Twilight chewed the end of her pencil and frowned. That’s not right. She scratched out the formula again and tried to recall how it had been written in the textbook she’d read the night before. Isn’t it supposed to be something like this?
The math problem didn’t answer, of course. Scowling, Twilight bounced her leg impatiently and returned to chewing on her pencil. First period, advanced functions. Teacher: late. Classmates: way too loud. 9:03 am, eighty-seven minutes to go. Mood?
She paused to think for a second, her leg slowing to a stop. I’m... okay. Maybe a bit ‘meh’.
Today was a ‘meh’ kind of day for Twilight.
When the teacher finally arrived, Twilight had already read through her schedule seven times and rearranged her pencil case twice. 9:09. Almost ten minutes late. She hadn’t had Miss Cheerilee as a teacher before, but tardiness didn’t exactly make a good first impression.
“Sorry for the delay!” Cheerilee called out as she entered. She staggered across the front of the bustling classroom to drop a tower of papers on top of her desk. “It’s a madhouse out there, really. Should have expected that, I suppose; I’m sure you’re all so excited to start off the year on the right foot.”
The chatter in the room died down slightly as the students turned to Cheerilee, only to resume seconds later even louder than before. Someone pushed their desk across the floor with an awful scraping noise. A balled-up piece of paper bounced off the chalkboard and missed the trash can by a good five feet.
Twilight swore she saw Cheerilee’s eye twitch.
“Alright!” Slightly shrill, Cheerilee forced a smile and grabbed a piece of chalk. “Welcome to advanced functions. I’m your instructor, Miss Cheerilee,”—she dotted the ‘i’ with a hard thwack—“and I’m very excited to be teaching this semester. Any questions before we get started?”
The class quieted again briefly. Then another ball of paper hit the board, and Twilight winced as Cheerilee snapped the stick of chalk in half.
It took until half-past the hour to finish passing out the textbooks. Twilight managed to get one that still had its cover intact, though the pages were water damaged and it smelled a bit like dirt. I’m pretty sure this textbook is older than me. A quick peek at the publication page under the cover confirmed her theory. It’s even older than Shining!
She let go of the cover to close it, but instead of the soft thud she’d expected, a loud bang echoed through the air and startled Twilight out of her thoughts. Immediately the classroom hushed, and panic seized her heartbeat for half a second in the silence—but then she quickly realized that the noise hadn’t come from her textbook, but instead from one of the two people framed by the wide-open door at the front of the classroom.
“Sunset Shimmer,” Principal Celestia said with a long-suffering sigh. “That was unnecessary, really.”
The second person by the doorway—Sunset, apparently—shrugged. “My bad.” She crossed her arms defiantly and stepped out of Celestia’s way into the classroom. Her glare raked over the rest of the class from front to back as she entered, and Twilight quickly looked down at her desk to avoid eye contact.
“Erm.” Cheerilee cleared her throat. Her eyes darted nervously between Celestia and Sunset before finally settling on Celestia. “Good morning, principal. Is there a... reason you’re interrupting my class?” She motioned to Sunset and added, “Rather loudly, too.”
Celestia sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. “My apologies, Cheerilee. It seems that Sunset here lost track of time—”
“Tried to skip class,” Sunset corrected.
“Lost track of time.” Celestia shot Cheerilee an apologetic look and said quietly, “I’m sorry about this. You know I wouldn’t normally interrupt, but it’s the first day, and the program only allows so many tardies...”
Surprisingly, Cheerilee’s expression softened. “Oh. I... of course. Sunset, was it?”
“Yep.” Sunset emphasized the ‘p’ with a sharp pop and grinned.
“Here.” Cherilee flipped open one of the textbooks, wrote down its number on the tracking sheet, and handed it to Sunset. “Don’t lose it. And as for your seat...”
Twilight’s stomach sank. The classroom was nearly full, and the only two available desks were either the one in the back corner with the wobbly leg, or the one to the right that she’d ‘reserved’ with her bag.
“...But I don’t think the custodian’s fixed it yet. And—ah.” Cheerilee raised her eyebrows. “Twilight, is there any reason why your bag needs its own seat?”
