Shaken by her encounter with the strange shopkeeper, Vinyl hurried out into the empty square. Smarty Pants and the girl, Lemon Zest, had gone already, and she’d lost her chance to follow them. She quietly hoped they weren’t doing anything too reprehensible.
As she hurried away, she checked the sign over the door: ‘Chryssi’s Wedding Supplies,’ it said. She took note of where it was.
Vinyl stubbed her toe, banged her head on a beam, coughed from the dusty cobwebs. Her foot slipped one rung down the ladder, jarring her hip against the side of the hatch. In trying to steady herself, she almost grabbed hold of the hot light bulb. She had to admit, finding stuff in this attic was not going well.
“What are you doing up there, sweetie?” called her mother from the landing.
“Trying to find my old doll,” she replied. She lifted another hefty cardboard box to one side and opened the one underneath it. “Aha!” It had a bunch of her old clothes, drawings, toys, and two dolls. She pulled out familiar old Smarty Pants, complete with his mismatched eyes and the peanut butter stain. She smiled quietly at some of the memories. She put him down next to the hatch and turned to close the box. Then she caught sight of the other doll, nestled among the railway segments, colourful ponies, lost chess pieces and other remnants of her childhood.
She had brighter colours than Smarty, even under the dust: pink with green hair and golden eyes sewn out of felt. She was filled with something softer, a cushion-like material. She was wearing a dark purple and red tartan skirt, a matching shirt, and a pair of headphones.
Vinyl paused as some of the memories trickled back to her. Her uncle had given her this doll, and Vinyl had borrowed some of her uncle’s big headphones so she could put them on to try and look just like her. She remembered the doll’s name as well, or at least the name her uncle had given her: Lemon Zest.
“Yes, you’re right. Lemon Zest, that was her name,” said Trixie, frowning. “Um… how did you know? The Great and Powerful Trixie certainly never told anyone at this school about her dolls.”
Vinyl leant in across the desk conspiratorially. “Something weird is going on. Like, with our memory.”
“What do you mean?” Trixie looked unnerved.
Vinyl pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her pocket and slid it across the desk, keeping one hand over it. “Look, can you tell me how Smarty Pants ended up with odd eyes.”
“Oh, that’s easy. It was when we went on holiday when Trixie was little.”
“Where did you go?” asked Vinyl. To Horseshoe Bay, she thought.
“We went to Horseshoe Bay that year.” I brought Smarty Pants. I couldn’t bear to be parted from him. “Of course Trixie took Smarty Pants along. We were inseparable back then.”
“Where did he lose a button?” On the beach.
“I suppose it was foolish of Trixie, but I took her to the beach with me. That’s where one of her eyes must have got lost. My mother found a replacement button that was just like it, only a different colour.”
“Where’d she get it from?” Mom took a button from one of her own blouses.
“I think it came from a dress of hers. Or was it a shirt?”
Vinyl nodded, and slid the piece of paper across the table. “Now, can you read this?”
Trixie picked it up in both hands, unfolded it and turned it the right way up. “All right. ‘We went to Horseshoe Bay when I was a little girl.’” She frowned as she continued. “‘Smarty Pants lost an eye on the beach. I looked for a long time and couldn't find it.’” Her voice slowly filled with confusion. “‘Mom took a similar button from her own blouse and sewed it on.’ What is this? I... I don’t understand. I never told you any of this before… did I?”
“Nope. This is all mine.” She jabbed a finger at the paper. “My own memories of having a doll named Smarty Pants.”
Trixie just stared at her, growing confusion and worry on her face.
The bell rang, signalling class. Standing up, Vinyl said, “Come find me and Tavi at lunch tomorrow. I’ll show you.”
The long black car pulled up to the kerb, to Trixie's relief. She'd been sitting at the table by the window for nearly twenty minutes by that point, enduring the meaningful glares of the waiters with nothing but a glass of water in front of her.
