Scootaloo records her move to Cloudsdale in a series of unsent letters to Rainbow Dash.
Scootaloo has never had the best luck. Her parents never seem to get along, she's moved seven times in her eleven years of life, and she'll never be able to be like other pegasi. But in the past year, things have been looking up for her. She's made friends, and it seems like she might be staying in one place for a little while.
Then, without any warning, her parents decide that the family will be living in Cloudsdale with Scootaloo's grandmother.
In her frustration, Scootaloo writes a letter to Rainbow Dash, never intending to send it . . . and to her surprise, chooses to contine writing. Over the course of several months, Scootaloo learns secrets about her family, her idol, and maybe even herself,
Well, maybe you've figured out what's happened by now.
My parents have decided that it's necessary to move AGAIN. The weird thing is, though, there was no discussing it before. And I don't know who's in our house now. And we're living in Grandma's house suddenly.
Daddy woke me up early this morning, even though it's the end of summer vacation and I should be allowed to savor my sleep. Of course, I didn't argue. I know I'm supposed to stand up for myself, but I swear, if you saw the look in his eyes, you would have gone along with what he said, too. You would.
Anyway, what he said was something along the lines of "throw everything important in a bag, leave everything else, and get your blank flank downstairs as soon as possible."
I did, of course—and trust me, it wasn't easy, since Daddy was breathing down my neck and yelling all about how my photograph of Sweetie Belle and Applebloom wasn't important, and how I wouldn't need a scooter where we were going.
It was then that I got really curious. "Where are we going?" I asked him, shying away from him in case he was in a bad enough mood to hit me. Trust me, it's happened before, and it gets scary.
Weirdly, as soon as I spoke, he lost all of the anger that he had expressed earlier. Covering his face with a hoof, he sort of crumpled onto my bed and sat there weakly. "We're staying with Grandma in Cloudsdale for a bit," he said softly, and the tone of his voice was so sad that I decided I'd shut up and keep on packing.
I finished packing in the span of a few minutes—with my scooter gone, there was plenty of space to pack "important" things like a toothbrush. More scared now that Daddy had begun being depressed, I stumbled down our rickety stairs, puffing under the weight of my box. Daddy followed behind me, and though I was bursting with questions—why were we going to Grandma's? Is it just for a day-long visit? If it is, why do I need to pack everything? How long is this "bit" that we'll be staying there?—I stayed silent, terrified that if I spoke again, he'd either start moving his hooves in the direction of my face or start crying.
Momma was downstairs, looking agitated and tapping her hoof. She gave me a sharp look, then stomped towards Daddy. "How long does it take to get your daughter to pack?" he hissed, speaking in the tone of voice that's supposed to be quiet but is louder than any scream.
"Scootaloo and I were trying our hardest," he muttered, losing a bit of his sadness and growing angrier.
"Of course," said Momma, rolling her eyes. "Just like you were trying your hardest when you lost your job, right?"
Daddy went white and stomped out the door, heading in the direction of our chariot. Momma followed him, making a lot of noise and mumbling curses.
For a few seconds, I stood alone in the house. Some things were missing—the blankets that lay on the couch, the school picture on the fridge, the rug in the front hall. That was when I started to get really scared. If Momma and Daddy were taking the rug, it was probably unlikely that we were going to Grandma's for a brief visit. Were we . . . were we moving again? But if that was true, why hadn't the real estate mares come and checked out our house?
Momma stuck her head through the open door, looking angry. "Well, Scootaloo? Are you planning to come, or are you planning to stay in this house?"
I'm planning on staying here, thanks, I was tempted to say. Instead, I grabbed the box and trotted out the door, hoping that her question didn't really require an answer.
I jumped in the back seat of our chariot, watching silently as Momma and Daddy laced themselves up into their saddles. With a couple of whinnies and bucks, they flapped their wings and began the journey to Cloudsdale.