Her face burning, Twilight quickly pulled her backpack off the desk and stuffed it under her chair, hyper-aware of her classmates turning to look at her. Not trusting herself to speak, she instead shook her head and stared down at her desk.
“...Well. Thank you for moving. Sunset, why don’t you help me pass out the worksheet before you settle in?”
“Will I get expelled again if I don’t?”
“Sunset.” Celestia’s voice was sharp, and Twilight knew from experience how annoyed she must have been to take that tone.
“I’m kidding. Don’t you know what a joke is?”
Twilight could hear Sunset start to move around the room, could hear the clack of the chalk as Cheerilee continued writing on the board, could hear her classmates giggling and whispering and talking in hushed voices. Probably about me. She wanted to throw up. Being singled out in class was bad enough, but in front of Celestia of all people? She anxiously risked a glance up through her bangs toward the door just to see Celestia staring back at her with her brow knit in concern.
Somehow, her concern made Twilight feel worse. She ducked her head again and tried to ignore the tears pricking at her eyes.
A minute later she heard the sound of the door closing. Celestia had left. Then—
“Here.” A piece of paper slid in front of her face and interrupted the view of her desk. Twilight stared at it for a second before remembering, the worksheet, stupid! Sunset waggled the paper expectantly. “Hello? You good?”
“S-sorry.” Twilight winced as her voice cracked. She took the paper.
Sunset shot her a look, but didn’t say anything else. Instead she pulled out her chair and plopped down with her own worksheet. Her backpack dropped in the middle of the aisle with a heavy thump, and she kicked it under her desk with one intimidating black combat boot.
Twilight’s stomach flipped anxiously. She did her best to ignore her new neighbour—and her pounding heartbeat—by turning her attention to the worksheet. At least it was math class. Maybe solving a few problems would help her calm down.
It took a while, but eventually Twilight felt her face cool off and her heart rate return to normal. The classroom wasn’t completely silent, as Cheerilee had allowed them to work together if they wanted, but the atmosphere was much calmer. Calm enough to focus, at least.
She finished the last question on the front more slowly than she’d have liked to, but still quick enough to be a bit satisfied. A few seconds after she’d flipped the worksheet over to start on the back, something tapped against the corner of her desk.
“Hey,” Sunset said from across the aisle. She tapped her pen on Twilight’s desk again and asked, “What’d you get on the first question?”
Twilight glanced up and frowned. Why was she asking her? No, too confrontational. She settled for a more neutral, “You won’t learn anything if I just tell you.”
Surprisingly, Sunset let out a small laugh. “Well, yeah. But I also won’t learn if I don’t know that I’m wrong. I just wanna compare answers.”
A pause. “You’re finished already?”
“Yeah. You’re done the first half, right?” Her pen tapped three more times impatiently. “If I know I’ve done the front correctly, I’m not gonna bother checking the back ‘cause it’s the same concept.”
Twilight didn’t know how to respond to that. But she didn’t sense anything malicious in the request, and it was a little impressive that she’d finished both sides of the worksheet so quickly. Regardless of any potential mistakes from rushing. So, despite her instinctive hesitation, she pushed her paper toward Sunset and muttered, “...Okay. You can check, then. But be quick.”
Sunset grinned and took the sheet. “Thanks.” She placed it beside her own and started checking, making small marks next to each question on her own sheet. Twilight noticed her handwriting was neater than she’d expected. Huh.
“Done.” Sunset clicked her pen triumphantly and passed back the paper. “It’s Twilight, right?”
“Yeah.” What would be best to say next? “But, um, how do you know my answers are right?”
“I mean, you look like a total dork. I figure you know what you’re doing.”
Oh. Twilight wilted slightly. Embarrassment burned against the tips of her ears. Right.
“But I mean, I really don’t know for sure. We could both be wrong! I don’t think we are, though; this stuff is just review.” Apparently finished explaining, Sunset reached for her bag and stuffed her finished worksheet down the side of it. It crinkled audibly, but she didn’t seem to care.
