand gesture; all the members of the volleyball team that had arrived thus far were standing around awkwardly. Once she’d put on her uniform, High Winds grabbed Sunset in an unwanted hug. “Sorry about your partner.”

Sunset didn’t reply, she didn’t know what to say.

It was five minutes after practice normally would have started when Big Bell finally spoke. She sighed and shifted on her seat, then cleared her throat. “Right. So I’m sure everyone’s heard the news. If you somehow haven’t, or if you’ve been listening to someone who’s gossiping and doesn't have all the facts, here’s the deal. Kerfuffle got hit by a car on her way home from the game yesterday. I was just on the phone with her parents, and the good news is that the hospital has just upgraded her status to ‘stable’—”

Chatter immediately started among the team, quickly dropping off as Big Bell crossed her arms—as effective a signal as blowing her whistle would have been.

“—however, she’s got a long road of recovery ahead of her, and I don’t expect her to return to the team when she does come back to school.” Big Bell sighed. “Besides a lot of bruising and lacerations, she lost her left leg in the accident.”

The coach gave them a second to process her words—some people already knew that, others had heard it whispered through the grapevine, and a few were completely blindsided by the news.

“Tomorrow, I have Principal Celestia’s blessing to take a bus to the hospital during morning visiting hours—that would be during third period and into lunch—we’ll all meet here in the gym and go as a group. I encourage everyone to participate, but if you’re uncomfortable with the idea, it is not required."

“Either way, when she comes back to school, I expect that all you girls will support your teammate.” Big Bell sighed again, and ran her hands through her hair. “As for practice today . . . well, I honestly don’t think we’ll get anything accomplished. We’ll just run through drills, but if you don’t feel up to it, I understand.”

“Is she still going to be on the team?”

“She’s on the team until she tells me she wants to quit, Cloudy. If she decides she wants to take a position on the court, I’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”

Sunset grimaced. What was more tragic, Kerfuffle losing a leg, or her coming back for a game or two in a wheelchair? How would that even work?

History Class

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

Sunset didn’t even bother to pick up her history books. The way she felt right now, avoiding her locker was the best choice. Besides, they had a sub for history, anyway. Mr. Chess, long past his prime. After taking attendance, he’d spend the hour rambling on about how things were back in the day; he was a warm body in the teacher’s seat and that was about it.

Although it would seem history would be his best subject; he certainly looked like he’d lived through much of it.

She was the first one in class, taking her usual seat near the back. No backpack, nothing to unpack and set on her desk—not even a pencil or notebook.

If he noticed her lack of preparation, he gave no sign. He had an attendance record open on the desk and was scrutinizing it.

•••••

He was ten interminable minutes into a diatribe about ‘kids these days’ when Rarity slid into the empty seat beside her.

Sunset was already regretting not having a clicky pen to click or tap on the desk or twirl around in her fingers like a tiny baton, or maybe a sheet of paper to doodle on, anything to pass the time. She glanced over at Rarity. “‘Sup?”

Rarity turned her attention to the front of the class for a moment. “Apparently the number of students smoking reefers in that little alcove beside the shop class, if you ask Mr. Chess.”

Sunset couldn’t help herself, she chuckled.

“You forgot your bag,” Rarity said.

“Didn’t need it, I knew he was subbing. Whatever he has to say isn’t going to be on the final exam.”

“Uh huh. And you didn’t eat lunch today.”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“Before a game?” Rarity had a pen, and she tapped it against her desk, a quick drumbeat before she spoke again. “Before the game, the most important game of the season? Look, I’ll be blunt, we’re worried about you: you haven’t been yourself lately. Is there something you need to talk about?”

“No.” What’s there to talk about anyway? Tonight’s the big game against Crystal Prep, we’ll either go on to finals or we won’t and we’ll be down a player and it’s all my fault.

Heck, it isn’t even about the game. Who cares about the game, Kerfuffle lost her leg and it’s all my fault, if I hadn’t—

Rarity’d tell me it’s not my fault, but it is and maybe Kerfuffle forgives me, but I can’t forgive myself.

