• Published 4th Apr 2015
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The Silver Standard - PatchworkPoltergeist



Once upon a time, Silver Spoon's life made sense. Now she lives in Ponyville.

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The (Preempted) Silver Scandal—Part II

Seven miniature crystal ponies reared in the light of a sunny Sunday afternoon. Rainbow dots splashed over the mantle and onto the carpet from the sparkling prisms. All seven without a single speck of dust or spot of damage since the day Mother won them.

“Eighty-two… eighty-four… eighty-six… eighty-nine...” Silver Spoon balanced on her hind legs to read the years engraved on the silver and ebony bases. “Ninety-two… ninety-three… ninety-six… hm.”

Mother won her last award four years ago. Silver Spoon remembered that night a little bit. She’d worn a big silk bow on her tail and a muslin dress so long it trailed behind her. Brass Tacks and Kiss Curl had braided a rainbow of tiny jewels in her mane, so Silver and her mother could match.

The rest of the night seemed a blur—she’d probably fallen asleep, since award shows ran past bedtime—but Silver still remembered the unicorns sitting in the row in front of her. They’d held each other’s hooves, both in tears by the time Mother finished the winning duet. Until that moment, Silver hadn’t known that adults could cry.

Across the hall, somepony had left the door to the drawing room open. If she stretched a bit, Silver could see inside from the parlor doorway.

Mother lounged upon the chesterfield, holding a long, white quill in her teeth. Squat, organized towers of music sheets and grading rubrics covered the coffee table in front of her; a little paper city under hoof and pen. Her mane, untied and unpinned, spiraled down her back and over her shoulders. Only now did Silver Spoon notice grey hairs threading through the orange.

Slowly, Mother’s left ear swiveled toward the door. “Silver Spoon.” She dipped the quill in red ink, marked a few papers, and set them aside before reaching into another pile. “It’s rude to spy, my love.”

Silver stepped across the hall, taking care around the century-old vases. She paused at the door and stared down the long, empty hallway. Generations of Silvers stared back from their picture frames. “I wasn’t spying, Mother. I was just watching.”

She crept into the drawing room, silent save for the occasional click of hoof on tile. Silver rested her head upon a footstool, watching Mother’s quill scribble across the page. Apparently, Torch Song needed to work on her breathing exercises and had a bad habit of singing through her nose.

“Mother? Can I ask you a question?”

Mother looked up with a wry smile. “I don’t know, can you?”

Silver smiled back. She should have known better. “May I ask a question?

“For you, Silver Spoon? Two questions.”

“Do you like being a music coach?” Silver scooted closer, eyeing the stack of graded papers. Sheet music for My Fair Filly and Mare of La Manecha topped the pile of upcoming assignments. “Even though not many ponies around here sing opera?”

“I like it well enough, yes.” Mother cleaned the quill tip and tucked it behind her ear. She took a seat on the floor, at eye level with Silver. “What’s your real question?”

The hair tie slipped off Silver Spoon’s braid as she twirled it in her hoof. “I don’t think it’s very polite.” Looking up, she found no disapproving frowns. “Do you teach lessons because you want to, or…” Or because you have to? The sentence trailed off somewhere Silver Spoon wasn’t sure she wanted to go. Is our money okay? Is our reputation okay? Are we okay?

The tick of the grandfather clock echoed in the drawing room. Dust motes floated through the still, afternoon air. Mother quietly waited. Silver Spoon fiddled with the raggedy tip of her braid.

“Mother, did you stop singing because you got too old?”

She waited for Mother to become offended, or cross, or hurt, but Mother did none of those things. Instead, her green eyes creased with a sad little smile. Picking up the hair tie, she smoothed out Silver’s mane and began to rebraid.

“It’s a young mare’s stage, my love. I knew that part a long time ago. And after all, I’ve still got my legacy; most ponies never get that much.” She finished the braid and kissed the tips of Silver Spoon’s ears. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay.”

On the far wall of the drawing room, high above the fireplace, the Silver Family’s crest hung grey, gold, and white. Older than the opera awards, older than the vases in the hall, even older than Granddad Silver Tongue’s estate, the standard’s colors prevailed.