“...I guess that makes sense,” Twilight said, uncomfortably aware of how long she’d been silent. She reached for her pencil to return to her own sheet, but her trembling fingers fumbled against its uneven surface and accidentally knocked it off the side of her desk. Shoot.
The pencil fell to the floor with a clatter and rolled about a foot across the tile floor. Twilight moved to pick it up, only for Sunset to do the exact same thing.
“Oh, I can get that for you.”
That was in my mouth earlier was the only thing Twilight managed to think before Sunset picked up the chewed-up pencil and leaned across the aisle with her elbows on her knees. “Here,” she said, and held the pencil out. “But... can I ask you something before you start working again?” Her voice lowered, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “Are you doing okay?”
Twilight tried to avert her eyes from Sunset’s piercing stare. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably. Fear squeezed at the back of her throat. It was an uncomfortable question. And she’s gotten way too close. Before her thoughts could spiral she locked her gaze on her wayward pencil to ground herself and stammered out a weak, “W-what are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. When Cheerilee assigned me my seat, you looked like you were about to cry.”
“It was obvious?” That was horrible news to Twilight. She didn’t think she’d been that bad, but if the new girl had noticed, then of course the classmates that had been around her all through high school would have picked up on—
“No, I don’t think it was obvious to most people,” Sunset said slowly. “I just...” She leaned back and fiddled with the pencil almost sheepishly, oblivious to the teeth marks. Twilight wanted to scream. “I’m pretty empathetic, I guess. I’m good at knowing when someone’s got something bugging them. So.” She fell silent, as if waiting for an answer.
“I have social anxiety,” Twilight blurted out. Oh my god I said it. Then, before Sunset could respond, she quickly added, “And I need my pencil back so I can finish the worksheet. Sorry.”
Sunset stayed quiet for a second. Just as Twilight prepared herself for a bad reaction—like sneers, or mocking, or pity—she instead nodded slowly, and sat up straight. “No, it’s my bad. I shouldn’t have taken it without asking.” She placed the pencil back on Twilight’s desk and pulled her legs out of the aisle so she was sitting properly again. “Hope I didn’t bother you much.”
Shoot shoot shoot, say something, Sparkle! You’re being weird again! “No, you weren’t bothering me.” Yes! Good! “No one really talks to me, so I guess it was kind of nice.” No!
Oblivious to Twilight’s mental warfare, Sunset turned back to the side and furrowed her brow. “No one talks to you?”
“I think they’re intimidated by Celestia. But I’m also really awkward. I don’t blame them.” And I don’t know when to shut up, apparently!
“Why would they be intimidated by the principal?”
“She’s, um... a family friend? Sort of?”
Sunset snorted. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little unusual. People probably think they’d get in trouble with her if they did something wrong on your watch, right?”
“Y-yeah. But they also don’t bother me for the same reason. I guess she’s a double-edged sword.”
“Seems like it.”
With nothing left to add to the conversation (and the relief that she’d managed to stop rambling), Twilight finally turned back to her worksheet. As she did, Sunset leaned back in her chair and pulled out her phone. Phew. She placed the end of her pencil back against her lips and exhaled a shaky breath. That... could have gone a lot worse, I guess.
It didn’t take her much time to breeze through the rest of the problems and start on the bonus. While it wasn’t mandatory, it posed a bit of a challenge, which Twilight thoroughly enjoyed. But just as she began to read it, a small slip of paper bounced against her desk and landed in the middle of her worksheet.
Frowning, she picked it up and unfolded it. Then she shot Sunset a confused look. “We sit next to each other.”
Sunset nodded.
“This is ridiculous.”
Instead of replying verbally, Sunset scribbled something else on another piece of notebook paper, folded it into a packet, and tossed it over with a smirk.
Twilight sighed. The things I put up with. She reluctantly unfolded the second message and compared the two notes. The first one read, “Sit with me at lunch? —SS”, while the second had a doodle of a frowning face with scribbled hair that was clearly meant to represent Sunset.
Unbelievable. She rolled her eyes and pushed the notes to the side of her desk. She’d deal with them after the bonus problem.
