Rarity's Perspective
'The truth is...
I am Iron Man.
The movie ends and I turn back to the computer, having been momentarily occupied with the end of Iron Man.
I'd watched that movie so many times in the past couple of days, hearing that my exchange host was a fan of Marvel superheroes. Along with Thor, Captain America and Hulk, of course.
Tomorrow I'm heading all the way across the world to New Zealand, where I will be staying with my exchange host, and I'm really looking forward to it. I tap the screen of my iPad and a Facebook notification comes up.
(1) Message from Applejack Apple
Tapping read, a Facebook messaging app opens and the message expands into readable form.
Get off the plane from New York at the Auckland Airport and we'll meet you there.
Auckland? What a quaint name. What was that, a small town?
I type in the name to my little laptop, also next to me on the floor in the bathroom, and I find that it's a huge city in New Zealand. Nothing compared to New Yorker standards, of course, but if this Applejack is a farm gal, she's probably unused to the amount of people there.
I finish the long task of shaving myself, made even longer by the amount of tech I brought in here, and run a hand over my leg. “Beautiful and hairless!” I exclaim, smiling.
I press the lock button on my iPad, close my laptop and put my Nokia in my pocket. I put them in my room and go back into the bathroom.
My hair is a lovely purple, but unfortunately it's kind of out of control. So I spend half an hour in the bathroom every morning trying to tame it. Usually I comb it, style it down, so that the curls don't go everywhere. I don't really want to look like that girl from Brave.
And then you've obviously got to do your eyeliner, your eyeshadow, your blush, fake eyelashes, make yourself look acceptable.
Which means I get up an hour early to make myself look nice.
After two hours of forcing my hair to be good, I head down to the lounge. The widescreen is on.
“Sweetie Belle?” I yell in the direction of her room.
“Rarity?” comes the reply.
“Did you leave the widescreen on?”
“Yes,” comes the sheepish answer. “Do you want me to come fix it?”
“Not right now,” I say, shooting a glance at the DVD in my hand. “Later.”
“Okay, but later I wanna watch American Idol,”
“Sure, Sweetie,”
I turn the DVD player on and put the unmarked DVD into the slot. Casting my eyes across the back of the case for the millionth time, I read:
Hiya Rarity!
I hope the USA customs let this through. I don't know whether they work different in America than they do in New Zealand.
So you are coming over soon. I thought you might appreciate having a look around, as they say. Look forward to meeting you. AJ.
Then the DVD player comes on and I lose all interest in the case.
A handheld camera, looking at a pair of booted feet. It swings up to show a tanned girl of about fourteen in a brown Stetson and denim shorts. She wears an orange lumberjack shirt pushed up at the sleeves and her blonde hair is tied up loosely down her back.
“Thanks, Mack,” she says, evidently to the person holding the camera.
Then she beams at the camera lens.
“Hiya, Rarity!” Her voice is heavily accented Southern English. “Ah hope y'all're seein' this! But anyways,” she swings her arms out “welcome to Sweet Apple Acres!”
The camera pans out to show hectares and hectares of apple trees. “Y'all're comin' over soon an' Ah hope y'all're happy about it. Y'all will meet mah whole family!”
The girl grins. “Hope ta see ya soon!”
The camera cuts to black.
“Wow,” comes a deep voice from behind me. “How many times is that now, Rarity?”
I turn around to face him and smile sheepishly. “Um... about seven,”
“Seven!” He shakes his head in mock disbelief. “This Applejack will be the end of me,”
Dad smiles and passes me a rectangular parcel. “In case you miss us during your four-week holiday,” he says. “Enjoy yourself for me, won't you?”
“I will, Dad,” I promise.
He smiles and leaves the room.
My father, Magnum Belle-Hudson, is one of the major veggie suppliers for New York's supermarkets. My mom is a well-known fashion designer for FancyPants Industries.
So generally our family is kinda rich.
I open the package and a framed picture falls out. It's one of the whole family.
There's Sweetie Belle, in that little white dress, grinning widely with her boyish friend Scootaloo. Sweetie is very like me in skin tone and face shape, except she's eight and I'm fourteen. Sweetie has pink and purple shoulder-length hair which has a pretty kink in it near the end. Scootaloo has brick straight purplish hair which she shaved off a couple months ago, so now she looks a bit like a dude. She always wears this super-annoying bright orange jacket and she's never seen without her scooter. I must say, she's a whizz on it though. I don't know anyone better.
And Dad, in a crinkled white shirt and a pair of old jeans, with his old straw hat, which Mom got for him on their wedding day. Next to him, Mom, in a bubblegum pink ruffled dress.
And me in the middle, in my white denim shorts and patterned singlet.
I smile at the photo, knowing I can't forget my family with this photograph.
I take Applejack's DVD out of the video player and go back up the stairs to my room.
I have the best room in the house. Seriously. I'm on the second floor, so I overlook the sea, but I'm also the only bedroom on this floor. So I don't get... noise... like poor Sweetie Belle does.
