Sorry (Seems To Be The Hardest Word)

by Impossible Numbers

Non Sarai Mai Perdonato

That evening, Cadence held the first detention in Professor Lovejoy’s classroom. On one of the desks, Sour Sweet’s muttered insults and complaints were just quiet enough for Cadence to pretend she couldn’t hear them.

Normally, she’d have used the principal’s office, but Cadence had started feeling her stomach tighten at the thought of that place. All those piles of paper ganged up on her like a lawyer’s committee, and their silent smugness reminded her too much of Cinch.

Besides, there was a chance Sour Sweet would associate her own punishment with her actions here. Or maybe not. At this point, Cadence was willing to try anything.

To show some solidarity, the principal kept herself busy with her own paperwork. Both girl and woman wrote together in complete silence.

Neither for fun. Principals, Cadence thought, were deans on overdrive. Between the revised mission statement – a waste of time which the schoolboard had insisted on – and the scheduling of the next field trip, she was still puzzling over the mystery of where all the staff mugs had gone.

She looked up: Sour Sweet wrote as though the paper had personally offended her.

Cadence wondered if she should say something. Reassure her, maybe. Ask her if she was all right, or if she wanted to talk about anything. Remind her they were in this together, and not against each other. Dean Cadence wouldn’t have hesitated. Hadn’t.

But principals weren’t supposed to “baby” their students, so she put her head down and continued writing. Her soul recoiled. She didn’t want to seem like the bad guy.

She paused.

No: she didn’t want to be the bad guy.

Cadence stared down at the droningly official sentence slowly cooling on the paper. This was all going wrong. Her heart said so, and firmly. Yet if she called off the detention, it’d send the wrong message.

At least Sour Sweet was doing something more thoughtful than just lines. For her punishment, she was to write an essay on the right to privacy and the respectful treatment of other people’s emotions, and on why it was wrong to do what she’d done to Professor Lovejoy. Hopefully, that was indeed what she was doing: Cadence wouldn’t put it past her to deliberately write something offensive.

Tick… tick… tick…

The hour hand clicked into place. Cadence sat up straight.

“Time’s up, Sour Sweet,” she said.

Sour Sweet dropped the pen as though scalded. Her satchel hit her side so hard it bounced.

“If there’s anything you’d like to discuss, I’d be more than happy to…” Cadence was talking to an empty classroom, and the distant footsteps died away. She sighed and tidied up the desk.

The janitor waited for her at the entrance, already wiping the trophy display. His gaze was intense, determined to destroy every germ foolish enough to trespass on his quiet kingdom. She gave him a quick “Goodbye, Mister Sombra,” then glanced back suspiciously. Then shrugged. Then moved on.

Ah! A walk at sunset!

Cadence breathed generously, as though to reward her lungs for all their hard work. Passion burned orange overhead, the breeze rustled the trees like the susurration of wings, and her heart felt for a moment as free as a bird, tethered to the mortal earth only by the dragging gravity of her legs.

Her walk took her along a green paradise within town. Pedestria Park was ablaze with the rainbow flowerbeds of spring, but the gathering of wispy firs and fuzzy grasses made it seem as though Nature wanted to woo everyone. Better still, Cadence saw people she recognized: walking dogs, shepherding schoolchildren, pushing prams, or sitting on benches and drifting off to the Land of Nod.

Shops and eateries lined this side of the road, and Cadence heard the soothing violin music – played over speakers, admittedly – of what she called the “love café”: The Golden Match.

Couples sat outside already. Most talked happily or at least politely, but Cadence counted three kisses in full throttle.

She had to smile. Romance always calmed her down and lifted her up, spirited her away to a better place, and left her spoiled for choice. Maybe Lemony Gems and Spearhead had come here? If not, she had to recommend it. How lovely it’d be to see them together…

Assuming they remained a couple.

Cadence remembered the flushed fury aflame in Spearhead’s face. Commitment anxiety: she’d seen that look before in other men. For pity’s sake, she wished Shining had been a bit gentler with him. Or that Spearhead had felt strong enough to resist. Or that Lemony had told her sooner, so she could help them both deal with bumps on the road. None of her friends’ love lives ever suffered when Cadence took an interest.

