Chasing the Sky

by SnowOriole

3- Everywhere I Go

~~~

Applejack is running.

The orange sunset bleeds into the horizon, its long rays and even longer shadows seeping into the grass fields. The sun itself, sleepily bidding the day goodbye, drifts toward the west, half-obscured in glowing wreaths of clouds. Applejack has lived in her village long enough to tell the time from the sun's position in the sky: it should be around half past seven now. The local school closes at seven.

Not bothering to drive back to Sweet Apple Acres first, she had driven straight to the local school, slammed on the brakes with a deafening screeeech, and hopped off. And now she's running, running along the dirt path to get to the school.

By the time she reaches, sweating heavily, there's only a scant few students there, mostly the first-graders. They're sitting on the wooden porch just a little way inside the gates, swatting the flies that buzz around the oil lamps and chittering among themselves.

"Apple Bloom! I'm here!" she announces loudly, huffing and panting. "Sorry I'm late, I-" she cuts herself short, scanning the crowd.

The first-graders look at her, then look at each other, then look back at her, confusion palpable in their expressions. It is then that Applejack realises—with a start—the distinct lack of a tell-tale red bow in the crowd.

Heart beginning to pound, Applejack searches harder, scrutinising each and every little face intently, but still no sign of Apple Bloom. Terrifying scenarios spring forth in her mind, but she wills herself to stay calm. She's got to be somewhere. Maybe she's at the playground?

She whirls her head in the sand pit's direction, but there's no movement there, only a lone tire swing that rocks in the evening breeze. Think... think... Maybe she'd gotten lost in the school? Applejack makes a start toward the schoolhouse, where she catches sight of the school's only teacher, Miss Cheerilee, in the process of locking up the schoolhouse's front door. She bounds over immediately.

"Why hello there, Applejack," Miss Cheerilee says upon noticing her arrival.

"Howdy there, Miss Cheerilee," Applejack responds with a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank goodness yer here. Y'all wouldn't've happened to know where Apple Bloom is?"

"Oh, your sister?" Miss Cheerilee blinks in surprise. "She's already gone home herself."

"She went home?!!" Applejack's eyes bulge. "What in ever-lovin' galoshes was she thinkin'? She's supposed to wait for me!"

Miss Cheerilee slides the rusty latch in place. "Now there, it was gettin' late, and maybe she was getting tired of waiting."

"Still!--" Applejack waves her hands about. "T'ain't safe for a little girl like her to be traipsin' home on her lonesome!"

"She is eleven," Miss Cheerilee reasons. She nudges a key into the lock, frowning in concentration when it doesn't go in on the first try. "Most fifth-graders can get home by themselves."

"But she could run into all sorts of trouble. Gettin' lost! Falling trees! Coyotes! Wildfires!" Applejack gulps, shivering. "You know it!"

To that, Miss Cheerilee doesn't say anything. She turns her focus back to the door, finally managing to slot the key in and turn it. Then, with a heavy clang-clang, she gives it a good shake, making sure that it's locked. She straightens, regarding her, and pats her on the back.

"Run along, sweetheart. Your sister an' family must be waitin' for you at home."

So Applejack bursts through the front doors of the farmhouse.

"I am," Applejack wheezes, "so sorry—"

From where she's sitting in the couch, Granny Smith looks up as she enters, mid-knitting some kind of sweater. Winona is curled up beside her in a ball, sound asleep. Making a noise, Granny puts down her needles, rising up to greet her.

"Ohhhh, don't you worry yer blonde noggin'." Trotting over, Granny envelops her in a hug, helping her set down her things. "Calm down, dearie. Where have you been all day? Gosh, don't you look plum exhausted," she fusses over her frazzled hair.

"I'm sorry," Applejack apologises again. "I was out buyin' stuff together with my friends, but... reckon I got distracted," she pushes Granny away gently, burying her face in her hands. Guilt gnaws at her; eats at her from the inside out, like dense smoke filling her head. "Gosh darn it... I didn't do anythang. I didn't make dinner... I didn't fetch Apple Bloom..."

"It's fine! Big Mac made dinner. We're done eatin' already, but yer share's still on the table!" Apple Bloom's head pops out from her room. "And I just went home myself. Ohh! You got mah bamboo!"

Her eyes light up. She runs over to the bundle and practically nuzzles it to her face. Then she sets it down, taking out the stems one by one from the packaging to inspect them. "These look good! Thanks so much, Applejack!"

Applejack's eyes dimly register the girl coming toward her, and then register the girl leaving for her room.

"Yeah, I nearly forgot," Applejack calls after her sharply, before she can disappear. On hearing the tone in her voice, the girl freezes in her tracks, the initial excitement in her bouncing figure evaporating in an instant. "Apple Bloom. Why didn't y'all wait for me to come pick you up?"

Apple Bloom turns back around and blinks, wavering. "Uhh... I waited for you for one hour an' a half... and you didn't come, so I thought you were busy or somethin'."

"You could've gotten into an accident. You could've gotten hurt," Applejack emphasises. "You worried me somethin' awful."

Apple Bloom furrows her brows. "I mean, the sun was settin'. Isn't it more dangerous to be going home after the sun sets? Also, I'm old enough to be going home myself! Scootaloo, Sweetie, all my friends go home by themselves."

"Don't talk back to me," Applejack growls. "If I instruct you to wait for me, then you're supposed to wait for me. I don't care what yer teacher says. Don't do that again. Understood?"

"......" Apple Bloom opens and closes her mouth, "Understood." Head bowed, she hugs the bamboo bundle against herself as she retreats mutely into her room.

Applejack stands there, fidgeting. Granny tries to say something again, but Applejack turns away abruptly, stalking into the kitchen.

She heads for the sink first, and picks up the sponge and detergent. She reaches for the dishes–

–only to find that they are all cleaned and dried.

Okay. That's fine. She washes the sponge, by force of habit, wrings it dry and puts it back on the rack. She goes for the laundry basket next, about to load it into the washing machine–

Then she realises the basket is empty, and the washing machine is whirring steadily.

"Applejack."

Applejack turns around and sees Big Mac standing in the doorway, his figure lumbering and silent.

"I've finished the chores," he states simply. After a pause, he adds, "You know, it's okay to have fun with your friends once in a while. You've had a long day. Eat yer dinner. Wash up. Go to bed."

"I suppose," Applejack mumbles.

So she does.

And she does.