It was just two minutes before the bell when Twilight finally tossed back her answer: yes.
“I have history next,” Sunset half-shouted in an attempt to be heard over the noisy hallway. “But let’s meet up at lunch, okay?”
Twilight nodded slowly. It wasn’t like she had any other plans. Or anyone else to sit with, for that matter.
The two of them pushed their way through the crowd to their lockers—their surnames were close enough alphabetically that they were assigned to the same hall—and went to grab their belongings for their next class. As Twilight swapped out her heavy math textbook for a fresh notebook, she heard someone beside her let out a loud gasp.
“Ohmigosh! Who’s that with you, Twilight?”
Huh? Confused, Twilight closed her locker door and came face-to-face with a wide-eyed girl she’d had in a few classes the previous year. Oh, it’s Pinkie Pie.
“Hey,” Sunset said from Twilight’s other side. She closed her own locker and leaned up against it with her arms crossed. “I’m Sunset Shimmer. I’m new, I guess.”
“You shouldn’t guess about something like that, silly. Either you are, or you aren’t!” Pinkie held one hand out in front of her and continued, “Nice to meetcha! I’m Pinkie Pie. Do you have any allergies?”
A shadow of uncertainty crept over Sunset’s face as she hesitantly shook Pinkie’s hand. “Why do you ask?”
“So you don’t get an allergic reaction, duh.”
“But why would I—“
“Y’know what, to be safe I’ll just make things peanut-free. That shouldn’t be a problem, right? Unless peanut is your favorite flavor. Is it?”
“Uh.”
“Awesome! I’ll meet you after school in the front foyer, okay? Try not to be late!” With that remark, Pinkie let go of Sunset’s hand and disappeared back into the crowd.
Sunset didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then she asked carefully, “Is that… normal for her?”
“I think so,” Twilight said.
“And what did I just get roped into?”
“Probably a welcome party. I think she’s head of the social committee.”
“...Huh.”
The bell rang, and the swarms of students started to disperse toward their classrooms. Twilight gave Sunset a wave over her shoulder before heading in the opposite direction to her next class: computer science. It wasn’t a required course, but she’d added it to her schedule for two reasons: she’d run out of science and math courses to take, and the computer science course had assignments in place of examinations. A ‘bird course’, as Shining called it.
The lab was fairly empty when Twilight entered. The teacher, Mr Cranky Doodle, was preoccupied with setting up at the teacher’s desk. Of the twenty-ish student machines only three were occupied—one at the front by a bespectacled boy Twilight didn’t recognize, and two in the back corner by a pair of girls she didn’t expect to see in a computer lab.
“Hey, egghead,” Rainbow Dash called out. Beside her, Applejack elbowed her in the side and she corrected, “I mean, Twilight.”
“Hey Rainbow,” Twilight sighed. She dropped her backpack on the second-last seat in the row and sat down on the furthest one. There wasn’t any malice in the nickname anymore, but it still stung. “I didn’t know you two were in this course.”
Applejack cracked a grin and joked, “I figured I’d give these modern doohickeys a shot.”
“And this course doesn’t have finals,” Rainbow added.
“Eeyup. That too.”
Of course that’s why, Twilight thought to herself. She snuck a glance at their computer screens, then raised an eyebrow. “And because the school machines don’t have the search filter?”
“It’s ‘cool math games’, man. It’s not like I’m looking at porn.”
“Rainbow Dash.”
“What? You’re playing too, AJ. We’re both not looking at—ow! Jesus, dude! You got razors for elbows or something?”
Twilight didn’t know what she should have expected from those two. It wasn’t worth speaking up about anything, though, so she left them to their bickering and turned her attention to her own computer. Not even a minute after she logged in did the bell ring to announce the start of class.
The sound of the bell died away, and Cranky loudly cleared his throat. “Welcome back, students.” He scanned the near-empty class and muttered, “Well, to the few of you that are here, anyway. I suppose that makes attendance easier on my end.”
