Arrhythmia

by Posh

Making the Grade

Seated behind her desk, and a mess of ungraded assignments, Miss Cheerilee scans the paper Flash gave her.

Flash watches, squeezing the straps of his backpack and drumming his fingers on the stapled document he's holding. It doesn't take Miss Cheerilee long to finish reading, but every second feels like an eternity to him.

Finally, she nods approvingly. "Fillydelphia State, huh?"

"Yeah. Just like you, right?" Flash chuckles nervously. "Lemme guess, you're surprised?"

"I went to the University of Fillydelphia, actually. Different school. And I'd characterize my reaction as impressed, not surprised." She crisply folds the paper and hands it back to Flash, smiling up to her eyes. "But you're not just here for a victory lap, right?"

Flash takes a deep breath. He trades the letter of acceptance for the papers he's holding, which Miss Cheerilee promptly unfolds. She's greeted with a typewritten mess of poorly spaced paragraphs, inundated with great, swoopy strokes of her own purple ink. At the top of the paper is a C-, written large and circled.

"So," Flash begins, hesitantly. "The thing is, if I don't keep my GPA at a B-average, I'm not sure FSU will still accept me. And this paper – it's not my strongest work, and it definitely hurt my grade in this class. I was wondering..."

Miss Cheerilee raises an eyebrow.

"...If you could, you know..." Flash sticks his hand – the one not holding the letter – into his pocket, and shrugs, feeling small under her gaze. "Help me out? A little?"

"'Help you out.' Yes, 'tis the season, isn't it?" Miss Cheerilee hums a short, soft note and reclines in her chair, crossing her arms. "Do you have any idea how many students show up at this time of year, asking for 'help' with grades?"

"Uh... all of them?"

"Feels like it, sometimes," Miss Cheerilee snorts. She opens her hands expectantly. "Well, Flash. What sets you apart from the rest of the pack, hmm? What makes you exceptional enough for an exception?"

"I'm... charming?"

"That hardly makes you exceptional." Miss Cheerilee drops the essay on an unrelated pile. "That's not a dig at you; I only mean that you can cut the collective charisma of your graduating class with a knife. Try again."

Flash thinks, but can't come up with anything, not a single reason why he deserves an exception. He wonders if this is how Sunset felt, begging for forgiveness from the people she'd wronged. Shame burns in his cheeks as he reaches for his paper.

Miss Cheerilee's hand pins it down. "Flash. What does the syllabus say?"

"The..." Flash pulls back, and sticks his hand in his pocket again. "Honestly, I kinda didn’t read it."

"No one does," Miss Cheerilee mutters. She lifts her hand and sits up straight. "The syllabus says, quite plainly, that major writing assignments can be revised and resubmitted. The deadline is sometime in May; I forget exactly when."

Relief quenches Flash's shame. "Is that for all the essays? Can I do that for every one?"

"Any major writing assignment is eligible. You can, however, only revise and resubmit one – this one, I'd suggest. Mind you, I don't guarantee an improved grade; you need to earn it by showing clear progress between drafts." She looks knowingly at him. "I can't raise your grade simply because you're charming."

"No, I get that. I didn't mean— the 'charming' thing was supposed to be a joke." Flash thinks about his phrasing, and cringes. "Did I come across like I was just... asking for a higher grade?"

Miss Cheerilee pinches her thumb and index fingers together. "Teeny bit."

"I didn't mean to." Flash draws himself up. "I want to get a better grade. But I'm gonna earn it, like you said."

Miss Cheerilee stares, long and hard, at Flash, before returning his essay; he folds it back up and presses it against his acceptance letter. "I'm sorry for assuming, Flash. I get so many people asking for handouts that I suppose I lumped you in with them."

"We're cool. Uh – ma'am." Flash jerks his thumb toward the door. "I'd love to sit down and talk about this more, but I gotta give my friend a lift downtown today. She's probably wondering where I am."

Miss Cheerilee nods. "If you can stomach coming to school on Saturday, I'll be on campus tomorrow morning. There's a staff meeting at ten, but I'm sure I'll have a few extra minutes to talk one-on-one. Bring your paper, and we can brainstorm revisions."