We have a huge house, built on a ridge next to the sea. It's a whitish-grey, very modern, with a computerised security system and things. It's nothing on Bill Gates or Tony Stark, but it's pretty cool.
I've already packed most of my stuff, so I zip open my bag and put the photo in alongside my photograph of my boyfriend, Spike, and me. He's thirteen, tall, he has the most amazing green eyes I've ever seen, and he's the sweetest boy I know.
“Rarity!” calls my mom. “Dinner, come now!”
Dammit.
* * *
After dinner I go back up to my room and get into bed straightaway, because I need the sleep.
But I can't.
I'm too busy worrying about what will happen tomorrow.
What will Applejack be like? Kind? Boisterous? Honest? Narcissistic? I don't know.
I suppose I'll have to wait and see.
Applejack's Perspective
“Ah thought you said she'd be here by now?” I look up at Big Mack hopefully.
“She's your exchange buddy, shouldn't y'all be the one knowin' this stuff?” he shoots back.
I smile and look down at my feet. My favorite song has come onto the speakers in the airport. It's Stay, Stay, Stay by Taylor Swift. I don't listen to the radio much given we don't get any kind of reception at Sweet Apple Acres, but I have a small orange CD player and a large collection of country-genre CD's. I check my watch. I don't usually keep track of the time, either, but today I kind of need to.
“Actually, she should be here by now. Ah'ma go look fer her.”
He looks around and sighs. “Damn Appleboom, she's always been good at this stuff. Just waita sec.”
“Applejack? Applejack?”
“Whossat?” Big Mack looks around, cranes his neck. “Ah can't see anyone.”
I pick up my new phone that Big Mack found on the side of the road. It's Rarity, who seems to be calling me.
“Ah – hello? Rarity?” I say into the phone. “Where are y'all? Y'all do know that it costs a lot more money here to call people here than it does back home.”
“Damn, and I had almost no credit anyway...where are you?” Her voice is quite soft and velvety.
“We're...Y'all see the big sign tellin' ya when the planes leave an' arrive?”
“Yes..?”
“Look under tha',”
I see a pale hand waving frantically from about ten metres away. It belongs to a girl with dark purple curly hair and blue eyeshadow. She wears shiny lipgloss and white wedges. Her just-above-knees pure white dress is strapless and her whole outfit will be ruined within two minutes of walking onto the farm.
I shove the cellphone into Big Mack's chest and run the distance to where she's standing. “Hi!”
She grins. “Hi!” And with a laugh, she says, “I don't think we've met officially. My name's Rarity!”
* * *
We get into the Land Rover.
“Tha' was a mission,” Big Mack sighs. I grin.
“Sorry?” Rarity asks.
“It was a mission...” I explain. “It means it was hard and it took a while.”
“Well then, it certainly was a mission!” Rarity exclaims.
“Who's up for an L&P?” I ask. “On me. Jes' so our visitor can try the national drink.”
Big Mack laughs. “Sure,”
“What...what's L&P?” asks Rarity.
“Lemon and Paeroa,” Big Mack says, but when he doesn't say anything else, I finish the explanation.
“It's a drink they only sell in NZ. It tastes a bit like lemonade, bu' it's different.” I say. “Ya kinda have to try it. Applebloom can't get enough of tha stuff. She practic'ly lives off it.”
Rarity nods and smiles. After a while she says, “It's very hot.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “If ya want we can go swimmin' when we get home.”
“Swimming?” She sounds excited. “Where? I brought five bikinis, so-”
“Ah, actually we have a waterhole on the property. Didja bring anything other than bikinis?”
“No,” Now she seems confused. “Why would I?”
“Cause a bikini ain't gonna be enough,” I grin. “Y'all haven't seen the waterfall yet.”
“Waterfall?!”
* * *
We're three quarters of the way home when Rarity screams softly.
“What?” I ask.
“There's no signal!”
“Well a'course not,” I say, slightly more irritable now that my L&P has gone warm. “No phone towers 'round here.”
“No phone towers?!” she says incredulously. “How do you guys even live?!”
“We have a lot of jobs to do around the farm.” I reply. “Jes' before I came I was shearin' some'a the sheep.”
“Ooh, sheep!” she exclaims. “I've always wanted to see a sheep!”
Appauled silence.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“Y'all've...never...seen...a sheep?” It's the first time Big Mack has spoken since we were at that Mobil getting petrol and L&P.
“No,” Rarity says cautiously. “I've seen chickens, though,”
“Y'all've seen chooks...” I say slowly.
“Chooks?” Rarity asks.
“Chickens...”
“I'd also like to see a cow. And a pig, maybe. Do you have pigs? I've seen Charlotte's Web and Babe, and the piglets are sooo adorable! I'd also like to know whether you have....”
She keeps talking. But I'm not lisening. This girl has never seen a pig before.
She thinks pigs look like something from Charlotte's Web.
She's never seen a pig.
She's never seen a pig.
