“Our next competitor,” blared the loudspeakers, “Is… Scootaloo, from Ponyville!”

Rainbow Dash sat up eagerly in her seat as a cheer rippled through the crowd. In one hoof, she held a box of popcorn, and, in the other, a flag--three, actually--one each in orange, purple, and red. They matched the color scheme of her baseball cap and her T-shirt, too--mostly orange, with thick stripes of purple and scarlet. And yet, though she tried to deny it, she wore other colors too--namely, a few strands of gray in her mane.

But that didn’t matter now--Scootaloo was on. Rainbow bounced one hoof on the arm of her seat, grinning eagerly, as she watched the field.

“Sweet Celestia, Mom,” Rumble muttered in the seat next to her. “Don’t have a heart attack.” His little pegasus filly, Snapdragon, sitting on his lap, burbled faintly in agreement.

As Rainbow watched, Scootaloo stepped up to the rim of the half-pipe, her arms spread theatrically wide. She wore a swept-back helmet and goggles, and a skin-tight suit that hugged her body in all the right places, making Rumble blush. She held her skateboard in one hoof--black, in an unusual cut that mirrored the shape of the old, fold-up scooter she still kept in the attic. And, despite the fact that she was in her twenties and her stumpy little wings still had not grown in right, she wore a wide wing-band across her chest. Rules were rules, after all, and all pegasi, flightless or no, had to wear a wing-band to keep them from using their wings mid-stunt. Most competitors wore theirs in dark colors, embarrassed of their handicap, but not Scootaloo. Scootaloo wore hers bright red. I don’t need my wings to fly, she screamed to the world--and the world cheered in return.

Scootaloo bowed dramatically, then set her board on the lip of the half-pipe. She waited for a long, agonizing moment--then leaned forward and dropped into the pipe.

Rainbow Dash watched her fall, and it felt like it was her own stomach flying up into her throat. They’d been working together on these stunts for years--ever since it became apparent to both of them that her daughter would never be a racer like her. As she watched her fall into her routine, Rainbow’s mind flashed back to all those years--of working late nights and saturdays to build her a half-pipe of her own in a back corner of Sweet Apple Acres, of falling asleep in the old clubhouse listening to her daughter practice late into the night, of watching all those filmstrips of past competitions until she could no longer keep her eyes open--and she smiled.

Scootaloo shot down one side of the half-pipe and back up the other. She swung the board around, executing a tight U-turn, and shot back down, then back up the other side. And, though her board cleared the top edge this time, she didn’t even try for a trick--instead, she turned around and shot back down the pipe again.

Rainbow frowned. What in Equestria was she doing? She clearly had the time for a quick grind, at least…

And then, Scootaloo did it again--this time shooting three or four feet into the air, but turning back around and heading straight down, never moving from the board. Rainbow’s eyes went wide, and she clapped her hooves to her mouth, making Rumble turn to stare at her.

She wasn’t going for the tricks--she was building speed.

Rainbow’s eyes began to glisten. Oh, Sweet Celestia, she thought. She’s doing it.

The crazy stunt that had blacked both her eyes more than once. The stunt that had left her spitting blood. The stunt that she hadn’t even attempted for almost a full year, when she was pregnant with Snap. The stunt that even Rainbow thought she was crazy to try.

And here she was--doing it now, in front of a crowd of thousands.

Most of the stadium seemed to realize what was happening at about the same time. A few cheers went up, but these fell still as everyone held their breath, as everyone leaned forward in their seats.

Scootaloo shot up the pipe again--then did it.

As she fell back into the pipe, she leaned down and grabbed the board with her forehooves. At the same time, she dropped her back hooves off the board, pushing, sprinting with them for every drop of speed she could muster. As the pipe began to rise again, Scootaloo pulled her hooves back onto the board, and curled herself into a tiny ball, barely a little bump on the board. And, as she cleared the top of the pipe, she wrenched the board sideways.

Scootaloo shot up into the air, the board spinning, with her body pressed tightly to it. She soared high into the air, spinning once--twice--

--the flight of the board began to slow, but still she spun--

--thrice--four times--

The stadium itself seemed to hold its breath.

--and she began to sink back to earth--

--five times--

And then, the sharp crack of wheels on wood.

