“And then she was all like... zooooooom.” On a cushioned cloud path that led to an equally soft schoolhouse, a small blue colt bounced excitedly, gesturing with a hoof the exact movement he'd implied by the loud “zoom” to his filly friend, her orange eyes wide with excitement and interest. “And then Tempest beat all the other Wonderbolts by at least a minute. I've never seen anything like it, Spits.” He let out a content sigh as he trotted along the cloudy ground. “And I'm gonna be flying with him someday.”
The fiery-maned filly suppressed a giggle at the colt's dreamy expression. “You sure are, Soarin.” She paused for a moment, kicking at the fluff beneath them until Soarin realized he was walking alone and turned around. “I wish I had been able to go, too.”
Soarin flashed her a sympathetic smile. “Aw, don't worry, Spits. You can go next time.”
“No I can't,” Spitfire pouted, her amber eyes threatening tears. “You know Mom won't let me.”
Soarin trotted back to the yellow pegasus, extending a wing over her shoulders and nudging her lightly. “Who said your mom has to know you're going, huh?” Before Spitfire could reply, he gave her another nudge and continued walking. “C'mon, we're gonna be late.” With a frown, he added “And Miss Petalhoof will kill me if I'm late again.”
Spitfire snorted, a smile forming on her face as she wiped at her wet eyes and trotted briskly to catch up to her friend. “Only you would be afraid of a pony called Petalhoof,” she chuckled, flicking him with her tail as they raced to the gates of the schoolyard.
***
The loud ring of the school bell startled the students in Miss Petalhoof's classroom, who had just been covering the ancient history of Cloudsdale. “Okay, class,” the violet-coated mare said with a nod, shutting her book. “Recess time.” She winked at a brown filly who had been previously drooling on her textbook moments ago. “Enjoy it while you can.”
Soarin and Spitfire trotted to their favorite spot, a small secluded clump of soft grass under an ancient oak tree, to eat their lunches and, if Soarin had his way, talk more about yesterday's Wonderbolts show. Settling in to the green tufts, the pair began to open their lunches when they heard hoofsteps that sounded far too close to be passersby. “Oh no,” Soarin muttered as three sets of hooves belonging to three smug looking ponies blocked their view of the playground.
“Hello, Spitty.” The ringleader, a small mint-green filly with a dazzling emerald mane, smirked down at Spitfire. “How was your weekend? Catch the Wonderbolts show?” At Spitfire's silence, she let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, that's right! Of course you didn't. Mommy doesn't believe in that nonsense, does she? You know, I think you're the only pegasus who hasn't been to any of the Wonderbolts' shows. Tell me, how is life being stuck on the ground all the time?” Spitfire remained quiet, nibbling her sandwich as she tried to ignore the filly, her eyes glancing pleadingly at Soarin.
“Hey!” A pale pink colt, his boxing glove cutie mark testifying to his attitude, kicked Spitfire's sandwich away into the dirt. “No one ignores Feather Fall like that!”
“And no one treats my best friend like that!” Soarin stood up, stepping between the bullies and Spitfire. “You guys are just nasty rude foals for treating Spitfire that way. Get a life.”
“Ha!” the third filly stepped forward, blowing her purple-striped mane away from her eyes. “We could say the same to your chum.” Soarin growled, but the filly continued regardless. “Everypony knows she's the most useless pegasus in Cloudsdale. The only one not allowed to participate in any sort of sports.” She stepped past Soarin and leaned towards Spitfire's face. “Why is that, hm? Mommy too scared of you getting hurt? Or does she know it would be a waste of time like everypony else does? You fly worse than a bumblebee suffering from a heart attack. Let's face it, you're not even qualified to be a pegasus. You're just an earth pony with wings glued to your back. Would make sense, considering your mother is a stupid dirt-pony. Where did those wings come from anyway? Probably your dead-beat dad. Looks like Daddy up and left you too. Can't blame him myself.” She smirked and stood up again, retreating to stand next to her friends.
“Honestly, Soarin,” Feather Fall pouted, “you could do so much better than Spit-failure here.”
“At least Spitfire's special talent isn't having feathers,” he replied, causing Feather Fall to quickly cover her cutie mark, three golden feathers, with her wing as her friends gasped.
“That's not what it means!” the purple-maned filly hissed, stepping toward Soarin threateningly.