“By the way,” Mother said, “How is your extra credit coming along, Madam Secretary?”

“Miss Cheerilee says after I write my paper about it, I’ll have my A-plus back. It’s going well.” Silver Spoon smiled the way fillies with bright futures were supposed to smile. Her eyes never left the crest. “It’s going really well.”


“Hey, are you feeling okay?”

Silver Spoon listlessly blinked at the shadow creeping over the newspaper page. She considered telling Twist that her tangled mess of a manecut was blocking her light. But whatever, it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Sure I am.” She didn’t bother lifting her head from the page. “Why?”

“I dunno.” The wooden bench creaked under Twist’s weight. Her pepperminty breath puffed against Silver’s mane. “You jutht looked kinda thad to me.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m just reading the school paper, see?”

Silver sat up and actually read the headlines she’d been blankly staring at for twelve minutes. If nothing else, the Press served as a nice change of subject. “Can you believe the Mayor’s mane isn’t naturally grey?”

Twist took a look for herself. “Oh, neat! It’th actually pink.” She smiled at the bright patches leaking through the hair dye. “Kinda pretty, too.”

“I—” Silver paused, caught a bit off guard. “Yeah, sure, I guess. But Twist, isn’t it, like, just sooo scandalous?” She leaned forward, prompting Twist to take the next quip.

Twist tilted her head to the side and blinked. Maybe she didn’t know what scandalous meant.

“Like, can you even imagine? All this time we thought Mayor Mare was all old and distinguished, but she’s got colors like a spring filly!”

“She sure doeth.”

“Well?” Silver strained under the conversation’s death throes. Come on, work with me! “Isn’t that just so weird? Isn’t it funny?”

Twist shrugged. “Not really. I didn’t know it wath pink, but plenty of ponieth have pink hair. Fluttershy and my mom have pink hair.”

Silver Spoon rolled her eyes. Twist made a decent president, but she had a lot to learn about the art of interesting conversation. “Whatever, forget it.”

“Okay.” Twist seemed to sense that something had gone wrong somewhere. She offered a peppermint stick.

It would have been rude to decline, so Silver accepted it.

A flurry of movement and dust kicked up at the edge of the playground. Foals swamped Truffle Shuffle and Berry Pinch in a writhing cluster of grabby hooves and rustling paper. Berry managed to drop her stack and tumble out before they got to her, leaving Truffle buried in the fray. The new Foal Free Press had just hit.

Chances said the papers would sell out before Silver even got there, but it was worth a shot. Silver rolled the peppermint stick under her tongue and slid off the bench. “So, what’s this week’s plan for the bake sale?”

Twist followed her at the shoulder, a bounce in her step. “The Caketh need Sugarcube Corner open on Thursday, ‘cause they hafta get ready for a baking contetht. Truffle told me about it Saturday afternoon, and we decided that inthtead of holding a meeting, you guyth should cook on Tuesday.”

“Makes sense.” The teeming crowd dispersed before Silver even got close to the newspapers. Not one issue left; just her luck.

“I wanted to talk to you about it, too, but you weren’t around. Thorry about that.” She waved to Truffle as he passed them on his way back to the office.

Truffle nodded at them and tossed a rolled-up paper their way.

Silver caught it with a thankful nod back. “It’s fine, I was busy this weekend.”

Diamond’s voice echoed up from the open basement door. She didn’t sound happy. “...like your worst column yet! Gabby Gums di—”

Featherweight followed down after Truffle, closing the door behind him.

Silver casually strolled as fast as she could to the tiny window above Diamond Tiara’s office. Movement rattled the big chair and every couple of minutes an angry little pink hoof slammed the desk.

“Oh! I’m almotht done with the candy,” Twist said. “I’ve got extra time, tho maybe I’ll make thome thprinkleth for…”

If Silver Spoon strained her ears, she could just make out faint voices under Twist’s candy ramblings. She couldn’t make out the words, but from the severe volume and tone, she knew they couldn’t be nice. Somepony had goofed. Badly.

