//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Wingball Tryouts // Story: Wingbury Academy // by Chesterfeather //------------------------------// “. . . and thanks to his work, this number was established as the Nebulous constant. Ten years later . . .” Halfway through your second class of your first day at Wingbury, you furiously scribble notes in an attempt to keep up with your professor. Despite being an overall good student, you were never taught the basics of Classical Aeronautics back in good old Manehattan High. Now that you're in a school full of pegasi, you find yourself somewhat outclassed as you try to follow along, pencil in teeth. Why did I sign up for the advanced course, anyway? What am I trying to prove? And why is no one else writing all this crap down? A cursory glance of the classroom reveals a room of bored, listless ponies fighting sleep—or at least trying their best. Scanning each desk, you try to get a handle on your new classmates. Wow, look at that pony's tail. Does he even own a brush? Oh, she's not bad looking. Her pink mane is pretty. Hmm, those two must be athletes. Wow, I bet that one really likes apples. . . . Did that pony just look at me for a second—hey! A hoof from behind flicks the back of your head. You spin around in your chair and give the pony behind you a sharp stare. A rainbow-maned mare holds a hoof to her mouth, stifling laughter. Of course. “Oops, sorry!” Rainbow Dash whispers. The two ponies next to her chuckle softly. You turn back toward the front and try to get a hoofhold on the professor's lecture once more. “. . . challenged the Nebulous constant, arguing that it was incompatible with the Mistwright ratio. At the same time . . .” You hear a few more hushed giggles behind you. What's with that mare, anyway? What was her name again? Rainbow Clash? Rainbow Dash? Rainbow Brash? Actually, that sounds appropriate . . . “. . . disproved Sir Mistwright's ratio? Oh, how about you?” The professor raises a foreleg, pointing at you. Uh oh. Silence. You become acutely aware of every single bead of sweat on your forehead. “Hey,” says a whisper from behind, “it's three point seven.” Slowly dropping your pencil, you clear your throat. I've got nothing better to say . . . “Uh, three point . . . three point seven.” The class erupts in laughter. Amid the sea of ridicule, it's Rainbow Dash's distinct chuckle that echoes loudest in your ears. “A valiant effort, but I was hoping for a name.” Seemingly unfazed, the professor scans the room for another student as you sink deeper into your chair. Rainbow Dash taps your shoulder. “Better luck next time, chief!” ---------- Time for lunch at last! With the academy bell's ring marking the end of Modern Literature, you eagerly strap on your saddlebags. Carrying the books given to you on your first day in each class, you make your way out of the building. At least rainbow-mane was good for something. Now I know where the cafeteria is. As you float into the Wingbury cafeteria, you're momentarily stunned at the sight. The entire dining area is packed with ponies, some milling about with trays of food, others eating at tables. You grab a tray of your own and browse around for something to eat. Fruit, no. Hay, no. Oh, perfect! Gingerly picking up a daffodil sandwich with your teeth, you gently place it on your tray. After making your purchase, you work your way to the dining area and search for an open seat. Good, here's one. A purple mare waves her hoof in front of you. “Sorry, this seat's taken.” All right, how about here? A navy blue mare shakes her head. “Taken!” Well, okay. Oh, here we go. A huge, muscle-bound colt simply glares at you as you walk by. Nope, not this one either . . . After traveling down to the end of the room, you spy one table in the corner, all chairs empty except one. You trot over and set your tray down. “Mind if I sit here?” The slender, yellow mare already at the table winces as you approach, her flowing pink mane covering half of her face. “Um, no, go ahead. If, um, th-that's okay with you.” “Uh, yes. Okay.” You crack a weak smile and sit down. Yikes, how many days at Wingbury does it take until I turn into her? “So, what's your name?” “F-Fluttershy.” The cringing mare takes a small bite of her salad, alternating between awkward glances at you and her food. You rub your neck with your foreleg. “That's a nice name, Fluttershy.” Perking up, you introduce yourself with a smile. Upon hearing your name, she gasps. “Oh! Oh. You just transferred here, right?” Fluttershy cocks her head. “Whoa, yeah! How did you know?” “Everypony knows,” she