“Well.” Rarity crossed her arms. “Don’t make me set Pinkie on you. You haven’t been acting normal since Kerfuffle—”

“Should I be? What, you want rainbows and sunshine, you want me to pretend like it didn’t happen, is that what you’re saying?”

“I am most certainly not saying that, and you know it. Something’s eating at you, something more than that the best combo on the volleyball team is no more. Whatever it is, you can tell one of us, we’re your friends, we’re here for you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” Rarity reached into her purse and slapped a chocolate bar down on Sunset’s desk. “Eat something at least, can you do that for me?”

“Fine.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the chocolate, and she tore into the wrapper eagerly, even as her brain told her that she shouldn’t have an appetite—especially not now. What was worse, missing a meal or missing a leg?

•••••

She couldn’t avoid her locker before science class, but that didn’t matter. Kerfuffle wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t, she didn’t get around as well as she used to; the few minutes between classes meant a scramble, meant jostling through the crowded hallways, and that wasn’t so easy on crutches or a new prosthetic leg, was it?

Even so, there was a reminder: while the collection of well-wishes that had adorned her locker were long gone, Cloudy was there, spinning her combo, getting Kerfuffle’s books for her.

Sunset yanked her textbook off the shelf in her locker and jammed it into her bag, not caring as it caught on her notebook and folded the cover over, as it tore a few sheets loose from the wire binding. That was a little thing, that wouldn’t matter after high school now would it?

It wasn't like it was something she’d have to deal with every day for the rest of her life.

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to the team hospital visit. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. The only time she’d visited Kerfuffle in the hospital–the only time she could bring herself to. She’d had to go, as a friend, as a teammate . . . and out of morbid curiosity: she had to know if it was true, even if she didn’t want to know. Everyone had said it, the coach had said it, but seeing it for herself would make it real, even though it shouldn’t have been.

The bus didn’t fit in the parking garage and had to park in an outlot which gave her more time to regret even coming.

Hospitals were uncomfortable. They smelled funny and were too quiet. Nurses wore a rainbow of scrubs and doctors bustled about in their important white coats; everything smelled of antiseptic. Signs pointed to hallways and wings, their meanings unclear to anyone not in the know. What was radiology? Hematology? Phrenology?

What was the point, she couldn’t change what had happened, and whatever would happen wasn’t going to be affected.

Maybe if Kerfuffle had been hooked up to all sorts of machines it would have been better. Maybe if she’d been in a coma and they all could have silently paid their respects, or been swathed in bandages . . . she was pale and gaunt, the result of blood loss and emergency surgery. Unbandaged cuts and scrapes on her face, a friction burn across a cheek, one wrist wrapped completely and the other in a loose twist of gauze, holding an IV line in.

Her eyes were dull, but lit up as the team crowded in around her bed. Even hidden under the blankets, the missing leg was obvious. The person she’d known yesterday was gone and could never come back and it was all her fault.

That visitation passed in a blur; Sunset had no memory of what had been said, but she couldn’t get the vision of Kerfuffle in the hospital bed out of her mind.

I would trade places with her in a heartbeat.

Sunset slammed her locker door shut, swung her backpack over her shoulder, and stormed off to class.

Paradoxically, class couldn’t get over soon enough—but class got over too soon. Sunset watched the slow sweep of the minute hand with increasing apprehension as it inexorably neared the top of the hour, and yet when the final bell actually rang she still nearly jumped out of her skin.

As she shoved her books into her bag—having yet again learned nothing in the previous hour—she had a brief moment of hope. She took off her leg earlier, maybe it was bothering her, maybe she’ll just go home tonight.

There was no chance of that happening, Sunset knew. She’d showed up to school in her team uniform and undoubtedly had every intention of being there.

After all, it was the final game before regionals (if they won) and it was against their rival, Crystal Prep. There was no chance Kerfuffle would miss this game.

