Rainbow Dash holds up a $20 bill. “Here’s the deal: We all put in twenty bucks, and the last person to scream wins it all. I’ll start.”
Applejack frowns. “Ain’t that the $20 I let you borrow last week?”
“Of course not,” Rainbow says. “I already spent that. This is from my allowance.”
While Applejack lifts Rainbow off the ground and tries to wrest the money from her hand, Rarity scoffs. “Please. It’s bad enough that we’re spending a beautiful afternoon like this watching an awful, gory horror movie. I don’t need to lose even more money.”
“Aw, the movie’s not gonna be that bad,” I say, leaning back in my creaky food court chair. “But I’m with you on the money thing — you know how expensive popcorn is, right?”
“And candy,” Pinkie adds, nodding. “And soda. And nachos. And slushies. And fries. And at least three hot dogs.”
Fluttershy doesn’t even look up from her knitting.
“Aw, come on,” Rainbow says as AJ stuffs the $20 bill into her own pocket. “What, are you all salty ‘cuz you know I’ll win?”
Next to me, Twilight raises her hand. “You didn’t ask me.”
Rainbow smirks. “Right. Twilight, do you wanna challenge me in a bravery contest?”
She takes out her wallet. “Sure.”
While Twi takes out some money, Rainbow blows a raspberry. “What? It’s a super scary horror movie! You’re totally gonna scream before I do.”
Now Twi’s the one smirking. “Should be an easy win, then.”
Rainbow narrows her eyes. “You’re baiting me.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you are.” Rainbow fishes another $20 out of her wallet, slams it on the table, and grins. “And I’m taking the bait.”
The logical part of my brain knows that Rainbow’s winning this. She talks a big game, but she backs it up too. And Twi is jumpy at the best of times. There’s no way she keeps a straight face through all of Blood Curl.
But there’s something about her smile that’s keeping me hooked. She’s too smart — and too self-depreciating — to challenge Rainbow if she couldn’t follow through. She’s thought about this.
I grab my wallet and pull out some bills. “I’m putting $20 in.”
Pinkie joins me a second later. “Samesies!”
“Me too,” Applejack says, putting down the $20 she took from Rainbow. “I wanna see how this turns out.”
Fluttershy follows after, and then Rarity, albeit with some grumbling. And through it all, Twilight just sits politely, hands folded while the money piles up around her.
Rainbow is glaring at us like we’ve spat on her fancy sneakers. But then she takes a breath, slaps herself in the face, and puts her grin back on. “Fine, doubt all you want. But when I win this, I’m gonna take your money and buy a ticket to next week’s Canterlot Wizards game. And one of those tiny baseball helmets filled with ice cream.”
“And I’m going to buy a new bed for Spike,” Twilight says, holding her head high. “Memory foam.”
Fluttershy gasps.
“Oh, this is serious serious,” Pinkie says, eyes wide.
Chuckling, Rainbow steps forward, spits in her hand, and offers it to Twilight. “May the best woman win?”
Twilight cringes back. “Can I just accept the handshake in spirit?”
“No, you gotta shake for real.”
“But that’s your spit!”
“Yeah, it’s tradition! It’s a metaphor!”
“A metaphor for what?”
“My fighting spirit!” Rainbow says, balling her hand into a fist. The saliva in her palm squelches and spills through her fingers.
“Can I shake for her?” I ask, raising my hand. “Like, as a proxy?”
Rainbow turns to Pinkie. “She can’t do that, right?”
Pinkie pulls out a massive book labeled ‘The Laws of Handshaking, Revised Ed.’ and puts on a tiny pair of reading glasses. She murmurs to herself as she skims through the chapters, then slams it shut and shakes her head. “There’s nothing in the rules that says a half-pony teenager can’t act as a spit-shake substitute!”
Rainbow growls, but then spits in her hand again and turns to me. I do the same and we shake.