Glancing around the car, I noticed that there were other boxes, most likely filled with Momma and Daddy's ever-so-important belongings. Growing uncomfortable with the corrugated cardboard—it reminds me of the many times I've moved—I peered over the side of our chariot ,trying to make out ponies I knew in the streets. But the clouds blocked my view, and we quickly grew high enough so that I could barely make out the houses.
Only when I looked away from the ground did I notice the silence in the chariot. "Why are we going to Grandma's?" I asked timidly. Both my parents kept staring straight ahead, and it was about thirty seconds before Daddy finally spoke.
"We're having some problems getting enough bits," he said carefully. "When I lost my job, we lost a significant amount of money, and we can't pay rent any more. We thought it might be a good idea to live with Grandma for a little while."
"How long?" I asked, a dark pit forming in my stomach. "Can I still go to school in Ponyville? Will I get to see Applebloom and Sweetie?"
Momma twisted back and gave me a long, hard look. "Do you really think that we're going to have enough time to bring you down to see your friends every day? And they do have schools in Cloudsdale, you know. We thought it would be a good idea to move in late summer, so you can have a bit of time to adjust to your surroundings before school starts."
"Considerate," I said under my breath after she had turned around. Really polite. Oh, we're moving with no warning—but we'll move in late summer so you can adjust!
The rest of the chariot ride was silent. It's a pretty short ride, you know—lots of ponies fly all the way from Ponyville to Cloudsdale. We couldn't do that, obviously, because of all our boxes, and frankly, I was glad. Who wants to ride on their mother's back when she looks like she wants to buck everypony in the face?
When we arrived at Grandma's, I didn't move for a few seconds. (You have to understand that it was only eight in the morning, and I had been told more information than a filly should have to digest in her whole lifetime.) Momma and Daddy were unlacing their saddles and grabbing a few boxes, so they didn't seem to care. It was only when Momma glared at me, as if to say, "Get your scrawny flank out of there and help," that I grabbed my box and trotted towards Grandma's house.
Whenever we go to Grandma's, there's always a big scene when we walk in. She makes a big fuss of pinching my cheeks, and Momma and Daddy get along for a little while, and she comments on how small my wings are. I would mind the small-wing comment, except she says the solution for wing growth is to eat more. That means she practically shoves gingerbread down my throat, which I don't have a problem with.
But today's entrance was different. There wasn't the scent of gingerbread, and Grandma was quiet when we came in. Momma and Daddy snapped at each other like Grandma wasn't even there. And when I looked at Grandma, she sighed and shook her head—not in a mean way, in a "what have I gotten myself into" way.
"Let's go up to your new room," she whispered, placing a warm hoof on my back and nudging me in the direction of a guest room.
(Okay, I know that this isn't the biggeset problem right now, but can I just complain about how small my room is? And how ugly the orange fuzzy quilt is? And how lumpy the mattress is? I thought that clouds were supposed to be comfortable, but Grandma's are all lumpy and gray.)
I sort of tossed my box of items on the ground and glanced around. Grandma sat down on my (new, ugly) bed, and I noticed for the first time how old she looks. I mean, she's like ten years younger than Granny Smith, but Granny Smith always looks like she's having fun. In the few quiet moments that Grandma and I stayed in my new room, I could only think of how incredibly wrinkly and sad she looked. Even her wings looked wrinkled. (I would have made a joke to her about how her wings were getting smaller, but it would have been so tacky.)
When Momma and Daddy really started going nuts, Grandma touched my shoulder.
"Why don't you go outside?" she asked, except it was more like a command than a question. So I went out and walked around the block a few times. This is the complete list of what I saw:
- A bunch of cloud houses - A baby playing with its doll - A few teenage ponies wearing too much eyeliner, who all looked at me like they knew I didn't belong - No trees, dirt, or anything reminiscent of Ponyville - Clouds, clouds, clouds, and . . . oh, yeah, there were more clouds. I don't think I've ever hated clouds more.
