I arrive at my Social Studies class later than intended - later than I’ve ever been. My watch mocks me, like a cackling snake coiled around my wrist. Five minutes past nine. Five minutes late. A thousand permutations of the same scenario pass through my head: Professor Marks reading out my surname and getting no response. I imagine my classmates laughing, or maybe they go silent in shock, or Professor Marks reading my name out a few more times and realizing I’m not there yet. I’ve never been late as far I can remember. I’ve never allowed myself to be late. So when I reach the door, even as I know I must enter, I stand locked at the precipice, unwilling to jump off. I wait there, another minute passes.
With all the focus I can gather, I’m able to momentarily stuff down my fear of humiliation. Just long enough to let my terror of any further tardiness take over. Swinging the door open with a little too much force, I step in and find Marks’s desk completely empty.
My lungs finally take in a full breath, as I begin to plod my way through a room empty of teachers and full of students. As I walk, though, I notice they’re looking. A couple curious looks here, a few quirked eyebrows there. One bewildered stare that darts to a blank wall as soon as I glimpse it. I choose to look down and follow the invisible path to my desk. Thankfully, my spot at the back near the window is unoccupied, and as I approach I finally allow my heart to cool down from the marathon it just ran on the way here.
My relaxation is interrupted by an elbow to my upper arm. Startled, I freeze in place and see the already-grinning face of a guy whose name evades me. “How ya doing, Twilight?”
“Fine,” I say.
He nods and takes his seat in front of mine, and my muscles begin to work again. I squeeze between my chair and the row in front of me, and he doesn’t even try to move his out of the way. Carefully, I drag my chair to give me space to maneuver, though it still screeches against the ground, causing me to cringe.
As I sit, the guy turns to me, one arm braced against his chair, and says, “Let me guess: you read all the assigned materials already, right?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or asking seriously and in my split-second of indecision, my eyes cast a cursory glance to the door. A student walks in, and instantly I’m drawn. I’ve seen her before, but a name doesn’t occur to me. Her hair glows like fire, yet flows elegantly down and over her perfectly fit black leather jacket, which itself is adorned with spikes along its colors and streaks on either sleeves like orange rays of sun. It takes until she sits, looks my way, and forces me to deflect my view, to realize why those are the details I’ve come to notice about her. Up until today, she’s always sat in front of me. I think harder, trying to recall anything I can remember about her. All that comes up is ‘Ms. Shimmer’, the surname she’s addressed by during attendance.
I look back to find the guy still looking at me, and I remember that you’re usually supposed to reply to people who talk to you. In lieu of a reply, I produce a set of printed notes from my bag.
“I typed up some notes about the lesson,” I say mechanically. “It actually took a few hours for me—” Then I notice the guy’s laughing. Under my breath, I whisper, “What?”
“No kidding,” he says and turns away. I follow his gaze to his friend on the other side of the classroom. They share a knowing look, and it clicks that they’re laughing at me.
Har har, Twilight’s begin an egghead again. Real funny. I decide not to look at or speak to the guy for the rest of the period. I fear he’ll try something again, but thankfully, Professor Marks walks in before he has the chance.
Attendance goes by without event, but then the lecture never starts. Instead, Marks starts talking to us about a project. Already my blood starts to freeze over. Unease pools in my lungs before my ears are even graced by sound waves signalling those two evil words.
Group project.
It takes a few more seconds for the rest of her spiel to register, and when it does, it comes only in bits in pieces. Like I’m scanning the text in a speech bubble right above her head. Reporting. Two to four members. Choose your partners.
In high school, that last part would’ve saved me. A single rope I could grasp onto as my body was pulled out to sea. At least then I could rely on the rotating cast of acquaintances, seatmates, and almost-friends that were all too eager to be more partner. Now, I know pretty much no one, especially in this class.
After he’s done talking, people begin to stand up to find their groups. My seatmate, the guy, leaves without saying a word, and I allow myself the momentary consolation of being relieved of his company. Pairs form and the initial panic of the assignment starts to simmer down into a wall of dread. There’s no way I’m asking any of these people first. One of my hands involuntarily comes down onto my desk, making a stiff knock as I try to reason with myself. Someone will have to ask me, since the class has an even number of students. Twenty-four. Whoever it is, I can hope they’ll be cooperative enough to work with me, though, as usual, I expect to bear the brunt of the assignment. My hand knocks against my desk again, and I look up. Apparently it’s turned orange. Wait… orange?