“Sounds good, Twist.” Silver glanced back to show she was still listening. “So I’ll just meet Truffle after school tomorrow and we’ll check in on Thursday for final review?”

The basement door creaked open slowly, quietly. As if somepony had something to hide.

“Yep, jutht like a regular counthil meeting.”

“Okay.” Silver turned just in time to catch Sweetie Belle limp onto the playground, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom not far behind. Their tails sagged behind them, and they looked at each other as if they’d done something wrong. Of course, they did everything wrong anyway, so that hardly narrowed it down.

In the basement, the big chair swiveled to reveal a grouchy little bundle of Diamond Tiara balling up an issue of the paper. The latest issue, it looked like. She tossed it at a trash can, missed, and kicked her desk drawer in frustration.

Silver Spoon tilted an ear in thought. “Huh.”

Twist tapped Silver’s haunch. “You sure you feel okay?”

Silver Spoon’s eye trailed from the sulking Diamond Tiara to the three blank flanks moping by the merry-go-round. She adjusted her glasses with a smile. “Never better.”


Truffle took his crème brûlée from the oven with all the care of a father holding his new foal. He squinted at the custard to make sure it had set properly before sprinkling a bit of brown sugar on the top. “And now, you just need to sit and wait just a little bit.”

Silver Spoon looked up from frosting petit fours and gave him a weird look. “Are you talking to your food?”

“Maybe.” He peeked into the mini-oven to check on the soufflé for the fiftieth time. “So what if I do? Ponies talk to their food all the time.”

Silver cut the petit fours until she had lots of tiny slices. “No, ponies talk to plants, Truffle. Plants are alive.” She arranged them in a nice starburst shape and placed them in a travel box, alongside Truffle’s box of treacle tarts. Silver’s flan wiggled beside the chocolate éclairs.

Truffle ignored her, whispering encouragement to the soufflé. Apparently it was almost “showtime” and he didn’t want it to be nervous. What a weirdo.

Still, Silver couldn’t call the colt totally incompetent. She’d eaten a snack before arriving, but that hadn’t stopped Truffle’s recipes from whetting her appetite. The sweet, rich scent of caramel and vanilla wafting from Truffle’s side of the kitchen made her nose twitch.

“I don’t even know why you’re so worked up about your crème brûlée,” she said. “It smells amazing, so it probably tastes the same way.”

Truffle Shuffle’s head shot up. He stared at her, a weird little frown creasing through his flour-caked face.

“What? Do I have jam in my mane?” Silver Spoon reached back to feel before she remembered her braids were still tucked under the chef hat. It looked positively idiotic, but Truffle had insisted and the only other option was hairnets.

The colt shrugged and licked a spot of chocolate off his fetlock. “Nothing, it’s just that you’ve never said anything nice to me before.” He glanced at their stack of boxed gourmet dishes, flicking his little stub tail. “I didn’t think you even knew how. Thanks.”

“Well, maybe you’d get more compliments if you did more things worth complimenting.” Silver thought on it a moment before adding, “And you’re welcome. That’s really a new recipe?”

“Pretty much. I made a test batch last weekend, but it got kinda burned and now our kitchen’s full of smoke. I still don’t know if it was my fault or the oven’s. Probably both.” Truffle’s head popped over Silver’s workstation, looking over her cucumber sandwiches and a bowl of lavender petals. He pointed at the glass pitcher at the far end of the counter. “Can I try some of your purple iced tea?”

Lavender tea.” Technically, lavender and vanilla. Silver poured him a sample cup and slid over the sugar bowl.

Truffle tried a little, nodding to himself. “I like it. But do you really think iced tea goes with the rest of the food?”

“I don’t; it’s too sweet for a lot of this stuff and the weather’s too cold. It’s just the best option, since iced tea will keep longer and is a safer bet for a crowd. Plus, I’ve already done lavender tea with petit fours and crêpes, so I know it’ll work.” She shrugged. “Besides, we’ll have some warm milk there too.”

“Oh, okay. I was just wondering.”

Silence settled over the kitchen. In the corner, an egg timer tick-tick-ticked away the seconds. The soufflé still had sixteen minutes to go. Everything else had already been taken care of or else had to be made fresh on sale day. Nothing left but to wait.

