//------------------------------// // Chapter 22: Crystal // Story: Clean Slate // by Alaborn //------------------------------// Clean Slate By Alaborn Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc. I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein. Chapter 22: Crystal “Letter for you, Diamond Tiara!” Applejack passed me a letter, its return address indicating it was from my aunt Crystal Crown. Among the ponies I had been communicating with via mail, I heard from Golden Sky and Silver Spoon frequently. Crystal Crown wrote less frequently, maybe every other month, keeping me updated on what she was doing with her life. Typically, she wrote about her art and her community of artists. Her current letter included more of the same, but with an addition. There will be a display of my work at one of the Manehattan museums, as part of an exhibit concerning the New Loft Movement. It begins August 15 and runs for five weeks. I expect you’ll be heading back to school in September, but if you are free before then, I would be happy to have you visit. “Applejack, my aunt has invited me for a visit.” I said. I noticed Applejack’s face twist briefly into a scowl before returning to a more neutral expression. “You don’t say,” she said noncommittally. “You didn’t care for her when we bumped into her,” I mentioned. “I know.” “Do you remember why?” “It’s hard to put my hoof on it,” Applejack said. “It’s just a first impression, but I’ve learned to trust them. Now, you’ve been writing to her. What do you think of her as a pony?” “It’s hard to say, just reading and writing letters,” I replied. The first thing that came to mind is how she liked to talk about herself. But that’s hard to avoid, especially without having any shared experiences. It wasn’t much different from my own letters, where I talked about everything I was doing in Ponyville. “But like I’ve always said, family is important, even the family you don’t particularly care for. Now, I don’t want you to hop a train to Manehattan by yourself, but I do know Rarity is taking Sweetie Belle to Manehattan sometime before school starts. You go and work out a schedule, and you can go.” I nodded. “That sounds good. Thanks, Applejack.” “So what are you going to do in Manehattan?” I asked Sweetie Belle. “Well, officially, I’m there to help model her dresses,” she explained. “But she also wants to check out music schools and stuff. And maybe some of those high society contacts of hers can make some introductions.” “Do you really want to go to Manehattan?” “I’d prefer to study in Canterlot. That way, it would be a short trip home, rather than a whole day trip,” Sweetie Belle said. “But Canterlot conservatories are heavily focused on classical music. And right now, I don’t know what kind of music my voice will best be suited for.” She sighed. “I know I’m going to have to leave Ponyville.” “In any case, I need to talk to your sister. Can we stop by the boutique?” “Sure,” Sweetie Belle said. We headed over to Carousel Boutique, where Rarity was again working on a dress. Once I mentioned my situation to her, I felt myself lifted onto the pedestal. Her previous work set aside, I watched as fabric and ribbon and gems flew around the room. “Artists. No, Manehattan artists. Something trendy. No, something retro; retro is trendy. Something unique. Something that says ‘I am Diamond Tiara, and I am a unique pony.’ Color. A splash of bold color. Something that would make a Canterlot noble stop and gasp. But only a little.” Rarity’s musings helped distract me from the fact that there were several needles flying around. In record time, I had two new dresses, not like anything else in the boutique, but undeniably a Rarity creation. And again, she refused any payment. Her paying customers must really pay a lot. The arrangements were made. I wrote back that I would visit my aunt for the last week of August, and sent a telegram with my travel plans. Applejack continued to fuss. “Now you remember where Rarity and Sweetie Belle are staying,” she said, right before I headed to the train station. I just nodded, her worry making me feel a little uncomfortable. The trip to Manehattan was uneventful, and a lot less interesting than a trip with all of us. We spend a lot of time sitting quietly, watching the countryside fly by. I separated from Rarity and Sweetie Belle outside Grand Central Station, taking a carriage to my aunt’s apartment building. Immediately after stepping out of the carriage, a bellhop had collected my bags, and the doormare let me into the building. “I’m here to see Crystal Crown,” I told her. The doormare pressed a button; a