//------------------------------// // That's Just Not Right // Story: Not My Little Diamond // by MagerBlutooth //------------------------------// Chpt. 5 - That’s Just Not Right Saturday, March 22 "Miss Cheerilee, let me just start out by saying that I in no way condone my daughter’s behavior from yesterday, and let me assure you that she will be seeing a whole new world of punishment for it." The brown stallion straightened his tie as he checked the clock on the wall. "Well, I certainly appreciate your cooperation at a time like this, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves," Cheerilee replied, trying to lighten the mood. "I think that we can sort this mess out without having to do anything drastic." "Now Miss Cheerilee, I understand your position concerning the well-being of your students, but from my experiences these kinds of situations take a little more than love and tolerance to handle," the rich stallion responded, raising his hoof for emphasis. "Eyup," uttered the other stallion who had remained practically silent up to this point. Cheerilee didn’t like the way this meeting was progressing. She had wanted to call these two in so they could all come up with a solution regarding yesterday’s little mishap without having to resort to more punishment. However, the way the discussion was going, that possibility was starting to seem less and less likely. "Mr. Filthy," Cheerilee began, receiving a glare from the brown stallion in response, "I mean, Mr. Rich, what exactly did you have in mind?" "Well, Miss Cheerilee, I’ve worked in the business world for many years now, and I’ve dealt with enough misbehaving employees to know how to handle them when they start causing trouble. It’s all about making sure they know who’s in charge and that they can be fired faster than a Wonderbolt riding a bolt of lightning." "I can’t fire my students, Mr. Rich," Cheerilee pointed out flatly. Filthy Rich laughed. "Well, no, I’d say you can’t, but you are the one in charge here, right?" Cheerilee nodded, wondering if she heard a bit of arrogance in the stallion’s question. "When one of these foals misbehaves, be it my daughter or anypony, I’d feel better knowing their teacher makes sure they know what they did wrong and why they shouldn’t do it again." Now feeling that the stallion was insulting her ability to discipline, Cheerilee retorted, "I always put the lessons my students learn first, Mr. Rich, and I’d like to point out that I made sure both fillies apologized for their actions. Not only that, but I personally believe your daughter received a very fair punishment for her behavior already." "Well, that’s all peaches and rainbows, Miss Cheerilee, but I’d just like to point out that an apology doesn’t mean a lick of salt when somepony tells you to give it." "Eyup," Big Mac chimed in, clearly listening closely to the discussion despite his silence. "And as for that punishment you assigned, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about." Filthy stuck his mouth into the bag on the floor that he had brought with him. Cheerilee curiously watched Filthy Rich as he pulled out a couple of papers from the bag. He threw it down onto Cheerilee’s desk almost angrily before going on. "You had my daughter write a 500-word essay on ‘why violence is never the answer’ as I understand it. Correct?" "Why yes, I thought it would give Diamond Tiara the opportunity to think about what she did and come to better understand how to handle a situation like yesterday’s with more maturity. Is this it?" Cheerilee asked, grabbing the papers that lay in front of her to look them over. "Well, it certainly is an essay about violence not answering anything, and it's 500 words exactly, but I can promise you my daughter sure didn’t write it." "What?" Cheerilee gasped, dropping the papers she was holding back onto her desk. "Apparently, my daughter got it in her head to let her little friend write the essay for her and try to pass it off as her own." Mr. Rich slammed his hoof on the teacher’s desk as he finished his sentence. Cheerilee was taken aback at first by Mr. Rich’s words. That kind of behavior didn’t sound like Diamond Tiara at all. "H-how did you find out about this?" she asked hesitantly. "Well, I had just come home that Friday from making the most amazing sale I’ve made in quite some time. I sold an entire shipment of sapphires that I bought for only a fourth of what I sold it for. I didn’t think I’d even manage to sell all of it, much less to one mare for such a good price, but clearly the investment I made was well worth it. I’m pretty sure that my quarterly revenue now is–" "Ahem, Mr. Rich? The paper?" Cheerilee interrupted, halting the businesspony’s financial ramblings. "Right, right, the essay. Anyway, after making that sale, I thought I’d surprise my daughter by coming home early to take her out to celebrate. She had told me earlier about the paper she had to write, but I figured she’d be done by the time I came home. When I got there, I found that Silver friend of hers waiting outside our front door with a couple papers in her mouth. I asked her how she was doing, and she got jumpier than a runaway