~~~

The next few days—or maybe it was weeks—seem to pass by in a blur. Every day is just kind of the same. Wake up. Go to school, attend lessons. Come back home. Farmwork, homework, chores, then sleep. One day she opens her eyes, drags herself in front of the bathroom mirror and watches it intently. Back and forth, back and forth—the rhythmic motion of her hand holding her toothbrush distorts in the crack on her glass reflection.

"Rrrrngh.... Pweuggh!" Spitting out the frothy toothpaste in her mouth, she gargles the rest out with water, which drains down the sink pipes with a gurgle. She sets down the cup, gently, because she doesn't want to wake the family. Roosters crow in the distance as she does so; she wonders if they've always sounded so far away.

She leaves and makes for the kitchen. On the way, she passes by Apple Bloom's room, and pauses. With a creak, she pushes open the door and peeks inside, taking in the bed against the right end where the child's small figure lies curled up in a mass of blankets, chest rising and falling peacefully. On the room's floor is the package of bamboo, now opened, a saw, pencils and measuring tape, and several poles cut to varying lengths—shishi-odoshi parts. Applejack's nose scrunches at the sight.

"I done told that gurl not to leave tools lyin' around in her room." Tutting in a low breath, Applejack pushes the door all the way open, strides in, and gathers up the mess. "An' not to saw in her room, neither! She's gunna ruin the floor."

She deposits the items in the living room in a neat pile, and stares at it for a while.

Recently, Apple Bloom hasn't exactly been cooperative. See, after the success of their first blueprint, Apple Bloom had asked Applejack if she could continue helping her out with it, and Applejack had agreed. They'd had a great time together the first few days, when Applejack showed Apple Bloom how to use the saw properly and they'd marked out bamboo side-by-side, chatting and laughing. Then Applejack would sometimes come home earlier than her and notice how Apple Bloom's sawing was crooked, or mistakes in her measurements, and well, of course Applejack would sit down to fix them. And since she was on a roll, she'd do a little extra, like taking it upon herself to assemble some of the parts.

Apple Bloom seemed upset with that. She'd even snapped at her that day, saying that it was "her project" and that she "should be the one doing it". Applejack can't fathom why she gets so worked up. She should really be grateful for all the help she's been giving her.

Sighing, she stands up and heads to the kitchen. There, she bumbles around in the dark, lit only by a single lamp and light from the heated oven. Somewhere between that and getting in the van, breakfast is prepared and she's eaten.

These days, the roads at dawn are long and silent, save for a dialling ringtone that never picks up. She knows that sometimes Rainbow doesn't pick up, but it feels like she hasn't picked up in an awfully long time. Maybe it hasn't even been that long, and it's just Applejack's sense of time that's messed up, but what was once anticipation gives way to a dull ache in her heart. So she turns up the volume of the radio and tries to sing along, but it bothers her just how many of the songs there are about love. Songs about having a crush, songs about dating, songs about breaking up. Why are there so many? What's the big deal?

Finally, Achy Breaky Heart comes on. You can tell my lips to tell my fingertips, they won't be reaching out for you no more, Billy Ray Cyrus croons into the speakers, and that's when Applejack stretches over and jabs her finger into the switch, plunging the van into silence. The music is never as loud as the ringing, anyway. After a while, even that stops too.

