“I think I’ve decided what my next wish is gonna be,” Dust Devil said as she counted out her bits.
Strawberry said nothing. She only watched Dust Devil pick through her change.
Dust reached twelve, at long last, and dumped the bits on the table. “Don’t you wanna know what it is?”
Strawberry sighed. “Your wish?”
“Mhm!”
“Not really.”
Dust Devil momentarily deflated, but sprang right back up and flared her wings. “Oh! You don’t have to worry about the telling-ponies-your-wish rule,” she said, beaming. “I’ve got it on good authority that it doesn’t matter one bit.”
She leaned in and winked theatrically.
Strawberry blinked.
“On account of—well, I made a few wishes now that you knew all about,” Dust explained. “You even gave me the idea for one! So don’t you worry: we can chat about the wishes all we want. No harm, no foul.”
Strawberry grunted something and pushed a pint at Dust.
Dust did not pick up on the increasingly subtle cues Strawberry was laying down. “Thanks!” She picked up her pint and nestled it safely into her withers.
She hovered there. She had the sort of nervous excitement of a young foal the night before Hearth’s Warming.
“Oh, I’ll tell you!” She leaned in close, cupped a hoof around her mouth, and whispered: “I was gonna wish for you to get some more customers. Maybe sell out your stock!”
She drew back.
She smiled.
That was all she had to say, apparently. She stood there, strawberries balanced between her wings, smiling down on Strawberry Sunrise with this unsolicited gift. The sunlight glinted off her aviator’s goggles and nearly blinded Strawberry as she looked up at her. She had to shield her eyes with one hoof and squint hard to see Dust at all.
“I… didn’t ask you to do that,” Strawberry said, almost accusingly.
Dust laughed. “I know that, silly.”
“That’s stupid,” Strawberry said. “I don’t deserve that. I didn’t earn that! Why would you wish for that?”
“U-uh.” Dust took a small step back, and the sunlight’s angle changed. “It’s not stupid. I thought you’d like to—”
“And, what, I need you for that?” Strawberry scoffed. “I could sell out every week if I wanted to.”
“Oh.” Dust Devil cocked her head. “So… you don’t want to sell out?”
“Yeah! I mean, no! I mean—” Strawberry stopped herself, took a small steadying breath, and said, “Don’t be stupid. Don’t waste your wish on my crap. I can make all the wishes I want, right? I’m the one with the stock.”
“But… you aren’t.”
“Dust. C’mon.” Strawberry gestured broadly to her stall. “They’re my strawberries. Where do you think I—”
“I mean you aren’t making wishes,” Dust said.
Strawberry’s mouth opened to reply, but she found none. Instead, she snickered. “That’s—I mean, I—” She searched for an explanation, and settled on, “You don’t know that.”
But she did.
And she wasn’t.
That was true.
Dust made a face. Strawberry knew there wasn’t a lot behind the face, beyond some very general confusion with the entire interaction.
She sort of wished she could start frying her own brain cells at the rate Dust managed.
Strawberry let out a long breath. Then, without saying another word, she swept Dust Devil’s bits into her open cash box. They made an awful clattering sound, and Dust Devil cringed away from it.
“Um… sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” she offered.
Strawberry sighed. “Whatever.”
“I was just—”
“I’ll see you next week,” Strawberry said quickly. “Or I won’t. Whichever.”
Dust Devil clenched her jaw and looked down at the ground.
Strawberry didn’t wait for her to leave. She picked up her book and pretended she already had.