//------------------------------// // Part 2 // Story: To Be Young and Stupid // by Crowley //------------------------------// You’ve been dreaming about escaping the school since you first settled down in class. Anything to get away from those creepy Crusaders at the front of the classroom. “Alright now, class,” Miss Cheerilee chimes, “Today is a very special day for a certain colt. That’s right, another student earned their Cutie Mark just last night! Let’s give a nice round of applause to-” Oh no. You forgot about her doing this for every kid so far. When she calls your name, you quietly stand up from you seat, letting the other kids take in your glorious gear-stamped ass with a semi-enthusiastic hoof-stomping ovation. Of course, you don’t say that in front of the teacher, as you don’t want to stay behind during lunch break. Sure, you don’t wanna bother with the blank-flank trio at the front of the class either, but hey; you gotta eat sometime. After everypony had settled, Cheerilee brings up today’s task; a small one-page paper on something you’ve lost and something you’ve found. “If you like,” she beams her usual beam, “you can write about something you lost, and found! Or they can be two different things! Like losing a sandwich, only to get a free ice cream!” Oh, teacher, stop talking about food this close to lunch. Maybe all that running you were doing during morning break had given you an appetite. “And don’t forget, if you’re stuck, see if you can get some help from your friends! This is an informal paper, after all!” As the writing time begins, you can see the Cutie Mark Crusaders at the front of the class, taking on the teacher’s challenge as a three-filly team. It’s quite interesting how three girls, despite being so different, can work out most problems when they all work together. Meanwhile, in your own three-pony group… “Hey, Snips and I need a ‘Puppy-Dog’s-Tails’ member of our group, but your gears are kinda like puppy dog’s tails on account of them being more than one of them or something. I guess we’re a team now, eh!” Oh sweet Celestia no. Not these idiots. To be fair, they were the nearest two by your desk, so it was bound to happen. Maybe some of your smarts would rub off on them? “Hey, Snails, I’ve got an idea on how to pass this paper!” the stout snickering pony, Snips, chatters to his tall, dopey friend. You decide to butt in. “I have an idea too,” you raise a hoof to them, “Maybe we should just keep quiet and write the paper without going into some dumb harebrained scheme?” The two colts fix you with an apprehensive glare, as if you just asked them an unanswerable question about moral philosophy combined with quantum engineering and a pinch of rocket science. After the rusty mechanics of their brains finally start to function, they decide to simply glaze over your question with aloof ignorance. “So, Snips, what this cool idea you have?” asks the orange one. You bury your face in your hooves. “Well, you see Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon over there? What if we just copy their papers! We can pretend to get up and sharpen our pencils, but as we’re passing their desks, we can see what they’re writing about and copy them!” “That’s awesome! But what about Puppy D? He’s not got anypony to copy…” Puppy D? What the heck? “First off, don’t call me that,” you declare, “Second off, I’m capable of writing my own work just fine. I know what I’m gonna write about in regards to something I’ve lost. And with that, I know what I’m gonna write about in regards to something I’ve found.” “Wait! Don’t forget!” Snips pipes up, “They can be the same thing, so you don’t have to do as much work!” Ugh. You just don’t get these guys. Whatever. It’s not your business. Let them copy any pony they want. As for yourself, you have an idea; you’re going to complete this paper and tell the girls at the front of the class about the origin of your Cutie Mark at the same time. That way your lunch will be undisturbed and they get the explanation they want. It’s win-win! ******* “Alright class, pencils down,” Miss Cheerilee chirps after an undetermined amount of scribbling, “Now who would like to read theirs out first?” Precisely zero hooves rise in response. “Fair enough, I suppose we can start from the front of the class and work our way back. Featherweight, would you like to begin..?” The brightly-coloured clock mounted to the wall ticks away second by second. Featherweight’s paper about him losing and finding his toy airship collection moves on to how Scootaloo lost a bearing on her scooter and found the repair kit she needed in her attic. One by one, the other kids stand up and read their papers, until they reach the end of the classroom. Snails stands up to deliver his stolen speech, seemingly unaware that his victim, Diamond Tiara, had already made her speech not ten minutes ago. The worst part? He forgot to change the ‘him’s to ‘her’s, all the ‘he’s to ‘she’s and all the ‘Diamond Tiara’s to ‘Snails’. “…and that’s when I, Diamond Dazzle Tiara Rich, finally found my missing