says. “We never get transfers in the middle of the year like you.” She lowers her head to the table. “I don't think anypony is happy about that.” “Why?” Fluttershy shrugs. “Wingbury Academy is a very good school. Few ponies get accepted. Seeing someone transfer one month into classes . . . Maybe they're jealous?” “Well, I see what you mean.” A short pause. “Um, does it bother you that I'm here?” “No, no! I think it's nice. You must be really smart to get accepted even after admissions close.” “Nah. I do all right, but I'm not that smart. I was noticed by one of the academy's wingball coaches a few weeks ago. When he saw me flying, he told the Wingbury recruiter about me, and, well, here I am.” “Oh! You're just like Rainbow Dash.” You give her a blank stare. “That bully? No way.” Fluttershy shakes her head. “She's not a bad pony. Well, she used to be nice. I think she's a little confused.” “Confused?” you say. “Well, she certainly is confusing, I'll give you that. She started out all friendly toward me, then turned into a different pony.” Fluttershy seemingly deflates in her chair. “Rainbow Dash was my friend. She stood up for me when other ponies picked on me. After a while, they started picking on her too. But, one day, she started hanging out with those meanies. Now, they just pick on me and leave her alone, so that's, uh, nice.” “Nice?” You slide your sandwich aside. “That's not nice, Fluttershy! Friends don't bail on you. Why would she do that?” Tears form in Fluttershy's eyes. Unsure of what to say, you try to think of a way to cheer her up when a group of four ponies makes its way to your table. Sure enough, Rainbow Dash is bringing up the rear. At the head of the pack, Rosewing saunters up to Fluttershy. She puts a foreleg around her shoulders and gives her a rough squeeze. “Hey, look who it is! Good old Fluttershy!” The other ponies giggle. You spy Rainbow Dash biting her lip. “Um, why don't we go get some practice out in the fields?” she says. “The wingball tryouts are this afternoon.” Ignoring her suggestion, Rosewing rubs her hoof in Fluttershy's mane. “Hey, Rainbow Dash! Wasn't she your special somepony last year?” All heads turn to the cyan pegasus. “Ew, no way!” Rosewing tosses her mane back. “Then, you won't mind if I get cozy with her, right? I mean, look, she bought me lunch! How sweet!” She leans down and takes a bite of her salad, then spits it out. “Yuck, what is this?” Fluttershy trembles. “I-It's, uh, um . . .” “It's gross!” Rosewing slaps her tray off the table, sending the salad tumbling to the floor. “That's enough!” you yell, rising from your chair. The nearby tables fall silent. Rosewing takes a few steps toward you. “Excuse me? You got a problem?” “Yeah, I do have a problem. Leave her alone!” Rosewing puts both front hooves on Fluttershy's shoulders, knocking her face into the table. “Or what? You gonna protect your little marefriend?” She mockingly bats her eyes at you. “Ooh, you're gonna make Rainbow Dash jealous!” Rainbow Dash's jaw drops. “H-Hey, it's not like that—” “Oh, really?” Rosewing lifts off of Fluttershy and looks straight at Rainbow Dash. “Why don't you rough her up a bit, then? Unless you're afraid of her blank flank coltfriend . . .” With that, Rainbow Dash slowly marches up to Fluttershy. You immediately run over, placing yourself between the two mares. Shooting her a look of grim determination, you softly shake your head. Not gonna happen. Undeterred, Rainbow Dash spreads a wicked grin as she moves right up to your face, eyes glaring. The other ponies look on with focused stares. You swallow hard but stand tall and still. A few more seconds pass, after which Rainbow Dash gives off a rough snicker. “Flutterbitch isn't worth my time.” She gives your flank a quick tap with her foreleg. “Let's get outta here before my cutie mark disappears or something.” Mirthful laughter follows as the group of ponies trot off, leaving you and Fluttershy alone. You turn to her, softly placing a hoof on her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, but it does nothing to quell the tears now running down her face. ---------- “. . . and for anyone interested in joining the academy's wingball team, Coach Cloudmane is holding tryouts this afternoon behind the gymnasium.” The reason I joined Wingbury Academy. “That's all. You are dismissed.” With a wave of her hoof, the professor releases the last class of the day. As the halls fill with pegasi, you pay no heed, eagerly making your way outside. No wonder they were in such a hurry to get me enrolled. Tryouts are today. Well, time to show everyone what I've