//------------------------------// // Maybe I'm Right // Story: Scootaloo & The Cabinet of Seers // by HMXTaylorLee //------------------------------// Ponyville was a bizarre sight this time of night, at least during this time of year. Plenty of ponies walked the streets around the marketplace, still adamantly set on keeping to their spring and summer schedules. The same ponies that didn’t want to acknowledge the setting sun and rising moon slowly happening sooner and sooner. Without the aid of daylight, the stores and kiosks were not nearly as populous, but they still had their share of loyal followers. The darkness didn’t bother them, for one of the great things about Ponyville was how safe the city was, even during the twilight hours. At least, safe as far as intentions went. Accidents, on the other hoof… “Sorry, mister!!” Scootaloo cried out behind her. She was not a stranger to riding the streets at night, but she was not used to a variety of ponies serving as obstacles along with the traditional signposts, fences, bumps, rocks, and buildings under the cover of darkness. Those things didn’t move, at least. The hours when she rode on this side of town on most nights dictated that those ponies that were shaking their hooves cantankerously at her now were generally fast asleep in their homes. The sound of rubber wheels rolling across the cool hard dirt rang across the plaza. Only the ponies nearest to it would be able to hear the comparably faint humming of Scootaloo’s wings. But they would make sure that Scootaloo would be able to hear their cries. “Watch where you’re going, kid!” Came a shout from a perplexed stallion that was very nearly collided into by the blue, orange, and purple blur. She zipped past the newspaper kiosk, much faster than her first trip that day on her way to the library. The stallion from earlier had no doubt retreated to his home from to catch some sleep before he would return to the building adjacent to the stand to sell more papers in approximately six hours. Scootaloo knew this, because in approximately six hours, she would be meeting him there. However, she had other goals in mind – the first being the precious cargo in the wagon behind her; Spike’s chocolate chip cookies. Though they had composed her sole meal during the day, they were so soft and flavorful that she couldn’t wait to taste them again and make another meal of them. She licked her lips at the thought, but they dried almost an instant later in light of the stiff breeze she was generating during her travels. They would be the first thing she’d attend to once she opened the door to her home. “Oh hello, Spike!” Cheerilee greeted the dragon silhouetted against the bright light from inside the open door to the library. “I’m sorry for calling at such a late hour, but is Princess Twilight Sparkle available? I’d really like to speak with her.” Spike opened the door wider, triggering the bell that would no doubt have alerted the Alicorn upstairs that they had a visitor. “Sure thing!” He nodded brightly. “Come on in, I’ll go and fetch her from upstairs.” Cheerilee stepped inside, the toll of the day’s events making themselves apparent under the revealing light from the library interior. It wasn’t the first time that Spike had seen swollen red eyes from a pony standing in the entry way of the library that day. The door closed behind her, and yet another ding sounded throughout the hollowed tree. “I-I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” The earth pony asked nervously as Spike began to skip up the stairs. “I’ve heard that she doesn’t like to be interrupted during her studies.” “Not at all!” Princess Twilight answered from the now open door to her bedroom. “I was actually just writing a letter to YOU, if you’ll believe it.” “Oh my! Princess Twilight!” Cheerilee cried out, bending her forelegs so that she could bow down before the royal mare above her. Spike rolled his eyes, and walked back to the desk where he had been reading one of his comics. Twilight glided down from the railing and walkway overlooking the main room, and landed in front of the kneeling teacher. “Please…” she insisted with a blush on her face as she returned the bow. “Just Twilight is fine. Besides… I'm pretty sure that you've done more for Ponyville being a teacher than I have for Ponyville being a princess.” “Oh! Why – Why, thank you, your highness!” Cheerilee fumbled as she stood upright, clearly not convinced to address the Alicorn in front of her with anything but the highest level of formality. “I don’t quite know what to say to that – surely you jest!” “Not at all,” Twilight encouraged as her wings folded along her sides. “Education is one of the most important things for the future of a young pony, if not the most important thing.” “I um… well… thank you,” Cheerilee stammered, her deep red cheeks barely visible over her eggplant purple fur. “It’s really nothing…” Twilight shook her head resolutely. “I hardly think so. From the little experience I have with the groups of schoolponies that come to work in here on occasion... Well, dealing with a room full of that on a daily basis can't really be constituted as nothing.” The Earth pony scratched the back of her neck with one of her hooves. She looked to be doing her best to appear modest, but Twilight could tell that she enjoyed being recognized for her efforts. “Well… it certainly has its challenges at times. Which reminds me…” Cheerilee cleared her throat. “Did you by chance receive a letter today?” Twilight sighed, a long and deep sigh. “…Yes. Apple Bloom gave it to me when she and the other Crusaders stopped by earlier.” She motioned to Spike, who had paused his reading at the mention of the letter. He nodded, and shuffled