ballet tutu.” he finishes with an oblivious smile followed by the horrible realisation. “Oh geez, wait a minute-!” “Just… sit down, Snails.” the teacher interjects with one hoof raised, the other covering her face in embarrassment, “We’ll talk about this after class.” The red-faced colt takes his seat again, making you the next student to make a speech. With your paper in hoof, you stand up and clear your throat. “Something I lost and something I found,” you read the title from your scribbles notes syllable by syllable, much like the other students before you, “A long time ago, when I was really young, my Dad used to own a model train set. He liked how much it had in common with real trains, especially since you could power them with a tiny matchstick-fire and a tiny bit of water in the engine compartment. A steam-powered model train set, just like the real trains he used to work aboard.” You glaze over the next part of the story. A paragraph containing the details of your father’s passing is scrubbed out. You decided not to dampen the class with something you’ve been at peace with for most of your life. Instead, you continue talking about the model train set itself. “Years ago, we packed away the train set, along with almost everything else that belonged to Dad, in the attic. As far as I knew, it was lost to me. It was only yesterday after school, as I was looking for something to do with my time, did Mom decide to take it out again for me to play with..” “I spent hours in the shed at the bottom of my garden, cleaning away the dust from the small cogs and pieces from it, trying to get it to work. Mom said that it could’ve been broken from a lack of use. I decided to fix it. It was dark by the time I managed to get it working again, but I didn’t mind. I liked fixing it. And I kinda understood how it worked in order to repair it. Finally, I filled the engine with a little bit of water and lit a tiny ember under it. The steam went through the model and it started working all by itself. I had fixed it. I went to bed, all tired from what happened that day. Then, as I woke up this morning, I found my Cutie Mark that had appeared overnight.” You stop reciting what you had written to glance upon the picture of two gears that adorn your flank. “And that’s how I lost something a long time ago, but was able to turn it into something I’d found. The End.” A polite round of applause is heard from the class; the sound of light clip-clops tapping against their desks. The only ones who weren’t applauding were the three fillies at the front of the class. They just exchanged confused and almost worried looks. One of them even had her hoof raised. “Is there something you’d like to ask about his paper, Scootaloo?” Miss Cheerilee says, “Something Cutie Mark related, perhaps?” “Nah, nothing about Cutie Marks today,” the scooty little pegasus shrugs, “I just wanna ask… is your Dad dead or something?” “Scootaloo!” your teacher recoils in shock; she, like all good teachers, knows the personal history of each of her students in order to give them the best understanding and head-start in life. And she knows that if there’s something you shouldn’t just blurt out in class, it’s that. “It’s okay, Miss Cheerilee,” you give her a smile to show how little it matters, “I’m over that. But yeah, it was a long time ago and I was too young to remember. Mom and I have moved on from it.” Another, cuter hoof rises in Scootaloo’s place “Did it happen ten years ago? Your Papa dying, I mean.” “Sweetie Belle! A little courtesy, please!” You ignore your teacher’s second consecutive flinch, “Now that I think about it, yeah. About ten years ago.” What a strangely specific question for the ditsy unicorn to ask. The leader of the group decides to ask the last question… “Did he die in a train wreck comin’ back from Canterlot during a snowstorm caused by a mishap at the weather factory that blew over from Cloudsdale?” “Apple Bloom, for crying out loud!” Okay, that question was really weird. And, to your discomfort, one hundred percent accurate. "Yeah. Exactly like that. He was the train driver.” you pause for a moment, if only to ponder how three little girls were able to guess something so specific. But then you see their expressions. “Why are you staring at me like that..?” “That will be enough morbid questions for the poor colt today, you three!” Miss Cheerilee stomps once she recovers from her third fluster in the space of about twenty seconds, “Can’t you see you’re hurting the poor colt’s feelings!?” Uh… what hurt feelings? You’re over it. “Should we just move on, Miss?” you ask, if only to diffuse the situation. “Good idea,” your teacher agrees, “Great work on your story, by the way. Gold star. Snips, you’re up next. Is your paper ready?” “You betcha!” the stout colt smirks with soon-to-be-deflated bravado. “Is it an exact copy of Silver Spoon’s story about her missing crockery collection?” Miss Cheerilee hazards a guess. “Uhh…” he looks at his paper, then back to the disapproving glare of his teacher, “…no?” “See me after class.”