Soarin stared back, unflinchingly. “Coming from a foal with grapes as a cutie mark, that doesn't mean much to me.” He stepped back, resettling himself in next to Spitfire. “C'mon. Honestly, the only semi-talented one of you lot is Pinky the Boxer, and beating up ponies can't be that difficult.”
“My name is Floyd Mayfeather!” the colt yelled defensively, “and boxing is an art.”
The blue colt snorted. “Whatever. Now that you've had your little moment, scram.”
Feather Fall lifted her snout high into the air, looking down at the two pegasi below. “Fine. We'll go. But you,” she fixed her golden eyes on Spitfire, “will always be a useless waste of-” Soarin cut her off with a growl. “Hmph. How uncivilized of you, Soarin. I take back what I said earlier; Spitfire is the best you can do. Congratulations.” She turned abruptly. “Sugar Grape, Floyd. Let's go talk to somepony more worth our time.” With a final huff, the three pegasi fluttered away, leaving a small cloud of dust in their wake.
“Yeesh, what jerks.” Soarin spat where they had been standing just moments ago. “You alright, Spits?”
Spitfire nodded, scooping her sandwich up off the ground and into the garbage can nearby with her wing. “I'm fine.” She hesitated for a moment before smiling at her friend. “So, how are we gonna sneak past my mom to get to that Wonderbolts show next weekend?”
Soarin returned her smile, his green eyes lighting up as he slid half of his own sandwich toward the yellow filly. “I got a plan. But I'm gonna need supplies... You got any dynamite at home?”
*****
“No no no no no!” The pale orange earth pony scowled at Spitfire, her apricot colored eyes narrowing as she shook her head. “I've told you a million times, dear. My answer is never going to change; you are not allowed to participate in any sort of... racing events as long as you live under my roof.” The mare's expression softened as she brushed her wavy red and orange mane out of her face. “Wouldn't it be more efficient to spend your time studying and preparing for high school?”
“No, Mom.” Spitfire frowned, turning her back on her mother. “I don't even want to go to high school. I want to be a Wonderbolt.”
“Oh, hush. You will change your mind when you get older and realize how foolish this Wonderbolt idea of yours was.” Trotting over to the flustered pegasus, she rested a hoof on her daughter's shoulder. “Believe me, you will change your mind. We all go through phases of wishing for silly jobs that are simply not achievable.”
“So you don't think I'm talented enough?!” Spitfire jerked away from the older mare's hoof. “You don't think I could be whatever I wanted as long as I tried hard enough?” It was Spitfire's turn to glare as she muttered, “Isn't that what parents are supposed to do? Believe in their foals, no matter how 'silly' their dreams seem? And-- And look at this!” The pegasus gestured to her cutie mark, a small flicker of flames in the shape of a phoenix. “Do you know how I got this, Mom? From flying! My special talent is flying! What could go better with that than a team whose jobs are to be really skilled fliers?! I'm not a little filly anymore, Mom. I'm almost in eighth grade.”
Her mother waved a hoof at her dismissively. “Please, Spitfire. Listen to me. It's true: you aren't a child anymore. And so I will not allow you to chase such a flimsy career. You will need something solid to lean on, like a master's degree, or even a doctorate. Not a fleeting wish to be a member of the most elite group of fliers in Equestria. And besides, a phoenix doesn't necessarily have to symbolize flying...” The mare paused to shake her head once more. “Really, what has gotten such an idea stuck in your head? Is it that crazy best friend of yours?”
Spitfire tensed up, her frown deepening. “Soarin is not crazy, Mom. And for your information, he's been accepted into the Junior Speedsters already. You know why?” Before her mother could answer, the fiery pegasus spun around, thumping a hoof against Autumn Breeze's chest. “Because his parents believed in him.” With a sigh, she dropped her hoof and moved toward the stairs leading to the second floor of their simple home in Ponyville. “Sometimes I wish Dad was still around. Maybe he'd believe in me.”
Autumn remained in the stairway looking uneasy, her eyes glued to the wall. “...your father would want what was best for you too, Spitfire.”
“Well maybe he'd let me judge just what 'best for me' was for myself.” Spitfire brushed past her sister, who had quietly been eavesdropping from the top of the staircase, and paused outside her bedroom door. “And Mom, the second I move out, I'm enrolling in as many flight schools as I can.”