"I've got tomorrow off from work, so yeah. Definitely. Thanks for helping me. Letting me revise, I mean." Flash backs away, toward the door. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Until then." Miss Cheerilee waves him off, and draws an essay from the morass. She clicks open a purple pen, puts it to paper, but pauses before she starts writing. "Flash?"

He pauses, mid-step.

"Congratulations." Miss Cheerilee smiles, the fading sunlight shimmering on her hair. "I'm proud of you. Really."

Flash can't really speak to that – he's blushing so hard there isn't enough blood in his brain to respond. Mumbling something, he steps outside of the classroom. Away from his teacher, he slides the letter and the essay into his backpack, and breathes a sigh of relief.

"She seems helpful."

Jumping, Flash whirls, and immediately kicks himself for feeling startled.

It's only Muffins, leaning against a row of lockers with her hands hooked behind her back. She's wearing a sunny smile and a breezy white dress, with a gym bag hanging over her front. She doesn't seem to notice Flash's state of shock.

"Could you..." Flash holds a hand to his chest. "Not sneak up on me like that? You give me a heart attack, and you're gonna have to drive yourself to dance practice."

"Oh, yes. I'll drive myself. With that driver's license that the DMV would totally give me, because of my perfect 20/20 vision." Muffins's eyes swim in opposite directions; she blinks, and they swivel back into place.

"Well, don't scare me to death then, smartass, if you're so worried about it." Flash joins Muffins against the lockers, leaning beside her. "It's rude to spy on people."

"I wasn't trying to, believe me. You said you had to talk to Miss Cheerilee before we left so I figured I'd wait for you outside her classroom. I started overhearing, and I knew that I should probably stop, and then I didn't." Muffins screws up her face. "I wanna say I'm sorry, but I don't think I am. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, but putting maple syrup on hot dogs does."

"Just because you don't like mixing sweet and savory doesn't mean nobody can." Muffins bites her lip. "For real, though, um..."

Flash looks quizzically at her. A fringe of blonde hair has fallen in front of her eyes.

"It's cool that you got into college. Congratulations." Muffins awkwardly brushes the hair in her eyes away. "Fillydelphia's pretty far. You gonna go?"

"Probably. I haven't decided for sure." Faint notes of piano music tinkle through the air – Miss Cheerilee's switched on her little CD player. "Listen, you're the only other person who knows about this, besides Miss Cheerilee. I haven't even told Sunset yet. And I kinda want to keep things quiet for a little while. So..."

Muffins hisses through her teeth and holds up her phone, the screen pointed away from Flash. "Wish you'd said that before I hit up MyStable. I liveblogged your meeting with Cheerilee."

Flash glowers at her.

Giggling, Muffins turns the phone – the screen's blank. She sticks her tongue out at him.

"Har har." Flash shakes his head and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "You wanna get going?"

Muffins nods emphatically and falls into step with Flash, a bubbly bounce in her gate. "Up to much tonight?"

"Besides hauling your ungrateful butt downtown? I'm picking up a quick shift at work. Before that, I gotta meet Sunset at her place. I'm taking her to a... a thing."

"A vague, nonspecific thing?" Muffins nods sagely. "I love those. They're my favorite."

"An interview, you nosy..." Flash huffs. "It's some junior social worker job with the county. Working with troubled kids, teenagers – normally, you need a degree for something like that, but the county made an exception for her."

"I guess when you can put 'foiled mass-hypnosis plot with the power of rock-'n-roll' on your resume, you open a couple doors."

"Not sure about that, but Celestia wrote her a letter of rec. Bunch of other people did, too. That opens some doors." He feels a swell of pride. "It's nice, watching her go places. I always knew she could do better than Super Sushi."

Muffins runs a hand through her hair. "Speaking of going places, if you don't mind my asking—"

"Always assume that I do." Flash glances at her, smirking. "Not that it stops you. Shoot."