The roads seem to stretch on forever.

~~~

ME: The cider season starts this Saturday. U swingin' by?

Best apple cider all year, you know it

RAINBOW DASH: dude sorry

I have flight training every weekend now UGHH i wish i could come

Can u grab me a bottle or smthing

ME: Sure ok

Cider season is busy. Today, it's the grand opening and they're off to a running start. Makeshift tents are set up on the grass hill smack between Sweet Apple Acres and the Harvest compound, white tarps spread out across wooden beams to block any possible rain— though today it's as sunny as it can get. People are milling all about, peering at the displays, enjoying the weather as they exchange pleasantries on the various benches, or sampling fruit and vegetables, brews and baked goods.

Applejack, from where she's standing behind the outdoor register, leans back to wipe the sweat rolling down her forehead and neck as she clears the next group of customers, an elderly man towing along two excitable grandkids who have picked for themselves a six-bottle crate of apple cider and a turnover.

"Cut the turnover in half, please," he says, "and serve it with two napkins."

"Got it, sir," Applejack pauses in sliding the turnover into the bag to snatch up a knife and carve it in two, then arches her back over to swipe for the napkin stack. "Unghh... here you go, sir. Remember to check out the carrot selection by the Harvests just over yonder! The sweetest carrots in town!"

"Maybe I will," the man says as he drops a clattering handful of coins onto the counter.

Counting them speedily, Applejack slides it into the cashier, rings it and waves them off with the smile that's been plastered on her face all day. "Thank y'all so much for comin'. Have a nice day!"

She watches as the three merge back into the sea of patrons mingling with each other. There's many a familiar face here: she spots the trio of local florists—Rose, Lily Valley, and Daisy—checking out the crates of fresh fruit. The Berry family is here with their children, a picnic mat laid out on the grass where Mr. and Mrs. Berry sit with mugs of cider as the Berry Jrs romp around the trees. Even Strawberry Sunrise is here, pointedly avoiding the apple products as she hangs around the carrot side of the tents. Strawberry Sunrise has always been vocal about her dislike of apples, something Applejack can never understand, but to each their own (even if Strawberry's taste is, objectively, wrong).

She sees Carrot Top there, who's manning the carrot juice sampling table with one of her siblings. She catches her eye, and feels the smile on her face widen into a genuine grin. They wave at each other.

It's at that moment when, suddenly, a throat clears behind her, and she turns around. Big Mac is there, his apron and gloves stripped off from when he had been working to reheat the apple turnovers. His matted ginger hair is combed back and obscured by a cap with an apple printed on it.

"Oh, Big Mac," Applejack calls, "it's your turn to cover the register?"

In response, Big Mac levels her a stare.

Here's the thing about Big Mac. He doesn't really talk. He only hums, nods and says "eeyup", or shakes his head and says "eenope". When he does speak he only speaks by strict necessity, when there's no other choice. Most of the time, the rest of them have to figure out what he wants to convey by his thousand-yard stare. It's a good thing most villagers know him well enough by now to passably understand his facial expressions, and his own family can read the faintest twitches and shifts of his muscles. Chewing on the inside of his left cheek means I am nervous and want to leave. Biting his upper lip means I am hungry but not terribly so. Flattened eyebrows and a glare mean dun even think about stealing our equipment or I will put yer noggin' through a wall.

Currently, the stare he's giving her is you know that's not what I wanted to talk about.

Because on the rare occasion when he does want to tell someone something, he will stop at nothing to be heard, and heard properly. Hence why Big Mac has been trailing her like a particularly pestilent fruit bat for the past hour.

Good thing, then, that Applejack is an Apple to the core—thick-headed stubbornness and all. She throws her head to aside, green eyes darting about desperately for an opening. There, she sees it: the flapping, sunlit banner of BARNYARD BARGAINS and the plump man with oil-slicked black hair planted in front of it, addressing a bunch of out-of-towners.

"Oh look, there's Filthy Rich. I gotta go over to talk to him," she blurts, slipping out from behind the counter. Pushing past her brother, she jogs off to the podium.

Filthy Rich notices her when she reaches. He whispers something to his undoubtedly important patrons, who nod and leave in a flock. Adjusting his tie, Filthy Rich turns his attention to her.