As he launched into his droning explanation of the course, Twilight leaned her head on her arm and tuned him out. She’d gone over the outlines of all her courses already with Celestia to prepare herself for the semester—one of the perks of knowing the principal, she supposed. At the other end of the row Rainbow and Applejack looked similarly bored, but they at least had the decency to pretend to pay attention. Unlike Twilight.
“...So that’s that. If you have a question about the assignment, just come up and ask me about it.” Satisfied with his speech, Cranky leaned back in his chair and pulled out a novel. “Go on. You can start now.”
Even though Twilight hadn’t been listening, she already knew what the first assignment was thanks to her pre-semester preparation. Spreadsheets. Ugh. That’s hardly even programming. She glanced up at the clock. 10:41. I’ve got eighty-four minutes, but I doubt I’ll even need half that.
And she didn’t. Twilight breezed through the assignment and submitted her spreadsheet at five past the hour. She probably could have finished quicker, but the hushed giggles and whispering from the pair at the end of the row had made her lose her train of thought multiple times. Regardless, that still left her with a large amount of free time that, quite frankly, she didn’t know what to do with.
As she contemplated her options, she realized the sound of her typing had been absent long enough for Cranky to take notice. “Done already, Miss Sparkle?” he asked, squinting at her over the cover of his book.
“Y-yes.”
“Mm. Alright.” He narrowed his eyes further and pointed over to Rainbow and Applejack. “Have those two started yet?”
Twilight snuck another glance at their screens. “Um.” The two computers very clearly did not have spreadsheets on them, and instead displayed what looked suspiciously like cool math games instead.
Then the window on one computer quickly minimized, and Rainbow leaned across Twilight’s line of sight to shoot her a pleading look.
“...Yes,” Twilight lied.
“Mm,” Cranky grunted again. He turned back to his book. “Very well.”
After a minute of silence Applejack let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Twilight,” she whispered. She closed the game she’d been playing and said, “We owe you one.”
“You can pay me back by getting started,” Twilight half-whispered back. “You know if you use the period to work on the assignment, you don’t have to do anything at home, right?”
“Lame,” Rainbow grumbled, but she closed her game as well. “Then since you’re not doing anything, wanna give us a hand?”
“You won’t learn anything if I just tell you.”
“Yeah, but we also won’t learn anything if we don’t know how to start.”
She’s got me there, Twilight admitted. She weighed her options for the rest of the class again. It’s not like I have anything better to do. “Fine,” she decided. “I’ll help you set up, but that’s it.”
Applejack nodded and slid her bag off of the empty seat on her other side to make room for Twilight. “Mighty kind of you. We gave the instructions a good try, but...” She trailed off into silence, then shrugged. “Well. Maybe if you go through it with us it’ll make a bit of sense.”
Once Twilight logged off and moved over to the other computer, she managed to explain enough of the assignment to get both Applejack and Rainbow started on their spreadsheets. Eventually, during a stretch of silence as the two of them worked, Rainbow cleared her throat.
“Um. So. Did you do anything cool this summer, egghe— I mean, Twilight?” she corrected sheepishly.
Twilight blinked. She’d done a few activities with her family she’d found exciting, but she was pretty sure they didn’t qualify as ‘cool’. “Not really,” she answered.
The stretch of silence returned, this time filled with an awkward tension.
“...You can say more than that, you know,” Rainbow grumbled. She smashed the backspace key a few times with more force than necessary and slouched down in her chair.
Anxiety immediately pooled in the pit of Twilight’s stomach. She stared down at her lap and tried to ignore the sudden pressure building around her throat. “S-sorry. I...” The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come out: I don’t want you to make fun of me. “I don’t talk to people much,” she said instead.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Jab. “Ow!”
“Don’t mind Dash,” Applejack interjected. She lowered her elbow. The tone of her voice was filled with an emotion Twilight had to hear far too often: pity. “It’s perfectly fine if you like keepin’ to yourself. Why, my brother’s about the same. Talks even less, I reckon.”
Twilight hated being pitied. Being such a pitiful person. She managed a nod. “Yeah. I know.”
“And we’re sure grateful for your help. I don’t think we’d have gotten very far on our own.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow added, “you’re real good at this stuff. Even if you’re kinda hard to talk to.” She frowned, and mashed the backspace key again. “I’m kinda surprised you covered for us, actually. I had you pegged as a teacher’s pet, y’know?”