harsh buzzing sound issued from her station. A few minutes later, a middle-aged earth pony mare who looked somewhat familiar came out of the lift. She spotted me and trotted over, embracing me. “I’m so happy you came to visit,” Crystal Crown said. Before I could respond, she issued a quick request to the bellhop. “Please take those bags to apartment 208.” The bellhop nodded and departed. “How was your trip, Diamond Tiara?” my aunt asked me. “Pretty uneventful,” I said. “Let’s get you settled in,” she said. The pony operating the lift took us up to the second floor of Crystal Crown’s apartment building. The bellhop was waiting for us. Crystal Crown opened the door, let the bellhop unload my bags, and tipped him on the way out. Once the door closed, I had a chance to see Crystal Crown’s apartment. It was spacious, like the home of Aunt and Uncle Orange. The design was quite open and uncluttered, with only a few pieces of art on the wall. They all appeared to be made of crystal. I approached the nearest display, a flower fashioned of many pieces of multicolored faceted crystal. A sungem illuminated the piece; the magical light capturing the brilliant light of the afternoon sun, the hint of yellow in the light making the display feel warmer. With each step I took, the light reflected and refracted in subtly different patterns, making it look like a completely different work. “Do you like it?” Crystal Crown asked me. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “It’s flawed,” she replied. “That was one of my earlier works, and that’s why it’s not in the hooves of a museum or a private collector.” “But you still spent the time and money to display it.” “It still means something to me. It reminds me that there’s always room to improve,” she stated. “Let’s get you into your room, and then I’ll give you the tour.” Crystal Crown’s guest bedroom was similar to the rest of the apartment, sparsely decorated. The double bed was clean, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. The tour didn’t take long. The entire place was beautiful and looked ready to entertain guests, save for one room Crystal Crown called her “inspiration room”. Like the one Rarity had, it was an organized mess, except instead of fabric, she had piles of junk. Strangely, I didn’t see anywhere where she stored her crystal. Then I remembered that she said she wasn’t working with crystal anymore. My aunt interrupted my musings. “Are you hungry, Diamond Tiara?” she asked. “Yes. I didn’t eat much on the train,” I said. “Then let’s get something to eat.” She stared off into the distance. “Now where to go? There are so many nice bistros in the area.” “I won’t be picky,” I said. “Anything’s probably different than what I’m used to in Ponyville.” Bistro Mareseilles, as near as I could tell, combined elements of Prench and Equestrian cuisine. Our dishes starred garden-fresh vegetables in sauces heavy with cream and butter. Despite the heavy sauces, the small portions left me feeling unsatisfied. “Do you want dessert?” Crystal Crown asked. I nodded. “I’m used to the farm, where we eat a lot more.” “Go ahead and choose a dessert. But I’ll pass. There’s no way I could eat that much food and stay healthy.” I ordered a flourless chocolate torte, something I would probably never eat at home. Once the waiter departed, Crystal Crown asked me “So what else have you been doing in Ponyville?” “I didn’t know it was possible, but I have been extremely busy, even after school ended,” I said. “I helped my friends discover their special talents, even my adopted sister, who spent long hours building a giant machine. At the same time, I’ve been working on the farm. I’m not strong enough to harvest apples like my family, but I’ve been able to use my magic to make the apples grow and to help my sister harvest them.” “That’s nice. I was never very good at using my magic,” Crystal Crown said. “Did you ever do farm work?” I asked. “Huh? Me? No, I never needed to. I remember school projects, you know, the ones where you plant a seed and track its growth? I had a hard time making those pea plants grow.” She shrugged. “I think I was in your situation once, but with a little help, I was able to connect with the trees in the orchard.” I thought for a moment. “Since your cutie mark is related to crystal, maybe you would have had better luck with mineral magic?” “I never thought about that. I always thought the idea of rock farms was silly, no matter how important Father said their work was.” “And I just finished working an internship at the Barnyard Bargains offices in downtown Ponyville.” Crystal Crown frowned. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to work there, just to honor your father,” she said. “But I want to work there. I feel that very clearly,” I affirmed. “But what if your special talent is something else?” she asked. I fell silent. What if that was true? What if my talent was something other than business? I know I had experienced that same level of intense dedication I saw in Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom over this spring. I didn’t know why I didn’t get.... “Shouldn’t you have your cutie mark after working for the summer?” Crystal Crown said. “I had a cutie mark once,” I reminded her. “What? Oh, yes, you said that. Wait. How does that work?” I shrugged. “Nopony knows. It might have been tied to some aspect of my personality I can’t remember.” “You said you wanted to try to get an art cutie mark, right? I’d love to share my art with you.” I thought back to what I had written to my aunt. I recalled it being more along the line of one of our typical crusades, back before my friends got their cutie marks. And my attempt at painting didn’t go so well. But learning more about my aunt’s life was what was important. “I’d love to learn about your art,” I said. At breakfast the next morning, I asked my aunt a question that had been on my mind. “Why did you give up on working with crystal?” “There was nothing left to be said with crystal,” she replied. I remembered that from her letter. “But what does that mean? I looked at your crystal work here, and I really liked it. Isn’t that art speaking to me?” “It’s hard to explain. How much have you studied art?” she asked. “Only those brief art classes in school. But the kind of art we do in elementary school isn’t worthy of the name,” I said. Crystal Crown laughed. “True. So true. Now, about your question.” She paused. “I see art as a way of understanding the deeper truths in life, those things that everypony should try to know. It’s not enough to be technically proficient, if there’s no inspiration in your art. If you want a portrait that perfectly portrays you in a static image, it’s easier to use a camera. I’m happy you find my crystal artwork beautiful, despite the horrible flaws, but I don’t feel anymore that a crystal flower captures the hidden truth of a flower.” “Anymore? You did in the past?” “I thought I did, before I learned more about art,” Crystal Crown replied. “Because I found my first artistic success and my cutie mark working with crystal, I stayed with the medium for far longer than I should have.” “Do you still have any crystal? If I’m going to try my hoof at art, I think that would be easier to work with than... all the other things in your inspiration room,” I said. Crystal Crown nodded. “I have a lot in storage. I couldn’t bear to discard anything. I know that the moment I throw out the material, I will want to use it in my current project.” I laughed. No matter what you did or where you lived, that was so true! I waited in Crystal Crown’s art studio until she entered, carrying bundles wrapped in cloth. The way they gently clinked, they sounded like, well, crystal. She opened the bundles, placing the colorful crystal on a rubber pad in front of me. “So, what can I do with these?” I asked. “There’s a lot you could make with crystal, but for somepony new to art, I suggest making a two-dimensional image, similar to stained glass, using this crystal. If you like what you create, we can solder it together.” Crystal Crown headed over to her own part of the room, with some sculpture in process. To be honest, it looked like junk the first time I entered this room, but given the attention she focused on it, it was obviously a work in progress. Soon, she was lost to the outside world, utterly focused on her art. I looked at the crystal in front of me. There were a multitude of colors, but I was restricted by the geometric shapes of the pieces of crystal. Whatever I pictured in my mind would have to be rendered in triangles, rectangles, and semicircles. I pictured an apple tree in my mind. But no matter how stylized I made this image, there were colors, blues and purples, that didn’t fit. But there was one apple that could use every color of crystal. The zap apple. I moved colorful crystal until it formed bands that suggested the stripes of a zap apple. It was certainly not accurate like a photograph, but I could see the rainbow pattern in my mind. The picture was too big. To picture an orchard, or even a tree, at this scale would be impossible. I thought about it. What if this was a picture of the zap apple grove, but at an unusual angle? I pictured a pegasus’ eye view of Sweet Apple