"Howdy there, Mr. Rich," Applejack removes her hat and holds it to her chest, as is custom.

"Hello there, Applejack." The corners of Filthy Rich's eyes crinkle in a smile. His moustache still looks as abhorrent as Applejack remembers it, moving along with the smile so it turns from a drooping rat to a rat doing yoga. Not much better. But, apart from the poor choice in facial hairstyle, Filthy Rich has aged like fine wine. "It's good to see you again."

Applejack puts her hat back on. "We sure are glad to have you back in person at Sweet Apple Acres today, sir. "

"You have here a magnificent cider season, Miss Apple," Filthy Rich chuckles. "Why, even if I weren't here to oversee the anniversary promotions, I'd come down here every year just to have a sampling of the finest apple cider in the country."

Applejack blushes from the praise. "Why, thank you sir. We at Sweet Apple Acres do put our everythang into that cider."

"Like how your Granny Smith puts it..." Filthy Rich smiles. "Made with love and integrity..."

"And only apples of highest quality," Applejack finishes with a beam of her own.

"I'd toast to that," Filthy Rich reaches to the side and holds an empty shot glass beneath the tap of a cider barrel. "Ah... are you old enough to drink now, Miss Apple?"

"Within reason," Applejack's lips curve. Mr. Rich's lips turn up as well. Giving her a knowing glance, he fills another glass to hand it to her.

"Cheers to the new season?"

"Cheers to the new season," Applejack echoes as she takes the glass. They knock their glasses together, clink, and then they sip. The cool liquid touches her lips, sweetness and tartness swirling all in one, and she swallows. Like a cloud sinking down her throat, the woody aftertaste settles in the pit of her stomach, warming her from the inside out.

"Perfection," Filthy Rich voices her thoughts. Applejack wipes her mouth on her arm, while Mr. Rich retrieves a silk kerchief from his coat pocket to dab at his own.

"It's difficult to stop at one glass, but alas, duty calls. Much better for those only here on vacation, not business... Come to think of it," he pauses. "Where's your rainbow-haired friend? I remember she's always the one begging for more cider. Is she late again?" He huffs with mirth. "If that girl just came on time, she would have more than enough to satiate her thirst."

Applejack shakes her head. "Nah, Rainbow ain't comin'. She's... busy this year."

"A pity," Filthy Rich looked like he was about to say more, but he must've caught something in her eyes, because he doesn't. He pauses, deliberating. Then, he changes the subject. "So, how's school?"

"Same old, same old," Applejack says. She changes the subject again, "And how's business?"

"Well..." Filthy Rich's moustache twitches, but the man lapses quickly into business-mode. "Well! The numbers so far are looking promising, and let's just say in the time we've had today," he leans in close, moustache lifting as he whispers, "I've managed to persuade some big players to invest in Barnyard Bargains, or at the very least, rouse their interest." He chuckles and leans back, shaking the rest of his glass. "Plus, with cider like this? This will surely be a splendid season. "

"If the Pears don't steal our business, that is," Applejack says dryly.

Applejack wasn't lying when she said the Apples get along with almost everyone in the village, but there is one exception: that being, the Pears. The Pears and Apples have a long-standing family feud. No one knows how it started, but all they know is that Granny gets really worked up whenever they are mentioned and refuses to explain. Either way, they're rivals now. The Pears are constantly trying to outdo them, and the Apples are always trying to one-up them. Just little things just to spite them. If the Apples got a brand new shovel, the Pears would get three more of the same brand. If the Apples were having a sale, the Pears were sure to be having a sale too, even though the pear harvesting season is a whole month earlier. And then there were the arguments over who was the better farmer and which fruit was better. Petty disputes that didn't matter.

Even right now, similar tents are stretched in front of the Pear compound, even though their retailer isn't even Barnyard Bargains. Grand Pear, the eldest of the family, sits in a rocking chair reading a newspaper.

"Oh," Filthy Rich blinks. "I wouldn't worry about them if I were you, Miss Apple."

"Why not?"

Filthy Rich contemplates. "Though they are by no means affiliated with the business, the Pears and I go way back. They are good and kindly folk, just like your family. Have a chat with them someday, you might just be surprised."

"Uh huh," Applejack scoffs as she glimpses Grand Pear giving them the stink-eye as he whispers to another Pear. "I dun think so."