When it started to get dark, I went back to Grandma's and found that the house was filled with the scent of gingerbread and vegetable loaf. Somehow, though, it didn't comfort me. And neither did our equally tense and boring dinner, where Daddy said maybe two words, Momma muttered about the crazy amount of bits that houses cost, and Grandma tried to fill in the silence by making incredibly lame jokes. I ate my veggie loaf so fast I practically choked and didn't stay for gingerbread, even though Grandma makes such good gingerbread it should be sold at Sugarcube Corner.
Ponyfeathers. Now I miss Sugarcube Corner along with a billion other things about Ponyville.
Anyway, once I had tossed my plate in the sink, I hurried off to my stupid new room. I felt like I couldn't breathe, but I didn't want to go outside and see all the lame clouds. I know that I'm supposed to like clouds, and even have a job working with clouds someday, but I swear, I can't stand them.
Instead of getting some fresh air, I climbed onto my bed and lay there for a moment, feeling the uncomfortable squish of the stupid bed beneath my hooves. Then, completely randomly, I thought of you.
I wonder if you're missing me, Rainbow. Actually, I wonder if you even know that I've left. I'm sure that Applebloom and Sweetie Belle are freaking out, and the thing that's killing me is how I can't even tell them. Well, obviously there's the mail, but that's not what I mean by can't. I mean that I'm humiliated to tell them that we're short of bits and have to live with my grandmother in Cloudsdale, and I can't bear to tell them that the whole reason we're here is that Daddy lost his job. Then they'd try to raise money, and they'd fail, and it would all just be too horrible.
So I thought, Hey, maybe I should write to Rainbow Dash. And so here I am, writing this stupid letter to you on some stupid stationary that I found in this stupid room.
You know what? I've been writing all about how stupid everything is, but maybe it's really me who's stupid. Maybe I'm the stupid pony, thinking that you won't spill everything to Bloom and Belle. I'm an idiot for even thinking that you'll want to read this letter. I'm stupid for thinking that you'll even know who I am. You'll look at the return address and think, "Who's Scootaloo?" And then you'll throw this stupid letter away.
You know what? I'm not even going to send this letter to you. I'm going to toss this in the trash can and pretend I never wrote anything to you. This is stupid. I'm stupid. My parents are stupid.
. . . Why did we have to move?
Great, just monumentally great. Now I'm crying. I'm gonna crumple this up and hide it somewhere far away, so that nopony can find it and know how stupid I am. ("What's this? Oh, a letter from Scootaloo. Ha! She's hoping that the coolest pony in all of Equestria will care about her foalish problems! Not a chance!") And then I'm gonna try to sleep on this stupid bed. Maybe when I wake up, this will all be a bad dream.
I don't really know what happened to me. It's just that I woke up today, and I saw my crumpled letter to you in the bottom of my box, and my heart went all sappy. I sound so dumb and cheesy, and I know that you'd hate it, but that's exactly how I felt. Now I know why some ponies say "sleep on it." Everything seemed so much easier to understand after a long sleep, even if I did have to sleep under a stupid itchy blanket.
So I walked over to the box and pulled out my letter, smoothing it out. Then I hid it under my pillow—Miss Cheerilee says that if you really want to think something over, legend has it that sleeping with it will help you. I figure it'll help me decide if I want to keep writing these dopey letters. I'm still definitely not sending them—I've decided on that. There's way too much personal stuff in these letters, and I don't know where the mailbox is here anyway.
I stared at my pillow for a few seconds, feeling proud for no reason. Then my stomach started growling, and I smelled Grandma's oatmeal. I know that some ponies don't like oatmeal, but that's because they've never tried Grandma's oatmeal. She always suggests that I cook it with her, but I know I'd screw it up somehow.
Anyway, I trotted out of the room with a smile on my face. Grandma noticed me smiling as I entered the kitchen and placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me.
"You look happy, Miss Scootaloo," she said cheerfully, kissing me on the head. "You went to bed without getting any gingerbread last night, so I assumed that something was wrong."