Acres, moving the point of view until an image appeared in my mind. I grabbed pieces of crystal like a madmare, surrounding the prismatic image with shades of green, streaked with browns and oranges, tinging the edges of the image with dark blues. I didn’t even notice that Crystal Crown was looking over my withers. “A zap apple tree?” she asked. I nodded. “I tried to capture a sideways look at a tree, focused on one apple.” “That’s pretty good. You haven’t studied art before?” she asked. “No, not at all. Last time I tried painting, I remember my perspective being way off.” “Your perspective is still off, but that’s okay. This medium is a lot more forgiving.” She looked me in the eye. “So what do you think? Would you like to keep this?” “Sure,” I said. Crystal Crown brought out this strange copper stripping, with an adhesive on one side. She had me wrap the edges of each piece of crystal. I started at one end of my image, and she started at the other. Soon, the image was reassembled, except with this copper covering the edges of the crystal pieces. “This next part is one I’m going to have to do myself,” Crystal Crown said. She took a spool of what looked like very thick wire and unwound a section. With a twist, she tore off a piece. She wrapped it in an insulated grip, like a very small version of the mouth protectors used to take a hot pan out of the oven. Finally, she gripped a cylindrical device with a metal tip in her pastern, tapping a crystal. The metal tip of this device glowed slightly. I could feel the heat coming from it. Crystal Crown placed it next to the silver wire. Before my eyes, the metal melted, landing on my crystal creation. I noticed the molten metal adhered to the copper. When she finished, Crystal Crown pulled me away from my workstation. “We need to wait for the solder to cool. Then we can polish it and see if it needs any adjustments.” She turned from my work to hers. “That’s it!” she said, the look of mad inspiration in her eyes. She turned back to my workstation and searched through the leftover pieces of crystal. “Where is it, where is it?” she muttered. She then looked at my crystal creation, focusing on one particular piece of crystal. “That! I need that!” She sighed, exasperated. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s my fault. I told you it would happen. I never knew I needed a long piece of blue crystal for my sculpture until the moment I no longer had one.” Undeterred, Crystal Crown searched through her pile of junk. I guessed the strips of tinfoil she found replaced the crystal. No longer working myself, I could focus on how my aunt created. Her moves to me looked random at first, connecting what looked like bits of junk together. But after watching her more closely, I could see it wasn’t random. Each new piece was carefully placed, attached with wire or glue only after being adjusted to a specific position. I still had no idea what she was sculpting, though. “Sorry I spent so long in there,” Crystal Crown said. Her fit of inspiration had her working another two hours. I looked up from the book I was reading; this book was one of many on art and art history my aunt had on her bookshelf. “That’s okay. It was nothing compared to the amount of time my adoptive sister spent building a giant machine.” “So, reading about art?” she said. “Yeah. This book looked interesting.” “I have a better idea. Let’s go to a museum,” Crystal Crown said. “There are so many to choose from, and it’s nice to be able to go with somepony.” “Do you go to the museums a lot?” I asked. “At least once a month, and that’s not counting exhibits,” she replied. “If I’m looking for inspiration, or if I’m just in the mood, I’ll visit one of Manehattan’s museums.” “I went to a museum last time I was here. The Manehattan Museum of Art, I think.” “An excellent choice,” Crystal Crown commented. “If you’re a traditionalist,” she added. I shrugged. “I’m just a tourist.” “I think I know the place to go,” Crystal Crown said. We departed and walked what had to be several miles to get to the Museum of Modern Art. If the architectural style of the building was any indication, the art inside was going to be extremely unusual. “Is this the museum that’s showing your art?” I asked. “No. My art is too modern for the Museum of Modern Art,” Crystal Crown stated. “I promise you’ll get to see it before you leave.” We spent a good three hours in the museum. Crystal Crown set her own schedule, and with nothing planned, we could spend as much time with each exhibit as we desired. The art wasn’t as easy to understand as the exhibits in the Manehattan Museum of Art. In fact, some of