“Okay, Twilight, now I feel like you’re just intentionally ignoring me,” the hand — no, the person who owns the hand — says.
“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about the—” I start, then find myself face to face with the girl with fiery hair. The words die on my tongue.
How does she know my name? She’s trying to talk to me. Oh God, how long was I just staring off into space? I don’t know her name. What do I even call her?
As if on cue, she says, “Hi, my name’s Sunset.” Her words drip with sarcasm, as if it’s obvious that I would know her name. She certainly has more faith in me than I do, but I am thankful for the reminder. “And, uh, I think you might be staring at me.”
Right. “I’m Twilight. I was just, um, thinking. About something.” I say, sounding dumber with each word that leaves my mouth.
“Alright,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s intrigued or confused.
“What brings you to this side of the classroom?”
“Just wanted to ask if you wanted to be partners for the project. Only if you’re willing, of course.”
“Yeah,” I say. Then, with more enthusiasm, “That would be nice.”
“Her grin widens into a smile. “Cool. You know I always wanted to be partners with you. Then again, so does everyone.”
I can’t get out a single word, and I’m saved by the Professor Marks calling everyone back to their seats.
“We should definitely meet tomorrow to start working.”
I nod.
“Alright,” she says, flashing another smile and giving me a finger gun. “Text ya the deets later.”
And she’s off. Everyone waddles back to their chairs, but even as the sound of metal scraping against the floor fills the room and even during Marks’s short lecture in the tail half of the period, I can’t help but be distracted by thoughts of tomorrow.
-
Shining drops me off at Sunset’s apartment building at 1:30 in the afternoon, roughly following the deets she sent me. I say roughly because it’s earlier than the time she suggested, 2 pm, but being too early is always better than being late, no matter if that midday sun beating against the back of my neck is trying to convince me otherwise. Shining’s car peels away from the curb and I finally walk in and ask for her door. In seconds, I find myself outside it. The urge to knock is strong, but the sensible part of me reminds the rest of myself that she isn’t expecting me for thirty minutes. With a sigh, I pull out my phone and open the Sudoku app to kill. The first three-by-three square is almost full when I hear a door open somewhere in the hallway.
The time reads 1:36 and there’s something like hazy fire in my peripheral vision. I look up to see Sunset looking at me. She’s wearing sweatpants and an orange tee with this peculiar sun design on it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her dress so casually. Or without a jacket. Seeing her like this is so odd that my brain momentarily short circuits, and I very nearly say aloud ‘I’m not slow at Sudoku, I just play at higher difficulties’. I manage to internally slap myself and muster out a “Hello.”
“Hello to you too, Twilight Sparkle,” she says with a playful grin. “You know I actually was expecting you to come early. Since you’re you and all. But really, don’t you think thirty minutes is pushing it?”
There’s a jovial tone in her voice, but my brain still struggles to differentiate between ridicule and light teasing. “Oh, sorry,” I say, stuffing my phone in my pocket.
She holds her hand up to her mouth, as if to stifle a laugh. “That’s not— Okay, never mind. Enough of that. Come on in so we can get started on this thing.”
I oblige her request and follow her into her apartment. Immediately, I’m struck by just how spacious the whole thing is. There’s a full TV set with an extra speaker off to the side. Bookshelves (always a good sign) line one of the walls. A PC with two monitors sits neatly on a desk under the loft bed. Around the room, there’s quite a bit of clutter. Some clothes strewn around, an empty box of Chinese food, and a trash both full of and surrounded by some unidentifiable canned drink. I’m about to ask her how she’s able to afford it all when I see the wall. Three guitars, two acoustic and one electric between them, and standing upright like shovels driven into the dirt.
She catches me staring and asks, “You play?”
I shake my head. “The only instrument I ever played was the piano, but that’s just occasionally,” I say. “Do you play?”
She chuckles. “Nah, just like collecting and displaying guitars.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m joking. Of course, I play,” she says, rolling her eyes. She notices something on my face, and gives me a weird look. “Lighten up Twilight. You don’t have to be so tightly wound all the time, especially when you’re here.”
I nod, and she walks over to the guitars to look them over, as if selecting one.
“Any song requests?”
I hum in thought, but soon remember why I came here in the first place. “I think we should probably get started on that project.”
“Alright, alright,” she says, with crossed arms and an exaggerated eye roll. “But you gotta let me play for you one of these days. On one condition, though.”
“Which is?”
“I’d like to hear some of those piano skills of yours.”