underneath the desk momentarily. “That’s good.” Cheerilee eked a weak smile. “Not good about what happened, I mean. I meant that it’s good that they brought the letter to you. I was worried for a moment that they might… you know, try and keep Scootaloo from getting into more trouble.” “I know what you mean,” Twilight said. “No, they brought it here shortly after one this afternoon.” “That quickly?” Cheerilee expressed with some surprise, sliding the saddlebag she was wearing off from her back. “They couldn’t have even stopped for lunch at that rate from the time they had left.” Spike trotted back to the two from behind the desk, with several pieces of paper in one of his claws. “With that speed, maybe they could try to earn their cutie marks in delivering mail? Of course, they’d have to be tall enough to reach the mailboxes first, heh.” “…Steady, Scootaloo…” The red wagon that she had tied to the back of her scooter not only made a great transport vehicle for Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, and it wasn’t just ideal for carrying an array of items, such as the ice pack and cookies that were currently residing in it. It was also the perfect height for Scootaloo to stand on to open the mailbox outside of her home. However, after years of use, the natural resistance that the wheels had possessed had all but vanished. The slightest shift in position would have the wagon following suit and rolling away without any regard for who or what would topple out of it. Scootaloo reached upwards, wrapping her hoof around the curled handle molded to the front panel of the postbox. A foil to her wagon’s wheels, the hinges that connected the front panel with the rest of the container were obstinate, and required a reasonable exertion of force to open. She slowly began to pull on it, increasing the pressure ever so slightly to find the sweet spot without sending her careening off of the unstable platform below her, but still opening the mailbox. “…Just…a little… bit… mo - WHOA!” Unfortunately, Scootaloo had pulled just a bit too hard, and the shift in balance from her hind legs caused the wagon to roll away from in front of the mailbox and into the street behind her. Luckily for her, she had anticipated this. Her wings began to buzz frantically to keep her level and aloft – a trick she had learned from cracking her jaw on the stone ground below her a couple of times. With the mail box open, and the time before her wings would eventually stop supporting her body weight quickly draining, Scootaloo reached into the black hole of the container to feel around for anything inside of it that wasn’t cast aluminum. Sure enough, she felt at least two envelopes inside. She had anticipated getting at least one this week, if the schedule were consistent. And as she’d surmised from the last several months, those letters in particular were like clockwork. Scootaloo pressed her hoof to the floor of the mailbox, keeping the envelopes inside pinned between the two. The filly pulled the envelopes towards her. She didn’t have a solid grip on them, but as long as she had got the mail out, Scootaloo didn’t care. The envelopes fell to the ground, and Scootaloo came a second after, on all four hooves thankfully. In the darkness, she couldn’t read what the letters contained from the writing on the envelopes alone, so she simply scooped them up in her mouth and placed them in the back of the wagon along with the surprisingly still cold ice pack and likewise surprisingly still warm baked goods. She was so close to home that she simply walked the scooter and the attached wagon to the front of the house. Using her teeth, she undid the knot that kept the wagon fastened to her vehicle, and leaned the scooter against the one of two large stone pillars supporting the second floor bedroom above her that was jutting out from the rest of the house. Though Scootaloo had vowed earlier that she’d eat the cookies as soon as she stepped inside, she left them in the wagon, more eager instead to see what the letters contained. She hopped up the front steps, opened the door, and stepped inside of her home. With one hoof, she felt along the wall for the light switch. After several seconds, and silent self-assurances that ‘it was RIGHT HERE, I know it’, there was a click and the room was illuminated. Hoping that the two previous letters were both a fluke, she tore open the familiar looking brown envelope and spat the strip of brown paper on the dusty wooden floor. She shook the envelope vigorously, their contents slowly wriggling free into her waiting hoof. “Ta-da!" Spike brandished the freshly retrieved papers in his claws, the red marking and letterhead revealing themselves to be the contents of Cheerilee's aforementioned letter. “Excellent!" Twilight exclaimed. "Aren’t you always the proactive one, Spike? We were just talking about this – thanks!” She complimented the dragon, who took the praise as his dismissal to continue reading Power Ponies in: The Horse Whose Sand Grin Aids. She quickly scanned the incident report again, the grin from Spike’s job well done wearing off as her eyes drifted down the sheet. “I’m just shocked… I can’t believe this,” she said aloud as she browsed the catalogue of Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon’s behavior. “I was just as surprised as you were, Twilight.” Cheerilee shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe that two of my students would go to such lengths to try and humiliate one of their peers. And Scootaloo…” The teacher’s voice was sorrowful, yet Twilight was certain that she could hear a tinge of disapproval. Twilight lowered the sheet of paper to get a better look at the teacher. She looked tired, distraught, sad, and clearly