jackhammer. You'd think I'd just asked her to jump through a ring of fire. That's what it felt like anyway considering how fast she took off. She dropped the papers she was holding, and when I went to pick them up, I spotted the word ‘violence’ written on one of them. I got a bit curious and started to read them, and guess what they were? They were those very papers sitting on your desk right now, Miss Cheerilee. I think you can figure the rest out yourself." Cheerilee knew what the stallion was getting at, but there was something very wrong about his story. "What about Diamond Tiara’s side of the story, Mr. Rich? Did you at least ask her about it?" Mr. Rich cocked an eyebrow, almost finding humor in the teacher’s question. "Let me tell you a little something about my daughter, Miss Cheerilee. The only story she has is the one that makes things go her way. I didn’t have to ask her to know she’d deny it. I don’t even think she knows I know about it yet." Cheerilee didn’t like the sound of that. "Mr. Rich, that doesn’t sound very fair. I know the evidence may look bad, but are you sure you aren’t jumping to conclusions?" "Jumping’s bad for my back, Miss Cheerilee. I'm telling you, my daughter did not write this essay. If you don't believe me, take a look at the pudding, because it's got all the proof you need." Mr. Rich lightly tapped one of the papers on the desk. Cheerilee thought for a moment about the whole situation. She knew that Mr. Rich knew what he was talking about since he was Diamond Tiara's father and all, but none of this made any sense to her. Diamond Tiara was already in hot water as it was, and doing something like this now was like inviting a dragon to come turn up the heat. She couldn’t even imagine how it would occur to that filly that getting somepony else to do her assignment for her could ever be a good idea. The whole thing just didn’t add up, and she needed to get to the bottom of it all. "All right then, let me just see how much proof is in this pudding," Cheerilee stated almost in defiance, still holding onto that glimmer of faith she had in her student. With one aggressive swipe of her hoof, Cheerilee snagged up all the scattered papers lying on her desk. The intensity of her movements caused Mr. Rich to fall as silent as Big McIntosh as she fervently scanned through that essay at a speed only a teacher could match. After about thirty seconds, she had finished reading the entire paper, and any hopes she had of proving Diamond Tiara’s innocence had been smashed into pieces. Cheerilee had graded enough papers to recognize the work of each of her students, and she could easily tell that this particular writing style belonged to Silver Spoon even though her name wasn’t the one written at the top of the paper. Her ears drooped as she dropped the papers back on the desk in total silence, prompting the businesspony to speak up again. "You see, Miss Cheerilee, my daughter doesn’t try to learn from her mistakes. She just tries to look for ways to avoid the punishment. That’s why I’ve come up with an idea to make sure she really learns her lesson this time." Cheerilee continued staring at that tainted essay, still not believing what had been done. Eventually, she let out a heavy sigh, turning her head back up to the stallion with the plan. "I’m listening, Mr. Rich." Monday, March 24 Call me Two-Step Tom, because I’m going dancing tonight! That’s just an expression, of course. The idea of me dancing is like the idea of my roommate making sense. It’s horrifying to think about, and it’s never going to happen. Besides, I get more than enough dancing from nature alone, thank you very much. However, I am very excited, because as I walk out of room 413, I feel confident that I just danced circles around that exam. Again, just an expression. No actual dancing. I can hear the triumphant melody of the BGM faintly increasing in volume to accompany my success as I make my way through the empty halls of the exam building. Even while being slightly distracted by the curious glow still coming out of my hands, this test gave me no problems whatsoever. The fact that it was multiple choice didn’t even have any relevance to me since I knew the answers before even looking at the choices. I seriously blazed through that exam so quickly that when I went to turn it in, Dr. Stellar had to ask, "Is there a problem?" It was amazing. It was spectacular. It was the greatest act of test-taking I’d ever performed in the history of my existence. It was boring. The thought jumps into my head like a fly landing on my ice cream cone, and I start to get concerned at how long it stays there. I try to force my mind onto something else, like my nonsensically shiny hands, but the idea keeps floating back into my head no matter how hard I try to ignore it. Though I don’t want to believe it at first, I eventually realize that it’s the truth. That test wasn’t any fun. There was no challenge, no real opportunity to scavenge my brain for any backup information, no moment where I needed to think back to any of the mnemonics I came up with during all my study time, and no big rival questions that I had to have a final showdown with during