I’ll tell her I will because of course I do, though I start to hide my face. Something about this conversation is spiraling out of control, and I’d really prefer it would stop or at least slow down a bit. Thankfully, the subject naturally shifts back to the project. She starts off, explaining everything’s she’s thought of so far. But half-way through her explaining her ideas, I realize I have no clue what this assignment is even about. I tell her as much, and she restarts, explaining everything I missed from Marks. The further on she goes, a familiar feeling of dread returns. Not as bad as dread can get, but it’s undeniably there. When she finishes, I’m sitting there trying to steady my breath.
The gist of the assignment is that we’re tasked with reporting to the class on, ‘What gender means to us.’ I can’t even begin to explain why I’m not feeling good about this, let alone communicate that to Sunset. So I sit there, wondering how the hell I can get out of this, and I think she notices my apprehension.
“Yeah, I feel like it’s a bit too personal, you know?”
I nod.
She pauses, thinking something through. Then she says, “You really don’t want to talk about this, do you?”
I shake my head.
“Not to me or not to the class?”
That’s a bit harder to answer. I deflect and say, “This is probably the worst possible topic I— we could’ve gotten to report on.”
She smiles softly. “You shouldn’t worry too much about some dumb project. Besides, if it means anything, you should know that I’m not excited about this project either.”
I can’t tell exactly what she means, but it makes me feel a bit better. I give her a smile to let her know that.
“Still, we have to finish this somehow. Any idea how we can make progress today?”
I think about it for a second. “I can try typing up something. And… I guess I’ll try to share it at the end of the day.”
She nods. “I’ll do the same. You can take the, uh, couch over there. Hold on.” She gestures to the couch next to the TV before walking over to it. She bends down, and I have to assume she’s cleaning, since I physically force myself to look away. “There,” she says finally.
I sit down and take out my laptop. She sets up on her loft bed (not her PC surprisingly) with her own laptop, and now I’m really wondering how she can afford all these electronics.
I push the thoughts away and will myself to look at my laptop lest she catch me staring again. A blank Word document sits in front of me. For the next several hours, phrases, half-formed thoughts, and too-bold sentences swirl around my head. Things that are neither easy nor comfortable to think about. As soon as something concrete comes to mind, the words dissolve into soupy messes of syllables and meaningless lines. Still, I will myself to type whatever I can muster, and I make some very minor progress.
After a while, I have several bullet points arranged in something approximating an outline. A half-sentence here, a line indented for no real reason. Most are basic and inoffensive. In other words, practically lies. My latest creation is a meandering paragraph that makes less and less the deeper into I get. This really isn’t getting anywhere.
In frustration, I grumble and press down the ‘a’ on my keyboard. A dot becomes a line and then grows ever longer, filling two lines, then five, then half the page. More than what I’ve written so far.
I turn to look over to Sunset and ask how she’s doing, but her beds empty. And then I hear the strangest thing from behind me. I can’t even tell what it is at first, this odd monotone noise. Like a keyboard stuck on one key, producing something that sounds like an undying ‘ah’ sound. I turn and am hit with a shock of fiery colors. And then Sunset’s face.
I immediately jump, and somehow lose my balance in my sitting position. It’s too late to correct course, and gravity pulls me the rest of the way off the couch, knocking all the air out of my lungs. Only the death grip I have on my laptop keeps it from falling and breaking its screen. I can hear Sunset laugh for a second, and the heat of utter embarrassment fills my cheeks. Slowly, over the horizon of my laptop, her eyes move to meet mine. Two blue suns in an amber sky.
Her expression shifts. “Oh shit, are you okay? Didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
I look away, assuming a sitting position.
“I, uh, I saw the a’s. I thought it would be funny to try and sound them out.”
She saw the a’s? “Wait, were you watching everything I wrote?”
“Oh, no, not everything. God. I mean, just the last part with the a’s. I didn’t see anything else. Promise. I swear it.”
“Alright,” I say.
“I just…” she pauses, like she’s thinking of what to say. “Well, anyways, good on you for making some progress — progress I definitely did not see — but progress nonetheless. Can’t exactly say the same for myself.”
I close my laptop. “Yeah.”
“Trust me, I have been, like, so distracted.”
That piques my interest. “Distracted?”
She taps her fingers on the backrest of the couch. “About things and stuff. And like a thousand YouTube vids,” she says.. “I mean, how are people even supposed to focus on working on a laptop when the entire internet is right there.”
