//------------------------------// // History Class // Story: The Final Game of the Season // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// The Final Game of the Season Admiral Biscuit Sunset didn’t even bother to pick up her history books. The way she felt right now, avoiding her locker was the best choice. Besides, they had a sub for history, anyway. Mr. Chess, long past his prime. After taking attendance, he’d spend the hour rambling on about how things were back in the day; he was a warm body in the teacher’s seat and that was about it. Although it would seem history would be his best subject; he certainly looked like he’d lived through much of it. She was the first one in class, taking her usual seat near the back. No backpack, nothing to unpack and set on her desk—not even a pencil or notebook. If he noticed her lack of preparation, he gave no sign. He had an attendance record open on the desk and was scrutinizing it. ••••• He was ten interminable minutes into a diatribe about ‘kids these days’ when Rarity slid into the empty seat beside her. Sunset was already regretting not having a clicky pen to click or tap on the desk or twirl around in her fingers like a tiny baton, or maybe a sheet of paper to doodle on, anything to pass the time. She glanced over at Rarity. “‘Sup?” Rarity turned her attention to the front of the class for a moment. “Apparently the number of students smoking reefers in that little alcove beside the shop class, if you ask Mr. Chess.” Sunset couldn’t help herself, she chuckled. “You forgot your bag,” Rarity said. “Didn’t need it, I knew he was subbing. Whatever he has to say isn’t going to be on the final exam.” “Uh huh. And you didn’t eat lunch today.” “Wasn’t hungry.” “Before a game?” Rarity had a pen, and she tapped it against her desk, a quick drumbeat before she spoke again. “Before the game, the most important game of the season? Look, I’ll be blunt, we’re worried about you: you haven’t been yourself lately. Is there something you need to talk about?” “No.” What’s there to talk about anyway? Tonight’s the big game against Crystal Prep, we’ll either go on to finals or we won’t and we’ll be down a player and it’s all my fault. Heck, it isn’t even about the game. Who cares about the game, Kerfuffle lost her leg and it’s all my fault, if I hadn’t— Rarity’d tell me it’s not my fault, but it is and maybe Kerfuffle forgives me, but I can’t forgive myself. “Well.” Rarity crossed her arms. “Don’t make me set Pinkie on you. You haven’t been acting normal since Kerfuffle—” “Should I be? What, you want rainbows and sunshine, you want me to pretend like it didn’t happen, is that what you’re saying?” “I am most certainly not saying that, and you know it. Something’s eating at you, something more than that the best combo on the volleyball team is no more. Whatever it is, you can tell one of us, we’re your friends, we’re here for you.” “It’s nothing.” “I doubt that.” Rarity reached into her purse and slapped a chocolate bar down on Sunset’s desk. “Eat something at least, can you do that for me?” “Fine.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the chocolate, and she tore into the wrapper eagerly, even as her brain told her that she shouldn’t have an appetite—especially not now. What was worse, missing a meal or missing a leg? ••••• She couldn’t avoid her locker before science class, but that didn’t matter. Kerfuffle wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t, she didn’t get around as well as she used to; the few minutes between classes meant a scramble, meant jostling through the crowded hallways, and that wasn’t so easy on crutches or a new prosthetic leg, was it? Even so, there was a reminder: while the collection of well-wishes that had adorned her locker were long gone, Cloudy was there, spinning her combo, getting Kerfuffle’s books for her. Sunset yanked her textbook off the shelf in her locker and jammed it into her bag, not caring as it caught on her notebook and folded the cover over, as it tore a few sheets loose from the wire binding. That was a little thing, that wouldn’t matter after high school now would it? It wasn't like it was something she’d have to deal with every day for the rest of her life. Unbidden, her mind flashed back to the team hospital visit.  She couldn’t get it out of her mind. The only time she’d visited Kerfuffle in the hospital–the only time she could bring herself to. She’d had to go, as a friend, as a teammate . . . and out of morbid curiosity: she had to know if it was true, even if she didn’t want to know. Everyone had said it, the coach had said it, but seeing it for herself would make it real, even though it shouldn’t have been. The bus didn’t fit in the parking garage and had to park in an outlot which gave her more time to regret even coming. Hospitals were uncomfortable. They smelled funny and were too quiet. Nurses wore a rainbow of scrubs and doctors bustled about in their important white coats; everything smelled of antiseptic. Signs pointed to hallways and wings, their meanings unclear to anyone not in the know. What was radiology? Hematology? Phrenology? What was the point, she couldn’t change what had happened, and whatever would happen wasn’t going to be affected. Maybe if Kerfuffle had been hooked up to all sorts of machines it would have been better. Maybe if she’d been in a coma and they all could have silently paid their respects, or been swathed in bandages . . . she was pale and gaunt, the result of blood loss and emergency surgery. Unbandaged cuts and scrapes on her face, a friction burn across a cheek, one wrist wrapped completely and the other in a loose twist of gauze, holding an IV line in. Her eyes were dull, but lit up as the team crowded in around her bed. Even hidden under the blankets, the missing leg was obvious. The person she’d known yesterday was gone and could never come back and it was all her fault. That visitation passed in a blur; Sunset had no memory of what had been said, but she couldn’t get the vision of Kerfuffle in the hospital bed out of her mind. I would trade places with her in a heartbeat.  Sunset slammed her locker door shut, swung her backpack over her shoulder, and stormed off to class. Paradoxically, class couldn’t get over soon enough—but class got over too soon. Sunset watched the slow sweep of the minute hand with increasing apprehension as it inexorably neared the top of the hour, and yet when the final bell actually rang she still nearly jumped out of her skin. As she shoved her books into her bag—having yet again learned nothing in the previous hour—she had a brief moment of hope. She took off her leg earlier, maybe it was bothering her, maybe she’ll just go home tonight. There was no chance of that happening, Sunset knew. She’d showed up to school in her team uniform and undoubtedly had every intention of being there. After all, it was the final game before regionals (if they won) and it was against their rival, Crystal Prep. There was no chance Kerfuffle would miss this game. And she wouldn’t be in the stands, lost in the crowd.  Oh no, she’d be on the bench, watching the game from the sidelines like she had at every game since she’d been back. At first she’d been at the very end, extending the bench with her wheelchair, and now that she could walk again she sat on the bench proper. Sunset sighed. She left school on the tail end of the student rush, and only spent a few minutes at her locker before she headed down the hallway again. As she turned the corner into a new corridor, she heard the faint click of crutches behind her but didn’t turn back. Now was the worst time of any pre-game, the between time where she could go home and eat, or perhaps hang out with the girls at a restaurant or a coffee shop. She could stay in school, some of the girls on the volleyball team did. Every game you’re nervous she reminded herself. This will pass. This wasn’t every game. She’d had a lousy season, and it was a miracle the team had come as far as they had. They’d gotten lucky with matches in the early part of the season, the post-Kerfuffle season. A few girls had really stepped up to the plate, working harder than they ever had before, or finding a new niche on the court.  Not that everybody else hadn’t struggled; like it or not, after The Accident the volleyball team was a different team. Sunset had lost her spike partner. But that wasn’t the only thing, was it? Playing Crystal Prep again was a reminder, an unwanted flashback to the first game of the season, the last time things had been right. The last time she hadn’t been consumed by guilt.