“So!” Silver Spoon finally broke the silence. “Cotton Cloudy tells me Cloudsdale’s got The Foal Free Press now. It sounds like you’ve got a real hit on your hooves. Congratulations.” She might as well congratulate somepony.

Truffle leaned on the counter. “Thanks…”

“You don’t sound very thankful.”

”I am.” He sipped his tea without even the pretense of a smile. “Thanks to Gabby Gums, our little school paper’s more popular than the regular newspaper. It’s the biggest thing since powdered sugar. Shady Daze started coming in Tuesdays just to keep up with print orders.”

Truffle cradled the teacup in his hooves, blankly staring up at the light fixtures. His ears drooped. “In fact, there’s so much demand, Diamond Tiara’s talking about asking Miss Cheerilee for a second printing press.”

Silver sealed up the pitcher of tea, gesturing towards the crème brûlée. It looked cool enough to transport now. “And the problem is?”

“It’s… aw, I dunno.” Truffle rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been feeling kinda weird about it. It’s a newspaper, shouldn’t there be more, ya know, news in it? A gossip column’s one thing, but now it’s nearly half of the paper.” He wrapped up the crème brûlée and gently, gently, lowered it into the waiting wagon with the rest of the food. The little chubby frown deepened. “And besides all that, the Gums articles feel...not very nice.”

Silver rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Shuffle. All news does is tell the truth, and sometimes the truth isn’t nice. Remember when The Canterlot Chronicle busted that locoweed smuggling ring last winter? I bet those smugglers didn’t like having their pictures in the paper either.”

“That’s not the same thing, Silver. Those were criminals, these are just our neighbors. It’s not a crime to dye your mane.”

It ought to be. Silver Spoon recalled Featherweight’s mane from Nightmare Night and made a face. “Maybe not, but ponies obviously want to know about it. It sells, Shuffle. If this kind of thing is so terrible and makes them feel so bad, then maybe they shouldn’t buy it. Have you guys gotten any complaints?”

He took some time to think about it. Finally, he admitted, “No. Not that I know about, anyway. I’m just on delivery and orders now.”

“Don’t you also write food articles, too?”

“Used to.”

Truffle Shuffle squinted at the soufflé through the oven door. He made a gesture for silence and took it out, admiring the beautiful golden crust. Until he secured the soufflé in a box, he didn’t speak a word. Even afterwards, the little chef didn’t dare go above a whisper. “Food and Sports got downsized to make room for more Gabby Gums. Comics is totally gone. Berry Pinch just types now.”

Silver tied up the remaining boxes of baked goods in elegant ribbons, smiling at the effect. Choosing school colors to accent the food made for an inspiring touch. She’d have to make sure the plates and dinnerware matched, too.

Watching Truffle hitch himself to the cart, she mentally thumbed through the paper’s positions and ranks. Sports…weather…opinion… hm. The tip of her tail flicked thoughtfully. “What about Apple Bloom? Did she get downsized, too?” She opened the front door for Truffle on his way out.

“Thanks. I’ve never seen her on the typewriters, so I don’t think so. Pretty sure she writes…” He took a few steps before pausing in the doorway. “Actually, I’m not sure what she writes. I never asked. I know that Diamond Tiara has her do lots of field work, though. Why?”

Silver Spoon shrugged. “Just wondering. See you on Thursday.”

“’Kay, see ya.”

Truffle Shuffle went at a safe and steady pace, whispering to his soufflé. In a few minutes, he rounded the corner and was gone.

“Finally I can take off this stupid hat.” Silver let her braid fall over her shoulder, smoothing out the flat, mussy bangs. “All finished, with an hour to spare. Not bad.”

In three more hours, the street lamps came on. Three hours until she had to be home. She sighed. Three hours with nothing to do.

“Smile!”

“Eep!” Silver flinched back from a blinding flash.

When the spots cleared from her vision, she found herself nose to nose with her own reflection in the glassy black eye of a camera lens. A familiar silhouette fluttered just above her head. “Featherweight? What are you doing here?”