uncomfortable. “What about Scootaloo?” Twilight pried. Cheerilee shifted in place, glancing to the side. “I can’t believe that somepony so young could harbor such…” “Such what?” “I don’t know! Anger? Or Resentment? Or... Hatred.” Cheerilee’s own voice shook. “I thought I taught them better.” “Miss Cheerilee!” Twilight exclaimed. “You can’t seriously be thinking this is your fault?” “I don’t know what else to think!” The Earth pony cried back. “They spend five days a week, eight hours a day with me. How can I not be in some way responsible for this?” “But what about when they aren’t in school?” Twilight reasoned. “You might be their teacher - and that’s no small feat, trust me - but you can’t mentor them when they aren’t in school. That’s their parent’s job, not yours.” Cheerilee just sobbed. Twilight stood still, taken aback. She was trying to defuse the situation – and it seemed like it had just gotten worse. “Do you know why I came by so late, Princess Twilight?” Cheerilee asked, her bright green eyes suddenly finding Twilight’s purple ones. Twilight thought for a moment. Time had rolled by in such a hazy manner that afternoon after Scootaloo had arrived there that she had lost track of it completely. Taking a precious moment to break eye contact to glance at the clock to see the hour, a probable answer to the question still didn’t come. “…No. Why?” “I just spent five hours in the hospital,” Cheerilee announced. “I promised Diamond Tiara that I would wait there with her for her father to come.” Twilight’s heart sank as she formulated the rest of the answer in her own mind. “His own daughter was hospitalized… her muzzle broken… and he didn’t even show up,” the teacher spoke with a sobering clarity. “The hospital staff forced me and Silver Spoon to leave when visiting hours were over.” The Alicorn was left a bit shell-shocked, and per usual for Twilight, she tried to rationalize things. “Maybe – maybe they couldn’t find him? Mr. Rich is a very busy pony, with those charities, real estate things, and managing his store on top of overseeing the chain-” “No.” “Oh… um…” “One of his assistants brought her a ‘Get Well Soon’ card. He knew exactly where she was; Ponyville General Hospital, Room 206B.” “That’s…” “I know Diamond Tiara is used to getting her way,” Cheerilee continued in an unusually calm voice. “But when the nurse came and told us we had to leave, she-she didn’t-” She started choking, the calmness quickly eroding away. “A-and she was so mad at me too! After I - I asked her about how she treated Scootaloo and the Crusaders I had – I had – I had.” “Calm down, Cheerilee! Take a deep breath, alright?” Cheerilee inhaled sharply, desperate to finish as much of her account as she could before her shallow breaths gave way. “I had to suspend her for a week, s-same as Silver Spoon. When I assigned her and - and Silver Spoon a report on bullying in addition to that, I thought she was going to – going to…” Finally, the Earth pony followed Twilight’s suggestion and breathed deeply. “She was so angry with me. She didn’t like that I was punishing her for what she had done. But as we were walking out the door… She – She…” She breathed again, sensing another spell coming on. “She started to cry.” Cheerilee finished. “It wasn’t just a cry for attention either, because I had to listen to several of those while I was there, and I knew what they sounded like. This one... I think she was genuinely sad to be left alone." “Oh… Cheerilee.” Twilight rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sure it meant the world to her that you stayed as long as you did.” “Don’t forget Silver Spoon also. Those two seem thick as thieves… and about as well behaved, despite my best intentions.” Cheerilee noted with disappointment. Twilight glanced down at the letter on the floor, making a note of where and when the instances occurred. “This isn’t your fault, Cheerilee. A lot of these things that happened – you weren’t even there! How could you possibly have done anything about it?” “I should have nipped in the bud,” Cheerilee said throatily. “That very first time I found Diamond Tiara making fun of Apple Bloom. When I was teaching about cutie marks, Diamond Tiara passed her a note when she knew I was looking.” “What did it say?” “Nothing.” “Huh?” “It was blank,” The teacher stated plainly. “As I walked away, I heard Diamond Tiara whisper to Apple Bloom ‘remind you of anypony?’” Twilight moved in place uncomfortably, not sure of what to say. “If I had done something those years ago, stopped it when it was just words, I think all of this could have been avoided.” "You can't blame yourself for this, Cheerilee." Twilight assured her. "You're an outstanding teacher, but you can't hold yourself responsible for everything that happens to your students. As I said before, a lot of how a pony matures falls on what the parents do... or don't do, as the case may be." Cheerilee sighed resignedly and made her way to the now vacated desk where Spike had been sitting - he had probably scampered off to read in private elsewhere. "I know that, Princess Twilight, but it doesn't make it any easier to sit back and watch the things I teach during the day go forgotten when the school bell rings. The ponies need their parents involved in their upbringing too, but that's something I can't enforce." "What about parent-teacher meetings?" Twilight inquired. "Their whole purpose is to get the parents more involved with what their foals are learning. Isn't that why you requested a switch from a trimester based system to a quarterly one last year, so you'd have more of them?" "Heh," Cheerilee laughed dryly. "That was one of the reasons, yes, but the parents would still need to attend for them mean