With the slam of the bedroom door, Spitfire decided that waiting until moving out day was a crummy idea; she was going to those Junior Speedsters tryouts on Friday.
The heat of the sun bore down on a small yellow pegasus' back and created a golden glow over her coat as she did her best to pick her way through the crowd of ponies filing into the Cloudsdale arena in an extremely disorderly fashion. She had lost sight of Soarin, who despite already achieving his goal of being accepted into the Junior Speedsters had come along to cheer her on, and now she was hopelessly swallowed up by the ever thickening crowd of both applicants and spectators. Though she felt a tightness in her stomach, much like the feeling she got before attempting a big exam without studying before, Spitfire was keeping a level head and felt much better when she realized many of the other pegasi looked far more nervous than she felt. It was a selfish kind of gratitude, but she welcomed it; if the other applicants looked bad, it would only make her performance stand out more.
As the line narrowed down, Spitfire found herself next to a rather terrified looking yellow filly who couldn't have even been in fifth grade. The pony was trembling so harshly that the cloud under their hooves seemed to vibrate slightly, and Spitfire found herself wondering why the filly had come to the tryouts if she was such a nervous wreck. Feeling sympathetic, she reached out a hoof and gently touched the pale yellow pony's shoulder. “Hey, are you oka--”
“Eep!” The already stressed looking filly seemed to curl into a ball at the touch, hiding her face under her long pink mane and flinching away.
“Okay, never mind then.” Spitfire rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the slowly but surely moving line of anxious ponies, her wings fluttering slightly in apprehension. She couldn't believe her mother had fallen for her story about spending the day cleaning the schoolyard with Soarin, but she supposed it helped that there was no way for her mother to double check the story's legitimacy. For the first time in her life, the fiery pegasus found herself thanking Celestia that her mother did not have wings. But as she glanced to the left, she felt her cheerfulness plummet down to the ground like a ton of bricks; making her way through the crowd, her golden eyes set on Spitfire, was Feather Fall.
“My my my! If it isn't Spit-failure!” the green filly declared loudly, gathering the attention of a few of the surrounding ponies. “What in Equestria are you doing here? Come to cheer on that pie-crazed dork friend of yours?” She elbowed a nearby stallion who looked more insulted than intrigued. “Ten bits says he doesn't make the cut.” The stallion grunted and scooted away quickly.
“No, actually...” Spitfire cleared her throat and did her best to stand up tall in the face of her worst enemy. “I'm here to try out myself.”
Feather Fall broke into a bout of extremely dramatized laughter, doubling over and slapping at her knees for a solid minute. After annoying several more of the attendees, she finally stopped, wiping a tear from her eye with a sigh. “That's gold, Spitty. You should ditch this flying idea and go into comedy. It'll save you the embarrassment of me wiping the floor with your pathetic, broken wings.” She plucked one of Spitfire's feathers with a snarl. “Break a leg,” she snorted before storming away toward the front of the line, several of the patrons shouting in protest.
“Kids these days,” the stallion Feather Fall had elbowed mumbled, shaking his head. “Ain't got no manners.” Spitfire nodded in agreement. “And to think legacy means nothing 'round here.”
“Legacy? What do you mean, legacy?” Spitfire eyed the graying stallion, wondering if he was senile or just confused.
He looked back at her like she was the one who had lost her mind. “Why, I mean that she has the nerve to insult the daughter of a stallion like ol' Short Fuse... what'd you think I meant?”
The small yellow pegasus fixed her amber eyes on the stallion's blue ones. “Short Fuse? Who--” But before she could complete her inquiry, the line was promptly moved along, and Spitfire was pushed away from the stallion and her answer. She shook her head, deciding that the old stallion had mistaken her for somepony else as she trotted through the large doorway leading into the magnificent Cloudsdale arena.
Spacious and welcoming, the arena's bleachers were filled with hundreds of cheering and yelling fans-- most of them parents, Spitfire assumed. The center of the arena had several obstacle courses set up for those who planned to try out, and Spitfire felt a lump growing in her throat as she wondered how she would deal with some of these obstacles she had never seen, not to mention conquered before. Before she had time to let the worry sink in, she was nudged to the sign up table where a muscular blue mare sat. “Name?” she asked dryly.
“Oh! Uh, Spitfire. My name is Spitfire.”