Muffins points a finger-gun at him, pewing softly. "You don't want people to know you got into college yet. That's cool; I'm not gonna spill the beans. But why?"

"Guess it hasn't hit me yet, to be honest." They come to the end of the hall; Flash holds the doors leading into CHS's spacious atrium. "I mean, I applied to a bunch of schools, but FSU was the only one that took me. And I didn't think for a second I'd get into any of them."

Muffins sashays through the doors, her every step a dance. "Why apply at all, if you thought it was such a lost cause?"

"I dunno – it's what you do, right? You get into your senior year, and you apply to college."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, but you have that big... dance club... thing."

"It's a performing arts conservatory." Muffins mimics Rarity's posh voice. "And it's highly prestigious. Dahling."

"That's pretty good, actually," Flash laughs. "But yeah. You got into your confectionery—"

"Conservatory. Those words sound nothing alike, Flash."

"—but I figured I'd be waiting tables for the rest of my life. Suddenly, I'm going to college – how am I supposed to wrap my mind around that?" Flash tosses his hands in the air and lets them fall limply against his thighs. "I can't help it. Success comes my way, and I feel... lost."

Muffins edges up against his arm. "So, if I'm hearing you right... you don't want anyone to know about it before it's sunk in?"

"Pretty much." Flash pauses by a display case laden with plaques and trophies. His gaze drifts to the seven-pointed star of the fall formal crown, and he works his jaw in thought. Muffins isn't getting the whole story. There's a lot he could talk about, a lot he's not ready to talk about.

Secrets don't stay secrets for long at CHS. He trusts Muffins, and while he's not too close to Miss Cheerilee, he figures she'll keep it quiet, too. At the very least, he has no reason to think she won't.

Anyone else, though, and his secret is out for good, and any secret that gets out will wind its way back to Sunset.

She can't know about this yet.

Muffins snaps her fingers in front of his eyes, twice. Flash blinks, shakes his head, and looks down at her. "Sorry, I was, uh. Zoned out."

Frowning, Muffins holds up a finger. She moves her hand from side to side, slowly.

Flash's eyes track her motion. "Uh, what are you—?"

"Concussion check. You seem okay." Muffins drops her arm. "But I'm diagnosing you with an advanced case of the Saddy-Waddies."

Flash blinks. "That's not terminal, is it?"

"Not with proper treatment." Muffins twirls and makes for the exit, pulling Flash along by the wrist. He frees himself, and follows along under his own power.

"I know it sounds like I'm whining over nothing," Flash sighs, rubbing his wrist – her grip is surprisingly firm. "Believe me, I'm glad I got into college. Proud, even."

"So, what's the problem?" Muffins pushes the door open and holds it for Flash, bowing low and theatrically.

Flash steps through, Muffins in tow. "Like I said, I never really thought I'd even go to college. Seemed more up Sunset's alley. My parents keep asking me if we're gonna stay together once she moves away. Once she moves away, not me."

"That's gotta burn," Muffins says. "Where is she going, anyway? She doesn't really talk about her college plans. She, uh, going to FSU with you?"

"...I think she's still deciding." Flash feels a twinge that he tries to ignore as they approach his car. "Anyway, I didn't expect to get into college, and I don't think anyone else expected me to, either. Now that I'm in, people are gonna treat it like some big achievement."

"It is a big achievement."

"And my family's gonna want me to keep 'em coming. Y'know, hit the books, earn scholarships, graduate with a sexy GPA, and find some kinda job where I wear a sport coat or something."

Flash sticks his hands in his pockets and fishes out his keys, unlocking the doors and pulling the passenger side open.

"I miss when I was just cute and good at guitar," he finishes gloomily. "Now I actually have to make something of myself."

"Could be worse," Muffins says. She gives a dry laugh. "People could just expect nothing from you. Forever."

Flash snorts. "That sounds nice, actually."

"Sure about that?" Muffins dips her head, links her hands behind her back, and turns to give Flash a profile view of her willowy frame. "That conservatory I'm doing... you wanna know how people react when I tell them I got into it? Teachers, relatives, even my parents?"

