“An accident?”
Twilight flinched away from Adagio’s outburst. The two of them sat facing one another across the table in their usual study room. After her confrontation with Aria, Adagio had spent several hours alone in her room stewing over the other girl’s words, replaying them over and over in her head as hurt and confusion boiled over into fury. So, when Twilight informed her that the catalyst to losing… whatever Aria was to her, was an accident, something inside her snapped.
One of Twilight’s hands reached out to touch Adagio’s in a calming gesture, but Adagio snatched hers away—she didn’t want to be calmed, what she wanted was answers. Specifically, answers involving how Aria had gotten her claws on a picture of her and Twilight Sparkle.
At first, the answer had seemed obvious: one of Twilight’s friends had sent it to her. Twilight had immediately rejected this theory—not only, she claimed, would her friends never do such a thing, none of them had any means of communicating with Aria... that she was aware of. Adagio wasn’t so sure about that; Rainbow Dash, for example, had been acting, well, if not nice, then at least tolerable that morning, which in itself was worthy of suspicion. But Twilight insisted on doing some digging of her own, and what she discovered was even worse than Adagio had imagined: there was no conspiracy against her, merely human error.
“How is that even possible?”
Twilight retracted her hand. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes,” said Adagio, emphatically. Twilight sighed.
“Okay, so, you remember yesterday, when I thanked Rarity for letting Shiney know we stayed over at Pinkie Pie’s?” Adagio nodded. “Well, apparently, she thought the best way of letting him know I was alright was to send him a picture, and considering we were already asleep at that point...”
Adagio’s eyes narrowed.
Twilight, reading Adagio’s mutinous expression, gave her a chastising look. “Like I told you before, she didn’t send it to anyone—not purposely, anyway. You see, she was posting some other pictures she took at the party online, and she was tired from all that studying so she wasn’t really paying attention so the picture just sort of… slipped through.”
Twilight averted her gaze as Adagio’s icy glare bore into her.
“It slipped through?”
Twilight nodded.
“Just like that?”
Another nod.
The legs of Adagio’s chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as she stood up. She paced back and forth across the study room. Normally, the room’s small size made it feel cozy, but today it felt infuriatingly cramped and claustrophobic. She needed space to move—to think—but right now all she could think about was how the walls seemed to be closing in on her with each turn. Her breathing became rapid and uncontrolled and her heart began to pound in her ears like war drums. She wanted to hit something, but a little voice in the back of her mind reminded her that punching walls wasn’t healthy.
“Adagio!”
She whirled on Twilight, who was now standing as well. At some point Adagio’s hands had balled into fists, and with the way her shoulders lurched up and down with each breath, she must have looked like a wild animal trapped in a very small cage. She certainly felt like one.
“What?” she snapped.
“Let’s go for a walk,” said Twilight, calmly.
“No.”
“Yes,” insisted Twilight, “it will help you calm down.”
“I don’t need to calm down, I need to—”
She cut herself off. What did she need to do? She wanted to slap Rarity and scream at Aria (or possibly the other way around) but what did she need to do? What could she do?
“Please?” Twilight looked at her pleadingly, her expression a mixture of concern and... fear.
Fear, thought Adagio. Is she afraid of me?
Well, why wouldn’t she be? She was a monster, after all; a horrible Siren, lumbering around like some lunatic in a padded cell. Who wouldn’t be afraid? But even as these thoughts crossed her mind, Adagio could feel some of her fury being siphoned off, leaving behind a growing pool of shame. She might see herself as a monster, but did she really want Twilight to see her that way?
No, she told herself.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled.
“Fine,” she said.
“Good,” said Twilight. She crossed the small room to the door, then paused, looking back at the table overflowing with study materials. “Do you think it’s okay if we leave our stuff here? I mean, it’s not like there’s anything worth stealing, but...”
Adagio’s eye twitched.
“...right, I’m sure it’s fine. Let’s go.”
The two girls traversed the library in silence. Adagio followed a few steps behind Twilight, her eyes low and her hands stuffed moodily into the pockets of her hoodie. This lasted until they’d exited the library and descended its stone steps, where Twilight stopped and waited for her expectantly.