the paintings were truly bizarre. Fortunately, each wing had a description of the art school and what it hoped to evoke. It made the distorted pony faces and surreal landscapes make more sense, though it wasn’t clear who decided these styles were worthy of being in a museum. There must have been time involved in reaching this consensus, as the works in the museum were mostly between thirty and one hundred years old. Some ponies took a risk with their art, and created a style that would be recognized for years to come. By the time I was as old as Granny Smith, would my aunt be similarly recognized? My week in Manehattan persisted in much the same manner. We visited several other museums, ate at a number of trendy restaurants, and shopped at a variety of hip stores. Crystal Crown didn’t actually buy much of what these shops sold, but she often came away from them with something else: a wire tie, the top of a wooden crate, even stained brown paper. She would come home, and head straight into her workroom, normally incorporating whatever junk she had acquired into one of her works in progress. On Friday night, I would finally get to see my aunt’s work on display. The museum currently showcasing her work was holding some kind of party. It was a chance for artists to mingle with art fans. “It’s also a chance to drink yourself silly and embarrass yourself,” Crystal Crown added. Her expression didn’t reveal if she had been that pony at one point. I headed to my bedroom to get dressed. I pulled out one of Rarity’s new dresses, a simple black dress that would reveal bold flashes of red and purple as I stepped. The bow in my hair didn’t fit the image, so I chose to wear my tiara. I added a silver necklace, a gift from Silver Spoon. It took me a while to get everything looking right. Crystal Crown, on the other hoof, was ready very quickly. She had donned a black jacket, in a style that wasn’t commonly seen in Ponyville, and a black beret. The clothes wouldn’t be out of place on a mare or a stallion. They did serve to draw my eyes instead to her crystal necklace and brooch. We left Crystal Crown’s apartment and walked to a part of Manehattan I hadn’t seen. The other museums were in the heart of Manehattan, surrounded by tall buildings and prominent landmarks. This time, we were heading towards the ocean. The neighborhood appeared to be in the middle of a redevelopment, with large industrial buildings being repurposed. “What is this neighborhood?” I asked. “This used to be one of the prominent port districts of Manehattan. But it was difficult to keep the harbor dredged, and the increasingly large ships necessitated expanding port facilities to the south. But nothing in Manehattan remains unchanged, and so a number of ponies have moved in, transforming the neighborhood.” “You don’t see anything like this in Ponyville,” I said. “Of course, we can just build new neighborhoods when we need them.” That Ponyville is growing is just one of those facts I don’t remember learning, but I had seen it myself over the past ten months as well. Having a princess in town, the nearness to Canterlot, and the presence of the Elements of Harmony meant big things would happen in Ponyville. But Manehattan was an entirely different city. Our destination was one of these old warehouses. A simple sign outside announced the event as “The New Loft Movement – New Boundaries in Art and Form”. “What was the Old Loft Movement?” I asked. “There wasn’t one,” Crystal Crown replied. “Huh?” “It’s a name an art critic came up with after an early show in a converted loft. The name stuck,” she explained. The interior of the warehouse was enormous open spaces, plain brick, exposed fixtures, and concrete pillars. The interior was broken up by the installation of freestanding screens, forming alcoves, each with between three and six exhibits. The art was of a variety of sizes and shapes, but all were made of reused items. The ponies inside the transformed warehouse were as varied as the art exhibits. Mane styles and outfits that would receive questioning looks in Ponyville didn’t receive a second glance here. Many of the ponies accessorized their outfits with small pieces of reused metal junk. Surprisingly, it worked. Judging by these ponies’ cutie marks, about half were artists experienced in other media, while the rest came from seemingly random backgrounds. Crystal Crown introduced me to a number of her contemporaries, names passing in a blur as I tried to link them to faces. Once introductions were out of the way, she encouraged me to explore the exhibit. My first stop was the refreshment table. I was hungry. I