Rainbow jammed one hoof in her mouth and whistled, a high, shrieking cry, while, with her other hoof, she pounded the arm of her seat over and over again, spraying popcorn in every direction. “That’s my kid!” she screamed, as everyone around her stood and cheered. She leaned forward and grabbed two college-age stallions by the shoulders and shook them. “That’s my daughter!” she shrieked as they turned to stare at her. “She stuck the landing! Five-and-a-half times around! A Nineteen-Eighty! Ain’t never seen that before, have ya?” She leapt to her hooves and roared at the top of her lungs: “Go Scootaloo!!”

Scootaloo wobbled, but remained steady on her board. She rode it down the pipe, her momentum taking her up over the far side again. She pulled another quick flip, but her routine had already hit its climax--and it had been more than enough.

She went up and down and up again, then, as the board reached the bottom of the pipe, she stepped off it. The board continued without her, up and down again, and, as it passed her, Scootaloo kicked it, sending it spiraling up and into her waiting hoof. She bowed again, like an actress on stage, and the stadium roared and leapt to its hooves.

Rainbow whistled again, then eagerly turned to watch the pegasus working the scoreboard. One by one, he slid the numbers into place--and, suddenly, Rainbow’s eyes flashed with anger. “A nine-point-eight?” she roared. “Who the buck gave her a nine-point-eight? That was a ten and you know it, you dirty horse! I want names--I’m gonna cut off your dock and shove it up your--”

Rumble grabbed her arm. “Mom,” he breathed. “Look.”

And she looked. She stared, uncomprehending--and then, the anger went out of her eyes, and she put her hooves to her mouth again.

“Forty-nine-point-six,” she read carefully. “W-with her run this morning, that’s worth at least…”

“At least the top five,” Rumble finished, in awe.

Rainbow shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “That’s gold.” She hesitated, then looked down at Rumble. “Is there something above gold? Platinum?”

Rumble smiled. “Let’s worry about this one first,” he said. He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her from her seat. “Let’s go meet her.” Rainbow followed him in a faint daze.

When they stepped onto the field, Scootaloo was walking towards them, board tucked under her wing, sweat dripping from her face, and grinning from ear to ear. The next competitor, a unicorn from Canterlot, was already in the middle of his routine, but few paid attention to him--most of the press was following Scootaloo, flashbulbs popping.

Rainbow got to her first, and pulled her in for a hug. For a long moment, she was silent, then she sniffled. “You did good, kid,” she muttered.

Scootaloo smiled. “Thanks, Mom,” she said.

Scootaloo let go of her, then Rainbow stepped back, trying to subtly wipe away a tear, as Rumble stepped in. Rumble hugged his wife tight--but not too tight to squish Snapdragon, who reached eagerly for her mama--and kissed her. “I’m proud of you,” he said, “And she is, too,” he said, nodding at the retreating Rainbow. “So proud.”

Scootaloo nodded against him, feeling the tears in her eyes. “I know,” she said. “I heard her whistling.”

Rumble chuckled. “Wish you could see her,” he added. “It’s adorable to see her absolutely lose it when she watches you, then try to play it cool.”

Scootaloo shook her head. “She wouldn’t let me see, not in a million years--but that’s fine,” she said. “Just having her here is enough.”

One of the journalists suddenly stepped forward. “Family portrait?” he offered, hefting his camera.

Rumble and Scootaloo broke away from each other. Scootaloo pulled her goggles up on top of her helmet, then tossed her board away and took Snap in her arms. She stood there for a moment, then looked around, confused.

Rainbow Dash stood off to the side, pressed in among the journalists, with her arms wrapped around herself, an uneasy, almost nauseous expression on her face. Scootaloo beckoned to her, but she shook her head and shot her an awkward, crooked smile.

“No,” she called, over the murmur of the photographers. “This is your time to shine.”

Scootaloo shook her head firmly. “Not how this works,” she said, beckoning again. “Get over here. You’re part of this family too.”

Rainbow Dash’s mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide. She dropped slowly, carefully, to all fours, almost as if she were afraid the ground itself would shatter at her touch. And, slowly, she stepped forward, into the limelight.

She walked behind Scootaloo and Rumble, and put a hoof on each of their shoulders, and smiled. The four of them--Scootaloo, Rumble, Snapdragon, and Rainbow Dash--smiled for the camera. And, for the first time in a long, long time, Rainbow didn’t mind that the camera caught her crying.