“Age?” the mare asked, scribbling a barely legible “Spitfire” onto the sheet in front of her.
“Twelve, ma'am.”
The mare raised an eyebrow, looking up at the small filly. “If you're under thirteen, you need an adult to sign for you. You got an adult?”
Spitfire's heart fell into her stomach as she realized that she had come all this way just to let Soarin and herself down over not having a single adult who supported her. She could already see Feather Fall's face as she bragged about making the team and asked why Spitfire hadn't performed. “No, I--”
“Yes, right here.” The stallion who had talked to her briefly before stepped forward. “Sorry, was lost in the crowd while looking for the loo.”
The mare at the table grimaced slightly. “Name?”
“Silver,” he replied curtly.
“Just Silver?” the security mare asked him, setting down the clipboard momentarily.
“Just Silver,” the stallion repeated, tipping his hat to the blue mare with a friendly smile. “I reckon they called me something else back in my days of youth, though.”
The mare nodded. “Very good, sir.” She leaned down and handed Spitfire a slip of paper with the number 31 scrawled on it. “Here. You come out when your number's called. Understood?”
Spitfire nodded excitedly, and the security mare waved her and the stallion toward the backstage where many of the applicants were warming up with stretches or chatting anxiously with their friends. Spitfire glanced up at Silver as the trotted along. “Hey, Mister. Why'd you do that for me?”
His coat glistened, living up to his name as he smiled at her with a shrug. “Couldn't leave a relative of a friend like Fuse hanging, could I?”
“I think you may be mistaken... My name is--”
“Spitfire,” he finished. “Yup. But if you don't recognize your old man's name, I reckon I shouldn't be the one to tell you about your family tree, little lady.” He glanced toward the audience. “Now if you'll excuse me, somepony's expecting me to sit with 'em so I better be hitting the road now. Best of luck to you.” Silver tipped his hat once more before lifting off of the soft stadium floor, disappearing into the still growing crowd of spectators.
“Huh,” Spitfire muttered to herself, wondering how this strange old guy knew her father's name when her mother had claimed that her father had been a drunk nopony who left her when she found out she was pregnant. Still, she pushed the thought aside as the announcer's voice sounded over the loudspeaker.
“Hello and welcome to the bi-annual Junior Speedsters tryouts here in our very own Cloudsdale Stadium!” The announcer waited for the cheers to die down before continuing. “I know we're gonna have a great show here today, folks. Lots of raw talent shaking in their horseshoes backstage as we speak!” The audience chuckled, and Spitfire couldn't help but smile giddily. “Now I know most of you know the rules, but just to be clear I'm gonna remind you. One, no teams. Two, no use of unauthorized equipment. Three... I forget. Four, be safe and try your best. We have Equestria's very own Wonderbolts here to assist today's performers should anything go astray.” He paused to clear his throat. “Now without further ado, let's welcome our first contestant, Rocky Road!” A tall, lanky colt with a dark gray coat seemed to jump out of his skin as his name was called, stumbling out into the arena where he was met with many cheers.
Spitfire paced the backstage floor restlessly, mentally listing off all the moves she knew and trying to form a formidable routine before her number was called. She had to admit that she should have practiced a lot more before she even considered attending the tryouts... but time and luck hadn't exactly been on her side for the past, oh... twelve years. And in typical fashion, her time was once again ticking away as 28, 29, and 30 were called out to perform for the Wonderbolt judges. The golden-coated pegasus finally decided on a routine just as the announcer's voice flooded the arena once more. “Gorgeous cloud turning maneuver from Miss Silken Skies. Now onto contestant 31, Spitfire!”
With a gulp, the little pony gathered her courage and galloped out into the open, wasting no time to slow down for the audience's cheers-- which were significantly less hearty than they had been for the other performers. She used her momentum to her advantage, making sure her routine clearly emphasized her speed both in clear air and when avoiding obstacles. She couldn't think of anything that she excelled in more than her speed, and being a small pegasus definitely helped her out in that area. She could feel the audience regretting their muted applause as she made agile twists and turns to avoid the obstacles around her. Yet, as a huge fan of the Wonderbolts, she knew speed was not nearly enough. She began to soar upward, stopping only when she was a good hundred yards above the top of the arena. It seemed that taking a risk was the only chance she had... And Wonderbolts were all about risks. With one final prayer to Celestia, Spitfire let her body plummet head-first toward the ground below. As she neared the floor of the stadium, she could sense the audience as well as the judges' anticipation, perhaps mingled with a bit of fear. At the last possible second, she pulled up with all her strength, narrowly avoiding a collision and looping through the air before coming to an ungraceful halt on the cloud floor below.