frowned at the food offerings. There was an assortment of bite-size sandwiches with fillings I had to assume were chosen to be eclectic. Mushrooms and quince paste? Hay and lemongrass? Daisies and pickled plums? A few of the offerings tasted good, but too often I had to quickly swallow an obnoxious sandwich and chase it with a glass of water. Finally, I got to study the art. But I wasn’t feeling inspired. The name of each piece was either lofty and grandiose or rather specific. But looking at the sculptures, I saw the individual components, not the artist’s vision. A sculpture called “Rat Dog” looked like neither a rat nor a dog. “Great Heights” wasn’t a tall piece at all. I thought about what I had read about art recently, but that didn’t help either. So I listened to the artists and critics as they talked. They assessed the works by talking about “what is said by what is not there.” I didn’t get it at all. For some reason, I remembered something from school over the winter, when a science fair project made by Snips and Snails fell apart on them right before they were going to present it. Stick the resulting mess together with glue and wire, and I don’t think I could distinguish it from this art. All I could do is look at the art again and again. I focused most on the seven pieces Crystal Crown had contributed to the exhibition. As I looked at her “Frequency and Severity” for the fourth time, I felt a hoof on my withers. “What do you think?” Crystal Crown asked me. My jaw moved, but nothing came out as I struggled to find a response. “Sorry, I don’t get it,” I finally replied. I expected to see anger, or at least disappointment, but Crystal Crown smiled warmly. “Don’t feel bad, Diamond Tiara. This is very challenging art, and I’m happy you’ve tried to understand.” She glanced around the room. “The critics will be presenting prizes soon. After that, let’s make a fashionably early departure.” I nodded, and headed back to the refreshment table for another brie and chamomile flower sandwich. Soon, I was standing by my aunt as the critics announced their prizes. Each prize announcement was greeted with quiet applause, the gentle clopping of hooves on the concrete floor. It wasn’t the loud applause of home. But the way the noise carried through the transformed warehouse, I understood why they did it. I applauded, softly, as Crystal Crown received a critic’s choice and an honorable mention that night. Following the awards, I watched as Crystal Crown said goodbye to a couple of ponies. After that, we slipped out the door, and headed back home. The night was dark, but Manehattan, keeping to its reputation as the city that never sleeps, was still full of activity. “Let’s stop for pizza,” Crystal Crown suddenly suggested. I raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m all for that, but... well, I wasn’t expecting you to be a pizza kind of pony!” “Normally, I’m not. But hey, I need something to get the taste of those awful sandwiches out of my mouth.” The next day was when I would return home. I would meet Rarity and Sweetie Belle at the train station, and take the afternoon train to Canterlot and Ponyville. Crystal Crown had promised me brunch at one of the best brunch restaurants in Manehattan before I departed. While she was getting ready, I was pacing around her workshop. I looked at her works in progress, trying again to see the inspiration. I compared them with the simple crystal art I had made, to her own crystal work, to the exhibits in the museums. “You have plenty of time, if you want.” I turned to face my aunt. I hadn’t heard her enter. “I think you have some talent in art, and I’d encourage you to develop it,” she continued. “With the right study and practice, you could really leave your mark on the world.” Looking at my aunt, I was struck by how similar her cutie mark was to the one I once had. Did that suggest a similar talent? But while I appreciated her support, nopony else noticed a talent for art in me. “I don’t know,” I said. “It seems like a long shot.” “But you’re able to take the long shot, something most ponies just can’t do. It’s a waste of opportunity if you don’t try.” “I’m not sure I get what you’re saying,” I said. “I was never good with business, but I have kept the small share of Barnyard Bargains I inherited from your grandfather. That five percent allows me to live my life without having to worry about my next art sale. It’s almost a cliché that art isn’t truly appreciated until the artist passes. It might take that long, it might not, but what’s important is that I don’t have to compromise my art in the here and now. And you have