//------------------------------//
// September 10 
// Story: Dear Rainbow Dash 
// by fluttershywriter 
//------------------------------//

Dear Rainbow Dash,

Not much happened over the weekend, so I haven't written in a while. Daddy didn't get drunk (thank Celestia) and there were no big fights (thank Celestia again). Nothing especially good happened, though. I didn't want to invite Feather over in case he saw Momma and Daddy fight. It was raining, so I couldn't go outside, so I spent a lot of time in my room daydreaming about Ponyville and even studying Equestrian history a little. (Hey, I was really bored—cut me some slack!) I personally don't see what Feather gets so excited about.
Now that it's Monday, though, I have to get back to reality. Though I don't have gym class till tomorrow, I still can't stop worrying about what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I obviously can't study in the library every day, and there's no possibility that I can learn how to fly in such a short period of time.
I've been thinking about asking Feather for flying lessons, but I can't bring myself to do it. Even though he's the best pony to ask for flying lessons—other than you, of course—it's still so embarrassing. I hate the idea of him looking at me the same way that everypony else looks at me. I'd get so humiliated that I'd never be able to look at him again, and I don't want to wreck the only kind-of-sort-of-maybe friendship that I have with him. Besides, he's so shy that he'd make things more awkward than things would have to be. Honestly, I don't know if I've ever met a shyer pony. Today he was back to being weird and quiet, as if the weekend had wiped his mind of our laughter together on Thursday and Friday.
"Hey," I greeted Feather on the playground. He was hovering in the air by the bleachers, where we normally hang out. He fluttered to the ground and folded his wings in, giving me a shy smile.
"Hi," he said in a voice barely above a whimper. There was complete silence for ten whole seconds, which may not sound that long, but which felt like it lasted forever.
"What's up?" I asked, laughing. "You're getting all shy again, silly! Aren't you going to start spouting some stupid stuff about Starswirl the Bearded and Commander Hurricane? You're gonna turn boring like every other pony in this town!"
"Yeah," muttered Feather, giving me a hint of a smile. "Right." Was it just my imagination, or did he look a bit paler than usual?
"You look kinda sick," I said, stepping towards him and peering closer. He cringed away, and I faltered, confused. "Feather? You okay?"
"Uh-huh," he said, ducking his head and keeping his eyes at the ground (or clouds, rather). "I just had a long night last night. I guess I do feel a little sick."
"That sucks," I said, grimacing in sympathy. Then, brightening, I said, "Hey, maybe this means you'll be able to get out of gym class tomorrow! You'll have to give me tips on looking sick—we can fake it together and maybe just read in the library again!"
"Yeah," said Feather in a flat tone. He gave me a smile that looked forced, and he looked overjoyed when the bell rang. Unfolding his wings, he fluttered over to the school's doors and entered before I could yell at him to wait up.
I didn't see him at his cubby, either. When I entered the classroom, he was sitting in his usual seat, staring at his desk and poking at his pencil with his hoof. I went over to him, feeling uncertain. "You okay?" I whispered, trying to communicate with my eyes that he could tell me anything. He shrugged and shook his head, keeping his eyes glued to his desktop.
"I'm okay," he muttered, his voice even quieter than I was forcing mine to be. "Didn't get much sleep last night. I feel kind of sick. You know—everything that I already told you."
There was an underlying hint of irritation to his comment, which took away my nerves and made me frustrated. "Well, fine," I snapped, feeling my cheeks heat up from anger and the knowledge that I was being a bit of a featherbrain. (No pun intended—you know, Feather? Brain? Feather on my brain? Whatever.) "No need to tell the 'only interesting pony' at this school whatever's bothering you. Why bother? There's no point. I'll just ignore whatever's bothering you like the rest of them."
He lifted his head from its limp position. There were deep circles under his eyes, making him look half intelligent and half stupid. "Scootaloo, it's no big deal. We can talk at recess. I just didn't get enough sleep last night, all right? Sorry if I'm being cranky."
I gave him a scowl that wasn't scowl-y enough to be really mean and sat down, ignoring him. If he wants to be an idiot, that's his choice. I'm not going to stop him.
I sort of scowled my way through every class till about twelve, when lunch started. When I was rummaging around in my backback, searching for my paper bag of food, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Jerking up, I was startled and irritated(and somewhat glad, though I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anypony that) to see a certain blue colt hovering in the air behind me. He was looking as nervous as ever, with a dorky lunchbox gripped in his mouth.
He took the lunchbox out from between his teeth and awkwardly held it in his hoof so that he could talk. "Hi?" he said hesitantly, as though he was asking a question. I nodded in response. "Are you gonna be eating outside today, Scootaloo?"
"I do it every other day," I said, my voice muffled thanks to the lunch bag clasped between my teeth. "Am I suddenly gonna stop now?"
"Oh. Right." He looked kind of relieved, and his wings did a little relaxed flutter instead of the stiff flapping they had been doing for the last few minutes. "Well . . . bleachers?"
We sat on the bleachers, chewing our food and staring at our classmates as they giggled and flew around. Feather was obviously uncomfortable, but I didn't feel like being the one to start the conversation just yet. My anger did thaw after ten minutes or so, though, so I cleared my throat and relented. "So what was it that you wanted to tell me, Feather?" When he paused and squirmed, leaned closer to him and narrowed my eyes into slits. "You promised to tell me."