I laugh at that, allowing myself to stand up and set my laptop aside.
Sunset surprises me again as she snaps her fingers. A look of determination engulfs her face. “What do you say we go out and get some snacks?”
“Snacks? Where?”
“There’s this 7/11 a couple blocks down. We can get something there, clear our heads, then head back. Whaddaya say?”
“Sure, why not,” I say, thankful that I don’t have to stare at the damn Word file any longer, and we head out.
-
The walk to the 7/11 is quiet as, unfortunately, my thoughts are still stuck on the project. Mulling over what I wrote, what I could've written, and what I definitely should not have written. Remember, I tell myself, Your entire class is gonna see this. Write something true, not something stupid. But you can’t reveal too much. Whatever ‘too much means’. Whatever anything means. I take another step and make sure to kick up the sidewalk dust as I do. It’s a meaningless act, but I make sure to repeat it several more times. Just to get my frustration across to the world.
Sunset for her part is quiet as well. I can tell she’s thinking too, though of course I can’t read her mind. We cross the street and Sunset hangs close to me, switching sides as we reach the opposite lane. There are barely any cars around, and she does it wordlessly. I don’t comment on it.
Our arrival at the 7/11 is announced with the sound of tearing paper. Sunset forcefully rips a poster from the wall, leaving only bits of white still adhered to the wall. Balling the torn material up, she drops it and grinds it into the sidewalk with her shoe. She catches me staring at the remains of the poster.
“Don’t worry about that.” I can tell she’s trying to comfort me, but I can hear the venom under her words. My eyes dart away.
We enter the 7/11, her first, followed by me. Stopping for a second, she looks over the entire store, then she veers off to the right into an aisle of candy. Without much choice, I follow her. Oddly, she never stops to pick out a product or take a closer look. She just keeps walking slowly, scanning over the rows and rows of confectionary. Chocolate, lollipops, gummies. When we reach the end of the aisle, she just keeps walking, rounding the corner and continuing on. This next aisle is lined with an assortment of chips. Not my favorite, but if Sunset got it, I definitely wouldn’t complain about a bag of salty potato chips. This time, Sunset makes some brief stops. Each time, she picks up a bag or a tube of chips, before setting it down seconds later. I look around as well, but don’t pick up anything. I’m far too transfixed on whatever it is that Sunset is doing.
Maybe she’s just a picky eater? Maybe there’s some new item she’s trying to pick out. Maybe she genuinely couldn’t pick out something to get. Or maybe this is some complex ritual to let off steam. Whatever the case, I continue to watch. She rounds another corner, walks, then rounds the next. Is she trying to set a record for most 7/11 aisles examined?
The next time she stops for a prolonged time, we’re standing at the massive drink refrigerator at the back of the store and staring at orange juice.
Sunset sighs and asks, “Can I tell you something, Twilight?” It’s the first thing she’s said since we entered the store, and thankfully her tone is back to usual.
“Sure.”
She takes in a deep breath. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
“What?” I blurt out. “Wait, ‘here’ as in…?”
“7/11. I have… I have no idea what to get.”
“But I thought— Don’t you come here often?” I ask, but I feel the need to qualify. “I mean, you suggested we come here, and you live nearby so—”
“Yeah, not exactly,” she says, one of her shoes sliding idly back and forth and squeaking against the linoleum floor.
“Oh.”
She takes another deep breath. “Any recommendations?”
I hum in thought for a moment. I don’t usually go to convenience stores, so I’m almost as out of my element as she is. But I know I have to say something. “Well… what kind of food do you like? I mean generally.”
“Um. Fruits? I guess. But they don’t exactly have any here.”
I can almost feel the warmth from the light bulb that pops into existence just above my head.
“You ever tried dried fruit?”
“I—” She pauses and thinks. “I don’t think I have, actually.”
“Well, Ms. Shimmer, today is your lucky day, because I have something special to show you.”
She smirks at that. “By all means, lead the way, Ms. Sparkle.”
On the way to the aisles with the dried fruit, I add, “Oh, and another thing. We should definitely get slushies. If you weren’t planning on that anyway.”
Her mouth opens then closes, as she decides against saying whatever she was about to say. “Sure,” she settles on. “That sounds nice.”
In five minutes, we have our slushies, she has her dried apple slices, and I have some pretzels. Sunset keeps staring into her slushie as we wait in line.
“Is this thing even… safe for consumption? It looks radioactive.”