And that was the problem. People screwed up. If only this, if only that… If only Sour Sweet didn’t keep acting like she didn’t care, like they’d had no friendly history together…

Part of Cadence – especially the part that had spent hours trying to decipher the handwriting of officials – wished she could throw up her hands and run away. But if she did, she wouldn’t be Cadence. She could never stop. The price for smiling and helping was that she always had to smile and she always had to help.

And she had to do it even when she secretly thought a quick smack behind the ear would do someone a world of good, because usually the only world that felt good would be her own, and that for all of five seconds.

In Cadence’s world, she didn’t help people because they were nice. She helped people because they were people. Gratitude was just a bonus.

Unfortunately.

Then she spotted Cinch.

Cadence stopped and doubled back to check.

Definitely Cinch. In the park, gazing out over the duck pond, sitting alone at a bench along the gravel path. Still dressed as though she’d come back from a tea party for accountants.

Cinch. Former Principal Cinch. The one who’d gone to the Friendship Games full of spiteful pride, and who’d come away offended at anything less than a straight win. Cinch, who’d dumped this mess on –

A car honked.

Cadence caught herself crossing the road. She waved at the driver apologetically and hurried on over.

What in heaven’s name was she doing? Going up to Cinch was a waste of time!

Before she could cross the road again, Cadence hesitated. Was there something smug in the way Cinch sat there, like a gloating grandmaster?

No. Cadence didn’t want to pick a fight, and she couldn’t argue with someone like Cinch. She might as well shout at the wall; at least the bricks wouldn’t raise a supercilious eyebrow.

The last time Cinch had told Cadence to deal with a student’s problems, it had been gym student Fleur, an obvious model-wannabe who’d been struggling to eat anything.

Hatred hit Cadence like a tidal wave. If Cupid had tried hitting her with one of his arrows, it would have bounced off.

Unfortunately for the script hastily being improvised in Cadence’s head, she was spotted first.

Cinch offered a token smile as Cadence approached. “Ah, the new principal. I trust all is going well at my old school?”

Cadence’s hands froze into fists. “As well as it can be,” she said coldly.

“So I hear. Yet my eagle eye sees that you are somewhat stressed. I hope the pressures of maintaining my school’s good name are not too much for you?”

Cadence resorted to barefaced politeness. “How are you keeping these days?”

“Quite enjoying my retirement. For the moment, that is: I have more ambitious plans regarding certain… interesting discoveries.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Cinch looked at her as though she was a backwards pupil. It was a look she had mastered over her spectacles long ago.

“I refer, of course, to the magical nature of events during the last Friendship Games. Obviously, CHS are too clueless to capitalize on the discovery of a lifetime, but I am already making enquiries of my own. I am… well-connected, after all. Several young physicists, for instance, owe their careers to me.”

“Well…” Futilely, Cadence fought against the pincer attack of anger and sudden worry. “I’m glad you’re keeping well.”

As though she were a grandmother enjoying children at play, Cinch watched the ducks drift by. “Yes, you simply have no idea how well-earned this feels after a lifetime of service.”

That was it.

Cadence snapped.

“You mean a lifetime of driving students insane, ignoring the bullies right under your nose, blackmailing students –” Twilight’s pained cringe hit Cadence’s memory like a lightning bolt. “That lifetime of service?”

To her fury, she saw Cinch smirk as though at some idle joke. “My job – and yours now – is to encourage the brains of the future, not to coddle bleeding hearts. I merely did what was best to achieve that end.”

“They’re children, not tools!”

Cinch put her palms together and tapped her lips as though Cadence had asked her to solve a complex riddle. “I see your point, despite your petty and childish means of expressing them. But consider: those students will become useful to society. Some must fill necessary roles. Therefore, only the cream of the crop are the top priority. I don’t deny my methods were… exacting. The results, however, speak for themselves.”

Already, Cadence knew this was a waste of time. She felt the cold, relentless grip of Cinch’s rationality crystallizing around her own head. That was Cinch’s trick: that’s what she’d done to Twilight. She spoke like she was being patient with you, because you were too stupid to understand…

Not a dust of doubt was allowed anywhere near Cinch. She showed not the slightest hint of regret. She’d wanted functional, mechanical wonders from her students, and anything “human” – anything that had a mind of its own, or feelings, any weaknesses, any “broken goods” – was garbage to be tossed aside. And she’d never apologize for the blood and tears. She wouldn’t see that there was anything to apologize for.