anything." "Diamond Tiara's parents don't even go to those?" "Well, to be fair," Cheerilee started with a bit of hesitation. "Mr. Rich does make a good majority of the parent teacher conferences. Making an appointment like that must be easier for him when it's scheduled in advance and can be written on a calendar," she noted with a bitterness which didn't go unnoticed by Twilight. "Getting them to follow through off the clock is the issue. That initial attendance isn't... most of the time." She added. "What do you mean most of the time?" Twilight tilted her head. "Well, take Scootaloo for example. All the years I've been her teacher, I've not once actually seen her parents. The most we ever communicate is through permission slips and written correspondence." To Mr./Mrs. Apple Belle and Sweetie Bloom That was at the top of the letter Scootaloo had clutched in her hooves, but it wasn't the most noticeable thing on the sheet. Rather, the bright and foreboding warnings stamped in red ink stood out like the ominous red glow creeping through the gaps in a stack of heated coal. Their emboldened exclamations were creatively different, but they all bore the same meaning. Unpaid. Past Due. Default. "Nonononono..." Scootaloo whimpered as she continued to read the rest of the letter that was in normal typed font. Our goal at FSR Realties is to give ponies and their families the means to live happily and comfortably with affordable housing options. Customer satisfaction is our watchword! We work closely with local lenders to personally arrange loans with the specific purpose of home ownership in an ongoing effort to remove any guesswork and the potentially high costs that come with traditional loans. It has come to our attention that the account named FSR-PNYV-ABSB-0019354 is no longer current. Our records indicate that either no payment or insufficient payment for the period(s) of October 10C14 has been made. A detailed record of the account payment history is attached. It is important to keep your account current. Failing to make payments may result in late fees, higher interest and annual percentage rates (APR). Continued failure to make payments may result in adverse legal action which may lead to additional fees and penalties or foreclosure of the property. If you believe this notice to be sent in error, please provide record of sufficient payment to our claims department. If the reason for delinquent payments is listed below; UNEXPECTED MEDICAL EXPENSES LOSS OF EMPLOYMENT GOING THROUGH DIVORCE TEMPORARY DISABILITY DEATH IN FAMILY You may qualify for one of the following relief programs; * TRANSFER DEFAULT AMOUNT TO END OF MORTGAGE TERM * CREATE A PAYMENT PLAN ACCORDING TO YOUR ABILITY TO RE-PAY. * ADD THE DEFAULT AMOUNT TO THE PRINCIPLE * LOWER YOUR INTEREST RATE AND MONTHLY PAYMENT If you are unsure about whether or not you may qualify, or simply wish to discuss other details of your account, you may speak to one of our friendly and knowledgeable financial advisers for no cost. Other resources available are free financial readiness workshops, budget planning, homeowners' counseling services, and much more. For information about these and other great programs, please visit the FSR Realties facility nearest you. Best regards, William Statement, FSR Realties Collections Dep. Scootaloo's hooves trembled, and the remnants of the letter fell down. There were at least two other pieces of paper layered underneath the page she had just read. As they fluttered down to the dust-covered floor of her entry way seemingly in slow motion, she could see fragments and figments of bright red ink dancing within the rows of black font. That couldn't be right. Couldn't possibly be right. When Princess Twilight had made the comment about her and her friends wanting to grow up so quickly, Scootaloo couldn't have agreed more as far as she herself was concerned. For well over a year, Scootaloo (or rather, the strangely named yet entirely fictitious Apple Belle and Sweetie Bloom) had been making payments each month on this house. It was a dicey procedure, to be sure - no one in their right mind would give a school age filly the license to do so, which is what prompted Scootaloo to create the two ponies that would eventually send a letter to FSR Realties. Sweetie Bloom and Apple Belle, two business ponies who were investing in a home to stay in with their daughter, but were too busy to make a meeting face-to-face with any real estate agents properly. Scootaloo had little issue with calling Diamond Tiara manipulative, playing on the perceptions and feelings that older ponies had of an average filly to get her way, but truthfully, Scootaloo could not in good conscience deny that she too had a manipulative streak. With each letter delivered to the post office box she had rented from prospective agents that was pleading for a proper meeting to arrange paperwork, Scootaloo had written from the perspective of her "parents" - begging for a chance to give her daughter a place to call home, somewhere that she could grow up with more stability than a constantly changing hotel room, or an apartment echoing with the cries of sleepless fillies. Yet neither Apple Belle nor Sweetie Bloom would be able to make a meeting with their hectic schedules taking them out of town and leaving their poor daughter Scootaloo alone. She always made sure she used her name when describing the daughter. Finally, somepony with a bleeding heart on the other end of the stamps relented, and agreed to arrange the entire process through the postage. After all, as long as they got paid, what was the problem? Each story she told had a grain of truth behind it, some more than others. For while Scootaloo did have a roof over her head