Her eye trailed past the camera, following the strap around his slender neck up to Featherweight’s rakish little smile. Not that I’m complaining.

“Hiya, Silver Spoon. Just working, like always.” The pegasus angled his wings for a swift, gentle fall to the ground. He didn’t so much land as he settled like a feather, nimble hooves barely scraping the welcome mat. “Right now, I’m here to get my daily bagel!”

Earning a cutie mark, in Silver’s humble opinion, agreed with Featherweight a great deal. Those giant saucer ears had a smooth pivot instead of a nervous twitch, and he’d stopped twitching like he had parasprites in his pockets. Maybe not the strongest flier in school—Cotton Cloudy still claimed that title—but nopony matched Featherweight’s gentle, smooth wing strokes.

“It’s really important to keep your carbs up,” he explained with a little buck-tooth smile.

She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but she smiled anyway. “Oh, definitely. But right now, I’m afraid the Cakes…”

Silver Spoon couldn’t help but notice they were just a couple dozen inches from touching noses. She shook herself and got her head back on track. “The Cakes closed the kitchen so me and Truffle could use the kitchen this afternoon. Mr. Cake is still here though, if you want me to get him.”

“Oh.” Featherweight’s grin dimmed a little. “No, that’s okay. If it’s not open, I can just come back later.”

“Actually!” Silver lifted a hoof before he flew away. “Uh, I don’t have any bagels, but I actually have some petit fours that didn’t make it to the bake sale.”

He tilted his head. “What’s a ‘petty for’?”

Petit four. It’s like a cupcake, but fancier. You can have them if you want.”

“Wow, really?” Featherweight bounced on the welcome mat, flapping his little wings. “Thanks, Silver Spoon! That’s really nice of you.”

She nodded and stepped back to open the door for him. “It is, isn’t it?”

The colt took one of the tall tables at the front and let the bulky camera slide off his shoulders. His saddlebag plopped down beside it. “Sheesh, what a week.” Pinion feathers fanned out in a stiff arc as Featherweight popped his back. He rubbed the crick in his neck and let his wings flop at his sides. “And it’s not even half over.”

Half-listening, Silver considered the tray of reject petit fours with a frown. These things hadn’t made the cut for a reason. All these lopsided tops, crumbly bottoms, burnt sides, and frosting disasters hardly made for a good presentation.

Too late to take back the offer now. She sighed and nudged the tray on the table. “Here you go. Sorry they look a little weird, but—”

In a blink, Featherweight shoveled the lopsided cake into his cheeks. Little crumbs tumbled down the sides of his chin as he licked yellow frosting off his hoof and reached for another. “What are you talking about?” Down went the red velvet, burnt top and all. “Deeff arr delifuff!”

Slowly, Silver climbed into the tall, pegasus-friendly chair. Her tail dangled several inches off the floor. “But it’s so ugly.”

“Well, they don’t taste ugly!”

Featherweight unclasped his bag, letting loose a small mound of photographs. He idly shoved another cake into his mouth, chewing slowly as he spread out the photos, organizing and reorganizing.

His tail flicked in irritation. “Darn it… can’t use any of these.”

From the looks of it, he was right: blurred smears of color, weird close-ups of ears, noses, and wings, lens flares blotting out silhouettes… On the other hoof, the black-and-whites of crickets and rainclouds looked okay. A night shot of a shadow-dappled treehouse reminded Silver of those creepy novels Dinky loved.

“I don’t know,” said Silver Spoon. She tapped a photo of pink and orange clouds shadowed in the deep violets of settling dusk. “This one’s kind of pretty.”

It looked like last Saturday’s sunset. The Saturday that Silver had emergency tea in the gazebo by herself. What an awful weekend. She curled up in her chair and sighed. Thinking of unpleasant things when entertaining company wasn’t at all polite, but now that she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop.

Featherweight admired the photograph with a smile. “Thanks, my sister told me the same thing.” He nosed the sunset aside in favor of a medium-size glossy of Mr. Davenport speaking with an exterminator. The photo under it revealed Applejack sniffing a pear. “Too bad it’s not real news.”