Every time she came to Gustave’s Patisserie, it amazed her that they somehow managed to make sweets so dull. The food was fine – lovely, even – but the atmosphere took all the fun out of it. More than once her father had caught her shortly afterwards with her nose in a jar of peanut butter.
The car's back door opened and Dandy Lion stepped onto the pavement, pausing to give some unheard instruction to the pink-haired driver in the front. She shut the door behind her and turned; it took her only a moment to find her daughter at the window table.
Trixie stood up and embraced her mother as she entered.
“Hey there. Sorry I'm late.”
“That's okay. Thanks for making the time, Mom.”
“I've always got time for you, honey,” replied Dandy Lion, sitting down and waving at a waiter. She ordered a croissant and coffee; Trixie a slice of raspberry tart and some milk.
“Tell me,” she said, leaning forwards, “how's school now?”
“School’s fine,” replied Trixie. She briefly thought of Vinyl's strange questions, but showed nothing on her face. She was used to playing the perfect happy child when her mother asked.
“And how are my little Trixie's grades holding up?”
“Trixie's academic performance is beyond reproach,” she replied with mock pride. They shared a laugh, but it was cut short as Dandy Lion's phone rang. Ignoring a torrent of silent scorn from the waiters she pulled it out of her bag and answered it.
“Yes. Uh-huh. No, I already told them, seven percent is what it says in the contract. Don't let them change that, and don't let them add in extras or unexpected fees or anything. This is taxpayer money they're burning. Right, I'll leave it with you.”
Trixie waited patiently. Their order arrived, and she started in on her tart. It was sour, sweet and creamy in all the right places, but did little to cheer her up. Instead she watched Gustave through the window at the back of the shop as he conjured up more pastries, breads and sweet creations.
“I'm sorry about that, honey,” said her mother, putting the phone away. “It won't happen again.”
“It's okay, Trixie knows you're busy.” She smiled, a lingering anxious look in her eyes.
“Glow said you wanted to ask me something?”
“Oh. Do you have any of Trixie's old toys and things?”
Dandy nodded as she spread a little jam inside her croissant. “Of course I do, honey. There's a couple of big boxes of them, along with all your old clothes and books. Is there anything in particular you wanted?”
Trixie hesitated, but decided against revisiting that particular old memory. “Not really, I just wanted to check what's there.”
“Hmm. Why don't I have Glow bring them round some time?”
“That works. I'll let dad know to expect it.”
“Good.” She took a drink of coffee. “Now tell me about your friends. You are making—” Her phone rang again. She scowled, pulled it out, and her expression soured even more as she saw the name.
“I'm sorry, honey, I have to take this one.”
Trixie smiled. “It's fine.”
Trixie declined a lift home. It wasn't far to walk from Canterlot Mall, and she had some shopping to do first.
The walk took her through some of the nicer suburbs and past a park with a series of connected ponds with little waterfalls between them. She was more than half way home, bags in hand, when her phone buzzed.
Your mom's secretary just dumped a load of boxes on me. Know anything about it?
I had half a mind to send her away with them.
“That is why Trixie sent you an email about it,” she grousled to thin air before typing her reply.
it's the stuff Trixie told you to expect
It had arrived remarkably quickly. Trixie could only assume that Dandy Lion’s frighteningly efficient secretary had taken care of it.
Told me when?
Trixie's father denied being bad with technology, generally in the same breath as proving himself to be.
check yr email!
At least he generally responded to simple commands.
What E-mail?
Oh, there it is.
Trixie was tempted to throw her phone in the pond, but reluctantly conceded that it would be unfair to the ducks. And it was dark enough now, even with the street lights nearby, that she'd probably never find it again.
What do you want me to do with them?
She didn't particularly want her father nosing through her old stuff, and she didn't yet know what her mother – or, more likely, her mother's secretary – had chosen to send.
nothing. just wait fr Trixie
She wondered how much stuff there was. Glow was prone to overdoing things.
There's a bunch of your old clothes, colouring books, dolls. You really want this lot?