Personally, I’ve never had Blueberry Bonanza, though I’m quite sure 7/11 convenience stores do adhere to some form of food safety. Then again, her glimmering azure (Not even the color of Blueberries!) drink, and my own ruby-red cherry-flavored slushie do give off an air of artifice that I really can’t deny.
Nevertheless, we bought the drinks anyway, so I shrug and took a long sip of mine. “Not dead yet.”
“Alright,” she says, giving me a suspicious glare. “Your fault if we end up growing third arms though.”
We reach the front of the line and place our other snacks down to pay. The cashier rings up our total, but oddly his vision seems stuck in place, as if highly focused on one object in particular. And it sure isn’t the cash register. Our total is eight dollars and sixty cents, so Sunset puts down a ten-dollar bill. I make a mental note to repay her later. The cashier hands her the change, but, oddly, she refuses it. I step forward to check.
“C’mon,” the cashier says, “how could I justify letting a pretty girl like you pay full price.”
“Keep the change,” Sunset says. She turns to me, “Twilight let’s get outta here.”
“Hey, we can make a deal. You and your little friend there get all your treats on the house. And you have to do is pay me with a little—”
“How ‘bout you go fuck yourself?” Sunset walks away from the counter, and I follow.
“Sheesh, no need to go full lesbo. I mean, come on, you’re pretty much already dating a guy.”
Sunset turns suddenly, and storms back to the counter. I try walking up next to her, but her raised arm blocks me from getting close. She eyes the cashier and he keeps that damned sleazy grin on his face.
“See? Is that hard to just—”
A flash of blue flies across the counter. In an instant, his shirt is soaked in shush.
“Hey, what the fuck?” The cashier slams a hand on the counter and points in anger. “You know we have a camera in here, you crazy bitch.”
Sunset grabs my hand and leads me out of the store. On the way out, she knocks over a standing shelf of candy. It hits the ground with an ear-splitting clatter.
“Sunset, you didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly but forcefully.
Her grip on my hand weakens. “Let’s just get out of here.”
She shoves the door open and we walk through. The glass door swings painfully and loudly back into place, and she lets go of my hand to flip off the cashier one last time. As she does, I spot the poster on the ground. Though it's torn and crumpled, I recognize the design. One of those awful anti-trans posters promoting some dipshit’s documentary.
Sunset walks past me but turns to gesture with her head that’s it time to go. Needless to say, the walk home is even more silent than the walk coming here. But as we cross the street, she makes she to stay at the side most exposed to coming cars. Like’s she’s shielding me.
-
Just as we reach the outside of her apartment building, Sunset stops. I keep going a few feet before stopping and turning to face her.
“Sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. It was… childish.”
I breathe in and out. “It’s fine.”
“I just— I can deal with the usual sleazy bullshit. I’m used to that. But when he started saying that shit about—” Sunset looks down her hands. “Is that… is that something you have to deal with often?”
I look away. It’s hard to look at her right now.
“Sorry. I… I shouldn’t have asked that.” Then, under her breath. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Stop it!” I hear myself yell, and Sunset looks up at me with a look of utter confusion.
“There’s no need to beat yourself up about this. I don’t agree with what you did, but… It’s more than most people would ever consider doing.”
“But I—”
“Doesn’t matter.” My hands are trembling. “And… and if you really want to know, yes. This isn’t the first time.”
“Twilight, I’m so sorry.”
“I said—” Sunset walks up to me, stands mere inches away. I can’t muster out another word.
“That’s not what I mean. I’m saying you deserve better than that. Much better, in fact. Because you’re good. And smart. And— If I have to splash another hundred assholes to get that through their thick skulls, I’ll do it happily. Hell, I’d do it another thousand times.”
I chuckle and she smiles. And I know have I do something. Something stupid; something necessary. I lean forward and wrap my arms around her, making sure to keep my slushie from spilling on her jacket. She recoils back a little bit, but I hold on like I’m holding on for dear life. Then I feel her hug back. And all at once, the dam breaks. She holds me as I sob into her shoulder. “I’m s-sorry,” I barely get out. “Y-you’re jacket.”
But she holds on and whispers, “Shhh, it’s okay, Twilight.”
And I know she’s telling the truth because she’s here. We stay like that for a while, not caring about the passing onlookers or the time or any silly projects. It’s just us. And, even if I can’t really put it into words, I feel like I finally understand something.
It’s a long time before Sunset pulls away. “You know, Twilight,” she says. “Before you go, there’s something I’d like to show you.
