I huffed and folded my arms. I was nine years old. I didn’t need to be babysat like this.
I sat at the desk in the small white room, my math workbook on the desk in front of me. I’d never been in this room before, but Mrs. Gumdrop said I had to. Said my grades weren’t good. She actually said “needs improvement,” but I knew what that meant.
She said that I’d got some special help. Somepony who was going to fix me. She’d said “too tore.” Sounded dumb to me. And I didn’t need to be fixed. I was fine.
But Principal Fairweather had pulled me out of class. Made it sound like it was something good and special happening. But we all knew that I was in trouble. And Minnie and Lem and Twink—they’d all watched me go as I blushed in embarrassment.
I looked down at my workbook and flipped it open. Mrs. Gumdrop had made a lot of angry red marks. I scowled. I hated math. Almost as much as I hated waiting. But I was a Princess—or, I was going to be, anyways. I didn’t need math; I’d have ponies to do it for me. And besides—
The door clicked open, and I looked up. “Just in here, Twilight,” Principal Fairweather was saying. “Lady Celestia is waiting patiently for you.”
In walked a little purple filly. She looked really young. Almost a baby. She had her mane in a bun and wore thick glasses with black frames. She looked up at me and froze. I narrowed my eyes.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
She swallowed. “T-twilight S-s-sparkle, Milady,” she stammered.
“And what are you doing here?”
“I’m your—your—”
My eyes widened. “You’re my too tore?” I gasped. “But you’re a baby! Are you even done with Magic Kindergarten yet?”
The filly—Twilight—shrank back and made a little noise. I scoffed.
“I don’t need help,” I said. “I don’t need math. And I don’t need you. Go back to kindergarten and… and eat paste or something.”
Twilight sniffled and turned away, but Principal Fairweather was standing right behind her.
“Lady Celestia,” he said carefully, “That wasn’t... appropriate. Could you apologize to Twilight, please?”
I smirked. “No,” I said.
Fairweather opened his mouth, then closed it again. I smiled at him. I knew he couldn’t do anything to me. Mommy was Princess. And this was the Royal Academy for Gifted Unicorns, which meant that she was his boss. Even if he wanted to, what could he do, knowing it’d get back to the her?
“It’s okay, Principal Fairweather,” Twilight mumbled, her voice thick, “I’ll just… go back…”
She turned away. Fairweather shot me a disappointed look, but I just smiled back at him. I was going to say something snarky to Twilight—but, when I looked at her, my eyes widened.
“Hey,” I said. “Are those…” I swallowed. “Filli-Second saddlebags?”
Twilight looked back at me and sniffled. “Yeah” she said. “Mama got them for me at the Hoofwill…”
“Do you…” I swallowed. “Do you actually read Power Ponies?”
“I…” she hesitated. “...sometimes.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Who’s your favorite?” I asked.
She eyed me carefully. “Matterhorn,” she said carefully.
“Really?” I asked. “Matterhorn?”
“I think she’s pretty,” she said defensively.
“Yeah, but Mare-Velous is so much cooler…”
Twilight crept up to me and clambered up on the chair beside me. “I didn’t know any other fillies liked them…”
I shrugged. “I got my brother’s hand-me-downs.”
“Me too!” Twilight squeaked eagerly—then clamped her hooves over her mouth. I rolled my eyes.
“You have the newest issue?” I asked.
She opened her bags and fished out a folded and dog-eared comic book. She passed it to me, and I snatched it up.
“I don’t remember this one,” I said, turning it over.
“Shiny says it’s a varmint.”
I looked at her questioningly. She blushed and looked down.
“Var-yant. Something like that,” she muttered.
I flipped it open and made an appreciative little noise. I read silently for a few moments, then turned the page. Twilight looked up at me hesitantly, then reached over and grabbed my workbook. She pulled it close, flipped it open, and began to read carefully.
A few minutes later, right as Zapp was about to buck Captain Colick in the face, Twilight tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and looked at her, and she shrank back a little.
“Milady,” she said, “I think I figured out where you’re going wrong…”
I almost snapped at her to let me finish—but then, I saw her look. She was frightened, yes—but also hopeful. And trusting. And… and awed. She was afraid of me—but, at the same time, she looked up to me, and wanted to impress me.
I’d had lots of ponies try to suck up to me. I had twenty or thirty who I could milk for free candy bars, or lunch money, or who would even do my homework for me, if I made them. But there was something earnest and sincere in Twilight’s look—something I wasn’t sure I’d seen before.
And, at that moment, I made a decision.
“Please,” I said, closing the comic. “Call me Cece.” I leaned in a little closer. “Now, show me,” I said.