before this one, she would never refer to it as a home. As Scootaloo continued to work her paper routes in the morning to save every bit she could for the eventual down payments, a gradually thickening pile of paperwork grew beneath her bed - or rather, the bed she slept in; the only thing that was truly hers where she lived was her scooter. All of these documents outlined the proceedings, from the potential homes available checked against the budget of the two ponies, to negotiating the monthly payments and combined utilities. She had signed so many forms with those false names that on more than one occasion, she had signed her name in school as Apple Belle! In one month, Scootaloo made around 60 bits as a paperfilly. She was worried that the amount would seem low for two super busy business ponies who were constantly away from home, but thankfully, Ponyville was among one of the most affordable places to live in all of Equestria, and after many months of haggling, the down payment was settled on at a staggering 600 bits, followed by monthly payments of around 50 per month. For almost a year since she devised the plan and began saving, she always kept in mind that she could cancel the deal if her current living situation changed and she would have over 600 bits to spend with her new family. It never did. In the spring of last year, Scootaloo became a homeowner at the age of 12 years old. She sent an Equestrian Union bit-gram to FSR Realties, and in two-to-five business days, her supporting paperwork and the key to her home arrived. Every month that followed, immediately after she earned her bag of bits from her boss at the Ponyville Times, Edit Oriole, she would send another bit-gram to FSR Realties. She didn't receive any visits and never received a single letter indicating that anything was amiss. After the first three months, her paranoia and anxiety passed. For almost a year and a half, she paid her 50 bits each month, and had enough left over that she could eventually buy the amenities to make the house she lived in feel like a home. Scootaloo wondered if Apple Bloom or Sweetie Belle gave credence to how much a refrigerator cost. Nevertheless, things were going quite swimmingly. Until last month. Her high from the flag-waving ceremony came to a crashing halt when she found a note pinned to the door that her payment of 50 bits was not sufficient. Scootaloo dug through the string of letters that she had become complacent enough to not even open, and discovered that for the month of October, she had to come up with a whopping 200 bits - four times the amount that was agreed upon. That couldn't be right. Couldn't possibly be right. Scootaloo bent down, sliding the top page off of the other two. She caught a glimpse of the words "Monthly Statement" on top of the next page, and squeezed her eyes shut. Breathing heavily, she braced herself for what it would say. "You've got the 200 bits, Scoots... You're going to be just fine." She opened her eyes, and they slowly scanned the matrix of red and black on the page below. Amount Due - Make payments payable to 'FSR Realties' Monthly Payment for the Period of 11/10C14 200 B "Again? Why is it so high?" Payment Due from Period of 10/10C14 150 B "What? That's... no." Late fees and penalties 80 B "..." Total Amount due by 12/15/10C14 430 B Scootaloo stared at the grid, watching it grow blurry as it swam before her in a teary haze. "No... This can't be happening... No....No... NO!" Scootaloo whipped the letter through the air. As lightweight as it was, it simply floated through the air, the breeze from the still open door catching it and blowing it right back to her. She gnashed her teeth, fumbled for the letter as it slipped from her hoof's heavy groping. Unsatisfied, anger coursing through her, she reached for the nearest thing that she could vent her frustration on - the open door. She reeled back, bringing the wooden door with her before she threw it forward and slammed it shut with all of her might. With a deafening bang,it bounced out of the frame again, colliding with the wall behind it and leaving a dent where the handle smashed into it. "NO! STUPID DOOR! STUPID LETTER! STUPID - " Words failed her, and she simply uttered a guttural scream, the short burst of extreme volume causing her throat to burn. She dove at the billing statement, the displaced air from her landing sending it sailing away from her once more. Scootaloo pounded at the floor in frustration, pain shooting through her hooves. But she didn't stop. Her tantrum resumed as she continued to writhe on the floor, still unable to form anything more than a distraught vocalization. Scootaloo twisted and rolled on to her back, her wings beating helplessly against the floor. She hammered her elbows against the wood in frustrated agony. Her head lifted as much as it could, her short mane catching taut underneath her firmly pinned shoulders, and she jerked it back against the floor again. Her skull itself burned, the headache that was alleviated by Princess Twilight's ice pack returning in it's full and unrelenting force. It was making her nauseous. "What am I going to do? I can't - I can't make this! Why is this happening to me? What's wrong with these ponies? What's wrong with me? WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?" As she lay on the floor of her entryway, her anger gave way through the shallow panicked breaths she gasped, and was replaced by the somber feeling of hopelessness. It was one that was all too familiar - the very same that drove her to finding a home for herself to begin with. "Hi! I'm Scootaloo!" "It's so good to meet you, Scootaloo! How are you doing today?" "I'm doing great, thanks! I'm about to head outside and start