✽ PART ONE: SPRING ✽
Most people still cringe when they see me. Not ‘cringe’ in the stupid internet way that Rainbow Dash is obsessed with, but ‘cringe’ like they’re still expecting me to shout their head off or crush them against a locker or worse. It only lasts a second, but I notice it every time.
Normally it’d tick me off, but I can’t blame them today; I spent the entire weekend after the Friendship Games sleeping, and I still look like a corpse. My feet drag, my back is killing me, and I’m sure that the bags under my eyes are bottomlessly deep — forcing a friendly smile is never easy, but right now it’s impossible.
It’s been less than a year since I brought Equestrian magic to this world, and it’s already almost killed us three times. For the sake of my sleep schedule (and my grades) I’m praying that the Friendship Games were the final exam.
When I finally reach my locker, it takes all my energy to not use the stack of textbooks inside as a pillow. But third period History is hurtling towards me like a cannonball — just like the misfired cannonball shot that crippled Lady Goldheart in 1521, leading her to a life of solitude and the eventual founding of the all-woman Marestone Monastery in 1539 — so I try to recreate the taste of caffeine in my mind and trudge forward.
But I only make it a few steps before something new stops me: A familiar head of purple-pink hair, set on top of an unfamiliar body.
Twilight — the new Twilight, I unconsciously remind myself — is huddled in the corner of the hallway, staring down at a messy binder filled with papers. Her hair is still tied up in the same tight bun, her knees knock together endlessly, and her face is screwed up tight like she’s about to cry.
Maybe it’s just the reformed demon in me, but that’s enough to get me standing up straight.
I hurry towards her, putting on my warmest grin. “Hey, Twilight!”
When she hears me, Twilight doesn’t just cringe — she jumps, letting her binder fall to the floor and explode into a storm of loose leaf and scrap paper. “Oh gosh,” she breathes, dropping to her knees to contain the mess.
I drop too, hitting the floor with an achey grunt. “Sorry about that,” I say. “Didn’t mean to scare you!”
Twilight looks up, but her eyes don’t rise past my stomach. “No, no, it’s my fault. Principal Celestia gave me a load of guides in this old binder, and I knew I should have switched it out with a better one from home, but I’ve just been so frazzled today and I didn’t have time.“
“Don’t worry about it.” I hand her a bundle of papers. “It’s your first day. And accidents happen.”
The slightest smile tiptoes across Twilight’s face. “Thanks.”
We both rise to our feet, and she starts refilling the binder. But her knees still knock, and the smile fades faster than it appeared.
I tilt my head. “Everything okay?”
“Yes!” she says. A stilted laugh crawls out of her mouth. “Very, very okay!”
Now I raise a brow. “Really?”
Twilight’s eyes flit up to meet mine for a half-second. “I can’t find my next class. Principal Celestia gave me this map, but it’s… not very good.”
She hands me a sheet of paper that’s got so much black photocopier burn it’s unreadable. I flip it over and see that the other side is an actual map — but none of the rooms are labeled.
“Well, these suck.” I give the ‘map’ back. “Do you know which room you’re looking for?”
“Room 233. AP Chemistry with Miss Bunsen?”
“There’s your problem.” I point down the hall in the direction that I came from. “The science labs are numbered super weirdly. They’ve got the highest room numbers, but they actually come before Room 201.”
Twilight nods. “Like an integer overflow error?”
“Exactly. I can walk you there if you want.”
For the first time, her smile reaches her eyes — but soon wilts. “Won’t you be late for class?”
“Nah, I’ve got a free period.” The lie slips past my lips as easily as air. Maybe that should worry me, but right now, if I have to pick between Mr. Lacuna’s lecture on the religious dynasties of Prance and spending time with a friend (or at least an acquaintance), I know my choice.
Twilight squirms in place for a moment, then says, “I don’t want to cut into your free time…”
“You’re not cutting into anything.” I start walking and motion for her to follow. “Hell, I even used to be CHS’ official tour guide.”
She scurries after me. “Really?”
“Yep! Would have kept the job too, except the first students I gave a tour to ended up being a trio of evil soul-devouring sirens that tried to take over the world with pop music.”
Twilight giggles at that, the happiest noise I’ve ever heard her make, so I resist telling her that it’s a true story. She’ll find out eventually.
Once her giggling dies down, she goes snowfall silent, eyes pointed to the floor, binder clutched to her chest. Does she walk like this everywhere? It’s a wonder that she hasn’t fallen headfirst into a garbage can yet.
“So,” I start, somehow making her jump again, “aside from this hiccup, how’s your first day going? What do you think of CHS?”
“It’s nice,” Twilight says. She looks around, but not at me. “The desks don’t have that much gum stuck to them. The library is great — not as big as the one at Crystal Prep, but definitely better than the county average.”
I chuckle. “That’s good to hear. If what I’ve heard about Crystal Prep is true, I figured that a day in our dinky little public school would have you begging to go back.”
“Not at all!” Her knuckles go white around the binder as she stammers, “I’m very impressed, really! And I actually went to public schools most of my life, but of course I understand the absolute privilege that I have from having attended Crystal Prep, but I don’t really consider myself—”
“Twi,” I say, trying to keep my smile as warm as I can. “I’m joking.”
Her grip loosens a tiny bit. “Oh, okay. Sorry. I don’t always — yeah.”
And I thought Princess Twilight could be a nervous wreck. Good to know she doesn’t mind the nickname, at least. I bite my tongue and start coming up with a new bit of small talk.
But now I’m the one caught off guard when she says, “I guess the only weird thing is that everyone already knows my name.” Her face is pointed so far down that I can’t see her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised. After what I did.”
“Hey.” I stop walking and grab her shoulder, and her head bolts up and she looks like I’ve just shot her. I realize that I’m frowning and holding hard — no wonder she thinks I’m gonna kill her — so I release my grip and take a quick breath to rekindle my smile.
“None of that was your fault. No one should put what happened on your back.” I force out a genuine-sounding laugh and put my hand over my heart. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, let me know. I’ll get it sorted.”
Twilight is staring straight ahead. She nods, mutters a response (I think?), and we keep walking. In my head, I’m cursing myself out.
A moment later, we reach Room 233. With just a grunt, I gesture to the door and let her pass in front of me. She grabs the doorknob, but freezes.
Twilight spins to face me, and for the first time actually lifts her head and makes solid eye contact. She’s got a steely look on her face, brows furrowed and lips pursed like a focused boxer. I’m expecting her to say thanks, or goodbye, or even tell me off for touching her — but instead she reaches her hand halfway towards mine and hangs it there.
It takes either two seconds or twenty years for me to realize that she’s offering a handshake.
I wrap my hand around hers, nearly swallowing her fingers in my oversized grip. Her bony palm is hot and sweaty.
We shake once. Twice. We hang there. I let go.
She takes back her hand, gives me a red-faced nod, and slips inside the classroom.
Frozen in place, I wipe my hand off on my jeans and try to recall any time I’ve shaken hands with someone under the age of forty. But soon the third period late bell rings, jolting me awake.
As I begin the slow funeral march up to Mr. Lacuna’s class on the fifth floor, a single thought sticks in my brain: We have got to give that girl some friendship lessons.