~~~

Sometimes, now, Applejack takes a detour on the way home. Instead of going straight out the school gate once lessons have dismissed, she stops by the school dormitories. She first visits the boarding canteen, then the track. Then she goes into the stairwell and trudges up five flights of steps, walking down the end of the corridor to the last door. Room 520.

She remembers a time when she would stand outside this door and just pull, and the door would simply open. Rainbow would be inside, lounging on her bed or on the floor in nothing but a T-shirt and ripped shorts like a human-sized cat. She'd be scrolling on her phone, playing a video game, or, very rarely, doing assignments. Then, catching sight of her, Rainbow would grin lazily, like a real Cheshire, and invite her in, and they'd annhilate the final boss of whatever new game Rainbow is playing together. Or go out for a run. Or compete over something so random and spontaneous it would never have occurred to Applejack herself, sending pleasant tingles of thrill down her spine.

Now the door is locked. She knocks, but the occupant is never around. Sometimes she considers just calling Rainbow and telling her, I'm here, you wanna hang out or somethin'? It feels weird though, because in the past, Rainbow was usually the one initiating everything with her. Honestly, there isn't a point trying, is there? She always knows what the answer will be.

RAINBOW DASH: So sorry man, I'm busy. another time?

And so the door of room 520 stays locked.

~~~

On a Tuesday afternoon, Ms Cadance calls her into the guidance office.

The office is nice. Cosy all around, with dimmed lights and drawn curtains and beanbags that obscure the sharp corners where the walls meet. Motivational posters are pinned to a giant corkboard alongside a shelf lined with teddy bears and the odd cartoon figurine. Ms Cadance, the doe-eyed guidance counsellor with candy-coloured hair, sits in the middle of this office behind her desk. There's a jar of sweets on it. As Applejack sinks into the cushiony chair on the other end, Ms Cadance unscrews the cap and lifts the jar in her direction to offer her a pick, but Applejack declines with the wave of a hand.

"No thank you, ma'am."

"Ahh, I forgot." Ms Cadance makes a 'gotcha' pose at her. "You don't like sweets."

"Yeah." Not that kind, anyway. Too sweet. Tastes fake.

"Good for you. Healthy lifestyle," she remarks, putting the jar away. Applejack smiles awkwardly.

Ms Cadance was the first person Applejack had ever talked to in CHS, when she was lost in the hallways, unsure of where to go. She'd pulled her into her office and aided her through a bunch of study and living arrangements, as well as given her some resource booklets to get her started on the Canterlot way of life. Overall, Ms Cadance is a very friendly, genuine and helpful counsellor, and has a keen memory of the students under her care, though Applejack wouldn't go so far as to describe them as close on a personal level.

"Well, how are you feeling, Applejack?" Ms Cadance chirps. "Coping well with school?"

"Alright, I guess," Applejack shrugs. "There's nothin' much... other than finals, of course, but for now, there's nothin' much."

"Ah, isn't it stressful being a student these days," Ms Cadance fans herself. "That's understandable. But don't worry, you still have many months to gear yourself up! Remember, the finals are a marathon, not a sprint."

"Yeah... anyway...Is there anythang you asked me here for?" Applejack says, squirming slightly in her seat. "My grades last year weren't too bad, are they?"

"Straight to the chase, Applejack. Fine, we'll do things your style," Ms Cadance 'gotchas' her again. "And oh, no, not at all. I'm only calling you here to ask you a few questions, mm-hm? Don't stress." Humming, Ms Cadance turns around to rifles through the wall of oak cabinets behind her. Then she produces a blue binder labelled Apple Jacqueline, flipping it open. "Have you started thinking about what you're going to study in university?"

"Agriculture, I guess." she shrugs.

"Hmm," Ms Cadance studies her. "And you're decided on it? Remember, you're going to be studying this subject for the next four or five years. Also, do you have other choices? In case it doesn't work out."

"Other choices..." Applejack racks her brain. "Well...uh...I dunno, ma'am." She's never given other options a thought. She's always given the same answer to these questions, because... well... farm.

"Think about something you like to do? Any hobbies?" Ms Cadance prompts.

"I guess, I, er," Applejack thinks back to when she was absently sketching out the workings of Apple Bloom's shishi-odoshi, imagining all the parts moving together as one. "I like buildin' things?"

Ms Cadance beams. "Then you could think about Engineering."

"Oh..."

"Or maybe even Architecture, if you're into that. You can explore the universities' websites, see if you like anything. There are many courses that they offer. In fact, we're even having a school career fair, though that's still quite far away from now. But in the meantime, you can do your own research. It's never too early to start."

"...Maybe."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," Ms Cadance notes. "Is something wrong?"

"To be honest, ma'am," Applejack chews her bottom lip. Below the table, her fingers dig into her clammy palms, where Ms Cadance can't see them. "I might not be goin' to university at all," she admits.

"Oh? Why?"

"I mean, there's not really a point, is there?" Applejack says dryly. "I don't need a college degree to run the farm."

Ms Cadance tilts her head. "So, after high school... you're just going to go back to working on the farm?"

"...Yeah." When Ms Cadance puts in that way, it sounds kind of sad. "I mean, there isn't really much of a choice. The farm ain't gonna run itself, and you know..." She ruffles her own hair and lets out a long, deep breath. "The farm counts on me. I dun have anyone to fall back on, and I can't rightly expect an eighty-year-old woman or an eleven-year-old child to do the grunt work and manage the business stuff."

"Ah," Ms Cadance hums in thought, tapping her fingers together. "What about your brother? Can't he help?"

"I guess there's him," Applejack concedes reluctantly. "But... t'ain't fair. He gave up goin' to college so he could support the farm with me. He had offers, y'know, from all the way across the country. But he gave it up. T'ain't fair at all for me to abandon him this time around so I can go and pursue a degree, or whatnot."

"Does it have to be one or the other?"

"Yes," Applejack says. "Money is an issue too. Wait," she interrupts Ms Cadance before she can speak again. She sighs, a sour taste in her mouth. "I know what yer gonna tell me, ma'am. I've heard it a million times before: Oh, no! Go chase yer dreams! Follow yer heart! An' I'm sayin', sometimes it just ain't realistic." She puts a hand over her heart. "And it's okay! I love the farm, and I love seein' mah family. You dun need to try an' convince me that the farm ain't important, or somethin' like that, because it is to me, and I wouldn't give them up for the world, much less a college major—"

"I wasn't trying to tell you to give up the farm," Ms Cadance cuts her off, gently. "I was just suggesting, rather, a third path. A path that can give you the best of both worlds."

Shakily, Applejack inhales. "Such as?"

"There are scholarships targeted at students from rural areas like yours," Ms Cadance taps a few things into her computer, pulls up a website, and scrolls through the list for Applejack to see. "Ones that allow you to attend college with arrangements to allow you to go back to the farm regularly, similar to what you're doing right now. The scholarship covers a large part of the fees for relevant courses, and the courses teach you things that will directly help you better your farm or even the village."

"Okay," Applejack says, "but scholarships need you to have good grades and extracurriculars. Of both, I have none."

"Then sign up for some," Ms Cadance suggests. "Application windows are still open. And your grades aren't that bad, you just have to study a little harder and you will have a decent shot. You don't have to get into the top-tier colleges either, there are plenty of reputable universities that don't have high cut-offs."

"But... but... I don't need to," Applejack persists, "I can just stay on the farm for life and I'm fine with it. Really."

"Then, I've been wondering," Ms Cadance rests her elbows on the table. "Why, Applejack, did you accept the offer to Canterlot High all those years ago?"

Applejack is silent.

"Think about it," Ms Cadance urges her. "Alright?"

~~~

Applejack's footsteps slow in the hallway.

There's a noticeboard on wheels that isn't usually there. Peering at it, she sees that it's covered in posters advertising tryouts for the school's various clubs.

The poster for the track club catches her attention. There's a group picture of the club's members here, thirty-odd students on a field in gym shorts and matching T-shirts grinning sweatily into the camera. In the centre of them all, the captain, Rainbow Dash, raises the school flag. Applejack's eyes linger on the proud smirk on her face, frozen in time.

"Hello there, Applejack."