News... Silver Spoon stared at yesterday’s rushed issue of the Press sticking out from the bottom of the photo pile. Slowly, her ears stood straight, eyes widening with horror.

Mrs. Rich knows. The only pony in town who knew the real reason the Silvers moved to Ponyville. In all likelihood, she knew more than Silver Spoon herself. So if she knows, then maybe… Her eyes drifted to a blurred photo of a grey filly moping alone on the playground. Maybe Diamond Tiara knows, too. And if she runs The Foal Free Press, then does that mean—

A frown crossed Featherweight’s face. “What’s the matter?” He pushed the cloud picture forward. “It’s okay if it’s not news, it’s still a nice picture. You can have it if you want; I owe you for the cakes anyway.”

“Thanks, but it’s not that. It’s—” Silver licked her lip. “I’ve just…” She mentally swatted the idea away. What a stupid thought. Di’s my best friend, she wouldn’t do that. “…been feeling kind of lonely, that’s all. Diamond’s been really busy lately.” She wouldn’t.

Featherweight rolled his dreamy eyes. “Tell me about it. She’s been driving us like a diamond dog all week.” He rubbed his sore shoulders and shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s like she got an extra dose of mean lately. Nothing we do is good enough anymore. Maybe it’s ‘cause that last Gabby Gums article didn’t do good, or maybe she’s just got a bug in her mane. I dunno.”

That’s right; it’s Gums who writes the articles, not Diamond. Not that it helped. If Silver’s suspicions were correct, then Gabby Gums had far less reason to keep Silver’s secret under wraps than Diamond did.

Still, in the end, it was the editor who decided what made the paper and what didn’t. There’d still be nothing stopping the editor from writing an article of her own. And Diamond wouldn’t. Surely.

“You know, she actually made everypony come back to work and put out another issue to make up for it? The same day, Silver!” Featherweight pulled out a packet from his saddlebag. “I just got these back and I don’t even know if I should bother turning them in. She’ll probably just toss ‘em out for not being ‘juicy’ enough.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’m starting to hate that word.”

A twinge bit at Silver’s stomach. She couldn’t deny the potential appeal of the Silvers’ financial situation. The have-nots loved nothing more than seeing their betters dragged down to their level. The Celestia article proved that. Best friends or not, it was a good story. Maybe too good to pass up, if Di’s that desperate for juicy gossip.

Featherweight spread out the new set of photos to study them. “The developer took forever with these. They’re actually from a couple weeks ago; probably too old to use.”

Silver looked them over. It seemed like just average school stuff. Peachy Pie and Sunny Daze holding hooves on the swings (news to literally nopony ever), the Trottingham kid in a dorky school uniform, a shot of baby Apple Bloom… wearing a diaper on her head?

“Wait a sec.” Silver leaned forward.

Had Truffle Shuffle mentioned anything about Scootaloo or Sweetie Belle pulling typist duty? Silver didn’t think so. And Diamond had yelled at them yesterday. The same day the weak article hit. (She’d likely yelled at everypony that day, but still.) Apple Bloom’s paper position remained a mystery. On top of it all, all three blank flanks didn’t share one ounce of class between them.

“What?” Featherweight hovered out of his chair. “What is it?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing,” said Silver Spoon. “Just thinking out loud.” It’s one of them. It has to be. But which one?

Silver nudged the baby photo aside to discover a cringe-worthy photo of Scootaloo swamped ears-to-hoof in muck. Another revealed Sweetie Belle wearing an atrocious hat. Interesting.

Featherweight tipped the camera toward himself, staring into the lens. He glanced at the piles of photos, then back to himself. He frowned. “I don’t think I really like being staff photographer.”

He gestured toward the pink cloud picture in Silver’s hooves. “I love taking pictures, but I like just doing it for me. I really wanted to follow in my sister’s hoofprints and be editor.”

“You have a sister?” Silver studied the mud in Scootaloo’s feathers and didn’t look up. Maybe Featherweight was right about the pictures being unusable. No way would Gabby Gums publish an article about herself.