And she wouldn’t be in the stands, lost in the crowd. Oh no, she’d be on the bench, watching the game from the sidelines like she had at every game since she’d been back. At first she’d been at the very end, extending the bench with her wheelchair, and now that she could walk again she sat on the bench proper.

Sunset sighed.

She left school on the tail end of the student rush, and only spent a few minutes at her locker before she headed down the hallway again. As she turned the corner into a new corridor, she heard the faint click of crutches behind her but didn’t turn back.

Now was the worst time of any pre-game, the between time where she could go home and eat, or perhaps hang out with the girls at a restaurant or a coffee shop. She could stay in school, some of the girls on the volleyball team did.

Every game you’re nervous she reminded herself. This will pass.

This wasn’t every game. She’d had a lousy season, and it was a miracle the team had come as far as they had. They’d gotten lucky with matches in the early part of the season, the post-Kerfuffle season. A few girls had really stepped up to the plate, working harder than they ever had before, or finding a new niche on the court.

Not that everybody else hadn’t struggled; like it or not, after The Accident the volleyball team was a different team. Sunset had lost her spike partner.

But that wasn’t the only thing, was it? Playing Crystal Prep again was a reminder, an unwanted flashback to the first game of the season, the last time things had been right.

The last time she hadn’t been consumed by guilt.

After the First Game of the Season

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

That day the entire school had been buzzing with enthusiasm–by luck of the draw their first game of the season was against their biggest rival, Crystal Prep.

Crystal Prep had the best volleyball team they’d ever fielded. Indigo Zap and Sour Sweet were a good combo at the net, spiking, setting, and blocking with equal aplomb. And Sugarcoat was brutal as a server; she could drop the ball wherever she wanted.

Offsetting that advantage, both Sunset and Kerfuffle had graduated from Junior Varsity and the new varsity team had shown what it was capable of during the pre-season; everybody expected this match to be a game for the ages. Anticipation had built through the day, the whole team had had a small pizza party in the cafeteria after school, and then they’d gotten dressed and waited for the game to begin.

They got their first glance of the crowds in the stands as they warmed up on the court, and then the starting whistle blew.

They’d lost their first match but came back with a vengeance in the second, rallied by determination and a few hard-earned lessons. By the third, they’d really gelled as a team and driven the final point home with a beautiful dive by Sunset that led into an accidentally beautiful set for Kerfuffle, who’d leaped from the second row to spike it down with a crushing finality. In hindsight, a fitting swan song.

Nobody wanted to let go of the high of the moment, and after they’d showered and changed, they’d hung out in the locker room, reliving the highlights of the game.

It was a moment that couldn’t last forever, as much as they wanted it to, and finally the rest of the team had departed. Only Kerfuffle and Sunset were left, and the two walked together through the darkened hallways of the school to their lockers, only a few feet apart.

Any thought of her math homework had long since fled her mind, until she was grabbing what she needed to take home for the night. We won the game, that ought to be an excuse to not do homework. Of course, it wasn’t. “Hey, Kerfuffle?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you get for question 6?”

“Ah, twenty-five over the square root of four.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I rechecked twice, ‘cause that didn’t seem right.”

“That’s what I got, too,” Sunset lied.

“That’s why I remember.”

“Seems odd, the answers are usually . . . nice round numbers.”

“Same thing I was thinking.” Kerfuffle pushed her locker door shut and spun her combo lock. “Figure it was just a way to mess with us, like when there’s a whole string of the same answer on multiple choice tests.”

“Yeah.” Sunset reached into her jeans pocket to make sure her car keys were there. “You ride your bike today?”

Kerfuffle nodded.

I should offer her a ride, it’s late. But then she’d have to figure out a way to fit Kerfuffle’s bike in her car, which would at the very least mean rearranging the stuff in her trunk.

“Why?”

“You have lights on it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, and there’s lots of street lights between here and my house, I’ll be fine.”

“Because I could—”

“It’s fine. Catch ya tomorrow, Sunset.”

“Yeah. Hey, that was a heck of a game, wasn’t it?”

Kerfuffle nodded. “Best I’ve ever played.”