I considered telling her about the letter and you for a moment, but I decided against it. Grandma's nice and a good cook and all, but she's too nosy and might end up telling Momma and Daddy. "Nope," I said, taking a gloppy spoonful of oatmeal and filling up my mouth so I couldn't talk. "Just tired."
She gave me a wary glance. "I see," she said criptickcriptikacriptically CRYPTICALLY. (I'm not exactly sure what that word means, but Miss Cherilee said it a couple of times last year.) For a few minutes, we were quiet. I was eating as much oatmeal as possible, and Grandma was looking at me sideways, her hooves pressed together.
"Have you learned which school you're going to?" she asked finally. Since my mouth was filled with oatmeal, I shook my head. The oatmeal in my mouth turned to stone, and it felt like I was swallowing a boulder.
"Not yet," I mumbled. Pleadingly, I looked up at her. "Can't I go to Ponyville Elementary? Even if I can't see Applebloom and Sweetie Belle all the time, I still want to—"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Scootaloo. I wish you could see your friends. But there's so way I can strap myself up to the chariot every day, and your parents will be busy, and I'm not sure if the public chariot times are coordinated with your school schedule."
Thank you, Grandma, for crushing every bit of hope I had left.
She paused, and I realized that she had an opening to start complaining about my flightless state. Frantically, I started thinking up new conversation starters, but she beat me to it.
"Of course, you could fly down, but of course your wings are far too small. You can't fly a foot, let alone a couple of miles! I'm telling you, Flighty Breeze" (that's Momma) "and Strong Hoof" (Daddy) "have got to start giving you some training. Why, when I was your age, I was flying from Ponyville to Cloudsdale in under an hour. Of course, plenty of young pegasi are soft nowadays, but not the ones going to flight camp. Hmm," she said, looking deep in thought, "that's not a bad idea. Perhaps I'd better talk to your momma about—"
"So, do you know which school I'm going to?" I asked loudly and desperately.
That snapped her out of her full-blown rant. "Ah, yes. Cloudsdale Elementary. An excellent school." She pushed her glasses up her nose, looking dignified. "When I was your age, I went to Cloudsdale Elementary. I always dreamed that my daughter, or perhaps my granddaughter, would attend. When your mother chose to move to Ponyville and have a child there, I believed my hopes were shattered. Luckily, though, you're in Cloudsdale now!"
I was considering giving her a black eye for her complete lack of tact, but of course that wouldn't go over well with Momma and Daddy.
She seemed to realize her poor choice of words. Luckily? "Of course, it's nothing special. And I understand that you're not happy about your situation. Perhaps once you're finished with your oatmeal, we can go out and visit the school? Your mother and father are already aware of what the school looks like, so it's unnecessary to stop them from searching for new jobs."
That made me realize that maybe this whole thing is better thought out than I know. If they know what my school looks like, how much did they plan this? I mean, obviously they didn't plan it, since we don't have a home anymore, but maybe they're more responsible than I know. Or not.
Anyway, since it was clear I didn't want to eat anything more, Grandma rinsed out my bowl and led me around Cloudsdale.
You know, I've always wondered why you, a pegasus, don't live in Cloudsdale. I mean, sure, you want to stay with your friends and all, but it's not that far away. Today, I learned why.
Cloudsdale sucks!
Sure, to the unbiased eye, it might not. But to me, it's uglier than one of Applebloom's pigs. There's only white clouds everywhere, expect for the occasional rainbow. I thought that the rainbow factories might be kinda cool, but they creep me out a little. And guess what? In Cloudsdale, they don't have any good food places. Grandma and I spent the whole day out in Cloudsdale, so we ate lunch in some joint. The cucumbers tasted a week old the so-called "treat" was a mud pie disguised as a brownie, and the apple I tried had a worm in it. Ugh. I'll take Sugarcube Corner and Sweet Apple Acres any day.