As her hooves touched down, the audience released their tension and cheered, making Spitfire so proud that she almost forgot to take her place in the boxed area for those who had already performed as the next contestant emerged from backstage. She caught Feather Fall's eye, and she could not read the expression on the mint-green filly's face. Considering this a good thing, Spitfire let herself relax into her seat, enjoying the remaining performances and cracking a couple jokes with a red-maned colt next to her. Before it felt like even ten minutes had passed, the announcer declared, “We've consulted the judges and we have our list of accepted additions to the Junior Speedsters academy: 1, 5, 6, 7, 10, 15, 19, 23, 24, 28, 31...” Spitfire didn't catch the rest of the numbers, and she had to fight back the urge to dance as her joy blocked out all the sounds and sights around her temporarily.
I did it. I actually did it. I'm going to learn everything I need to know about the basics, and then I'm going to graduate and apply for the Wonderbolts Academy! And there's no way they'll turn me down when they see how hard I've worked! Spitfire was absolutely glowing with pride as she stumbled out of the contestant's box and toward the sky, dipping and bobbing with glee.
“Spitfire!” Soarin's voice rang out loudly, and she turned to him joyfully, her smile fading when she saw the look on his face.
“Soarin, what's wrong? I'm in the Junior Speedsters! Did you see me perform?” Soarin shook his head, but before Spitfire had time to be disappointed, he spoke.
“It's your mom. She knows where you are and she wants you to come home NOW. She seems really ticked...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a hoof. “She ran into Petalhoof in Ponyville and knew something was up, so she asked her if there was anything going on in Cloudsdale today, and...”
“No.” Spitfire glanced at him, horrified. “She going to kill me, Soarin.”
***
All the accomplishment having left her heart, Spitfire sat at the kitchen table, listening to her mother's ranting which had gone on for at least an hour now. “Do you know how badly you could have been hurt?! You're only twelve, Spitfire!”
“And yet just yesterday I was told to stop having foalish dreams,” Spitfire replied with a snort. “Listen, Mom. Why can't you be happy for me? I did it! I took the first step toward achieving my life's goal! This is huge!”
Autumn Breeze sighed, leaning heavily against the table. “You sound just like your father.”
Yes! Spitfire knew she'd forgotten something. “Hm, that reminds me... Why is it that some old battle-scarred stallion knew my father's name, and maybe even looked up to him, if he was such a useless drunk?” The fiery-maned mare stared down her mother as she froze, her apricot eyes glued to Spitfire's amber ones.
“He... must have been one of your father's old drinking buddies.”
“Mom, please! Stop all this lying! Just tell me the truth. I know you're hiding something. And... And I deserve to know who my dad was!” Her eyes glistening, Spitfire leaned toward her mother across the table and fixed her with a pleading stare.
Rubbing her temples, Autumn gave another sigh, closing her eyes and frowning. “Now is not the time, Spitfire. Just... Just go to your room. I can't deal with this right now.”
With a pout, Spitfire stormed off to her room, slamming the door as hard as she could-- twice. Her sister, a small earth pony filly who looked strikingly like her mother, glanced up from her book at the racket. Spitfire only growled at her, stalking her way over to her bed and flopping down with an exasperated groan. No one in the world had understood her situation before, and now her mom had to add a secret father to the list of problems? She cast a glare at her little sister with envy; at least she knew her father, an earth pony named Twang who often visited her on the weekends or when he had time off work. Her sister was still young, four years old in fact, but she had never known the pain of wondering why no one supported her or enjoyed her company. Sometimes Spitfire wished she'd been born without wings.
No, she thought, shaking her head. Today is my day to be happy. I'm in the Junior Speedsters! And I'm sure Dad would be proud of me... As she glanced out her window, a light seemed to clear the fog in her head. She threw open her window, half-stepping through it before turning to her sister and whispering “shhhhh”. She slipped the rest of her body through the gap and zipped off toward her destination.
She was going to see if the library knew anything about the mysterious stallion named Short Fuse.