“No question, and that spike at the end—keep that up all season, and we’ll be going to finals.”

The Final Game

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

Sunset found herself out in front of an Asian Fusion buffet. If she was going to eat something before the game, this was the worst possible choice.

She imagined the trays of food, shook her head and continued on to a pub, one that none of the students ever visited. It had been a retreat in the past, a quiet refuge, and would serve again.

A booth in the back, a glass of soda, a burger and fries—she didn’t really feel like eating at all, and when the waitress finally provided her a bill, two hours later, the burger had one bite out of it and the soda was still nearly full. Nearly as much of its decrease in volume could be attributed to the ice melting as in Sunset actually drinking any.

And then it was time to go back to school, time to get ready for the game, but before she did, Sunset took one detour, just a couple of blocks out of her way.

The intersection was unremarkable in every aspect, just like any other intersection, but she was drawn to it. Why here? Why her?

There were a few places along the road that had little memorials, and there were ghost bikes, but the intersection didn’t have anything to mark what had happened. That didn’t seem right to her, it felt like there should be something here to mark the spot.

What did Kerfuffle think when she passed it? Did the hairs on the back of her neck stand up? Did sadness wash over her? Did she avoid it? Or did she not think about it at all?

Was she really that brave? It seemed so at school; she mostly acted like nothing had happened. She’d even tried to keep up their relationship, but of course it was gone, just like Kerfuffle’s leg.

Sunset didn’t wait for the light, she just walked across the intersection. If a car came flying around the corner and hit her, so be it. Maybe that would be deserved karma coming for her.

•••••

Getting dressed, warming up, and then the first set passed in a blur; Sunset had no memory of it whatsoever. She was completely on autopilot, her mind a thousand miles away. If the ball came near her, she hit it–her body still knew what to do when it was out on the volleyball court–but none of her plays could be considered anything more than reflexive.

Unsurprisingly, they lost.

During the short break between sets, Sunset joined all the rest of the girls on the sidelines and grabbed a drink. It was only after her first sip, only after she was twisting the cap back on the bottle that she noticed Kerfuffle next to her.

“What’s going on?” Kerfuffle asked. “You, well, pardon me for just saying it, but you suck tonight.”

“I—”

“Be nice to finish the season like we started it, or else I’m going to feel guilty about the whole team relying on me to win the game.”

“You’re our best spiker.”

“Was.” Kerfuffle tapped her prosthetic leg. “Doc says if I keep up with my PT maybe I can play next year, although I don’t think I’ll be jumping . . . anyway, I’ve got an excuse. What about you? You’re letting too many things get by you.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“You must; you’ve been in a bad mood ever since I came back, haven’t even stopped to chat at all.” Kerfuffle sighed. “Cloudy says that she’s heard that you’re blaming yourself for what happened, it’s not your fault.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Kerfuffle snorted. “Easy? It’s—”

Both girls jerked in surprise as the whistle blew, then Kerfuffle turned back to Sunset. “Come on, go out there and play like you mean it, or do the team a favor and ask the coach to bench you. If you stay in, you gotta play to win this game for me.”

Sunset took the field in a daze. What was Kerfuffle trying to say? It was her fault, even if Kerfuffle denied it. Just because it was ‘an accident’ didn’t mean that there was nobody to blame: accidents didn’t just happen, as Sunset well knew.

As Sunset had thought about every single day since the last game against Crystal Prep.

She barely registered the ref’s whistle as it blew, signaling the beginning of the second set. Her body took over, while her brain continued to struggle with its inner demons. The crowd cheering—bigger than most games, since it was a rivalry and the outcome of this game was all that stood between them and the finals.

She felt like she was playing in molasses, like all her moves were on a time-delay. A few girls waited on the bench—she could call a time-out, have herself pulled.

Kerfuffle was right, she shouldn’t be playing. She was normally good, yes, but not now. It would be better for the team if she were on the bench. She didn’t deserve to play.

Up at the net, Cloudy Kicks blocked a return and the ball came to their side; the team shuffled positions, leaving Sunset as the server. She bounced the ball in her hand, marveling at its weight. It was heavier than it should be, wasn’t it?