the last five minutes of the testing period. Aside from that, the usual thrill of taking a test on its own just wasn’t there this time. Usually, I feel that tiny spark of excitement every time I answer a question that I'm sure I know. This time, however, it just felt more like I was filling in a bunch of circles to pass the time. As I let these thoughts buzz around in my head while I walk through the noisy campus grounds, they leave me with one unwanted final conclusion. I want to take a more exciting class. But hold on a second, this was a test in psychology. This is the study of all things related to the mind. How could I find that boring? My entire life is based around the inner workings of the human mind. My favorite activity is thinking for crying out loud! There is no possible way on this planet or any other that I could ever lose interest in something so important to me! However, as I walk outside and down the steps at the building’s entrance, I find myself somehow struggling to come up with even one key topic, just one specific fact about psychology that can excite me. Circadian rhythms, the sunk cost effect, schizophrenia, none of them even sound interesting. All of them just sound like complicated, boring words that I wouldn’t even care to define. I can’t believe it, but that thrill that the joys of psychology once provided me is now nowhere to be found in my brain. This can’t be right! This is what I’ve had set up as my major since I was little. I’ve spent the past eight years wanting to be a successful psychologist. I used to tell people it was my greatest desire without the slightest bit of hesitation. My entire family and every one of my friends knows it’s the path I’ve chosen, and I’ve put all my time and effort into learning and studying everything I can about the subject above all else. I can still remember the day I discovered that understanding the human mind was my true purpose in life. Wait a second…no, I can’t! That…that’s impossible! How could I forget something as important as why I love psychology? It’s my passion! It’s what I’ve dreamed of doing for years, and now I can’t even remember why? What's wrong with me? Is this really happening? After all the hours of work, all the time I’ve spent, the sleep I’ve lost, the meals I’ve missed, the pencils I’ve destroyed to realize my greatest dream…now I can’t even remember why I ever wanted it? That’s pathetic. It’s downright nauseating. It’s the most disturbing concept to ever inhabit my mind. Well, aside from the thought of me dancing, that is. I think something might be wrong with my brain. Maybe I’ve just been working too hard, and I’m not thinking properly. There has to be some psychological explanation for all this, right? But then, I wouldn't care about that now, would I? What do you think? Is there something wrong with me? Okay, I need to get ahold of myself. Now I’m asking my audience questions as if they could answer me. What am I, six? I just don’t know. I’m still running on apple juice here, so my mind should be working fine, but I’m not even separating my thoughts and my narration correctly anymore. Oh, great, and now to throw another monkey wrench into my coleslaw, my left shoe’s untied. What else could…oh no, I’m not thinking that again. I make a stop by our campus’s large fountain and set my last remaining pencil down to tie my shoe. Once my shoelaces are secure, I stop to gaze up at the bronze horse statue that’s majestically standing atop the fountain. It’s supposed to be our school’s mascot, but the student who made it didn’t really put much effort into it. At least, I wouldn’t imagine he did considering it looks more like a mule than a horse. Even so, I just find the thing to be so inspiring. I know it's because it’s a statue, but it’s still one of the only animals I’ve ever seen that never sings, never dances, and never blabs at me. No matter how much the water splashes against its body or how catchy the BGM becomes, the statue will continue to hold there motionlessly, frozen in place no matter what. I just find it awe-inspiring. I can never look at it for too long though, because it starts to make me wish I lived in a world where all of nature was this serene and relaxing. I take a few more seconds to admire its magnificent, poorly-crafted beauty, and then I regrettably turn my attention back to reality. It's then that I get a very strong dosage of reality coming from an aggressive, boisterous voice off in the distance. Saturday, March 22 Cheerilee’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock while Big Mac’s expression remained about the same as Filthy Rich finished explaining his idea. "Mr. Rich, don’t you think that seems a bit extreme?" Cheerilee asked after considering what he was suggesting. "I think it’s time my daughter learns that she can’t keep putting on a cute face and expecting to get away with everything. If you ask me, this is the only thing we can do," Mr. Rich replied, straightening his tie again. "I don’t know. It sounds a bit cruel to me. I’m worried it might do more harm than help." "With all due respect, Miss Cheerilee, considering what happened yesterday, it doesn’t seem like