"Yeah," he said, folding his wings and unfolding them quickly. "Uh, it was just kind of a long night last night. Long story and all."
I was quickly draining of the calm attitude that I'd had before. "Look, Feather, you said that you were going to tell me exactly what happened at recess." (Actually, he hadn't, but I figured that he'd told me something along those lines. Besides, it wasn't like he'd remember his exact words.) "So are you going to, or aren't you? You're being annoying like everypony else in this stupid school."
Maybe it was that comment that pushed him to tell me. "Oh. Sorry." His blue cheeks took on a tint of red. "Last night, I was up really late reading and thinking and . . . my parents were kinda being weird. Well, my dad mostly."
I paused mid-chew, the bread from my alfalfa sandwich turning to stone in my mouth. "Acting weird . . . like, how?" I asked, spewing chunks of grain from between my teeth. Feather didn't seem to notice, which I appreciated.
He shrugged, looking like he regretted ever telling me that something was wrong. "Like weird-weird. You know—normal stuff. He was just a little mad. He thinks that I'm not being talkative enough."
"Oh." I stared at the bleachers, kicking one of my back hooves around a bit. I don't know what I had been expecting—another alcoholic dad? I knew that I had been expecting something more interesting than, oh, a slightly irritated father. I didn't want to betray my feelings, though, so I leaned back casually and went on chewing alfalfa and bread. "Well, next time he gets annoyed with you for not talking, just tell him that you're hanging around with me, okay?" I grinned at him, tossing my mane out of my eyes. He gave me a small smile back.
"Thanks, Scootaloo," he said, leaning back as well. We stared at the sky for a while, both squinting and staring at the puffy clouds. Every so often, a pegasus would soar across our vision, racing another or bucking clouds with their hind legs. Their bucking of the clouds reminded me of Applebloom and how her family used to buck trees. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it and focused on the sky, willing my eyes not to grow wet. 
As if he was reading my mind, Feather cleared his throat and began speaking. "Er . . . are you keeping touch with your friends in Ponyville?" he asked shyly, as if he were afraid the question was too personal.
I chewed on his question for a few seconds. "Well, kind of, I guess," I said vaguely. "Sweetie Belle and Applebloom are . . . busy. We do, um, talk, though. I guess. It's just that nopony in my family has enough free time to fly me down to Ponyville. Well, Grandma does, but her wings are getting weaker." I continued to stare at the sky, hoping that he wouldn't see through my weak lies.
"Huh." Feather was quiet for a few more seconds, allowing me to peek at him. He was staring at the sky like me, leaning back on his elbows. "So, are you, like . . . writing letters? Stuff like that?"
"I'm writing letters a lot," I said immediately, confident that this, at least, was not a lie. (Hey, he didn't ask who they were to—or if they were being sent at all!)
Feather rotated to me fully, and I knew that I had to return his gaze if I didn't want to be impolite. Turning to him, I noticed a hint of apprehensiveness in his big eyes. "Scootaloo?" he asked uncertainly, doing that cringing thing he does when he's about to say something risky. "There are chariots that you can take down to Ponyville, you know. It's just a few bits, and if you get a membership, it's even less. You could visit your friends every weekend. More, even."
I thought for a moment. What was I supposed to tell him first? That my parents couldn't spare a few bits? That I was too scared to ask Grandma for any bits? That my parents didn't exactly know (or care) that I had friends in the first place?
Or maybe that I was scared to tell Applebloom and Sweetie Belle the truth about my family and why we moved . . .
"I'm not really sure about that," I said at last.
Feather scrunched up his face, the way he does when he's thinking really hard about something or reading some hard history book. "Well, if it's a matter of bits, then maybe my Mom could fly you down. I bet that I could even fly you down, or—"
"Feather," I grunted, giving him a slight glare. "I don't really want to go down, not yet. Momma . . . uh . . . says that I'm, uh, gonna be able to visit s-soon." (Okay, blatant lie there, but who really cares?)
"Yeah," said Feather, obviously doubting me. Thankfully, he didn't call me on my lie, instead leaning back onto his elbows and staring up at the sky again. I followed suit, glad for the opportunity to stop making eye contact. "You know, I heard that there's a spell that unicorns can do to make earth ponies and unicorns walk on clouds. Maybe you could—"
The bell rang, interrupting his train of thought. I gladly got up, lunch bag in mouth, and practically sprinted over to the doors. I was getting the pit in my stomach that's been coming whenever I think of my friends back in Ponyville. Feather didn't try to bring it up when we saw again, and after school, when he started walking over to me, I pretended that I didn't see him and hurried away. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings, but the last thing I wanted was to talk about Bloom and Belle in front of him. He might figure out what a total liar I am.
I miss the other Crusaders more than I want to admit. And yet . . . what? I'm scared of them? No way! So why am I not contacting them?
Argh. I don't understand anything. I thought that Feather might be nice to talk to about parents, but I guess not. I thought that it might be easy to think of Applebloom and Sweetie Belle, but it's been one of the hardest things about my move so far. I hate this stupid place.

Confused,
Scootaloo