The end-of-school bell sounds like a heavenly choir to you, especially after the long day you’ve had to endure. Silly fillies, silly colts, silly fillies again… But all of that’s behind you now as you merrily saunter out of school, the bright sun in the sky having plenty more to give before sunset. Maybe you can re-arrange the track on your train set after dinner, make it a more challenging route with twists and turns. That’d be fun!
You keep an eye out across the schoolyard. Most colts and fillies are all meeting up with their parents or guardians, some were loitering around waiting for their parents to even arrive, while others simply decided to head home of their own accord. Among the throng of ponies, you could see Dinky being reunited with her tender-spirited mother, little Rumble and his friend, Ruby Pinch, skipping home with Thunderlane and Berry Punch respectively, and Sweetie Belle keenly prancing towards her parents.
And out of the hubbub, a pink bow can be seen bobbing about, reuniting with what appears to be a stetson hat. Ah, Apple Bloom and her older sister only a few steps away from you.
As you’re about to turn away and head for home; you only live a few minutes away, there’s no need to wait for anypony to pick you up. Hopefully you can slip by without the southern-drawling, bow-wearing cooties factory noticing you.
“Hey, there ya are!”
Too late. You’re having all the luck today, aren’t you?
“Applejack, this is the colt I wuz tellin’ you about!” the filly beams, acting far more buddy-buddy than she was during your last two out-of-class encounters, “He’s gonna teach us the secret to gettin’ us our Cutie Marks!”
Rather than shoot her down with a polite request to leave you the heck alone in front of her big sister, you take the easy route. You smile and nod, conjuring up the perfectly valid excuse of needing to get home quickly. Can’t wait for dinner and all.
“Sure thing,” Apple Bloom, The Filly Who Is Incapable Of Taking A Hint, replies, “And after dinner, come by Sweet Apple Acres! We’ve gotta show you our clubhouse!”
After dinner? But… but the model railway set!
“I’ll… think about it.” you dismiss.
“Alrighty, we’re gonna be makin’ candy apples in the clubhouse, so I’ll be sure to leave some for ya.”
Candy apples? Well, that’s one way to grease the wheels.
“You mean you’ll be havin’ candy apples if you finish your meal, Apple Bloom,” the filly’s sister - what’s her name, Apple Jack? - corrects her, “See you around, nice meetin’ ya, kiddo.”
Your short walk back home lets your mind wander. You suppose you should get out of the house more often, but tinkering with the train set sounds way more preferable than sitting around in a filly’s clubhouse drinking imaginary tea and pretending to be a princess.
Maybe you should ask Mom when you get home.
*******
Note to self: Never talk to Mom about girls.
As soon as you brought it up at the dinner table, she seemed to become possessed by the Spirit of Making a Fuss of Things. “Go for it, dear!” she cooed, “It’s so nice that you’re finally going out with friends on a play-date!”
After that, you knew you couldn’t just say to her “Nah, train set it is”. Flash forward to the present moment. You’re approaching Sweet Apple Acres and its looming barn, the property itself sitting comfortably among its apple trees and fields, lit up by the late-afternoon sun.
The fresh smell of crops and dirt hangs in the air. There’s a hundred different things to do from the eyes of the young and childish; things to run through, things to frolic on, things to climb up, things to fall off after climbing up them…
…it’s just a shame that you’ve got no choice but to sit in a clubhouse playing with girly dolls. Especially now that the main culprit, the bouncy filly, Apple Bloom herself, managed to spy you upon entry to the farm, and is now galloping towards you with a smile on her face.
Wait, she’s still galloping…
…isn’t she going to stop galloping now..?
“Ah knew you’d come! Ah knew it! C’mere, gimme a cuddle!”
Oh no not this again run for your liiiife!
You bound to the side, narrowly avoiding Apple Bloom’s constriction attempt, kicking up the dust in your wake. And thus another game of Chase begins. Luckily, this time you know it’s only game. It kinda feels good to get a rush like this.
“Aw, c’mon, gimme a hug!” Apple Bloom catches up with you, yet you still manage to pull that little bit ahead of her, “Please?”
“Ew, no thanks!”
“Gimme a cuddle now!” you hear her demand as you both dart through the many trees and thickets, the gates and fences, the bushes and branches, “Gimme a cuddle or Ah’ll kick ya and hit ya and smush ya and tell Big Mac on ya and pour glitter dust on ya and put a bow tie in yer mane and make ya eat broccoli and hit ya again! So gimme a cuddle!”
“Wait, wait, I’m trying to decide which is worse!” you call back over your shoulder, paying no attention to the root of a tree jutting out of the ground mere feet away from you, “You giving me a cuddle could be worse than all of- Nagh!”
A split second later, the inevitable happens. With lurching senses, you suddenly trip, falling forward, one hoof tumbling over another. The next thing you see is a flash of white as your head bounces off the solid dirt ground with a remorseless THUMP. The rest of your vision shakes and shivers from the pain shooting through your head. The nauseating throb that accompanies it does nothing to help.
“Oh my stars!” Apple Bloom skids to a halt, her hoof covering her mouth in shock, “Are you okay!?”
The aching patch of pain on your head stings when you raise a hoof to comfort it. Involuntarily, you cough out a pathetic, whining sob, holding back your shudders and tears in front of the filly. Colts don’t cry.
While you can’t see very well, you feel Apple Bloom’s presence as she hunkers down next to you. You could even smell her girliness dangerously close to you. You’d visibly flinch at the idea of catching the girly-bug from her if you weren’t preoccupied with controlling your whimper.
The next thing you feel summons a lump in your throat, cutting off your blubbering; her tiny hooves wrap around you, comforting you in a tender… cuddle. Your breath stops for a second, not knowing how to react. Your heartbeat, still quickened from the chase, shows no signs of slowing down. Your stomach feels… you don’t know. You can’t think of a name for what you’re feeling right now. You’re sure the grownups have a name for it though.
But it feels nice. You don’t mind her holding on for another minute or two.
“Any better?” she asks after a while.
You sniffle away the already-fading twinge. “A little.” You admit, maybe a cuddle wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“C’mon,” Apple Bloom helps you to your hooves, “the clubhouse ain’t too far away.”
“Promise you won’t tell anypony about this?” you mumble, rubbing the sore spot on your head. Even now, the pain becomes a faint, silly memory.
“I promise.”
*******
The dreaded Clubhouse of Frilly Filly Doom looms into view, nestled between the branches of a sturdy oak. A greenish ramp leads up to a one-room house painted a (ugh) salmon-pinkish hue on the outside. There’s a love-heart cut into the door.
It’s enough to give you cold hooves about hanging out with them.
“Here we are, friend!” Apple Bloom beams, “Ain’t it somethin’!?”
“Um,” you openly vocalise, “Yeah. It certainly is… something.”
Nothing good, you speculate, but something nevertheless. Your hesitance is cut short by Apple Bloom coyly beckoning you up the ramp - far more stable than it looked from afar - and up to the scary door of cooties.
You take a deep breath - woe betide you having to breathe in their girly perfumes and glitters and whatnot for longer than you need to - as you place a hoof on the door handle, twist it and pull.