any more harm can be done." Cheerilee thought more about the businesspony's proposal. This was exactly the sort of drastic action she was trying to avoid. She still wanted to believe in the goodness she knew was in each of her students and that she could help them to find it in themselves. "At least let me try talking to her first. I’d still like to hear her side of the story before deciding how to deal with her. You understand, don’t you?" "You’re the teacher here, so I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for these students. I just hope you know what my daughter's capable of." "Oh, I’m well aware, Mr. Rich, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t underestimate my teaching skills," the teacher replied, somewhat irritated by the remark. "All right, all right, I’m not trying to offend anypony. I’m just saying that anytime I try to reason with my employees, they always end up taking advantage of me." "I apologize, Mr. Rich, but this is different. Your daughter, like all of my students, is just an innocent, impressionable young pony who needs to be shown love and nurturing so she can mature into a responsible, intelligent mare." "I know you mean well, Miss Cheerilee, but I think you need to remember where all that love and nurturing got you yesterday." "Mr. Rich!" Cheerilee shouted in her authoritative teacher voice. "That statement was highly uncalled for! I think it’d be best if you spent some time in the corner to reflect on that attitude of yours." Filthy Rich laughed for the second time that meeting. "You can’t make me go to the corner. I’m a grown stallion." "Corner!" Cheerilee ordered, pointing toward the far wall. "Yes, ma’am," Filthy meekly replied, submissively retreating into the corner. Cheerilee let out another sigh and turned to Big McIntosh, who was patiently standing there as silent as ever. "Big McIntosh, you understand, don’t you? These girls are still young, and being too harsh on them now could have horrible repercussions down the road." Big McIntosh didn’t say a word. He just stared into the teacher’s eyes, his expression unchanging and his gaze stalwart. Cheerilee sighed again, looking out the window at the beautiful, sunny day the three of them were missing out on. "You’re right, Big McIntosh. We need to nip this in the bud before it gets out of hoof." "Eyup," the red stallion calmly responded. "How’s Apple Bloom doing? Is her ear doing okay?" Cheerilee asked out of concern as she faced forward once again. Big McIntosh looked away and replied with another "eyup", this one sounding a bit more constrained. "That's a relief. I think I should have to have a talk with her too. I’d hate to see this little incident cause a rift between those girls," Cheerilee said, shifting her glance back out the window. It seemed that this meeting had made all the progress it was going to make. "Well, thank you both for coming in on such short notice. I know the last thing you want to do is spend your time talking about things like this. I suppose I’ll see you both again at the big Horseshoe Switcheroo Festival in two weeks. I just hope we’ll have all this sorted out by then." "Eyup," Big McIntosh stated one more time, finally putting on a smile as he nodded goodbye left the classroom. Cheerilee turned back to the other stallion still sulking in the corner, switching back to her sterner teaching voice as she said, "And as for you, Mr. Rich, you can leave as soon as you apologize for that comment you made earlier." After about fifteen minutes of protesting, Cheerilee finally got her apology and was left alone in her classroom. Now that she had finished grading Thursday’s test papers, she had a bit of free time to think some more about Mr. Rich’s suggestion. It still seemed a bit too cruel to do to somepony as fragile as Diamond Tiara. She decided to push the thought away for now and look at something else. Her gaze fell toward the wall at the back of the classroom. Plastered all over that wall were a collection of drawings that her students had created. A few days ago, she had each of them draw a self-portrait in class as a fun little exercise to help them form a better understanding of how they view themselves. She had let them all post their artwork up on the wall as she often did with her more creative activities, but she hadn’t really had a chance to look at them yet. With the silence and solitude of the Saturday morning at her disposal, she figured it was the perfect time to seize the opportunity. Twist had drawn herself holding a peppermint stick in her mouth, keeping things simplistic and adding no additional details. Snips and Snails had been a bit more imaginative and drawn themselves performing great feats of magic while wearing decorated purple robes and pointy hats. Sweetie Belle’s picture showed herself drawing a picture, most likely as a result of taking the assignment a bit too literally. Though she had instructed each of them to draw a self-portrait, Cheerilee noticed that some of her students had chosen to add other ponies to their drawings, probably seeing them as part of their identities. Apple Bloom had included her family members that stood next to her as