“Yeah, Namby Pamby. She’s at flight camp right now. I was hoping I could be editor like she used to be and surprise her when she came home. I know it’d make her proud.”

“Mm-hm.” So Featherweight didn’t like Diamond’s regime either. How many other ponies on staff agreed with him?

This afternoon’s conversation with Truffle Shuffle rattled in the back of Silver Spoon’s head. He’s just a delivery guy and typist. The guy’s barely even involved. So if he feels guilty about the gossip column… Her eyes drifted to the humiliated Sweetie Belle’s red cheeks. I bet my best teapot Gabby Gums is feeling it too. She’ll want out. As if Di would ever let it happen… I bet it’d make her nervous, though.

Silver slowly blinked at the diaper on Apple Bloom’s head. Gums wouldn’t run these pics, but a paper editor in need of insurance sure would. Even if Gabby Gums—whoever she is—is willing to go down, there’s no way she’d drag her loser friends down with her.

Her eyes flicked back to Featherweight. And then, in all that tension, somepony’s going to do something stupid. She steepled her hooves. Paper-ruining levels of stupid.

“Featherweight, you said you want to be editor, right?”

“Yeah.” The colt perched on the table, lifting an eyebrow at Silver’s expression. “Guess I’ll just have to try for it next year.”

Silver Spoon slid the three photos forward. “How about this year?”

“What are you talking about, Silver Spoon?”

That weird little crinkle feeling squirmed under Silver’s coat. She rolled her shoulders and ignored it. I’m just being safe. She thought back to the family crest hanging in the drawing room. Nothing wrong with safe.

“I was just thinking that maybe these pictures aren’t as useless as you think.” The sunlight glinted off her glasses. She smiled. “And maybe there’s a way for both of us to get what we want.”


“This stuff is awesome!” Rainbow Dash tipped back her head and let the bowl’s contents slide into her waiting maw. She smacked her lips and licked the bottom of the bowl. “What’d you call this, again?”

“Crème brûlée!” Truffle Shuffle beamed in his little tuxedo. He’d been grinning all afternoon like he’d been accepted to the fanciest culinary school in Canterlot. “Glad you like it, Rainbow Dash!”

“You got any more?”

Truffle popped the lid off another steaming pot. “Do I?!”

The pleats of Silver Spoon’s dress rustled as she walked up to them. “Ahem. We do have spoons, Miss Dash.” She lifted her tray of dinnerware.

Rainbow took a spoon and two more bowls of crème brûlée and flew back to a bench under the oak tree. Miss Twilight Sparkle and Miss Fluttershy waited for her, sharing crêpes over lavender tea. Silver didn’t know where Pinkie Pie had gone, but between her and the Cake twins, the petit fours and peppermint candy vanished in under an hour.

Bulk Biceps floated past them, balancing two plates of food in his hooves, and three more on his back. His tiny wings carried him up and up and up into Friday’s late afternoon sky. Waiting on a shop roof, Featherweight welcomed his brother with open hooves.

Silver lifted her eyebrows at the dozens of discarded plates scattered about Featherweight’s hooves. “Where does all that food even go?”

The skinny colt waved down at her as Bulk gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. Not far away, a bell rang to mark the end of the bake sale. Silver waved back, put down her silverware, and went to meet up with Twist.

The Student Pony President huddled beside the money box, fiddling with an abacus. “Hi.” She took a pencil out of her mouth and scribbled on her notepad.

“Hey. So, what did we make?”

“Let’th thee. If I carry the ten, multiply by two…” Twist marked the data, frowning. She shook her head with a sad little sigh. “Thorry, guyth. We didn’t make it.”

“What?!” Truffle Shuffle’s head popped out from behind a stack of cookie trays. “How? That doesn’t make any sense, Twist! I could have sworn we sold out.”

“Yeah, I want to see your math,” demanded Silver Spoon.

Twist hid her face behind the notepad. She made a weird noise kind of like a giggle and kind of like a snort. “But it’th true. We didn’t make the goal.” She flipped the notepad around and grinned. “We went over it.”

Truffle lit up like a firecracker. “Oh my gosh, we beat it by like fifty bits!”