We finally got around to visiting Cloudsdale Elementary, and I'm not impressed. Sure, it's all fancy and has pillars and it's got its own rainbow fountain, but whatever. The playground looks boring, and that's really the only thing that matters. Also, the ponies there are annoying. Grandma started reminiscing about her days at the school, so I ditched her and tried to swing. "Tried" being the important word in that sentence. Because this is what happened after I had, like, five seconds to swing:
SCENE: CLOUDSDALE ELEMENTARY. THE TALENTED YOUNG ORANGE FILLY (SCOOTALOO) HAPPILY SWINGS.
Jerk Filly: (Walks up to Scootaloo) Why are you swinging? Scootaloo: Because I'm bored and this is the most interesting thing in this stupid place. Jerk Filly: Uh, you're a weirdo. What I mean is, why are you on my swing? Scootaloo: I don't see your name on it. Jerk Filly: (Points to bottom of swing, where "DIZZY BREEZE" is clearly written.) Scootaloo: Oh, ha ha. Brilliant, Dizzy Breeze. Jerk Filly (Dizzy Breeze?): You're weird. You're new here. I don't like you. Scootaloo: Whatever. (Walks away from filly.)
She reminded me of Diamond Tiara, except a pegasus. That was one of the good things about Cloudsdale: no Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon to deal with! Now I've got this stupid Dizzy Breeze (most idiotic name ever) to deal with. To make things worse, she has her cutie mark, and it's not just some dumb tiara. The awful thing is, it's cool. It's a few puffy pink clouds, and the pink goes perfectly with her dumb white coat and pale yellow mane.
If she's in my class, I will die.
Anyway, it was around that time that I walked back to Grandma and told her that I wanted to go home. She was all for giving me the complete tour, but I told her that I had seen more than enough for the day. Since the sun was getting lower in the sky every minute, she agreed.
When we came back to her house, we noticed Daddy sitting alone at the kitchen table.
And he was crying.
He didn't notice us, so Grandma nudged me out of the house and told me that we'd be eating out tonight, and maybe we could look at the rainbow factory after dinner. Even though I didn't want another wormy apple, I agreed. Because I couldn't bear to see Daddy's face.
Grandma and I came home late, and by that time, Daddy was in his room with Momma. They weren't arguing, which I figured was a good sign. Grandma went up to check on them, and I slipped into this new room of mine.
I looked again at the letter I had written to you, and I felt so small. I still feel small, and that's why I'm writing this to you. Because I'm hoping that using lots of words will make me bigger than I am. Maybe they'll fill up some of the empty spots that seem to have formed in my heart. Maybe they'll make my wings larger—that should make Grandma happy.
I don't know. I'm scared, Rainbow Dash. Daddy crying was the scariest thing I've ever seen: scarier than ziplining, scarier than Momma yelling, even scarier than that one time he got real angry and hurt me bad. To tell the truth, I think I prefer Angry Daddy than Crying Daddy.
I hope he gets better. I hope he finds a job.
And I hope that Cloudsdale Elementary burns down so that I don't have to see other stuck-up fillies like Dizzy Breeze.
Your (scared) admirer, Scootaloo
P. S. I've decided to save the box I packed in. I'm gonna keep it in my closet, and I'm going to keep these letters in it. I kind of like the feeling of writing. P. P. S. Maybe I can get my cutie mark in writing! P. P. P. S. Except that would be kind of lame. I want something cool, like your cutie mark. P. P. P. P. S. I miss my scooter.
Wanna know what I've been doing for the last couple of days? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Wake up, eat, hang around, eat again, take tour after tour of the thrilling city of Cloudsdale, hang out, eat, ignore the arguing of Momma and Daddy, sleep. Whoop-dee-doo. I'm only writing this because it takes up time, and I feel like if I focus hard enough, I might be able to block out their voices.