got. Bursting out of the building, wings flared in excitement, you start to ask around for directions to the gymnasium. Unfortunately, everypony else is already in mid-flight, unwilling to stop and help. After a few minutes, you happen upon Fluttershy slowly walking along the clouds. “Fluttershy!” you call out. “Why aren't you flying?” Startled, Fluttershy takes a moment to respond. “I-I'm not much for flying. I, um, prefer walking.” “Oh! Did you live under the clouds too when you were younger?” “N-No, I never did.” Fluttershy looks downward, seemingly imagining the ground below the clouds. “I wish I did, though.” “You're kidding! I'm thrilled to live in the clouds now. Why would you want to live down there?” “Well,” she says softly, slowly patting the cloud underneath with a hoof, “I really like animals. We don't get to see much in the clouds, so I like to go to the academy greenhouse. It reminds me of nature.” “You can just fly down to the forest below, can't you?” Fluttershy cringes. “I r-really don't like to fly . . .” “Well then,” you say, shooting up into the air, “I'll just have to do enough flying for the both of us! Why don't you come watch me at the wingball tryouts?” “Oh, um, that sounds nice, but I don't know anything about wingball.” “Then let me teach you—it's real easy! . . . Wait, you really do want to watch, though, right?” Fluttershy nods. “Yes, I'd like to see you play! And I'd like to learn.” “Perfect! Just, uh, lead me to the gym while I explain.” As the two of you slowly glide your way to the gymnasium, you teach Fluttershy everything you know about the sport. “Well, it's real simple. You play in teams of three. A wingball match consists of four rounds. At the beginning of each round, one team is given the ball to start. The object of the game is to hold onto the ball for as long as possible without getting tagged by the enemy team—if you do, the round ends, and the other team starts with the ball next round. Whichever team held the ball for the longest across those four rounds wins the match.” Fluttershy wrinkles her face. “So you just throw the ball back and forth to keep it away?” “No, no. You can only pass the ball by handing it off, which is why wingball is all about wing power and teamwork! The faster and more coordinated you are, the better you can keep away, pass the ball, or tackle the other team!” “That sounds vicious,” she says. “Can't you just fly far away, then?” “Nope. The wingball field they use is about the size of the gymnasium, and crossing the cloud boundaries ends the round right away. You just have to be agile! And, uh, hardy, because there is an awful lot of tackling to keep the other team away from the ball.” “And you've played this before?” You give her a nervous chuckle. “Well, a few times. There weren't too many opportunities back in Manehattan for wingball.” Seeing Fluttershy's crestfallen face, you perk up. “But I'm a huge fan of the sport, and I'm definitely fast! You'll see!” “Okay!” she says, smiling. You both arrive at the wingball field. Fluttershy takes a seat at the cloud stands while you line up with the rest of the pegasi waiting for their coach. At the other end of the line, a cluster of ponies has gathered in loud conversation. “No way! I've never seen a round last ten minutes!” “You'd better believe it! They couldn't touch me the whole time! The other team just gave up!” “Wow, no wonder your team won last year!” “Hah, you bet! It sure is easy when you're the fastest young flier in Equestria!” . . . Did I expect to hear anything else? A loud whistle brings everypony in rigid, single-file formation. A tall, lanky stallion with a forest-green coat and a sky-blue mane addresses the crowd. “Students! Welcome to the wingball tryouts. I'm Coach Cloudmane. I've led Wingbury through four consecutive championships, and I'm going to make that five if it's the only thing I do this year.” He begins to float up and down the line of students. “Some of you have played before. Some of you have won before.” He gives Rainbow Dash a direct look. “But today, all of you are going to try your hardest because I want three rock-solid teams this year. Wingbury's going to hit the championship with nine of the finest pegasi this side of Cloudsdale!” Cheers and hollers fill the air, everypony in line now flapping their wings rapidly. “My assistant coaches are going to go around and pair you up for one-on-one drills. I want to see you put everything you've got into it. Good luck!” As Coach Cloudmane floats over to the stands, another stallion and mare, equipped with whistles of their own, fly over to the students