I blot out the wetness on my face with shirt’s sleeve, and look up at her. “Lead the way.”
She grins, and we walk back into the apartment building. We don’t stop by her apartment. Instead, we head to the elevator. I watch as she presses the button that would take us to the top floor. It’s quiet as we head up, save for the elevator music. But it’s a good quiet.
At the top floor, she leads me up one last flight of stairs, which leads to a door. Slowly, she opens it, and we’re on the roof, seven stories above the ground. I try not to think about how high up we are, but I feel my knees wobble. Sunset must’ve noticed, as she keeps us far from the edge as we head to a small bench.
“I’m— I know, the view isn’t spectacular or whatever,” she stammers.
I nod and look out into the urban landscape before us. It’s been a long while since I’ve been up so high, but in the late afternoon glow, I can’t help but marvel at those towers of concrete, steel, and glass. Canterlot isn’t a large city by most metrics, but up on this roof, with Sunset next to me, there’s something magical about it.
After a long while, Sunset says something to me, but it’s too quiet to understand.
“What was that?”
Sunset’s looking away slightly, but her eyes are darting from me, to the city, to the ground, to some undefined point on the opposite side of the roof.
“Sunset?”
“I said that… Okay, look, you know how the project is all about—” She waves her hands around aimlessly. “—weird gender things.”
I nod cautiously.
“Tell me to stop if… if you don’t want to talk about it—” She pauses. “I— Twilight, I saw what you were writing about earlier.”
I can feel my heart race, but I will myself to not look away. “It’s fine. It’s alright. I mean, considering everything that’s happened today, I’m oddly okay with it.”
“That’s reassuring,” Sunset says, slumping against the bench and letting out a sigh of relief.
“Is that all you wanted to say?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I just wanted to say that, well, gender is weird for me too. Not like in a trans way, just— something about this body feels alien. These hands.” She holds her free hand out in front of her. “There was a time when it felt comfortable. Right. When I could run through open fields and everything… was magical. But, I… this body is just… I don’t know. I don’t really know what I’m talking about.”
I felt as if she had just told me something no one else knew, yet there had to be something she was holding back. Whatever it was, I knew I would have to let her share it willingly. Whether that be now or some point in the future. Whatever the case, I knew I had to say something. First, I asked, “Is there a word that you define yourself by? Or a label or anything?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. But whatever I am, I’m not a—I don’t feel normal.”
That’s fine enough by me. “Well, to me, you’re Sunset Shimmer. And I think Sunset Shimmer’s a great person. And I’m glad I’m sitting next to her.”
“And so am I.” She squeezes my hand. “You wanna get back to work on that project?”
I think about it for a moment, then decide on: “Nah. We have time.”
An hour later, Shining comes to pick me up. Sunset accompanies me back down from the roof, down the elevator, and out to the door. Shining’s car sits parked at the curb. He rolls down his window to wave at me. Time to go.
Sunset and I linger a while longer, like we’re waiting for the other say ‘bye’ first. In place of some grand gesture or perfect note to conclude the day, I tell her, “I think today was a good day.”
“Agreed.” She laces one of her fingers around one of mine. “Wish it didn’t have to end so soon.”
“Well,” I say, the words coming out heavy and stiff. “We could always, you know, hang out like this again.”
Sunset smirks and I anticipate what she’s about to say before she says it. “Twilight Sparkle, are you asking me—”
“Don’t get any ideas, Sunset Shimmer,” I say and she responds with a warm smile.
“Twilight,” Shining’s voice booms a few strides away. “Mom made spaghetti! You don’t want it to get cold.”
“You heard him,” Sunset says. “Y0u know, I have a feeling your mom makes amazing spaghetti.”
“Hey, you’ll have to try it one day.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
I feign another salute and then I’m off. I glance back a couple of times, and, with one hand tucked into her jacket, she gives me a little wave each time. I get into the car, wave one last time. She mouths something inaudible and Shining drives off.
We turn the corner and Sunset disappears from sight. My disappointment is interrupted when Shining says, “You guys look cute together.”
“That’s not— It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, no. It’s pretty obvious you two have got it bad for each other. Best cut out the awkward middle stage and get to the good part already.”
“Says the guy who spent eight years pining over his little sister’s babysitter.”
“...Low blow.”
I sink back into my seat, a content smile on my face. The entire ride home, I can’t help but hold one hand in another, imagining Sunset’s warmth.
Maybe group projects aren’t so bad.