Grandma doesn't seem to appreciate the fact that Momma and Daddy are constantly shouting, but it's not like she can do anything. Once when I asked Momma if she could lower her voice, she screamed at me instead of Daddy for a couple of minutes lesson learned: go out crusading when they're angry. Of course, I can't do that any longer, so I walk around Cloudsdale or stay in my room.
I miss Sweetie Belle and Applebloom. I know that you've probably already assumed that, but its's the truth. I can't get through ten minutes without thinking about them and worrying if they miss me or not.
You know what? They're gonna get their cutie marks without me, and I'm gonna be left a stupid blank flank for the rest of my life. I can feel it! I knew that this was going to be the year that we got our cutie marks all together, but I guess that that's not happening any time soon. Some days, I'm almost tempted to send Applebloom and Sweetie Belle a letter, just so they know my address and can tell me all their cool ideas for getting their cutie marks. Maybe they'd even save up enough bits to get a chariot up here! Or maybe you could fly them up here!
There I go again, fantasizing. I know that I'll never send them a letter, because it would be humiliating. Maybe then they'd tell their sisters, and then they'd tell you, and it would get complicated.
Do other fillies and foals know what's happened to me?
Do you even know about what's happening to me?
Do you even care?
Argh. I'm on this again. I need to get my mind off of this.
Okay, so speaking of other fillies and foals, schools starts in a few days. I hate to admit it, but I'm scared. Since Cloudsdale has an all-pegasus population, I've heard that the schoolwork is more flight-centric. Especially gym class—somehow, I'm doubting that there's loopty-hoop and scooter lessons at this snobby Cloudsdale school. I'm gonna die.
Maybe I'm being too negative. You know, Rainbow Dash, this could be a really good thing, Maybe I'll FINALLY learn how to fly—after all, there are flight lessons. But it's more likely that this is going to be one huge disaster. All the other fillies and foals will already know how to fly, and I'll be the one behind everypony else. Maybe there's some stupid rule about how you can't walk at all and there's only flying allowed, so I'll get expelled after day one. (Is that really a bad thing, though? It's not like I want to be at this school . . .)
Please don't tell me to try to talk to somepony. I think we all know how those conversations would go. Momma would claim that she's too busy to talk, and Daddy would just flat-out refuse to talk. Then I'd try to talk to Grandma, but she'd be hopelessly encouraging and disgustingly sappy. I don't think I'd be able to take all of her mushy, "encouraging" words. Barf.
So who does that leave now, Dash? (Am I allowed to call you that, or is it too informal?)
Sweetie Belle and Applebloom? They're in Ponyville. And so is everypony else that I like.
Dizzy Breeze? Ha! Fat chance. If I can't swing on "her swing," I'm not gonna tell her about how my family's short of bits.
So . . . who does that leave? All I can do it spill my guts on this piece of Grandma's stationery. I know it's disgustingly cheesy, but what else am I supposed to do?
Forget it. Now I'm just writing to waste time. Momma and Daddy have stopped yelling, anyway. I'm going to walk downstairs and talk to one of them so they can't start yelling again.
Today when I woke up, my first thought was: It's my first day of school.
My second thought: I miss Sweetie Belle and Applebloom. I bet they're going to have a lot more fun than me on their first day. Lucky ducks.
The third thought: I'm hungry.
So I walked downstairs and found a tall plate of pancakes. Grandma was snoring on the couch, and Momma and Daddy had already left. (Which makes me wonder: what time are they leaving? Pretty early, obviously.)
I had a quiet breakfast, which was kind of nice for a change. I didn't have to deflect Grandma's questions about my parents and school and how my friends were taking the news of my move. But this morning, I almost wanted to have the background noise of Grandma's worthless questions. It would have helped me ignore my panicked thoughts about school.
I don't like to think of myself as a scaredy-pony. And I'm not. I'm brave, like you. This morning, though, I definitely felt a little scared. I wish that my friends had been there. Then I wouldn't have had to be nervous about a new school, not with my friends by my side! Applebloom's easy confidence would make me feel brave, and Sweetie Belle is so likable that I wouldn't have any trouble making new friends as long as I stuck by her side.