this gift of time as well.” I really didn’t know what I was going to do. If I just had my cutie mark, maybe I’d know. But having seen both my aunt and uncle, I now understood something they shared with my father. They were doing something they loved. And what could be a better goal than that? “Thank you, Aunt Crystal Crown,” I said. “I may not follow in your hoofsteps, but you’ve given me a lot to think about.” She smiled back at me. “Now let’s eat! You should see the quiche bar this restaurant has!” I was very happy to see Rarity and Sweetie Belle again. Manehattan is a fascinating city, but I wanted to get back to the slower pace of the small town I loved. Rarity was in a very good mood, and she couldn’t stop talking about all the business deals she made. The trip back to Ponyville seemed to fly by much faster. That was because we all had experiences to share. Of course, I heard about all the dresses Rarity would soon be making, hopefully for paying customers. Rarity seemed jealous of all the museums I visited, and showed a macabre interest in the bizarre fashions I described of the artist ponies I had met. Sweetie Belle had plenty of tales of the eccentric musicians she met. Like me, Sweetie Belle was returning from Manehattan less certain of her ultimate path in life. At the train station in Ponyville, Applejack was there to greet me. “Welcome home, sugarcube,” she said, embracing me. “How was the week with your aunt?” “It was interesting,” I said. “She’s an artist, and obviously very passionate about her work, even if it left me feeling totally lost.” “The world needs artists too, I suppose,” Applejack muttered. “Hope you didn’t get on a late night Manehattan schedule while you were there. School starts in two days, and I’m not going to let you skip your morning chores.” I yawned. “Don’t worry. I’ll go to sleep early.” We made it home, and we took my luggage straight to my bedroom. There was an envelope resting on my bed. Applejack noticed it. “That’s right; you got a letter from Silver Spoon. Of course, it came the day after you left. Always happens that way.” “I’m sure she’ll understand if I’m late in responding,” I said. I quickly stowed my belongings and jumped on my bed. By the light of the candle, I read Silver Spoon’s letter. Silver Spoon The Meadowfield School 14 Meadow Lane Canterlot, P.E. Diamond Tiara Sweet Apple Acres One Orchard Way Ponyville, P.E. August 22, 1478 AC Dear Diamond Tiara, If memory serves, you still have another week before school begins. Lucky you. Here, it’s the end of the first week of school. I have half a dozen syllabi, a dozen textbooks, and two dozen stories from my classmates. And it’s those stories I dread most. Do you remember Miss Cheerilee asking the traditional question, “What did you do last summer?” I wish I were back in Ponyville, answering that question. (I studied silver etching with a cousin, if you’re wondering.) At the Meadowfield School, this question is something else entirely. All I’ve been hearing is stories about the big and important things ponies did over the summer. They ostensibly were helping others, but it’s obvious that the most important part of these jobs was to impress other ponies. Whether peers here or the admissions staff of secondary schools even more exclusive than this school, my classmates’ work served their needs. There are, mercifully, some exceptions. My friend Evening Star—he’s the one who carries a silver pocket watch that once belonged to his uncle—spent the summer working at an orphanage in Dodge City. He did that for no reason other than he was orphaned as a young colt. Are you considering secondary school? We talked about it a lot back then, and it’s an obvious choice for you if you’re going to run Barnyard Bargains. I don’t feel like the education will matter much to me, but it’s expected, and I do need the connections. I think I’d like to move on to the secondary school at the Meadowfield School campus. As long as I pass my final exams, I’ll automatically be admitted. Good luck, and enjoy the school year! Your friend, Silver Spoon I put Silver Spoon’s letter aside and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. It was a quiet night. Even the crickets were subdued. Images of Canterlot nobles and Manehattan artists trying to impress each other drifted through my mind. Then I thought about the ponies of Ponyville, hardworking mares like Rarity and Pinkie Pie and of course Applejack. They weren’t trying to impress anypony, but they impressed me anyway. I still had doubts about how my life would end up. But it was crystal clear that the first pony I had to impress was myself.