When I pull away, Twilight hands me a pile of napkins and a tube of hand sanitizer.
Neutral party Applejack gathers up everyone’s cash, then we all get up and start heading over to the theater. Rainbow’s strutting along with her chest puffed out like she’s already won. But Twilight still looks as calm as ever.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I ask her in a low voice. “I know I bet on you, but you don’t strike me as the horror movie type. No offense.”
“None taken,” she says, smiling. “But don’t judge my book by its cover. I happen to be something of a horror movie aficionado — you’d be surprised what sort of things a girl can find when given unsupervised internet access from an early age!”
I blink. “Should that worry me?”
“Leave the worrying to my therapist.” She starts strutting like Dash. “The point is that I’ve seen far worse than an overproduced mainstream jumpscare-bloated slasher flick like this. It won’t faze me one bit!”
Maybe it’s just the dark theater, but halfway through the movie, Twilight looks a lot like her mom: Pale.
She’s still got a smile, though it’s tight, like it’s taking a world of energy just to keep her lips closed. She’s sitting ramrod straight, gripping the armrests. And every jumpscare makes her kick her leg out like it’s a doctor’s reflex test.
But she hasn’t screamed. Hasn’t made a sound, not even a squeak. I’m not sure she’s breathing. That scares me more than the movie.
Rainbow Dash is three seats away, shrunken into her seat like a dehydrated grape. Can’t say for sure how she’s doing, but it doesn't look great!
And besides, even if she did scream, I wouldn’t be able to hear it over the other girls. Pinkie’s yelping at least ten times a minute — probably because she just likes to scream. Fluttershy’s pulled her shirt collar over her face. Even Applejack’s hollering!
Rarity went to the bathroom an hour ago and hasn’t come back. Good chance that she snuck into the romcom they’re showing one theater over.
All this said, the movie is almost over and both Twi and Dash are still going strong. Er, “strong.” What happens if the movie ends and neither of them have screamed? Is it a tie? I better get my money back. I wanna have burritos for dinner tonight.
On screen, the main character — some skinny chick with shining blond hair and a tiny tank top — is creeping through a dark attic with a flashlight, snail slow. It’s been nine seconds since the last scare, so everyone in our theater is on edge. As the chick reaches the wooden box at the edge of the attic, Twilight takes a long breath.
The wooden box shoots open and a snake, shining red with blood, leaps into the camera.
Twilight jumps in her seat and her hand darts over to clutch mine and holy shit oh my goddess what is happening.
While the rest of the theater explodes with screaming, Twilight’s fear surges through her and directly into me. I scream a curse, don’t even know which one, at the top of my lungs. Waves of terror crash in my bones. I feel like I’ve been drugged — hell, like I’ve been thrust into the movie, fighting for my life harder than Skinny Chick is for hers.
All this happens in the span of two seconds. And soon enough the jumpscare fear fades away, and I’m left heaving for breath. Twilight’s still holding my hand, and she’s still scared, but the teeth-clenching terror is gone.
I lean over to her. “You good?”
She flinches at my voice — I mutter an apology — but nods. “Yeah, yeah, totally.” She notices our hands and lets go of me. “Oops. Sorry.”
We move apart, sitting up straight again. Without hers nearby, my palm is cold in the full-blast movie theater air conditioning. So I lean into her again. “You can keep holding my hand, y’know. If it’ll help.”
She glances at my hand, then my eyes, then back down to my hand. She smiles and slips her warm, trembling fingers between mine again.
It’s just in time for another jumpscare. Her grip is blisteringly tight, and the terror comes rushing back. But this time I’m ready. And I do my best to absorb it, to let the fear flow out of her and into me.
If it helps her, I’ll stand it. Whether it’s spit-shakes or bloody snakes, I’ll be her proxy.
In front of us, Skinny Chick gets stabbed.
Rainbow shrieks and super-speed jumps out of her chair, soaring high enough to land butt-first in Applejack’s popcorn tub.