Of course, sometimes even simple instructions were beyond him. Couldn't he just leave her stuff alone?
just leave it!
The evening breeze was getting cooler. She hurried past the park and back onto the streets, hoping to get home before too much damage was done.
When are you getting back?
Since she was nearing the corner of their road, Trixie put her phone away, preferring to reply in person. Until the next message arrived.
Hello? Why aren't you replying?
Trixie stopped in sight of home to type out her reply.
because Trixie is literally ten steps from the front door!
Vinyl could barely listen in class all morning. Mr Doodle’s monotonous voice faded into a blur. She could hear a cello being played at the other end of the school – unless she imagined it.
At lunch, she grabbed her bag, hurried to the cafeteria and claimed a table. She forced herself to breathe calmly as she waited, focused on her persona. She was the cool one. She was unflappable.
By the time Octavia appeared she was back to her standard self and ready for this. “Hey, Tavi. You brought it like you said?”
“I did bring her with me, Vinyl, but I’m really not sure why you’d want to see her again. What’s gotten into you lately?”
“I’ll explain in a minute. I promise. You mind if Trixie joins us?” She waved at the light blue girl who was scanning the room.
“Oh, if she must,” muttered Octavia.
Trixie stomped up to them and put her lunch tray down next to Octavia, who still looked unhappy. “Vinyl Scratch, if this is all a joke or something then Trixie is going to be very annoyed,” she warned.
“No joke, I promise. I’m just going to ask Tavi the same question I asked you yesterday.”
“What question?” asked Octavia.
“Tell me how your doll ended up with mismatched eyes.”
Octavia sighed. “Very well. Um, let’s see.” She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “We were on holiday. This was when I was… six? Seven? And I took Smarty Pants with me.”
“Where’d you go?” asked Vinyl. Trixie was about to say something, but Vinyl made a ‘shhh’ motion.
“Horseshoe Bay. They have beautiful white beaches there, and some fascinating ruins from classical times. Anyway, I think one of her eyes fell out on the beach somewhere. I was terribly upset about it. So later on, my mother replaced it with a button that was nearly a match.”
“Where’d she get the button from?”
“From her summer dress, I think. It was very sweet of her, and I loved the doll even more after that.”
Vinyl was nodding along seriously. Trixie just sat there through the story, her jaw falling open.
“What is it?” asked Octavia. “Did I say something wrong?”
Vinyl slid the written version over to her. “This is how I remember my Smarty Pants getting odd eyes.”
Octavia read the written version. “I'm sure I must have told you about this before. We’ve been friends for years.”
“So how come Trixie told me the same story yesterday?”
Octavia looked at Trixie, who nodded.
“What are you saying, Vinyl?” asked Octavia. “Are you saying that I’m lying? I’ll have you know those memories of my mother are very important to me. I always remembered how she took a button from her own clothes…”
“She kept looking at me and smiling as she sewed it on,” continued Vinyl.
Trixie quietly added, “And whenever I looked at that button, I remembered how much my mother loved me. For years. Even when she left dad and me.”
“No, Tavi,” Vinyl said, “I don’t think you’re lying. None of us are. Those memories are real, to each of us. But somehow we all have exactly the same memory of the same thing happening to the same doll.” She turned to Trixie. “Your email said you'd found him as well?” she asked. Trixie turned to look through her bag. Vinyl nodded to Octavia as well.
“Yes,” Trixie said, digging into her bag. “I finally found him in mom’s things. Though I don’t really see what you…” She trailed off as she put her Smarty Pants onto the table, and saw that Octavia and Vinyl had presented theirs as well. “Um…”
“The exact same doll. The same mismatched eyes, the same stitches and patches, polka dots and that peanut butter stain on the left foot.” They gingerly examined each other’s dolls, comparing peanut butter stains. “The only difference is that your Smarty Pants are girls.”
“Vinyl,” said Octavia quietly. “I… I’m scared. What does this mean? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. But I think I have a lead. Are you both free this afternoon?”