“What?” asked Adagio.
“It’s going to be hard to talk to you if you’re behind me.”
Adagio grunted. “I thought we were walking, not talking.”
“We’re doing both,” said Twilight. Adagio rolled her eyes, but nonetheless picked up her pace until the two of them were walking side by side.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I already did,” said Adagio, not looking at Twilight.
“All you told me was that someone at Crystal Prep saw the picture. Was it, you know, one of them? One of the other...”
“Sirens?” asked Adagio, finishing Twilight’s sentence. “Yeah.”
“I see,” said Twilight. “What did she say?”
What hadn’t she said? She’d called Adagio a liar, a snake, untrusting, broken…
“She told me I was ‘sleeping with the enemy.’”
The sound of Twilight’s footsteps stopped, and Adagio couldn’t help but steal a glance back at her. Twilight’s cheeks were red, and Adagio didn’t think it was from the cold.
“That’s not—”
“I know,” said Adagio. Despite her best efforts, the corner of her mouth turned up in the tiniest hint of a smile.
“There, that’s better,” said Twilight, having regained her composure and wearing a smile of her own.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
Adagio scowled. “No I’m not.”
“But you were,” teased Twilight.
Adagio harrumphed and folded her arms, but even she could tell that her heart wasn’t in it.
But why wasn’t her heart in it? Five minutes ago the sky had been falling, but one little smile from Twilight later and everything felt… well, not good, but better. She felt lighter, as if her fight with Aria was just a little further away, even though nothing had changed.
“You know, I think this is the first time we’ve talked about them at all. I don’t even know their names.”
Adagio cocked an eyebrow. “You mean we’ve never come up in conversation with your friends? I find that hard to believe.”
“Only ever as a group—either ‘The Dazzlings’ or ‘the Sirens’—but never individually. Well, except for you, of course.”
“Of course,” said Adagio. She could only begin to imagine what sorts of things the Rainbooms said behind her back. “Their names are Sonata and...”
You’re broken, Adagio.
“...Aria.”
Just saying her name brought forth feelings of anger and guilt. The anger Adagio understood, but the guilt... it just didn’t make sense. The only mistake Adagio made was getting caught, but even that defense was flimsy. Getting caught implied she’d done something wrong, which she hadn’t. Working with Twilight was all part of the plan, and keeping it from the others had been to keep this exact thing from happening! It wasn’t her fault that Aria had flown off the handle, so why did she feel so bad?
Okay, so maybe Adagio said some things she shouldn’t have, but Aria deserved it! She attacked Adagio, wouldn’t listen to a word she said, and implied that Adagio only cared about herself. That was just untrue, Adagio cared about a lot of things: magic, revenge, Twilight…
Adagio grit her teeth. She was already confused enough, no need to add that into the mix right now.
“Adagio?” Twilight was looking at her expectantly, and Adagio realized she had been dwelling so hard on her own thoughts that she’d completely missed Twilight’s follow-up question.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked what they’re like.”
Adagio was puzzled. “Why?”
“Well, you’ve met my friends, so I just thought—”
“I told you, Twilight Sparkle, I don’t have friends—other friends,” she corrected.
“Alright,” said Twilight, “then what would you call them?”
Adagio was tempted to say ‘lackeys,’ but held her tongue. Twilight touched on a point she herself had pondered earlier: what were Aria and Sonata to her? The word ‘allies’ came to mind, but that felt impersonal given all the time they’d spent together (both in Equestria and this world). Besides, given Aria’s declaration that morning, Adagio thought ‘allies’ might no longer be accurate. What did one call a group who held together by the need to inflict unrest on everyone around them and their own mutual survival?
Villains?
“I don’t even know anymore.”
Twilight didn’t respond. Instead, she snaked an arm around one of Adagio’s own, pulling the two closer together and linking them at the elbow.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Adagio, though despite her surprise she didn’t pull away. Twilight was warm (if a little boney), her touch familiar and comforting.
“You looked like you needed it,” said Twilight.