practicing on my scooter - d'you wanna watch?" "A scooter? You seem a little bit big for a scooter!" "Nu-uh! It's super fun! I can go really fast, and do all sorts of tricks! I'm gonna be a Wonderbolt with it one day!" "A Wonderbolt, you say? Don't the Wonderbolts do tricks while flying?" "Yeah, but I get so much air, it's like I'm flying!" "Hahahaha! A future Wonderbolt, what do you think, dear?" "It sounds kind of dangerous for such a little thing!" "I'm not little, I'm ten years old!" "See? Nonsense! And look, she has a helmet!" "Yeah! See?" "Do you wear that while you're flying too?" "Well... I can't fly. Yet! I'm going to be able to real soon, just watch!" "Oh... and you said you were ten?" "Yup! So did you want to come see me do some tricks on my scooter or what? It'll be fun, promise!" "Perhaps later, Scootaloo. We're going to go speak to some of your brothers and sisters first, alright?" "Oh... okay!" Scootaloo watched as the Earth pony couple quickly strode away, towards the next bed over where a small pink unicorn filly was resting on the pillow, a math book propped open in front of her. "Hi there, little one! What's your name?" Scootaloo sighed, gripping her helmet in her hooves, and slowly made her way to the door to go outside. She could tell from the look on their faces when they uttered the word "Oh" that they weren't interested in her. It was one of the many cues and nuances she had picked up on in the last couple of years during her stay at Warm Stables Orphanage. Scootaloo continued down the hall towards the staircase to go outside. She still planned on using her scooter. Perhaps the couple would look down from the window, see her awesome moves and daring spirit, and be convinced to take Scootaloo home with them. As the Pegasus approached the polished banister forming the top of the railing along the stairs, she heard a series of voices from the lobby below. She recognized the voices as those that belonged to the volunteers and caretakers. She paid them no mind, until she heard one of them mention her name. She froze, ears twitching to make sure they hadn't been deceived. To get a closer look, and to hear better, she inched her way along the hallway, poking her head out just enough to see who was talking. She couldn't see them over the stairs, but their voices were no longer obstructed. "So?" "I don't think so. These two looked... like a quiet couple. Scootaloo's much too rambunctious for them." "Oh, come now! Any prospective adoptive parents worth their salt should be expecting a bit of energy from a colt or filly!" "Maybe, but there's energy, and then there's Scootaloo. Always blazing around on that wheelamagig." "Her scooter, as you well know. You bought it for her!" "I did no such thing! I would never buy such a dreadful contraption. I thought that Miss Farmer picked it up for her." A third voice entered the conversation. "As if! I've told you before, it showed up one Christmas with her name on it. We already did an inquiry, none of the staff are supposed to spend that kind of money on a gift." "Right, right... how many years ago was that now? Three?" "Five." "Scootaloo's been here... five years?" "Almost nine, actually." "Nine years? And no one has adopted her?" "Nope... Pegasi unfortunately have a more difficult time getting placed." "Why is that?" "For one, most of the folk in Ponyville are ground walkers - Earth ponies and Unicorns, I mean. I don't think parents much like the thought of not being able to catch their youngsters when they simply decide to fly away from them." "That can't be the reason why..." "It's one of them." "Not like they'd have to worry about that with Scootaloo, heh." "Miss Farmer!" "What? It's true. It's not like she can fly." "Come now, she's just a late bloomer. Look at Sunny Skies! She couldn't do magic until she was almost 12." "Apples to oranges. Unicorns aren't expected to be able to do magic until they hit puberty. Pegasus learn to fly before they hit six years of age." "There are always exceptions." "Yeah, but look at her wings. The rest of her is growing, but they haven't changed size in years." "Maybe... but I can't believe that even if she can't fly - yet - that nopony has seen fit to at least give her a chance. She's a very sweet filly." "I don't really see her chances getting too much better, unfortunately." "What do you mean?" "Don't be daft, Mrs. Days. Everypony knows that the older a pony gets, the harder time they have getting placed." "She's right. The closer they get to being rebellious teenagers, the less ideal they look to prospective parents." "That's not fair! It's not like it's her fault. You two make the foals sound like products on a store shelf!" "Fair or not, that's the way it is. Ponies don't want old or damaged goods." "That's... huh?" Scootaloo's purple helmet bounced down the carpeted staircase, punctuated by a loud dull thump until it reached the foyer, where it came to a stop after colliding with the wall. "Scootaloo! What have I told you about your toys?" Scootaloo winced, and slowly revealed herself from around the corner where she had been hiding. From here, she could see the three ponies that had been speaking all staring at her as though she had thrown the helmet at them instead. "Sorry, Miss Farmer. It slipped." "Well... do try to be more careful. What are you doing out here anyways? You know that we have two ponies looking to adopt making the rounds today, right?" Scootaloo nodded slowly. "I know. I was just going to go outside and play on my scooter." Miss Farmer pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Today of all days? How are you supposed to be considered for adoption if you're gallivanting about outside on that thing?" Scootaloo stepped down the