She glanced over at the bench where Kerfuffle was conspicuously present—an injured player on the bench wasn’t unusual, of course. Players who couldn’t take the field, who had to watch from the sidelines while they recovered from their ankle or wrist injury. Games where they’d been without a player, and yet it wasn’t the same. Sprained ankles healed, bruises faded, but Kerfuffle’s leg would never come back.

Maybe if it wasn’t so obvious, maybe if she wasn’t wearing shorts, but every time she looked over it was a blatant accusation. You did this to me.

How could Kerfuffle ever forgive her? Why would Kerfuffle ever forgive her?

She didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Sunset served the ball, skimming it over the net between Sour Sweet and Indigo Zap more by rage than aim. A girl in the second row got it, and she watched it volley between the two teams until Mystery Mint missed a block and it came back towards her. Once again, instinct took over and she dove for the ball, catching it out of bounds and bobbing it up enough for her team to save it, to keep it in play.

Sunset glanced over at Kerfuffle before getting back to her feet and jogging back to her position—the ball was still live.

•••••

A few minutes later, she was up at the net, ninety percent focused on the game. They were up, she thought—she’d lost count and didn’t want to look at the scoreboard. A ball came over, she got under it like she always had, popped it up, and . . . and nobody spiked it over the net, nobody got the easy point.

Sunset and Kerfuffle had been feared at the net; they’d been an unstoppable combo on the court, and now . . . nobody else could spike like Kerfuffle, but anybody could have set her.

It should have been me hit by that car.

She blocked the return, and they got another point and got the ball back. Sunset didn’t turn back; she heard the serve and then watched it fly over the net, her eyes locked on the ball as it passed on its inevitable and predetermined trajectory.

As inevitable and predetermined as a car’s.

The ball returned, she went to knock it back and it grazed off the top of her fingers, spinning off course, over to the sidelines—Kerfuffle rose from her seat, snatched it out of the air, and gracefully lobbed it back towards the ref, who gave it to Crystal Prep.

How many hours had she spent in rehab? Sunset hadn’t wanted to know, but she couldn’t help but wonder, she’d looked up everything she could about the recovery process. Morbid curiosity? Guilt? She didn’t know. It must have been nearly every waking hour since she was able to stand on her one good leg, and once she’d come back to school, nearly every hour she wasn’t in class or doing homework and make-up work.

How much pain, how much agony, how many times had Kerfuffle thought to herself I can’t do this. How many times had she worked her way through it? She’d deserved none of it; besides the injury, besides the loss, every single moment of suffering that came as a result was only one person's fault.

Kerfuffle had fought to be where she was today, and she’d never once complained. Maybe it would be better if she had.

Why can’t we just have had a big fight to settle it? As weird as it was to think, Sunset would welcome a good right hook from Kerfuffle, even just a slap across the face would be something.

Maybe that was coming, once Kerfuffle could stand better. At the rate she was going, that wouldn’t be much longer. Hopefully before winter break, and then Sunset could almost enjoy the holiday.

Sunset cursed under her breath and tried to focus back on the game.

•••••

Canterlot High won the second game, leaving it to the final game to decide the winner. Sunset could take no credit for the victory; everyone else on the team had really stepped up to fill in the empty spot–empty spots on the court. Because the way she was playing, she might as well not be out there . . . this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This should have been the perfect capstone to the season. For the team, for her, for Kerfuffle.

Ask the coach to bench you. She glanced over at the bench, at Kerfuffle sitting out what should have been the greatest game of the year. Sitting on the sidelines is what I deserve . . . no, I don’t even deserve that.

Now was the time to decide. They’d had their little break, and now there were the announcements and Sunset paid no attention to them, they were another wash of noise in the crowded gymnasium.

She was debating between walking over to the coach, asking to be put out of the game–which would lose them the game for sure, even at their best the freshmen that were sidelined weren’t as good as Sunset at her worst oh you’re so full of yourself.

