“Alright Orion, I’m gonna take off.”
“See you tomorrow, April!” Orion calls back.
I trot out the front gates of Flight Camp and I feel my counselor’s badge bounce against my chest. It makes me smile. I pass all the foals waiting for their parents, and I hear one of them call out, “Hey, it’s Miss April! Hi, Miss April!” I turn and flash a grin to the crowd, then spread my wings and take off. Once I’m in the air, I pull a few loop-de-loops for the foals. When I hear their cheers, I smile wide.
I love being a counselor.
I pull out of my last loop and fly off for home. As soon as I’m out of sight of the camp, I bite my lip. I hope it came today.
Mom, Skittle and I worked together to get Fluttershy’s Flight Camp application in on time. We had to spend a couple weeks on it to make sure everything was perfect. I was the one who took Fluttershy in to get her physical. While the doctor was measuring her wingspan, I noticed she was shaking. I smiled at her reassuringly. She looked at me like I was an oncoming train.
The day after we submitted the application, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework while Mom was washing dishes. I was working on a particularly difficult math problem when I heard Fluttershy in the kitchen.
“M-mommy?” she asked quietly. As soon as Mom turned from the sink, Fluttershy looked at her hooves.
“What do you need, honey?” asked Mom, putting a plate in the dish rack. Fluttershy stood there, silent, for a moment, then let out a high-pitched squeak and ran back to our bedroom. I looked up from my work as Mom dashed after her.
Mom found her huddled up in a corner behind her bed, shaking. Mom sat on the floor and put her arms around her. “Fluttershy, what’s wrong?” Fluttershy just shook her head. “Come on, you can tell me—I’m your Mom. I’ll love you no matter what.”
“Mommy, I—” she gulped, then whispered something.
“What was that, honey?” Fluttershy said it again, so quiet that Mom couldn’t hear.
She hugged her closer. “Fluttershy, I—”
“I don’t want to go to Flight Camp!” Fluttershy shrieked. In the kitchen, I dropped my pencil and looked up, eyes wide.
Fluttershy started crying, and Mom, slightly stunned, started rubbing her back. After a minute, she said, “You know Flight Camp teaches you to fly and how to be safe, right? Flying can be dangerous, and Daddy and I don’t want you flying unless you’ve gone…”
“T-then I d-don’t wanna fly,” she said, burying her face in Mom’s side.
She told Mom that she was scared of the counselors judging her, to see if she was good enough to fly and everything. She’d been afraid of hurting our feelings, though, and had been hiding it since we first started talking about sending her to Camp.
School got out a week later, and I started work at camp a few days after that. I loved it. Some of the foals already knew how to fly, and all we had to do was teach them some basics about the weather and traffic rules—and, some days, even that was a struggle. Most of the foals, though, couldn’t fly yet, and they were the ones that made being a counselor worth it. Watching them realize they could actually fly—
Awesome.
After work, I’d come home and flop down at the kitchen table. Mom would ask me about my day, and I’d tell stories about how it went—especially about the weak fliers, the ones that just lit up the first time they felt the wind under their wings. The first few days, I noticed Fluttershy sitting in the living room playing with dolls—but always with one ear pointed in my direction. After a few days, she sat in the hallway outside the kitchen door, the doll lying idly in her lap. Finally, after a week or two, she came and sat at the table as I told my stories. One day, I saw her smile.
So I told more stories. I told her about Creamsicle, the little filly who was scared of heights, but got over it once she realized how much fun flying was. I told her about Nimbus, who flew like a brick on the first day, but, by the end of the two-week session, was pulling loop-de-loops. And I told her about Whirligig, the tiny filly that no one thought would be able to perform, but ended up outdoing them all.
As each session wrapped up, I told stories about graduation. To be honest, it was a little silly—someone gave a short speech about how important safe flying was, then the counselors called each foal by name and presented them with a certificate of completion and—most importantly—a Flight Camp patch. It was one of my favorite times—to see all the foals that couldn’t fly to save their lives get that patch... sometimes they whooped and cheered, sometimes they gave me a hug, and sometimes they even cried. I cried myself, once or twice.
After weeks of stories, I looked out the window to see Fluttershy in the backyard, all by herself. She stood at one end of the yard, wings spread wide, eyes closed. As I watched, she opened her eyes and gulped. She started flapping her wings, and then she started running. She sprinted the length of the yard, pumping her wings as hard as she could. She had to skid to a stop before she ran off the cloud, but she was trying. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of her in my life.
That evening, after dinner, I was lying on the couch reading a book.
“Um... April?”
I lowered my book and saw Fluttershy standing beside me. I had to smile; she’s really tall and lanky for her age—all legs and nothing else. She’s going to get all the colts when she grows up.
I closed my book and sat up. “What’s up?”
She climbed up on the couch next to me and put her head in my lap. She didn’t say anything, so I started stroking her mane. She snuggled closer to me. “April, do you think... do you think I’m gonna do alright at camp?”
I smiled.“Of course, Fluttershy. We wouldn’t have signed you up if we didn’t. The counselors are nice, and they want to help everypony do their best.”
“...and I’ll like it?”
“You’ll love it. I promise.” She smiled.
As Fluttershy’s session got closer, the other foals in the neighborhood started getting their acceptance letters. I made a point of checking the mailbox on my way home from work, hoping each day that there’d be a letter for Fluttershy. She always greeted me at the door, bright-eyed and smiling eagerly. It broke my heart each time I came in empty-hooved. As the days turned to weeks, her smile got smaller and smaller.
As I land in front of our house, I clench my jaw. Her session starts in two days. If her letter doesn’t come today...
I trot over to the mailbox. I take a deep breath, then yank it open.
Nothing. Not even a bill.
I look up to see Fluttershy standing in the window. She must see the shock on my face, because she starts to cry.
I grit my teeth.
Now it’s personal.