She was like a machine herself. You shouted at it and kicked it and demanded it feel your pain, and all it did was ignore you and await its real instructions from someone competent.

Cadence remembered herself in time. Gently, she breathed in, hand on heart, and then breathed out, sweeping the weight out of her aching chest.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound level, “I’m glad you’ve found a new calling.”

“One that could change history,” said Cinch. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on CHS.”

“You stay away from Twilight.” The words escaped Cadence’s lips before she could stop herself.

Both of them stared at each other wide-eyed: Cadence in horror, Cinch in dismay at this scandalous breach of etiquette. The ducks slid further away from their side of the pond.

Then Cinch adjusted her spectacles; behind them, her eyes dulled to pure cold blue. “You always were overemotional. So protective of your charges. I imagine it’ll prove a credit to you when the schoolboard receives this year’s exam results.”

She stood up in one graceful move, like a ballet dancer made out of birch canes.

“By the way, have you solved young Sour Sweet’s emotional problems yet? Mood swings, family issues, I daresay a deficit of love and affection like some kind of undernourished office plant… You see, I remember her best as one of my more promising students, but I also recall you took a special interest in her. Or vice versa. Certainly, she visited your office devotedly.”

Cinch’s smile opened and shut like window blinds.

“Made any significant progress?” she asked.

Despite herself, Cadence felt the righteous anger leak out. Without it, she felt empty. No more meaningful than a bit of shaped air.

“I see. I can’t say my hopes were high. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time acting as their ‘mother’. It’s not in your job description.” Somehow, Cinch’s gaze didn’t seem to be focused on Cadence. More on something past her.

Instinctively, Cadence turned around.

A head ducked behind a tree some yards away, but the whiplike ponytail was unmistakeable. Its owner thought so too; she gave up and stepped out.

Cinch chuckled. “Bringing your work home with you now? You are committed, I’ll grant you that.” She gave Cadence a curt nod. “Good day, Dean Cadence.”

The crunch of gravel died away.

Sour Sweet and Cadence stood staring at each other. In those painful seconds, they were both younger, both too drained to do anything but sit in a pink office, both trying not to think of how embarrassing the echoes of hurt words had been, both seeing the drops of sympathy in each other’s…

Then Sour Sweet frowned, and her eyes gained too many years in an instant.

Cadence hurried forward as the girl turned on her heel. “Sour Sweet, I know you’re frustrated, but you shouldn’t listen to Cinch –”

“Oh, yeeeaaahhh,” belaboured Sour Sweet over her shoulder, her voice like honeyed venom, “because obviously I’m going to care about some old bat being a sore loser.”

Cadence hurried faster, hand reaching out. “I can help you. Please, there’s no need to be afraid –”

“Like I can’t walk wherever I like after school. I wasn’t following you, anyway. Don’t touch me!”

Cadence’s hand fell. Sour Sweet’s shoulder had only been inches away.

“And another thing!” spat Sour Sweet, not even bothering with cutesy sarcasm anymore. “Twilight’s not your problem. She’s moved. Let it go already!”

“Is that what this is about?” Cadence spoke like she was running over quicksand. “Look, please understand I’m just trying to set things right, and you –”

Sour Sweet hugged herself but did not turn around; Cadence let her have some space. “I already apologized! At the Friendship Games! I don’t see why I have to do it again!”

“Yes, I heard that ‘apology’. Blaming Cinch doesn’t solve anything, believe me. Anyway, that was for the Friendship Games. Think for a moment, Sour Sweet. What about the years before that at Crystal Prep? Don’t you think Twilight needs an apology for all that? A proper apology? Don’t you think it’s only right –”

“Whatever! I’m going home!”

“It’ll help you too!” Cadence shouted after her. “I’m trying to help you!”

Sour Sweet’s angry strides might have been convincing if it wasn’t for the quick wipe of her arm against her eyes.

And that was the worst part. Cadence couldn’t help someone who didn’t want help. Her instincts screamed at her, but she couldn’t. She could only watch.

Beautiful sunset or not, Cadence didn’t enjoy the rest of her walk.

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