stairs slowly, each hoof fall quietly thumping along the carpet. "I don't think they seemed too interested in me," she mumbled. Miss Farmer made no attempt to argue, but one of the other ponies (Mrs. Days, from the voice) offered cheerfully. "Don't worry, Scootaloo. You'll be the next one!" Scootaloo reached the bottom of the stairs, lifting her helmet on her head and affixing the chin strap. Her eyes watering, she stepped out the front door without so much as a word. Scootaloo would never forget the stinging disappointment she had met with time and again when couples like the one from that day walked away from her. She would never forget the stabbing jealousy when one of her friends from the orphanage broke out in a wide smile as their new parents told her they were taking her home. Scootaloo didn't hear the parents say it most of the time, but when that familiar "happiest-moment-of-their-life" grin lined the filly or colt's face, she knew. She felt terrible about it each and every time, knowing full well that she should have been happy for her friends, but the gnawing voice at the back of her mind always asking "Why couldn't it be me?" From that day forth, Scootaloo resigned herself to the possibility that she would never walk out of those halls with that same grin on her face, bouncing excitedly in front of her equally excited parents on their way to her new home. Deep down, of course she still wanted to be a part of a family - to have somepony to turn to when she was sad or hurt, and somepony to love her even if her she made a mistake, and to have that same somepony be unafraid to tell her so. But after ten years of the vicious cycle of hope and rejection, disappointment and jealousy, Scootaloo gave up on that silly dream. She instead sought to prove that she didn't need to wait for a family to finally have a home of her own. She didn't need anypony else to make her happy! Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had her friends. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom both were the light of her life, and soon after meeting them, she spent almost every free moment she could with them. They were a different brand of friends than the ones she made in the orphanage. There was no silent competition between the three of them, vying for the affections of potential adopters, and no eventual goodbyes on the horizon. She was perfectly content to live in the moment with them, and forget all of her insecurities and woes that waited for her when she returned to Warm Stables. Perhaps that was why she decided to keep the fact that she was orphaned a secret from them. Scootaloo knew that they wouldn't think badly of her for it - they were too good and understanding. But one thing that she valued so much about her time with them is that they could all speak freely. Scootaloo listened raptly when Sweetie Belle complained about her parents grounding her for some silly antic in her quest to earn a cutie mark, and they could all share a laugh after Apple Bloom told of her novice applebucking misadventures with Applejack and Big Mac. Family was important to the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and if the mention that Scootaloo had none to call her own would possibly threaten to change that atmosphere, to bring pause whenever Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom would mention their own families... Scootaloo thought it ironic, and more than a little selfish on her behalf, that the best way of preserving the "no secrets between us" pact they shared was to keep a secret from the others. If she could avoid the dreaded, wordless, secretive sideways glances from her two best friends that had perturbed her so much in the school restroom earlier that day, she would. Her closeness with them is no doubt what had inspired Scootaloo to use a variation of their names to pay for the house. Not only for that, but filed away within the cabinets at Warm Stables' record keeping, the parents who signed their names on Scootaloo's adoption formed were also named Sweetie Bloom and Apple Belle. It was just as well - they were the closest thing she had to family. Leaving the orphanage was surprisingly easy, but it was mostly a matter of opportunity. Scootaloo had got her hooves on a copy of the adoption paperwork and filled it out with the appropriate details. It was then a matter of waiting for what she and the other colts and fillies in the orphanage referred to as "thinkers". These were the parents who came to Warm Stables with intent to adopt, but "needed more time to think about which one to take home with them." Whenever this happened, one of the staff would give them the adoption paperwork to fill out in advance with all of their information, so that upon their next visit, they could simply make their selection, write the lucky pony's name on the top of the sheet, and walk out. If Scootaloo had to guess, it was to minimize any guilt or doubt on the parent's behalf for choosing one foal over another as they filled out the paperwork while they were still in the orphanage. As soon as the final payment arrangements had been made for her new home, Scootaloo needed only to wait for the next "thinkers" to come through. She had learned how they would act when they couldn't make a choice - they spent a good chunk of time with each of the ponies they met, and remained non-committal throughout. As the confused and emotionally conflicted parents met with their representative expressing their inability to choose, they would leave with the aforementioned papers in tow, Scootaloo lay in wait outside on the swings, watching the thinkers continue down the road. Then, she would wait some more - there needed to be a believable span for those