Suddenly, she pivots toward him. Clasping her hands, Muffins rests them against her cheek, putting on a dreamy simper and raising her natural falsetto higher.

"'Oh, Muffins, you're so brave!' 'You've overcome so much!' 'You're so inspiring, with all your medals and grades. You're living proof that anyone can achieve their dreams!' 'Will you sign my sports bra, Muffins?'"

"You made that last one up."

"I'm making a point," Muffins says. "When people talk that way, they're faking confidence in me. No matter what I do, same reaction, every time. Nobody ever raises their expectations, because truth is, they never expected me to get anywhere in the first place."

"...That sucks," Flash says.

Muffins shrugs. She steps a little closer, close enough for Flash to take a reflexive step away from the door.

"Things could be worse for you, man. At least you’re not an inspiration porn star." Muffins punches his shoulder, and in a super-gruff macho voice, says, "So suck it up."

Flash glances at Muffins's hand. He raises an eyebrow.

They crack up at the same moment.

"Thanks for the pep talk, coach," Flash snickers. "Now get in my car before I start charging you gas money."

Muffins does just that, sliding into her seat and holding her gym bag against her lap. A look comes over her face – an uncharacteristically nervous expression.

"Hey Flash?"

"Mm?"

Muffins’ eyes are focused on him. "You've never just been cute and good at guitar."

---

Sunset's left the bathroom door open while she showers, letting steam roll into the living room. It's humid, but Flash feels comfortable enough. As he waits, he admires a painting of sunflowers, something from Sunset's art class.

"Can't believe you never hung this up." Flash raises his voice to be heard over the shower. "It's gorgeous."

Sunset's voice echoes off the linoleum. "What, the sunflowers? They suck."

"You're kidding, right? This is, like, professional quality. Everything about it is perfect. The colors, and the... uh... colors."

"The brush strokes are sloppy, and the perspective's all wrong. It looks like something a kindergartner made. I screwed up early painting it, made the most of what I'd done, took my A-minus, and was happy for it."

Scoffing, Flash says, "Why'd you bring it home, if you hate it?"

"Maybe I just love surrounding myself with reminders of my mistakes. Keeps me from dreaming big."

That's a great attitude to have before a job interview.

"You're being way too hard on yourself; you've got a lot of talent." Flash sets the canvas down, taking another moment to admire it. "You know, um... I was looking at some job-hunting websites the other day. Thinking of stuff you’d be good at."

Sunset laughs. The pipes groan; the steady cadence of water tapers into a gentle drip. "You my agent now, Flash?"

"Just keeping an eye out for you," Flash says, mildly hurt. There's rustling from the bathroom as Sunset towels off. "I saw a listing for a junior graphic designer here in town, thought it might be up your alley. Y'know, as a plan-B, in case this thing with the county doesn't work out."

"That's loser talk, Flash!" Bare feet slap against the floor as Sunset emerges from the bathroom amid a cloud of steam. She's wrapping her towel around herself, and Flash gets an eyeful of her ass as she walks past him.

Flashes manages to avert his eyes for a fraction of a second, before temptation wins him over.

Sunset tightens the towel around her body and fastens it as securely as she can. She turns to Flash, ready to speak. Seeing the look on his face, her expression morphs into something sultry.

"You're so damn cute, you know that? Nothing here you haven't seen before, and you're still blushing like a schoolboy." Sunset runs a finger down her neck, past her clavicle, to the middle of the towel, and tugs it just enough to bare more cleavage. "You know, you're allowed to stare."

"I'm, uh..." Flash runs his eyes over Sunset's body, marveling at how nicely the towel hugs her curves. "A gentleman."

"You don’t have to be." Sunset cocks her hip and plants her hand on it. "And I don't have to be at the county office for a little while. We have some time to kill..."

The suggestion sends shivers through Flash. He imagines how Sunset would react if he took that towel in his hands and pulled it down in one swift motion...

...His thoughts turn to the letter in his backpack.

"We don't have that much time, Sunset," Flash says. "And you'd have to shower again after."