“Coach, I–”

Win this game for me.

“Sunset?”

“Never mind.”

Sugarcube Corner

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

Meet me at Sugarcube Corner at noon.

Sunset looked at the text and tried to pick up her phone, once again forgetting that with her left wrist in a splint, that just wasn’t possible. She settled instead for setting it on the bed and tapped out a reply. Don’t you mean BEHIND Sugarcube Corner?

They were more evenly matched, now. Although Sunset could just run away if it came to that.

Very funny. 😛

I’ll be there. What were the right clothes to wear to a fight?

Not that it was going to come to that, Kerfuffle was too nice.

Sunset slid out of bed, remembering too late that she shouldn’t try and support her weight with her splinted wrist, and then made her way to the bathroom.

A nice little touch of karma, really. She hadn’t realized how much she used her left hand until she was without it.

If she was lucky, she’d get hit by a car on her way to meet Kerfuffle.

•••••

High noon, when the duel took place in every Western. All that was missing was a tumbleweed rolling across the street as she and Kerfuffle confronted each other. There was a plastic bag dancing on the wind, but that was a poor substitute.

She pushed open the door, wincing at the sound of the bell jingling. As soon as she stepped inside, against her will, the smell of fresh-baked pastries and donuts and the warm air instantly improved her mood.

Kerfuffle was sitting in a booth towards the back, her crutches leaned up against the couch. Sunset hesitated. Kerfuffle hadn’t turned, it was her last chance to bail.

She wanted to so badly, but she couldn’t.

She made her way through the shop, sliding in across from her.

“So how’d the game end?” Sunset asked, regretting it an instant later. How had the last game against Crystal Prep ended? Why, with the best player being carried off in an ambulance to get her leg amputated.

“As if you didn’t know we’re going on to finals,” Kerfuffle said. She slid a box of donuts across the table and opened the lid. “Go on, take one.”

“The rest of the team is.”

“You probably can, too, if you don’t mind a little pain and some hard work. But do you want to?”

“Not really,” Sunset admitted. “I don’t deserve it, not after—”

“Oh, don’t start with your pity party,” Kerfuffle said. “I should have seen it sooner, but it wasn’t until Rarity said something that I started putting the pieces together. You blame yourself for my accident.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I blamed you, too. I blamed everyone.” Kerfuffle held up her hand before Sunset could speak. “Had a lot of time to myself to reflect, think about things.”

“If I hadn’t kept you after that game, just chatting, you would have already been past before that car lost control—you wouldn’t have been there.”

“Sure.” Kerfuffle took a bite out of her donut and chased it with some hot chocolate. “And if I’d decided to stop by my locker so I could return that library book that was due the next day, I wouldn’t have, either. Figured I’d do it first thing in the morning.” She laughed. “Real nice of the librarian to forgive the overdue fines.

“If I hadn’t decided to play on the volleyball team, I wouldn’t have gotten hit by that car. Or if Cloudy Kicks hadn’t missed that block in the first set, the game might have been over sooner, or I could have walked home instead of riding my bike. So many things could have been just a little bit different and it wouldn’t have happened. Or it might have been worse, or something else might have happened.

“Heck, if everything had played out exactly the same except I’d been riding in a different gear, or decided to wait when the crosswalk sign was flashing instead of going for it.

“My PT said that it was better to focus the anger towards getting better, rather than moping around and wishing that the world was more fair, or blaming anyone for what had happened, and it took me a while to figure out that she was right. It’s real easy to listen to the voices in your head while you’re sitting in a hospital bed in the dark, or trying to re-learn how to approach a toilet.”

“You’re taking it a lot better than I would,” Sunset admitted.

Kerfuffle shrugged. “Well, what else was I going to do? I can’t change the past, only the future.”

“A lot better than I did. I thought—well, I did blame myself, if I hadn’t kept you after the game, or if I’d insisted on giving you a ride, it wouldn’t have happened. And then it was even worse when I saw you in the hospital, I just couldn’t bring myself to visit again because I was sure you wouldn’t want to see me.