They walked like that, arm-in-arm, for a while, neither of them speaking. Every now and then a gust of cold wind would batter them and, without thinking about it, Adagio would pull Twilight just a little bit closer. They circled the block, and as they once again approached the Canterlot Public Library, Twilight slowed to a stop in the shadow of one of the equine statues.
“Hang on,” she said, unhooking her arm from Adagio’s so the two could stand face to face. “Before we go back inside, there was something I wanted to ask you.”
Adagio eyed Twilight intently, waiting for elaboration, but all of a sudden it seemed Twilight had difficulty looking her in the eye.
“Is something wrong?”
“No!” exclaimed Twilight, meeting Adagio’s gaze only briefly before looking back down at her shoes. Another few seconds passed.
“Twilight—”
“Right, okay, so: things didn’t exactly go as planned on Friday.”
That was something of an understatement.
“So, I was thinking that this Friday—after exams are done, of course—we could try something of, you know, a do-over.”
“Another party?” groaned Adagio. Her head hurt just thinking about it. “I’m not sure if—”
“Not a party! I think I’m burned out on parties for a while… don’t tell Pinkie Pie. No, I was thinking that you could come over, maybe eat some junk food and watch a movie?”
“‘Come over,’ like, to your house?”
“Yes,” said Twilight.
“Just me?”
“Just you. And me.” She laughed nervously. “Obviously.”
“Okay,” said Adagio, so quickly that she almost surprised herself.
“Okay?” confirmed Twilight. “So you’ll come?”
“Yeah,” said Adagio. The little voice in the back of her mind warned her once again about getting closer to Twilight, but she ignored it. This was no different than agreeing to go to Pinkie Pie’s party had been, she assured herself, with the added benefit of not being stuck in a house filled with people she hated. Besides, getting closer to Twilight was an important aspect of the plan, and even if Aria couldn’t see how important that was, Adagio still did.
She had to.
“Great!” said Twilight, her trouble looking at Adagio having vanished as quickly (and inexplicably) as it had appeared. “It’ll be fun, we’ll celebrate the end of exams together!”
“Or mourn,” muttered Adagio, darkly.
“No, celebrate,” Twilight repeated. “You’re going to do great, Adagio, I know it.”
Adagio wished she had Twilight’s optimism. “We’ll see.”
“We will,” agreed Twilight.
The wind picked up once again, drawing shivers out of both girls and ushering the conversation toward its conclusion.
“Well, I’m cold, and there are a few last things that I’d like to go over while we still have time.” Twilight began the ascent up the stone steps, looking back over her shoulder at Adagio. “Are you ready?”
Adagio nodded. She was ready.
Adagio was not ready.
It was monday, and along with all the other students of Crystal Prep Academy, Adagio Dazzle was counting the seconds until 9:00 am, when the first of her midterm exams was set to begin.
It was torture.
The exams themselves were to be held in the gymnasium, which was to be kept on lockdown until fifteen minutes before the exam to prevent any attempts at cheating. As a result, the halls leading to the gym were absolutely packed with students. They lined the walls, leaning against lockers while going over flashcards, receiting complex mnemonics, or simply doing their best not to panic and forget everything at the last minute.
She could relate to the latter.
Adagio woke up at 5:03 that morning—twenty-seven minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She remembered the time because her first panicked thought was that she’d somehow overslept, only to feel like a complete fool when (after an embarrassing amount of desperate searching) she’d found her phone wrapped in her bedsheets and determined the truth.
It was nearly eight thirty now (8:27 to be exact) and Adagio had sequestered herself away in her lab. Splayed out before her on the wooden desk was a textbook and dozens of pages of notes, all dedicated to the subject of her first exam (math), as well as an bowl of instant oatmeal. She knew that it was important to eat before an exam—and she had tried!—but a familiar knot sat heavily in her stomach and her normally scarce appetite was practically nonexistent, so the oatmeal remained untouched.
The notes, too, weren’t getting much attention. It had been Adagio’s intention to get in some last minute revision before the exam, but that didn’t seem to be working, either. All the example problems she could find she’d already completed, and reading over strategies and formula was giving her a dizzying sense of déjà vu. This was probably a good thing, but she couldn’t shake the thought that she hadn’t actually learned the material so much as memorized it, which only added to her anxiety.