“I...” Twilight trailed off again. Why had she helped them? “I didn’t see any point in getting you in trouble. We’re all here to learn, right? Getting scolded isn’t going to help you do the assignment.” The explanation felt hollow, but it seemed plausible enough.
“...Huh. Well.” The pause stretched on for long enough that Twilight thought she’d finished talking, only for Rainbow to append a quiet, “Thanks, I guess.”
The two of them returned to the assignment, and Twilight stared back down at her lap. She’d survived another conversation, hadn’t she? But this one had been different from the one she’d had with Sunset. It was unfamiliar and awkward, and left the bitter taste of pity rising at the back of her throat.
“So how was your class?” Sunset asked. She stirred her soup with long, lazy strokes, as if she didn’t intend on eating it at all. “I slept through most of mine.”
They were sitting in the cafeteria at a slightly-secluded table pushed into a corner. Twilight had picked it—after all, she’d spent most of her high school lunches at that very table.
Over five-hundred lunches, and all of them alone.
Of course, Sunset posed her question just as Twilight took a large bite out of her sandwich. “Itch wash—” She chewed, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “It was fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Do you want the details?”
Sunset laughed. “Not really,” she admitted. “If you tried to explain it, I’d probably just go back to sleep.” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, only to lower it with a frown. “Ugh. Still too hot.”
“You weren’t joking about sleeping?” Twilight asked. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No matter how boring she’d found a course in the past, she’d never been bold enough to take a nap. A lack of boldness, and... one other reason.
“It was just an introduction. I already took this course at my old school, y’know.” She paused. “Well, one month of it.”
Right. Sunset wasn’t just a transfer student. “You were expelled,” Twilight said bluntly.
“Yep.”
“Why?” It can’t have been for academics.
At that, Sunset grinned. She put her spoon back on her tray and pushed it to the side. “You sure you want to know?”
Twilight shrugged. “If you want to tell me.”
“You’re not gonna believe me.”
“Try me.”
Still grinning, Sunset nodded. “Suit yourself.” She reached over to her bag and stuck her hand inside, pausing for dramatic effect. “The reason I got expelled was...”
Another pause. Twilight rolled her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich.
“...this!” Sunset pulled a rectangular object out of her bag with a flourish. She set it on the table with a satisfying thump, and Twilight immediately recognized what it was.
“That’s a book, Sunset.”
The book looked old, like something that might have been found at an antique book store. Its cover was made of worn leather with a red-and-gold sun emblem embossed at the center, and the edges of the pages were uneven and rough. Though it wasn’t overly large, with the amount of pages Twilight estimated it probably weighed more than a textbook.
So in short, yes. It was indeed a book.
“It’s not just a book,” Sunset corrected. “It’s a source of magic.”
Silence. Twilight nearly choked on her sandwich. “You’re joking.”
“Yeah, that’s what the assholes who tried to steal it from me said,” Sunset said, an almost wistful expression flitting across her face. “But I didn’t need magic to put ‘em in their place.”
“You’re joking,” Twilight repeated. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You mean, like stage magic? It’s a book on those sorts of illusions?”
The wistful expression faded into disappointment. “No, I mean real magic.” She picked up her spoon again and exhaled sharply. “I said you weren’t going to believe me.”
“Of course I don’t believe you!” Her voice slightly shrill, Twilight glanced around to make sure no one was listening before continuing, “Do you even hear yourself? Magic is a fictional device used in children’s stories. It’s got no basis in science or mathematics, and for all intents and purposes has been proven to be impossible. How can you possibly believe in something like that without proof?”
To her credit, Sunset waited patiently for Twilight to finish before she responded. “I had proof, once,” she said. “Proof of magic.”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”
“It’s real,” Sunset said, irritation creeping into her tone. “This book is the proof. When I was younger, I would write into it and the book would write back. Look at this.” She flipped to a section closer to the front of the book and spun it around for Twilight to read. “That’s my handwriting”—she pointed to a more childlike version of the handwriting Twilight had seen in math—“and that’s the book’s writing.” This time she pointed to areas on the page covered with ink-black writing so neat it could have passed as typeface. “See?”