“And then when you were back in school, I started to get jealous of all the attention you were getting, and I’d feel even worse for thinking that.”

“Trust me, every time I see someone running or jumping or even walking around, I can’t help but feel a flash of anger, like they don’t appreciate how easy they’ve got it, they don’t remember what it’s like to have to learn to walk.

“And it isn’t always easy to take the concern, even when I know it comes from a good place. Honestly, for a while it was easier to take your aloofness . . . that was another thing I’d lost, and it was easier for it to stay gone.”

“No. You can—” What, work out for the rest of the year and be the spiker you used to be?

“Plenty of amputees are as active as they want to be,” Kerfuffle said. “I’ve talked with Coach Big Bell, the league allows players with prosthetics to play. It’s maybe not how I want it to go, but we can’t always get what we want. Like, I was never going to make it on the soccer team, I just wasn’t that good with my feet.” Kerfuffle giggled and then tilted her head down. “Never was that good at dancing either, so I’m gonna wear two left shoes at prom, that way I’ll have an excuse. My fake foot can’t feel pain, so the wrong shoe won’t hurt . . . honestly, you don’t appreciate how many opportunities this opens up; next Nightmare Night I’m gonna have the best pirate costume you’ve ever seen.”

“You’re serious about playing next year?”

Kerfuffle nodded. “Yeah. I . . . well, I was a decent player, and—”

“You were—you are great.”

A blush crept across her cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you always set the ball just right for me. But I wasn’t ever good enough to get a college scholarship, and besides the school I’m interested in doesn’t have a volleyball team anyway.”

“Then why do you even want to play next year?”

“To prove to myself that I can,” she said. “If I didn’t think I was going to hold the team back, I’d have tried to get in on last night’s game, at least for some of it.”

“Coach would have put you in.”

“I know. Even if it would cost us the win. That’s why I didn’t ask.” Kerfuffle leaned across the table. “Listen, you gotta stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. It was an accident, plain and simple, that’s all it was, and I can’t stand you blaming yourself for it. You weren’t driving that car, and you couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”

Sunset frowned; Kerfuffle reached across the table and took her hand, brought it down to the cool Formica. “You have to let it go, it’s in the past and you can’t change it, but it can change you.

“Whether it changes you for better or worse, that’s for you to choose.”

Sunset dropped the donut on her plate. “Every time I play through it in my mind, I can see it happening. I can see the car coming, it’s a red sports car and—”

“It was white,” Kerfuffle said. “I didn’t see it until after it happened, I was just riding along and then I wasn’t any more, and I was trying to figure out what had happened. Tried to stand up but I couldn’t, my bike was all tangled around me, and I was wondering how I could be so clumsy as to have tipped over. I could see my bike was hopelessly bent and wondered how I was going to explain to my parents that I needed a new one.”

“And you’re just lying there, unable to move.”

“Shock and adrenaline is a powerful combination. I crawled away and leaned up against a wall,” she said. “That was when I figured out something was really wrong with my leg, and things started to be both really clear and really blurry. Someone got my cell phone, I don’t know how it survived the crash. And then the ambulance came and the police and I first started to be afraid when I couldn’t figure out where they were taking me—I knew where I was and where the hospital was, but it didn’t make sense as I was riding in the back . . . some of it’s probably from shock and some from the pain meds, they gave me some really good stuff.”

•••••

Neither of them had been paying any attention to the time—they’d had a lot to discuss, and there would be more in the future.

They couldn’t stay there forever; eventually the donuts were gone and the hot chocolate cold. One final hug and then Kerfuffle walked out the door.

She was still limping; she was still slow. Sunset could have caught her, passed her, but she didn’t; she sat back down at the booth and watched as her teammate made her way across the bakery, occasionally bracing herself on the back of a booth.

With jeans on her missing leg wasn’t as obvious, there could have been two normal legs under there, and Sunset could imagine a day where Kerfuffle was as comfortable with her prosthetic leg as she’d been with the two legs she’d been born with, but on the heels of that she could imagine the fight to get there, the pain and setbacks . . . and the constant reminders every time someone offered her help when she didn’t want it, or when she needed to ask for a hand, when she needed something to lean on.