she bucked a tree on her apple farm. Scootaloo had drawn her idol, Rainbow Dash, flying next to her as she soared through the clouds on her scooter. Silver Spoon had added a mob of photographer ponies that were snapping photos of her as she struck a grandiose pose, clearly enjoying the limelight. Cheerilee paused as she shifted her gaze to the next picture. Diamond Tiara’s picture. Before she knew it, she found herself taking it down from the wall to get a closer look at it. It was certainly a bit more…detailed than the others. The drawing displayed Diamond Tiara sitting on a gaudy, heavily decorated throne while wearing a tiara much larger and more colorful than the one she generally wore. She wore a smile on her face that was anything but innocent as she looked down at a large collection of dots strewn about the rest of the paper. Though the dots didn’t really seem to resemble anything, the pink filly had taken the time to draw a large arrow with a label at the end of it that read ‘them’. In addition to that, even though it was quite obvious on its own, she had decided to make a second arrow pointing to herself and label it in large, bold, fuchsia letters that took up more than half the page with the single word ‘ME’. Cheerilee stared blankly at the picture for a few seconds until the thought slipped from her mind and out her mouth, "Diamond Tiara, what am I going to do with you?" Monday, March 24 "Hammerhead! Hey, Hammerhead!" If I didn’t immediately recognize that voice, I probably would have just tuned it out. However, the owner of this voice is something I can't ignore, and as my forced smile from the black lagoon rises from the deep, I turn to face a stimulated, spiky-haired man child running towards me at full speed. Once he gets close enough to talk at a normal volume, he starts yelling at me as if he’s still twenty feet away. "Hammerhead, I’m so glad I caught you! You’re not busy or anything, are you?" Nice of you to assume that, Rook. The guy screaming in my face like it’s on fire is the delightful fellow known as Rook Bishop. Never heard of him? Don't worry, you will. He’s the captain of our tennischess club, and from the way he brags about what a good player he is, you’d think he invented the sport. He achieved his leadership position about sixteen months ago after he stumbled in one day and announced that he was the tallest member in the club, as if that has any meaning in a game like tennischess. He’s actually much shorter than I am, but his legendary balloon-popping hair begs to differ. As fairly-elected captain, he can’t be bothered to learn the names of his subordinates, but it’s okay because he comes up with "better" names to call us by instead. Don’t ask me how he came up with mine. All I know is that I need to just tell him I’m busy so I can be on my way. "No, I’m not doing anything," I casually reply. Yep, something’s very wrong with my brain. Before I even finish answering him, he responds, "Great, so then you can help me with something! I mean, I’m sure you would anyway since we’re such good friends and all." How are we friends? You don’t even know my real name. I pointlessly try to ask, "Well, what do you need me to–" "See, I found this old building that would be perfect to be our club’s new meeting place. Problem is, it’s all run-down and stuff. We need to fix it up a bit if we’re gonna be meeting there regularly, and I figure the least you can do is help out as a member of the club." Okay, I just need to tell him I'm not feeling well. It's not a lie. I am going to the doctor's after all. "Sounds like fun! Where is it?" I respond with great enthusiasm. I could have sworn the word ‘no’ was in my vocabulary earlier today. "Awesome! It’s about two miles off-campus. I got some other guys from the club to join in. They're already there waiting for us. If we head over now, we’ll be able to fix it up before someone else comes to try to steal it from us." As he finishes his rushed thought, he disappears right in front of my eyes, leaving me alone next to the relaxing blissfulness of the horse fountain. A second later he reappears right in front of me. "What's keeping you, Hammerhead? Don’t tell me you lost your license." You’re one to talk. You’ve lost it six times since I’ve met you. Besides, I got enough slack about this from the wind this morning. "It’s not that. It’s just…I’m not really a fan of the whole…" "Don’t worry about it, Hammer. I gotcha." He quickly grabs my arm, pulling me towards him, and after a quick horizontal wipe effect, I’m suddenly standing in front of an old rundown building in a pretty barren area, three of my fellow tennischess club members standing collectively nearby. I do find it funny that someone as pompous as Rook has such an understated transition effect. Even I’ve at least got a dissolve effect. Suddenly, I feel a hardhat forcefully shoved onto my head. The impact's so powerful that it almost knocks me over, and being a bit dizzy from the transition isn’t exactly helping me keep my balance. "Put this on, Hammer. Don’t want any of my workers getting hurt on the job," Rook proudly states loud enough for all the others to hear. Then why aren't you wearing