There’s a marked difference, sure, but... Squinting a bit to read, Twilight gave the pages a quick skim. “I agree that two different people wrote this, but you don’t have proof it wasn’t just another person.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Can you show me how it works, then?”
“...No. It doesn’t work anymore.”
“And why doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. It just stopped, okay?”
“So if you don’t know why it stopped working, you don’t know how it worked in the first place,” Twilight mused. “Perhaps it’s some sort of magician’s trick, with pre-printed dialogue that can be made to appear. Similar to invisible ink.”
Sunset groaned in frustration and tossed her spoon to the table with a clatter. “I shouldn’t have brought this up. Look. You asked why I got expelled, right? I’m changing my answer.” She snatched the book out of Twilight’s hands and said sharply, “Some bullies stole something that belonged to me, so I got in a fight and won. They went crying to the teachers and I got kicked out. End of story.”
“I...” Twilight trailed off, ashamed. She’d gotten carried away again. “What you’re trying to say is just unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“I know it is,” Sunset said. She placed the book back on the table and sighed. “It’s just that I know it’s true. I know what I saw. But no one else ever believes me. At this point I probably wouldn’t even mind if someone pretended to, even if they didn’t actually.” She laughed weakly. “But I get it. It’s fine. I honestly don’t know why I tried to tell you about it.”
A familiar feeling crept its way up Twilight’s neck. Familiar, but not one she was used to wearing herself. Pity.
“I’m sorry that no one believes you,” she said quietly.
“It’s okay.” Another weak laugh. “I’m used to it.”
Silence. Twilight suddenly wasn’t in the mood to finish her sandwich. What do I do now? She swallowed hard, and tried to push another uncomfortable thought out of her mind: Have I messed things up for good? But what can I even say to fix this? As she tried to think, Sunset moved to take the book back and put it away. Do something, Sparkle!
“Wait,” Twilight said lamely. When Sunset stopped, she added, “I can’t believe you without proof, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try, okay?”
Sunset paused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if I see something with my own eyes, I’ll believe it,” Twilight said. She pointed her finger at herself and said, “So if I see something magical and can’t disprove it right away, I’ll definitely want to look into it.” She turned her finger around to point at Sunset and continued, “Then since you’ve seen something magical you want to prove, all you have to do is show me something magical.” She paused. Her outstretched hand wavered. “Um, does that make sense?”
“Not really,” Sunset replied, but she was smiling slightly. Her mood seemed to have brightened a little bit. “But personally, I don’t need to understand something to believe it.” Then, as if she’d just had an idea, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pen. “Here. You try writing in it.”
Twilight blinked. “Me?”
“This thing hasn’t worked for me in years.” She flipped to the most recent page and showed it to Twilight. “See? I wrote that last week and nothing happened. But maybe it’s like a genie, and each person only gets so many attempts, or something. Maybe it’ll work for you instead.”
“Oh, so we believe in genies now?”
“Ha-ha.” Sunset rolled her eyes and handed Twilight the pen. “Just try it yourself. You can disprove my theory and prove to yourself that it doesn’t work at the same time.”
“I... okay. I guess that tracks.” Pen in hand, Twilight stared down at the book. It didn’t seem particularly special. She frowned, and looked across the table to Sunset. “What do I say?”
“Dunno. Whatever you want.”
Twilight wrinkled her nose. That wasn’t much help. I guess it doesn’t really matter, she decided, and put the pen against the page to write.
Hello. My name is Twilight Sparkle.
Nothing happened.
After nearly a minute Sunset let out another sigh, this time much more dejected than before. “So that’s that. It still doesn’t work.”
“That’s that,” Twilight echoed, still staring at the book. It was childish to expect anything else. Foolish, really, to think that anything would—could—write back. Belief without proof was an irresponsible endeavor, after all. And without proof, Twilight Sparkle could not believe in magic.
And that was that.
At least, until the book wrote back.