Anxiety. Adagio didn’t remember being anxious in Equestria. No, it wasn’t until she came to this world and had to worry about limited access to magic that she first felt the twinge of anxiousness, and that was nothing compared to after she’d lost her magic. Since then, it was harder to imagine a time that she wasn’t anxious—be it worrying about the future or second guessing her every decision. When had she become so weak? And, perhaps a more important question, if—no, when—she got her magic back, would she go back to normal?
She hoped so, otherwise wrapping up certain things in this world would be a lot more painful.
As if on cue, Adagio’s phone began to vibrate. It was undoubtedly Twilight, as only two people ever tried to call Adagio, and her alerts from Sonata were still suppressed. She had every intention of unmuting Sonata eventually… but not until after exams. The last thing she needed was another distraction, and Sonata was distracting in the worst possible way.
Twilight, on the other hand…
Adagio picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” said Twilight. A brief moment passed in the wake of the words, which at this point had become almost more of a ritual than a greeting, before Twilight could wait no longer. “You’re not heading into the exam yet, are you? Cadance told me they wouldn’t be letting anyone into the gym yet but I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t—”
“No,” said Adagio, “I’m just doing some last minute cramming.”
“If you’re busy I can—”
“Twilight Sparkle, if I didn’t want to talk to you I wouldn’t have picked up the phone.”
“Right,” said Twilight, sheepishly, “sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Adagio. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s going particularly well.”
“Nervous?” asked Twilight.
“No!” blurted Adagio, but after a few seconds she gave a resigned sigh. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
The line was silent.
“...Twilight Sparkle?”
“Sorry, sorry! I was nodding in a consoling ‘I-know-what-you-mean’ kind of way, but that doesn’t really come through very well on a phone call.” Twilight cleared her throat. “I know what you mean.”
Adagio laughed. “How do you know what I mean if I don’t know what I mean?”
“Let me guess: you feel like you’re going to walk into that exam room and forget everything, or there’s going to be some topic on there you’ve never seen before. Something like that, right?”
Adagio leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Are you a mind reader, Twilight Sparkle?”
Twilight chuckled. “No, not me. I’ve just been there before.”
Adagio rolled her eyes. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re… you!”
“And what does that mean?”
“You’re Twilight Sparkle,” said Adagio. She didn’t think this point needed to be clarified, but she did it anyway. “You’re brilliant, anyone who’s been in a room with you for five minutes knows that, and I’ve been in a room with you for far longer than that.”
“And you’re Adagio Dazzle,” countered Twilight, drawing a mirthless laugh from Adagio.
“So what?” That name might have meant something in Equestria, but here it was synonymous with failure.
“Adagio Dazzle is smart,”
Wrong.
“confident,”
Obviously not.
“and a great friend.”
…
“Look,” said Twilight, “I’m not telling you not to be nervous. I’m doing the opposite, actually.”
Adagio frowned at the ceiling tiles. “You’re telling me to be nervous?”
“No, I’m telling you it’s okay to be nervous. Everyone gets nervous before exams, including Twilight Sparkle.”
Adagio didn’t respond.
“But being nervous doesn’t mean you’re going to fail.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’! You’ve worked harder in the past two weeks than most other students do in a whole semester. You’re going to do great. Now, we’ve still got a few minutes before you should head over to the exam room, and I just so happen to have some practice questions. Want me to quiz you?”
Adagio laid the phone down on the desk and tapped an icon resembling a speaker, projecting Twilight’s voice into the lab. It was a trick she’d only recently discovered and had been waiting for the opportunity to try, and now seemed like the perfect time. She grabbed a pencil and a blank piece of paper.
“You’re on, Twilight Sparkle.”
They only had time for a few questions, and Adagio was suspicious that Twilight was giving her simple ones to boost her confidence, but whatever the case, it was working. Adagio answered everything Twilight threw at her with ease.
“See?” asked Twilight, not bothering to hide the smugness in her tone. “What did I tell you? You—”
There was a knock at the door.