and begin assigning partners. The mare looks down at a clipboard, then back up, scanning the line. She stops upon reaching you, then quickly zips over. “You there!” she calls, “you're going to go up against . . . Rainbow Dash.” So even wingball is rigged these days, huh? “Awww!” Rainbow Dash groans loudly. “Why don't you give me someone worth practicing with?” “These are the assignments!” the mare snaps back. “Start your drill! Here's the ball.” She tosses the ball, a sky-blue sphere just big enough to snugly fit between your forelegs, right over to you. Rainbow Dash half-heartedly flies up to you, a plainly-visible scowl across her face. “So,” you begin, “ready to go?” “Whatever.” Her eyes refuse to meet yours. “Just get up in the air so I can tackle you already.” You fly upwards, creating ample space between you and her. The assistant coach looks up at you, then blows her whistle. Without delay, Rainbow Dash streaks into the air, rocketing toward you with incredible speed. Mother of Celestia! You quickly dodge to your left as she whizzes right past you. You spin around to face her, but she has already turned around for another strike. I can't stand still! I've gotta keep moving. You immediately launch upwards, trying to outfly the cyan pegasus, but she continues to close in on you. You can hardly afford to look down at her, but a spare glance reveals her only a few meters away. Just as she surges forward with another burst of speed, you break away from your path, jutting off at a hard angle back toward the stands. With a guttural scream, Rainbow Dash stops in mid-air, orients herself toward you, then continues her chase. Okay, I admit it! She is way faster than me! . . . I'll just have to hold out for as long as I can with a little agility. Mentally preparing yourself, you enter flight once more, this time tracing a curved path through the air. Each time you sense her approach, you cut or loop away at the last moment. As you weave throughout the field, you hear voices from below. “—already two full minutes—” “—how is he dodging her?—” “—getting rocked by the transfer—” You fly back down, towards the crowd. You spy Fluttershy, wide-eyed, following you through the air. You crack a smile—but a moment later, Rainbow Dash's light frame collides with yours. Her momentum sends you both downward, flying through a crack in the cloud field. Still holding on to you, she drives you right into a low-hanging cloud far below the field. Pinned against it, you offer a weak smile as Rainbow Dash holds you down. “N-Nice tackle, rainbow-mane.” No response. She brings her face right up to you, eyes sharpened. “Really, that was awesome.” No response. Her nostrils flare as she exhales sharply. Well, she's kinda cute when she's angry. “Why can't we just be friends? I think you're really cool.” Rainbow Dash's lips slowly part. “I . . .” Suddenly, Rosewing, along with a few other ponies, float downward from the field and watch the scene. “Well, well. Will you look at that?” She flies up to Rainbow Dash. “Gonna bust him up, Dash?” A colt from behind jeers. “You'd better! You got whipped by a blank flank!” A mare follows. “Mess him up!” Rosewing taps her on the back. “He really gave it to you, Dash. That was really lame. You just gonna hug him all day, or what?” Rainbow Dash swallows hard. “Now,” she says, roughly placing a hoof on your chest, “what am I going to do with you?” From behind, Rosewing casts a sly grin. The other ponies start egging Rainbow Dash on. Okay, this isn't cute anymore! You can barely move after absorbing such a tackle, much less with her weight on you. “I never did anything to you,” you say firmly. “Get off!” Rainbow Dash slowly lifts a hoof, positioning it right over your face. The other ponies are cheering much louder now. Expecting her to crush you, you instead see her tightly shut her eyes. “I don't want to do this,” she whispers to you, her watery eyes shaking. “Then don't,” you whisper back. “Please!” You look directly into her eyes, pleading silently with her. Behind her, you notice more ponies on their way—Coach Cloudmane descends from the field. “Now you don't have to,” you whisper. “Mighty fine performance, you two!” Cloudmane pats Rainbow Dash on the back as she lifts off of you. “What a tackle! And that dodging—whew! You two make me proud to coach wingball!” As you struggle to get back on your wings, Rainbow Dash lends you a hoof, lifting you up. You whisper a quick “thanks” as Rosewing sneers in the background. “Back to tryouts, students!” Flaring her wings, Rainbow Dash gives you a soft look before flying back up to the field.