I left earlier than I had to, since I wasn't all that sure how to get to my new school. The good news is that I found it eventually, but the bad news was that it took me so long to figure it out that I didn't get to hang out on the playground and meet new ponies. I only had a few minutes before the bell rang, and I didn't want to spend those precious moments standing alone like a loser. Of course, that's exactly what happened.
A split second after the bell rang, I realized that I had no idea which classroom I was in. My heart dropped to the earth for a second, then stuttered and started pumping blood again. All the fillies and foals my age seemed to be moving to the left. Casually, acting like I was one of them, I joined the crowd and walked along the hallway, trying to ignore the fact that most of the ponies in the hallway were either hovering a few inches above the ground or flying so high that they were practically touching the ceiling. Cheeks burning, I ducked my head and scampered to the three classrooms that all the fillies and foals were heading to.
With my heart pounding violently, I walked up to an (abnormally tall, if you ask me) teacher. "Excuse me? Sir?" I asked, wishing that my voice didn't sound squeaky and shaky. "I'm new here, and I was wondering if—"
He waved a hoof at me dismissively and squinted at a clipboard in the other hoof. "Yeah, yeah," he grunted, peering over his glasses. "Miss Scootaloo, right?"
Nopony had ever called me "miss" before. It made me feel more grown-up, but it also kind of freaked me out. It was like a reminder of how big and fancy this school was. In Ponyville, Miss Cheerilee always called us "my little ponies" or something cheesy like that. It was dorky, but it made me homesick to think about Ponyville again.
"Yeah," I eventually said. "I mean, yes, sir." I blushed, worrying that he'd think I was some sort of country hick.
Fortunately, he was too preoccupied with his ever-so-important clipboard to worry about the way I spoke. "You're in Mrs. Glossy's classroom. 102." Once again, he lifted his non-clipboard hoof and pointed in the direction of the second door down.
I thanked him—his response to this was to grunt, bob his head, and continue looking at his clipboard—and sped down the hall, wishing that I had my scooter. When I still went to Ponyville Elementary, sometimes Miss Cheerilee would let me ride it down the hallway, even though it was against the school rules. Stop thinking about Ponyville, I had to remind myself, cringing and ducking my head. You're not going to get to go back any time soon, so you might as well stop obsessing.
I entered room 102 and sat down at an empty desk, trying not to make eye contact with anypony else in the room. It wasn't that hard, actually—nopony gave me a second glance, except for the blue-coated foal sitting a few seats down from me. When he looked at me, I jerked my chin at him and glared. I guess I looked pretty threatening, because he pulled his head in like a turtle and scooted further away.
It was pretty awesome, actually . . .
Anyway, so when the teacher came in, everypony quieted down immediately. I'm being totally serious. I mean, in Ponyville, Miss Cheerilee would always have to tell us to be quiet before the room had any hope of shutting up. But when this lady walked in, everybody straightened up, swallowed their gum, turned to the front of the room . . . everything. We looked like the perfect class.
When I saw what kind of person Mrs. Glossy was, I immediately wished that I hadn't chosen to sit in the front row. She was the kind of pony who made you know that she was in charge. I mean, I wish that I was a better artist, because then you could get an idea of how she looked. And if I was a better author, you might actually be able to get a picture in your mind of how she looked. But all I can really think of this this: you could kind of tell why everypony had quieted down so quickly. She looked like she would bite your head off if you didn't stop talking.
I knew that she was an old lady when I first saw her, but my brain almost tricked me into thinking that she was some sort of warrior. It was mainly the way that she looked at me when she first noticed me. There was a sharp look in her eyes, a glimmer that sort of said: I know your kind, filly. Don't think that you're so tough.
When she finally spoke, I was surprised to hear that her voice was a bit wavery and weak. "Welcome, class," she said, "to the wonderful place that we all know as Cloudsdale Elementary. Plenty of you have been going here for years, and . . ."