“Just a second!” called Adagio, setting down her pencil and standing up from her chair. She crossed the room and opened the door. She had expected Aria coming to taunt her, Sonata coming to bother her, or perhaps Principal Cinch coming to threaten her, but what she hadn’t expected was the smiling face of Dean Cadance.
“I thought you might be in here,” said Cadance. “So, are you ready?”
Before Adagio had an opportunity to respond, she heard Twilight’s voice coming from behind her. “Is that Cadance?”
“Hi, Twilight!” said Cadance, stepping past Adagio into the lab.
“Sure,” muttered Adagio, “come on in.”
“If you insist,” said Cadance, giving Adagio a playful smile before turning her attention back to the phone. “How is she, Twilight, is she nervous?”
Why did people keep asking her that? “I’m not—”
“Yeah,” interjected Twilight, “but it’s okay. She’s going to do great.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” said Cadance.
Adagio scowled and folded her arms. “Stop saying that,” she grumbled.
“What?” asked Cadance. “Afraid we’re going to jinx it?”
“No,” said Adagio. She was afraid failing.
“Well, anyway, I just thought I’d stop by and let you know I’m about to unlock the gym. If you hurry you can walk with me and be the first one inside.”
Part of her wanted to tell Cadance to go on ahead so she could a few more precious minutes before her reckoning, but she knew that was just being silly. It was time.
“Okay,” said Adagio. She glanced back over at the phone. “Can I just...”
Cadance nodded. “One minute,” she said, and slipped back out into the hall.
Adagio picked up her phone. “So, I guess this is it.”
“Yeah,” said Twilight. “Adagio, I—”
“Hang on,” said Adagio. She pulled the phone away from her ear and turned off the speaker, glad that Cadance wasn’t still there to see her blunder. “Sorry, go ahead.”
“I just wanted to tell you… good luck.”
“Thanks,” said Adagio.
“And call me the second you get out.”
Adagio rolled her eyes. “I will.”
The line was silent for a moment.
“...I already said good luck, now I’m not really sure what to say for goodbye.”
“Why not ‘goodbye’?”
“That’s too final! Besides, I’ve just said that, too. Ah, just give me a second.”
“Twilight Sparkle I’ve got to go.”
“Got it: break a leg!”
Adagio shook her head, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Goodbye, Twilight Sparkle, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I should have used tha—”
Adagio hung up. She set her phone down on the desk and collected her small assortment of pencils and erasers, along with a pencil sharpener, and placed them within a clear plastic bag. That was a suggestion of Twilght’s—easier than carrying around individual pencils and impossible for anyone to accuse you of cheating, she’d said. Adagio thought it looked a little silly, but here she was, doing it anyway.
Bag in hand she exited the lab, diligently locking the door behind her. Cadance smiled and motioned for her to follow, and the two of them made their way towards the gym.
“You know, it’s okay to be nervous.”
“Cadance, I just had this exact pep talk with Twilight Sparkle.”
“Okay, okay,” said Cadance, holding up her hands with her palms facing Adagio in a sign of submission, before a puzzled look come over her. “‘Twilight Sparkle?’”
Adagio cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“Do you always call her by her full name?”
Adagio shrugged. “I guess.”
“You don’t call me by my full name.”
“I don’t even know your full name.”
“Mi Amore Cadenza,” announced Cadance. “Dean Mi Amore Cadenza, to you.”
Adagio stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re kidding.”
Cadance put her hands on her hips. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“What kind of name is that?”
Cadance put a hand over her mouth in mock outrage. “I beg your pardon!”
The two locked eyes for a moment, before breaking off in individual fits of giggles.
“But seriously,” said Adagio, after they had both regained their composure and resumed their walk, “Mi Amore Cadenza?”
Cadance sighed. “Why do you think I go by Cadance?”
They rounded a corner and began the final stretch unto the gym. Other students fell in behind them as they passed, forming solemn procession that better suited a graveyard than a school hallway. Adagio stuck close to Cadance, following her like a shadow so as not to get swept up by the growing crowd. She could feel her heart trying to climb its way into her throat, each second passing with agonizing slowness as Cadance fumbled with the keys to the wide set of double doors separating her from her destiny until, at last, they opened.