papers to be filled out, after all. Fifteen minutes later, Scootaloo burst inside in her best imitation of an excited frenzy that she could muster. She bolted to Miss Farmer's desk, shoving her own adoption forms in the surprised caretakers muzzle, announcing repeatedly that she would finally be going home. "I'm going home!" Scootaloo cried happily. "Miss Farmer, I'm going home!" "What's going on, Scootaloo?" Miss Farmer looked up from the book she was reading, her eyebrows "Those ponies who where just here - Mr. Bloom, and Mrs. Belle - they spoke to me outside." A grin spread across the older mare's face. "And?" "We talked for a bit, and they - they said they wanted me to come home with them! "Oh, that's wonderful!" "Yeah! The filled out the paperwork and everything!" Scootaloo brandished the stapled forms in front of her, allowing Miss Farmer to take it with her own hoof. "I'm going to go and pack my things! This is so exciting, I can't believe it. I'm going home!" "I knew you'd be chosen someday, Scootaloo." Miss Farmer expressed with a rare warmth. "Me too! But I've gotta go, I don't want them to keep them waiting - we're going to get some ice cream!" Scootaloo hastened to the door of Miss Farmer's office, sweating bullets and eager to leave before Miss Farmer felt an inkling to go outside and congratulate the "parents" on their choice. She'd had the sense to pack the few belongings she owned already - they were already waiting for her outside by the swing set. She just needed to walk out the front door, and - "Scootaloo." Miss Farmer was quickly flipping through the packet of forms, and she stopped. Scootaloo turned around slowly, adrenaline coursing through her. Was there a problem? Did she miss a signature somewhere? She couldn't have made a mistake, she couldn't have. "...Yes?" She answered nervously. "We're going to miss you. Congratulations, and enjoy your new home." Scootaloo exhaled with relief. "Thank you, Miss Farmer. I'll... I'll miss you too." "Run along now, dear. You don't want to keep your parents or your... ice cream waiting." "Yes, ma'am." Scootaloo closed the office door behind her, trembling with excitement. She made her way banister of the stairwell, the door still ajar from when she had burst through earlier. She stepped outside, not bothering to close the door to the orphanage proper. She stepped to the scooter by the swings, her belongings stacked neatly in the wagon tied to it. She didn't bother with putting her helmet on. She simply hopped on her scooter, her wings jolting her forwards, and she rolled down the sidewalk outside of Warm Stables for what she prayed would be the very last time. Scootaloo kept an eye on the papers she delivered to see if any inquiries had been made concerning the fictional ponies that had adopted her. She wondered what Miss Farmer would say when the "thinkers" returned days later to actually make an adoption, but with the papers claiming that they were no longer responsible for her neatly signed and filed, Warm Stables seemed content to let her go. Likewise, she was glad to be free from there. As she lay on the ground of her home, Scootaloo made a mental note that she would rather be homeless than subject to that vicious cycle again. But she hadn't come so far to be defeated by what was most assuredly an accounting error. With a groan, she lifted herself off of the floor. Her head throbbed. The Pegasus stood up on all four hooves, and walked hastily through the open door. The cool autumn air was like a soothing balm for her overheated body. Scootaloo inhaled deeply, trotting to the wagon where she lifted the ice pack to her forehead - she flinched from the rush of cold, but held fast as relief washed over her pulsing headache. "What to do... what to do..." Though she didn't qualify for any of the prescribed reasons on the letter she read, she (or rather, her "parents") was certainly going to send a letter to them, inquiring why her monthly payments had quadrupled. In the meantime, she would continue working tirelessly as she had done all last month to raise as many bits as she could - with the jobs Scootaloo had taken on, she had enough to cover one of the inflated months. She had almost forgotten that she wasn't to be attending school for the next two weeks, which would be a perfect opportunity to get the extra hours in at work. Failing that, Scootaloo wouldn't be opposed to selling some of her possessions and valuables. She had a signed copy of Sapphire Shores' Zigfilly Follies that she could easily fetch a good number of bits for, as much as it pained her to think of parting with it. The CD had been, after all, a gift from Sweetie Belle and Rarity. "Everything's going to be just fine..." she told herself with a raspy voice as she took the plate of cookies in her mouth. Their decadent scent wafted to her nostrils, but the filly had all but lost the appetite she had for them at the moment. She started back inside, noting that the door opened noticeably easier after her outburst against it. She set the cookies on the counter in her small kitchen, making a note of the time from the clock above the sink. Scootaloo had half an hour before her shift started, but she didn't feel like waiting around to worry or stew over that bill. Setting the ice pack in the freezer that she had purchased only a few months ago, she held the door aloft to allow yet another cool burst of air to caress her face. Her helmet seemed tighter than usual as she snapped the chinstrap closed. She gently closed the door behind her, untied the wagon from her scooter, and started off into the night. Though the house she left had never seemed more empty, it was still hers, and it was still home. She was determined to keep it that way.