"Whoaaaaaa nelly!" Applejack jumps so hard her hat lurches off her head, going airborne for a few seconds. Then she slaps a hand over it and turns around squarely to see Fluttershy standing behind her

"Oh, um, did I scare you?" the taller girl stammers, curling into herself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Applejack snorts. "Nonsense. Ya just surprised me, is all." Casually, she leans against the wall. "What're you doin' here?"

"Oh, I was just passing by," Fluttershy tucks a pink strand behind her ear, peering at the noticeboard too. "What are you looking at? Clubs? I thought you said you never had the time."

"Yeah, well, Ms Cadance just done called me up and told me I had to bump up my extracurriculars, so ain't got much of a choice now," Applejack grumbles.

"Ah, I see," Fluttershy makes a noise. "So what are you planning to join?"

"I was fixin' to join, uhh," Applejack glances at the noticeboard again, flinging her gaze at the furthest thing she can find from the track picture—some poster with a photo of a girl with neon turquoise hair, surrounded by scarily detailed diagrams of human anatomy. She squints at the cursive title above it. "I've always been interested in astro... anpro... apothecary?"

"Oh! Lyra's club! I didn't know you liked anthropology," Fluttershy says, eyebrows raising. "Well, but I must say I wasn't expecting that. I thought you'd join track."

Applejack bites her lip. "Uh. Why?"

"Oh, simple," Fluttershy says, turning shining teal eyes on her. "Because you like..."

"I like..."

"Sports!" Fluttershy finishes with a smile. "You're always such a good runner during P.E.. Plus," she pauses, "Rainbow Dash is there too."

Applejack chokes. "Ahahaha! Yeah! It would be plum great to be in the same club with my best friend. Uh huh." She laughs as she smooths back her bangs, forehead suddenly sweaty.

"So you are joining track after all?"

"Well, I'd love to, but no." Applejack's eyes rove over the training schedule. Three hours of training per session, three times a week. "It's way too heavy of a commitment. I'm taking out a little time, but I can't afford to take out that much time." If she could really spend another nine hours a week with Rainbow, she would in a heartbeat. But life doesn't always give you what you want.

"Ahh, yeah," she nods. A little silence settles between them.

"...Applejack?"

"Yeah?"

Fluttershy hesitates, looking down at her shoes. When she speaks again, it's in a low, nervous murmur, but it's audible nonetheless. "You know... back on our shopping trip together..."

"—I already said, it dun matter."

"No, but still, you deserve an apology," Fluttershy says firmly. "And I was the one who suggested we tag along in the first place. I feel really bad for not putting your considerations first on that day. We all do."

"Considerations which I should have just made clear from the beginning if I wanted. I know it's hard to understand, but..." Applejack swallows. "I just didn't feel like disrupting y'all, okay? I did have a good time. Honest. And y'all did manage to help me get what I needed in the end, so we're even now."

"Well, actually, I do kind of understand," Fluttershy interjects, looking up. "I'm a big sister too. I have a little brother, and he is the most gigantic asshole I know," her face blanches at that as a hand flies over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Applejack sniggers. "Do go on."

"Yes, what I meant to say, was," Fluttershy bites her lip as she composes herself. "Sometimes when he whines and demands to get his way, I let him have it, even though it's not what I really want," she sighs and hugs her books to her chest. "Maybe it's the same for you, maybe it's not, but I think as big sisters— especially when there's a large age gap—we're used to compromising and letting things pass quietly because it's not worth the trouble."

Applejack doesn't say anything, but nods quietly.

"But, you don't have to do that around us," Fluttershy emphasises, her gaze serious. "You're one of our cherished friends. We are equals," she grasps her shoulder, "so if you ever need someone to talk to, we're all here. I know that you're busy, but if you ever need anything, we can call or text, or whatever you need."

"...Okay."

"Good," she lets out a sigh of relief. "...Want a hug?"

"Sure."

Fluttershy encircles her in a warm embrace, patting her back gently. Applejack feels her shoulders relax, like a heavy load being taken off her. They separate, exchanging smiles, and Applejack feels a lot better. She can sense Fluttershy does too.

"So, if not track, then what are you gonna join, Applejack?" she questions.