This is it, she thought as she crossed the threshold into the gymnasium. Do or die.
Abacus Cinch believed firmly in the merits of standardized testing.
There was no ambiguity in a standardized test, nothing to be misinterpreted or called into question. An answer was either right or it was wrong, and the score of any one student (or institution) could be compared directly with another to determine which of them came out on top.
Critics of the system complained that these sorts of tests were impersonal, that they encouraged a lack of diversity in the curriculum offered by the schools that implemented them, and that they did a disservice to students whose talents lay outside the bounds of regular academia.
This, of course, was utter nonsense.
The truth of the matter was that not every student was destined for academic greatness. This was not something that most parents enjoyed hearing about their precious children but, fortunately, Crystal Prep was a private academy, which meant most of the students who were unwilling or incapable of upholding the high standards demanded of them by the institution were never allowed to walk its halls in the first place.
But the weeding out of lesser minds did not end once one gained acceptance to the academy. Although it was rare, there were those who were accepted into Crystal Prep who simply did not conform to the school’s strict academic regiment and competitive atmosphere. Words like ‘stress’ and ‘anxiety’ were thrown around a lot these days, but these were the words of the weak. Crystal Prep’s immaculate reputation stood on the shoulders of its students, and if some found they could not bear the weight of that responsibility, Abacus Cinch had no qualms about sending them home. She took no pleasure in it, it was simply survival of the fittest.
The principal ruminated on these thoughts as she walked slowly and deliberately down one of the many aisles of desks that filled the gymnasium. All around her, students toiled away at their exams, filling the air with the scratching sound of hundreds of pencils all working simultaneously towards a common goal. Her scrutinizing gaze fell over each of them in turn, ensuring that none of them dared to test the sanctity of her exam room. They all knew what would happen should they be caught cheating, and though Principal Cinch could count on one hand the number of students who had dared to cheat during one of her exams, she would not allow herself to fall into complacency. Things were different this year, and she had to be on her guard.
The exam was already half over by the time she reached the desk of Adagio Dazzle. The girl was leaned over her paper, one hand scribbling furiously while the other served double duty in propping up her head and keeping her tides voluminous orange hair from obscuring her vision. She certainly seemed to be working hard, but she seemed to be a lot of things, and Abacus Cinch knew better.
For the first time since beginning her patrol, the principal stopped. Adagio Dazzle had not earned her place among the academic elite that surrounded her, nor did she conform to the standards their principal had set for them. She had proven herself to be impulsive and rebellious, two traits that in any other student would deliver unto them a swift exit from the hallowed halls of Crystal Prep Academy, and yet here she sat all the same.
No, the reason Adagio Dazzle was permitted to attend Crystal Prep had nothing to do with her academic aptitude (or disappointing lack thereof), nor could it be measured with a grade or standardized test. She was the antithesis of everything the school stood for but, at the same time, Abacus Cinch knew that her magic was the best tool to repair the damage the Friendship Games had caused to its reputation.
There were risks involved, of course. Introducing a chaotic element like Adagio into a closed system was bound to have repercussions. Insisting that Adagio succeed at her exams was a compromise the principal had allowed herself: if the girl could be made to learn, then she could be made to serve. She might not do it intentionally—in fact, Cinch had little doubt that Adagio had every intention to cross her eventually—but either way the girl would serve her purpose… and in some ways she already had.
Having lingered long enough, Abacus Cinch turned and continued her dutiful walk, drawing her eyes from Adagio Dazzle and onto the next of her numerous students. It would be an unfortunate turn of events if the girl failed now, but it would not be the end of the world. Adagio might have been the most promising of the so-called ‘Sirens’, but the principal was not above hedging her bets. In fact, as of the day before, one of these other ‘bets’ had proven itself to be surprisingly fruitful.
A smile crept onto the principal’s face, replacing her stoic demeanor with sinister intent. The game was already won—she was certain of it—all she had to do now was watch the pieces play it out.