one? After he walks over to go be arrogant to someone else, I start inspecting the dilapidated building I’m apparently going to be fixing up now. I think my self-acclaimed friend here was underselling the amount of work this would require. "Hey, Rook," I pipe up, "don’t you think this might be a bit too much work for just the five of us? I mean, I actually have to be going somewhere pretty soon, and–" "Don’t worry, Hammer. This’ll be a piece of cherry cake," he replies almost derisively. Are you kidding me? Look at this thing! It doesn’t even have a roof! "Are you sure?" I ask hesitantly, hoping he doesn’t take too much offense to me questioning him. "Positive. One quick fix-it montage, and we’ll be done in two minutes tops." Montage? If you’re just going to montage it, why did you need my help? "So, who brought the music?" Rook asks as he looks to the other members. "Butterface? Scratchbook? Come on, someone’s gotta have it. I need something to get this record-scratching BGM out of my head." You think this BGM is bad? Weatherman said it’s supposed to be mostly accordions for the rest of the week. The others don't appear to have any music on them, which prompts Rook to grumble, "Ugh, hang on, I’ll be right back." He transitions off, most likely to get his own music for the montage. I consider asking my fellow club members if they were given as little preparation time for this as I was, but since that would involve more conversation, I just remain as awkwardly silent as always. A few seconds later, Rook pops back into the scene with a large stereo over his shoulder. "All right, marblechompers, let’s make this place look nice!" He sets the stereo on the ground and presses the play button, causing the stereo to start hopping up and down as it plays a loud, series of sounds that I guess somehow counts as music. After that, the montage begins, and I find myself hammering nails into the windowpane as Chase falls off a ladder. A few seconds later, a bucket of paint falls on my head as I’m cleaning the gutters, and I can hear Rook silently laughing at me. The disjointed moments of work and embarrassment continue to flash by as we progressively and effortlessly fix up the house. I try in vain to work faster so I can be on my way, but a montage never ends until the song is finished. As the music finally winds down, I wipe my paint-stained face and look at the surprisingly good job we did. The roof we patched up looks brand new, we polished those windows to shine even brighter than my hands, and I have to admit the mural that Art painted on the left outside wall is just breathtaking. Not a bad job for three minutes of work, I’d say. "Adequate job, guys. That went almost as well as I wanted it to go. Sorry about the paint spill there, Hammer. Don’t worry, it’ll wash out." "It’s okay. I don’t mind," I say, actually meaning it this time. "All right, you guys can go now," Rook states as he pulls out a can of soda from his hammerspace. "All that’s left is to get this piano up to the second floor, and I can handle that myself." He motions to the large grand piano behind him. The three other participants in Rook’s slave labor say their goodbyes and transition away, leaving just me, Rook, and the extravagant musical instrument attached to a pulley system in front of the newly refurbished tennischess club building. "What’s the matter, Hammer? You staying to watch? I don’t blame you. I am me after all." He chugs his soda down before smashing the empty can against his head and tossing it aside. His theme song starts blasting as he effortlessly starts pulling on the rope to lift the piano up to the second floor. My mom always told me I could always tell what kind of person someone is from the sound of their theme music. I've yet to find a time when she wasn't right about that. This particular theme music is very loud and uses quite a few different instruments, but I can’t really make out any melody. It really sounds more like a collection of noise than an actual theme. "You know, Hammer, you remind me of myself when I was a sophomore. Of course, I was alot better at tennischess back then, and blah blah blah blah…" No, he didn’t really descend into blahs. He’s just so much more tolerable when I don’t actually listen to what he’s saying. As my boastful captain continues to compliment himself, I gaze up to take another look at the great job we did on the house. Then, something catches my eye up near the second floor. The rope being used to hold the piano is unraveling, poised to drop the piano right on top of Rook’s gigantic head. I look back at my esteemed captain to see if he notices, and he’s still talking. He hasn’t even noticed that I looked away. You know, if he’s just going to stand there like that then…no. I don’t care how self-important this guy is. I can’t let a piano fall on him. That’s just not right. As the rope finally snaps, I spring into action, diving right into Rook and shoving him out of the way at the very last second. I just wish I made my move a second earlier, because after Rook lands safely out of the piano’s falling shadow, all I can do is look up and watch as it comes crashing down right on top of me.