Sunset scratched at the splint on her wrist and then set her hand back on the table. It didn’t want to stay still; she brushed some crumbs onto the floor, erasing the evidence that they’d been there.

The chime over the door jingled, and then the door swept shut. Sunset picked up her mug and took one sip of the bitter dregs, cold and syrupy.

She caught one last glimpse of Kerfuffle before she rounded the corner.

One Last Save

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

Hunger? Guilt? The thrill of the game? Sunset didn’t know, everything was instinct and they were up—she thought they were up, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Somewhere after the first whistle blew she’d mentally passed beyond guilt and into anger, and she played with a vengeance.

Maybe if they did win this game, maybe if she played her very best, she would earn a tiny modicum of forgiveness from Kerfuffle, maybe that would be a step on the right path for her.

If she earned it. Could she? Did she deserve it?

The ball shot over the net, she jumped up and slammed it back, aiming towards an opening mid-field.

She could feel the energy of the crowd feeding into her as she got back in her spot, then they lost the ball and were on defense.

•••••

A few minutes later she dared look at the scoreboard. It was her turn to serve, they were not only winning; they had almost won.

Serving was never her strong suit; she belonged up at the net with Kerfuffle–she had belonged up at the net, now she didn’t deserve it.

Everything was too bright, too loud. She fixed the field in her mind, glanced over at Kerfuffle who gave her a nod, and she drilled the ball across the net, fast and low–this wouldn’t be the game-winning point but if she got it right her next serve might be.

Sugarcoat stopped it, popped it up, Indigo Zap got under it, and she watched in slow motion as Sour Sweet rose, as her hand slammed down on the ball, as Mystery Mint reacted, a half-step to the side and then the ball rocketed towards her outstretched hands: Crystal Prep’s side was in disarray, a fast return would clinch the point.

Mystery Mint tipped it, the ball started to arc out of bounds–way out of bounds.

She’d have never made it from her favored position in the front line, but she could from her position in the back.

Sunset dove, got the ball with one outstretched hand, and then crashed into their team bench, fetching up right beside Kerfuffle.

“Nice save.”

“Thanks.” Sunset went to push herself up and the whole world went white.

Epilogue

The Final Game of the Season
Admiral Biscuit

It was the end of the volleyball season and almost the end of the school season–next week was finals, and then winter break.

Already the school was decorated for the holidays, and outside the weather was cooperating as well: the ground was covered in a glittering blanket of snow, with more coming down.

They hadn’t won the championship. Even if the team had been whole, they probably wouldn’t have. Sunset could envision a world where they had, but it would have taken a miracle.

After her talk with Kerfuffle, the feelings of guilt had started to fade as their friendship rekindled. Slowly at first, building as the team worked their way through the bracket.

And now it was over.

Almost over.

Sunset shifted on the bench, idly scratching at her wrist. They didn’t need this final practice, but the end-of-season pizza party had turned into an improvised pickup game, the pizzas cold and forgotten.

She watched as Kerfuffle stood and took the court, took her place; she watched as the ball came over the net, an easy hit to the center of the field.

The ball hung in the air, its motion seeming slow but inevitable. Kerfuffle shifted her stance, got her arms down and popped it up; the entire team let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding as the game started to pick up pace.

•••••

Kerfuffle didn’t stay on the court for long, but it was long enough to prove her point, to show that she could still play with a few more months of physical therapy—she’d be ready for her senior year.

After they’d all showered and gotten dressed in their street clothes, Sunset and Kerfuffle were once again the last two of the team remaining behind.

“You call your parents, or do you need a ride?”

“Well.” Kerfuffle picked up a slice of cold pizza and bit the end off. “I haven’t called them yet. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all.”

Author's Note

Thanks to Heartshine for consulting on some of the psychologial stuff and to AlwaysDressesInStyle for pre-reading!

Click HERE for story notes!