"Well..." Applejack hesitates, her gaze sweeping over the numerous posters.

~~~

Applejack goes for the track tryouts anyway.

The running track, like everything else in CHS, is huge. First of all, CHS has its own in-built stadium, with stands and floodlights and everything. At first glance, the track looks like any standard oval track, a 400-metre red loop around a football field of artificial grass, but there's actually a section that branches off into a longer version of the track that goes back around the stands and the nearest school block. The longer version makes one lap come to around 750 metres and goes over hilly areas, and thus runners usually use that one when they want to give their endurance a greater challenge.

Or when Coach is feeling spicy. Like today.

"Alright, punks!" the track coach, Iron Will, barks into his megaphone. "You are here for track tryouts! If you're not, I don't give a crap. If you're here now, you run or I'll drag your sorry arse back." He squints at the three boys at the back talking inattentively among themselves. "You think you're tough shit, huh? Everyone, we're doing the long track today, since you guys are so damn confident. Seven laps. Lead the way, Bulk!"

"YEEAAAAAH!" howls Bulk Biceps, the vice captain. Flexing his bulging pectorals, then his massive quads, he marches to the front and squats in preparation, snorting like a bull. The students visibly shudder, and shuffle in line behind him. At the signal of Iron Will, they're off.

Applejack isn't really one for speed, but if there's one thing she's good for, it's her stamina. The overconfident zealots zoom ahead of her, sticking their tongues out at her as they go, but lose breath after a round or two, and Applejack overtakes them from there. Watching the egoistical smirks fizzle off their faces, clearly not expecting this 'backward country bumpkin' to beat them in something, fills her with a thin satisfaction—but it's not nearly enough. She's far too busy looking for something, or someone, who isn't there.

Soon, her own thudding footsteps join the stomping ones of Bulk Biceps, who, like her, goes slow but steady. When he notices her, he gives her a goofy grin, slowing his pace down a little for Applejack to catch up to him.

"Hey!" he belts out, seemingly not tired at all. "What's up!" He squints at her. "You new?"

"Yes, but no," Applejack answers. "I mean, I ain't no freshman, an' I've seen you guys around before, but I ain't ever tried for track, either."

"Huh, why not? You seem good at running to Bulk," he remarks, nodding his head at the runners who have given up and are just walking, or else are sitting on the track and gasping for air while Iron Will blasts threats of collateral damage at them on his megaphone's highest setting: Still think you're cut out for running? Why are you even here? Get up and continue!

"Wasn't all that interested in it," Applejack says cursorily. She pauses. "Ya wouldn't happen to know where Rainbow is?"

"Oh! You know Rainbow Dash!" Bulk's mouth forms an 'O'.

Applejack smiles wryly. "I think everyone knows Rainbow Dash."

"Ohhhh. Yeaaah," he blinks slowly. "She's... not here."

"The captain of the team isn't here to observe tryouts?"

"Yeah, but Bulk doesn't know why," Bulk shrugs his shoulders. "Could be anywhere. That one, busy these days." Then he squints at her again closely. Does a double-take, as recognition sparks in his eyes: "Oh! Now I remember you. You're that girl who came in a tie with Rainbow Dash in first year!"

"Ah," Applejack averts her gaze. "Yup, that's me."

"Distance running, I still remember," Bulk smacks his fists together, beaming in excitement. "Bulk was there, you know, running in the same race as you two. But Bulk was far behind, of course. You're so cool, man. Bulk better at running now, but Bulk never came close to beating Rainbow Dash. Not even once."

"It wasn't no big deal, really..."

"Itsa big deal!" Bulk huffs and puffs out his chest. "Bulk wants to run like you. What's your name? Bulk wanna know the name of CHS track's latest member," he grins.

"Uhh... I'm Applejack," she says, but shakes her head with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I know I'm here for tryouts, but I'm not gonna join the club. Don't have the time for it, you see."

"Awww, man, that's a pity. But hey! Applejack," Bulk shrugs as they both slow to a halt at the finish line. "If you can't join the team, maybe you can come join us at practice. Could really use someone to take Rainbow Dash down a peg."

"Maybe," Applejack says. They stay at the finish line for a while, talking amicably until everyone has completed the run and Iron Will dismisses them with a cooldown exercise and a hearty roar of affirmation. As they bid their farewells at the lockers, Applejack rummages about in her bag to retrieve a bottle.

"Hey, help pass this to Rainbow fer me when you see her, will ya? I might not be seein' her around much, so..." She shrugs.

"Fresh apple cider," Bulk Biceps reads the label. "Hmmm, alright! I'll do that for ya."

"It was nice meeting ya, Bulk," she tips her hat as she leaves, "a real pleasure."

He beams and waves. "Back at youuu!"

~~~

Applejack still glimpses Rainbow Dash on the TV sometimes, because the press can't seem to stop yapping about their shiny new Wonderbolt. Once, Applejack was at Target wondering if she should ask Rainbow if she needs anything picked up for her, when she hears her: as in, she hears Rainbow's breathy voice giggling over the mall speakers.

Looking up, she'd seen a television broadcasting a documentary: Rainbow Dash, leaning back in the seat of a small plane as she narrates, voice just audible over the whirring of engines. The camera affixed to the roof of the cockpit afforded a view of the cerulean sky behind her, and the ground kilometres below her.

Applejack's breath had caught as Rainbow teased the joystick, sending the plane into series of rapid rolls, then lurching spins, eliciting gasps from the talk hosts in the back seats. Applejack, too, had felt weightless for a second when she watched Rainbow's plane twirl and zip among those clouds so high. In a close-up shot, Rainbow grinned from behind her helmet's visor like she was having the time of her life. And she probably was.

At this point, Applejack can't help but think that she's just chasing a shadow. An imagining, let's say, of the past. She needs to stop forgetting that she's not a fourteen-year-old who can afford to get down in the dumps over puppy love, and Rainbow isn't the fourteen-year-old she knew back then anymore: the one who never had anything but a big mouth and time. Rainbow Dash is on her way to becoming a world-class aerobatic pilot, and Applejack is...