“Sixty-five, actually.” Miss Cheerilee leaned over Twist, smiling and holding a half-eaten éclair. “You really went above and beyond on this one, student council. Great job!”

“Thankth!” Twist chirped.

“And Silver Spoon, excellent work on your report. I especially liked your comparisons of the low-staffed student council to Chancellor Puddinghead’s cabinet.”

“Thank you, Miss Cheerilee.” Good thing she’d decided to reread her history books last week. “What’s my grade?”

“Something tells me you’ll be very happy with it.” Cheerilee’s little wink screamed A-plus.

Truffle undid his sparkly bow tie. It seemed he’d been waiting all day to get out of it. “So, how soon do you think we can get a new window?”

“Oh! Do you think we can get thtained glath?” asked President Twist.

“Is there enough in the budget for curtains?” Silver grinned at the idea. “Maybe with lace and velvet?”

Truffle Shuffle made a face at that, despite the fact that he had zero good taste in interior design anyway.

Cheerilee took a bite of éclair and glanced aside. “Well, actually…” She looked back at the path leading up to the schoolhouse. “As it turns out, we don’t need a new window after all. Earlier this week, Mrs. Rich approached the board and offered to fund a new window herself.”

Truffle wrinkled his nose. “You mean Diamond’s mom?” He looked to Silver for an explanation, but Silver only shrugged. “Huh. That’s… weirdly nice of her.”

“But what about out bake thale?” Twist still looked a bit perplexed.

“You still earned lots of money for the school, kids, even if it’s for a different part of it. You should all feel very proud of yourselves.”

The student council exchanged looks.

“We do, Mith Cheerilee,” Twist finally said. “What doeth the new window look like?”

Cheerilee coughed into her hoof.


Twist scratched the back of her head. “Well, we got a new window. That’th the important part.”

“And it does have stained glass,” Silver Spoon pointed out.

Truffle Shuffle groaned at the giant stained glass depiction of Diamond Tiara. “I am really not looking forward to that view.” He flicked his stubbly little tail with a snort. “At least it’s a back window.”

The basement door creaked open a few feet away. Diamond Tiara took a look around before crawling out, dragging her saddlebag. Her ears drooped so low they practically touched the dirt.

Truffle didn’t give her a second glance. “Walk ya home, Twist?”

Twist nodded. “You can thtay for dinner, if you want. My mom made hayburgerth.”

“Sounds good.” Truffle waited a few seconds before asking, “Silver, you coming to next week’s meeting? I know your extra credit’s done, but we could still really use the help.”

“Um.” Silver craned her neck over Truffle’s head. It was almost nightfall, but Diamond was en route for the swings. Taking her sweet time, too. “We’ll see.”

He gave her a long look. Not surprised, not disappointed, not much of anything. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Nothing personal.”

“Sure.”

Silver Spoon offered a little wave goodbye. She watched them go a little while, then shoved down the twinge in her gut and ran to catch up with Diamond. Not that she’d gotten far. “Hey, Di! I didn’t think I’d catch you out this early on a Friday.”

It took a moment or two before Diamond seemed to register somepony speaking to her. She lifted her head and tried to smile before she lowered it again. “Hey, Silvie.”

“I just saw the new window. Looks amazing, huh?” Silver smiled encouragingly and jostled Di’s shoulder.

“I guess so.” She didn’t even look at it. In a soft voice, she said, “Miss Cheerilee demoted me this afternoon. I don’t think I’m gonna stay with the paper.”

“Oh.”

It was all Silver Spoon could think to say. She looked at the little dots of stars sprinkling the indigo sky. The crickets chirped in the grass as she waited for somepony to say something.

“Silver Spoon?”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s kind of late, but… would it be okay if we had tea at your house?” Diamond stared at the ink stains on her hooves. Her voice sounded quieter than the crickets. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

Silver slung a foreleg over Diamond’s shoulder. “I’ve got some ginger-rosemary-ginseng with your name on it.”

“Thanks, Silvie.” Diamond Tiara’s shadow of a smile slowly developed into a real one. “You’re a really good friend.”