There's hurt in her eyes – it's not often he turns down her advances. Stepping toward her, he boops her nose, and says, "Doesn't mean you're not a snack."

"...More like a banquet." She says it playfully, seemingly reassured. "Very well. For the sake of your delicate masculine sensibilities, I will retire to my chambers and clothe my temptatious flesh."

She pecks him and pulls away, ascending the stairs to her loft. There's enough furniture pushed up against the loft's rail to hide her from sight altogether, at least from where Flash is standing.

"Y'know," Flash says, leaning back against the wall. "I don't think it's loser talk to have another job in mind, in case this one doesn't come through. It's just good—"

A wet towel sails from on high and falls over his head, sinfully warm. Flash whips it off, blushing, and stares up at the rail. Sunset's grinning down at him, her body hidden behind a dresser that rises to her chest.

"Oh, go on," she purrs. "Don't let me interrupt you."

"...It's just good planning." Flash tosses the towel into the bathroom, fighting to keep a grin off his face. "You are not as cute as you think you are."

"Yes, I am." She retreats, again hidden from sight.

"...Yeah," Flash concedes, grumbling. "Still. You know I'm right."

"I appreciate what you're saying, Flash, but graphic design isn't for me," Sunset calls back. He hears rustling from the loft, drawers opening and shutting. "My art teacher showed me an ad for an entry-level job like that once. You need a portfolio just to apply."

"You can't put one together?"

Sunset peeks over the rail again, lacy black straps covering her shoulders. "A bunch of crappy paintings from a high school art class doesn't make a portfolio."

"So use some stuff from outside of class. That's where most of your art comes from anyway, right, Flanksy?"

"I swear, if I ever meet the editor that gave me that stupid nickname..." Sunset makes a sour face and vanishes again. "Anyway, underground art isn't underground anymore if you put it in a portfolio."

"So, no plan-B, then?"

There's a pause before Sunset answers. "Well, Super Sushi's not glamorous, but it's steady work."

"You hate Super Sushi."

"I didn't say I was gonna spend the rest of my life there. It's a stepping stone."

"Right, a stepping-stone to a job like the one I'm telling you about."

"I know that, lover!" Sunset's voice is chipper and sing-songy; her patience is wearing thin. "And I have an interview today for just such a job, so I don't know why you're harping on this graphic design thing."

"It's a—"

"A back-up. I know. Let's see how tonight goes first."

Sunset's feet pitter-patter on the stairs, and Flash comes to the landing to greet her. She's wearing a gray coat and matching skirt, a white button-up shirt, and nylons. Her hair, freshly brushed, is tied back neatly in a ponytail. The clothes are spotless, but a bit wrinkly; he can see the chain that holds her geode, but the stone is tucked down the front of her shirt.

She twirls for Flash, letting the skirt fan out. "I look okay?"

"I'd hire you." She does look professional, if not especially stylish. He'd been expecting something with a little more Rarity to it.

Then again, wearing sequins to a job interview...

Sunset hops down the landing, into Flash's arms. A lock of hair came loose from her ponytail when she twirled; Flash tucks it behind her ear.

"I hope this goes well for you, babe," he says. "I'm not trying to get you down; I really want you to get this."

"Me too," says Sunset, a little too quickly. "But even if I don't, it's gonna be okay. I'm gonna be okay. I promise."

She stands on tiptoe to kiss him again.

Flash leans into it, desperate to believe her.

Comments

[Undome Tinwe]

This feels so real. There's a groundedness to this story that's really refreshing to read, and the chemistry between Sunset and Flash is there even despite their tension.

Also Derpy is incredible in this as well so that's cool too. And it's good to see your Cherrilee again, in any form.

[PresentPerfect]

"No, but putting maple syrup on hot dogs does."

I love this line for so many reasons.

"You are not as cute as you think you are."
"Yes, I am."

Also this exchange. :D

[BlueMoonHarlot]

"Concussion check. You seem okay." Muffins drops her arm. "But I'm diagnosing you with an advanced case of the Saddy-Waddies."

im out of breath, fucking PLEASE