Applejack is...

~~~

According to rumour, Iron Will is more pissed than a bull with its horns pulled off after she'd rejected track's offer, but Applejack has other things to worry about. On a Thursday afternoon, Applejack strolls into an unused classroom tucked away on the sixth floor in a corner, so secluded that she hadn't known it existed until today. One look at the classroom's door tells her that she's in the right place: spray painted all over it is a realistic portrait of a salmon with feet and a billion other similarly surrealistic doodles.

Decor Club. One-and-a-half hour, once a week, no auditions required to enter. There isn't even a sign-up form to fill in; the poster says to "just walk in anytime". Now, the Decor Club is not to be confused with Art Club, the one that's vaunted on national TV and advertised on the pages of their open house brochures. Decor Club is a student-founded interest group started by salty Art Club rejects and their friends who liked the idea of doing art in a club but didn't want the pressure of representing the school for competitions. That's not to say the Decor Club does nothing... Well, Applejack isn't entirely sure what it is they do. But that's what she's here to find out.

Pushing open the door, she finds a bunch of students not so much seated as they are arranged in the classroom. Some are in chairs behind a desk, normal, some of them are sitting on top of the desks, still normal, and then there are some just sprawled out on the floor like octopuses. They all seem visibly stressed, shoulders hunched and muttering amongst themselves in frantic tones, while those that aren't participating in the discussion are slumped over like the very life has been sucked out of them.

Strange. Applejack hadn't been expecting anything of Decor Club, but she'd thought they would be chill, to say the least. Not...this.

She hovers in the doorway, unsure what to do. That's when one of the octopus students cracks an eyelid open to appraise her.

"You're in the wrong place," he croaks, still laying on the floor, "this is the Decor Club's room."

"Uh, yeah," Applejack blinks. "I'm here to join Decor Club."

"Oh! You are?" he jolts, and instantly leaps up from the ground. He takes a moment to orient himself, as if he really has eight limbs and is getting used to operating with four. Then he stalks over—on two legs—to greet her.

"Hey!" he flashes a weary smile. "Oh, thank everything you're here. We've been in need of more people for a while. Uh, I'm Wizkid, the chairperson of Decor Club...for now at least," he chuckles as he offers a hand out.

"Hey there yerself, Wizkid. Applejack." Applejack shakes the hand. "Whaddya mean 'for now'?"

"Oh, in Decor Club we kinda rotate the positions," Wizkid says, doing a circling motion with his finger. "So there isn't really an official fixed chairperson, per se. I'm the chairperson for this week or month or so, then someone else can be the next chairperson. Maybe you could be!"

"Heh, uh, thanks, but I'll pass," Applejack dismisses. Then she squints. "Wait. Come to think of it... ya look mighty familiar, actually. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah," Wizkid titters nervously, a hand scratching at his brown bowl cut and the other fiddling with a stiff collar. "Yeah... I'm in your Bio class."

"Right!" Applejack remembers, slapping her forehead. "I helped you distribute worksheets on the first day. Consarnit, I really am plum forgetful."

"I mean, it's alright," Wizkid reassures her. "We're all busy these days."

"Mhmm," Applejack glances away. "Say... you're all lookin' real worked up. What's goin' on?"

"Oh, you see," he gives a perplexed exhale and wrings his arms behind his back, pacing in a tight, anxious circle. "This year, Art Club is busy with a competition or something at the moment, so the school told us that Decor Club's now in charge of prepping the school for Fall Formal. Everybody is tearing their hair out because we were just informed, and there's only a month till then."

On cue, someone lets out a tortured cry and keels over like a dying cow, pencil-holding hand still twitching above her sketches.

"Yeah...so..." Wizkid shrugs helplessly. "We're just trying to brainstorm ideas that we can get done up by the deadline, I guess. Sorry we couldn't give you a warmer reception," he chuckles sheepishly.

"Hey, it's fine, I literally just walked in y'all's front door," Applejack says. "C'mon, I wanna help. What I can I do for you guys?"

"Oh, uhh, right now we're in the brainstorming phase," Wizkid says. He shuffles towards the teacher's desk and grabs a cardboard box from under the table, snatching out a few sheets of scrap paper. "You can work on these, or the whiteboard if you prefer, there's markers on the table. Basically, we need ideas for the theme and the decorations. Don't need to worry too much about the budget yet—I mean, don't make it too outrageous, but—just concentrate on getting the ideas out, okay? I've got to go... settle some stuff," he gestures at some forms.

"Got it," Applejack says and takes the sheets of paper. As she gets out her pencil case, she can already feel the gears in her mind turning, toying with the new tasks that have been assigned to her. Setting up a mass event? Budgeting? She's managed the cider season for years and years on end now. Applejack's got this, alright, she's got this in the bag.

She's in the process of zipping her schoolbag up when she feels the front pocket vibrate in her grasp. Reaching in, her fingers close around her ringing phone and flip it open. When her gaze flicks over the caller ID, her heart leaps into her throat.

Rainbow Dash is calling her.

Applejack hesitates... hesitates...

Then swipes a finger over the red Hang Up.

I'm busy, she types her a text, and sends. It feels like she's getting back at her, and it's so petty. Childlike. But she does it anyway. Then she puts her phone on silent and throws it at the bottom of her bag.

They're all getting older, and they're getting busier. Applejack is, too. Maybe it's for the better. As long as she's preoccupied, she won't think about her.

Maybe this is what she's needed all along: to let go.

~~~

Comments

[swiftlydash]

Loved this chapter! I love the idea of AJ joining an art-adjacent club as well I loved Fluttershy and AJ’s little interaction as well, it’s rare they get to interact in fics!