When class began on his first day in Ponyville, he waited at the back of the room until she told him to come to the front. The other foals watched him, but he looked only at her. The pink hairs of her mane looked soft, and under them, against the reddish-purple of her coat, he noticed for the first time the white petals and yellow center and green stem. One colt looked out the window at the gray autumn sky. Fillies whispered to each other. A trio of older colts glowered at him. His lip trembled as he looked at the class. He looked back at her, and he saw her smile and the daisy again, and his cheeks flushed. He looked at the class again, and he said his name and that he had just moved from Baltimare.
The mud was cold and slippery when they pushed him in. He slid his whole body length, and the mud clogged his ear. He slid over a slug and it felt slimy. When he stood, the mud clung in little balls to his mane, and the yellow goo that remained of the slug was matted in his coat. The colts laughed at him and left. He slunk around the schoolhouse the long way. She was inside. Through the window, he watched her grading papers. She looked up once. She had no daisy behind her ear and didn’t see him. When he got home, his mother scolded him for playing in the mud. He said nothing, and he stayed in the warm bath with his toy boat for a long time.
The mud squelched and sucked at his hooves when they pushed him. He lost his balance and rolled as he fell. The mud was cold and slippery again. Twigs and leaves stuck in his coat, and they laughed. He took the long way around the schoolhouse. She saw him and called out the window for him to come, but he froze. She went to him and asked, “What happened?” He said he slipped and was going home. “Did anything else happen?” He saw she wore no daisy and shook his head. She pursed her lips but said nothing. He looked away. At home, his mother scolded him again.
He didn’t fall when they pushed him, but they pushed him again until he fell. The mud was thick and almost frozen, and he didn’t slide. One of them flung mud at his face. He shut his eyes, but when he opened them again, flecks of dirt got in, and they stung and made him cry. They laughed. Another one mimed his fall, crossing his eyes and twisting his mouth, and they laughed more. The third pretended to cry, and they laughed harder. They had their back to the schoolhouse and didn’t see her coming. She bellowed their names, and they screeched and cowered. In her angry teacher voice, she said she would talk to their parents. She told them to go, and they scattered like gnats. She got him up out of the mud and walked him home. He plucked a daisy from the side of the road and offered it to her. It had flecks of mud on the stem where he had touched it. She put it behind her ear, and only a little mud got in her mane. She smiled at him, and his cheeks flushed again, but he strutted as they walked side-by-side. At home, his mother told him to take a bath. He sailed his boat around the tub while she talked to his mother.
When his parents invited her to dinner, she wore no daisy. He showed her his boat. It was made of wood and painted blue and white, and he had gotten it for his birthday. He had asked to bring it to school, but his parents had said that wasn’t allowed. She looked at it and said, “That’s a nice boat you have.” He said it was his favorite toy but she could play with it if she wanted. “Thank you! But I have to have some grown-up talk with your parents first.” At the dinner table he sat next to her. He brought his boat. His father told him to put the boat away, but he said no and put it on the table next to his and her plates. His mother said the same thing, and he made an angry wordless growl and clutched the boat. They let him put it in the middle of the table. He couldn’t reach it from his seat, but he made sure she could if she wanted.
All dinner he looked at the empty place behind her ear. After dinner, his mother told him to go and play with his boat. He shook his head. His mother asked if he was still hungry, then if he wanted more dessert. He shook his head both times. She smelled like sweet cherries, and her mane still looked soft, and she smiled at him. In her kind teacher voice she said the grown-ups were going to have more boring grown-up talk. He got down from the chair and took his boat. He stayed by the table while he played. Before she left, he offered her the boat again. She played with it, but only for a few seconds, and she looked at him, not at it. After she left, he sat by the hearth and thought, holding his boat but not playing.
The class went outside. She took her lunch out of a brown paper bag. He was still in his seat. She said, “Is there something wrong?” It was not the voice she used for grown-up talk. There was no daisy behind her ear, only empty space and the hairs of her mane curling around her temple. But behind her ear didn’t look empty to him anymore, and his cheeks weren’t flushed. He shook his head and went outside, and he ate lunch under the warm sun.