I zoned out, staring blankly at the "inspirational" posters on the wall. "Shoot for the moon—even if you miss, you'll land among the stars!" proclaimed one of them. I resisted the urge to vomit up my pancakes.
Far away, I could hear somepony calling my name, but I continued to stare at the stupid, fluffy walls of the classroom. I found myself wondering if maybe, I could slip into the dark, warm corners of my brain and stay there until—
"Scootaloo!"
I jerked my head up. "Huh?"
The ponies around me giggled like a bunch of idiots. I was tempted to test out the death glare I had given that wimpy foal, but I didn't want to make a bigger fool out of myself than I already had. Cheeks burning, I looked up at Mrs. Glossy. She was trying out her own death glare on me.
"I was wondering, Miss Scootaloo, if you could perhaps give us a moment of your precious time," she said. Her voice had lost its delicate quality and given way to heavy sarcasm since the last time we had spoken.
"Um. Yes," I said idiotically. More giggles and another over-the-glasses glare from Mrs. Glossy.
"Well," she said importantly, clearing her throat. "I was saying that while most ponies have gone to this school since kindergarten, you have not. I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd like to introduce yourself to your classmates?"
The way she said it, I knew it wasn't a question. So, sighing, I looked around. For a moment, I considered standing up, but I didn't want to look like I thought I was too special or something. "Hi, my name's Scootaloo," I began. Great start, nerd, except they knew that already. "I moved here from Ponyville over this summer, and . . . I like . . . doing tricks on my scooter?" Nice. Oh, wait, do pegasi even know what a scooter IS? "Oh, and, I, um, also have these two really good friends named Applebloom and Sweetie Belle and we find our cutie marks together andwehaveathemesongand—yeah." I petered out, realizing that I had just called attention to the last thing I wanted to call attention to. Monumental, Scootaloo, I thought to myself. You just effectively told everypony that you're a blank flank. Glancing around desperately, I counted cutie marks. Did everypony have one? Wait, what about—yup. The scared blue foal had one too.
I hate it here.
Luckily, Mrs. Glossy cleared her throat before anybody could comment on my lack of a cutie mark. "Yes, excellent," she said dryly. I could tell that she hadn't listened to a word I had just said. "Okay, now we're going to see how much you all know about long division and two-digit multiplication . . ."
(Turns out the answer to that question is "not much," by the way, at least for me. Math doesn't matter, anyway.)
After the dopey quiz that we took, Mrs. Glossy read aloud to us from this boring book about Equestrian history. Then she let us have a longer recess than normal, since it was the first day. This was supposed to be a "treat," but let me tell you something: IT WASN'T.
I don't think you can quite understand how boring the Cloudsdale playground is before you actually have to spend an hour playing on it. There is NO WAY that you can make a slide, a cloud box (sort of like a sand box but with mushy clouds in it), and a few swings (one taken by Dizzy Breeze) last a whole hour and still be interesting.
Oh, and speaking of Dizzy Breeze: she goes to Cloudsdale Elementary. She's in my class, which I figured out after she answered about twenty long division questions correctly in a row. And guess what? She sits right behind me, meaning she's in perfect position to whisper "blank flank" in my ear. (I figured this out firsthand, by the way.)
After the most mind-numblingly boring recess you can imagine came lunch. I realized as everypony was sitting down that I hadn't actually packed a lunch.
After lunch came . . . well, who in Equestria cares? I couldn't care less about whatever stupid activity we were doing. I mostly sat at my desk for the next two-and-a-half hours, waiting for 3 o' clock.
The bell finally rang, and I sprinted out of that place like a cockatrice was on my heels. I ran all the way to Grandma's house in under five minutes, ignoring the fact that my lungs felt like they were burning to ashes. I burst the the door, practically cartwheeled into the kitchen, and finished by doing an epic slide on the floor that practically made me smash into Grandma's best china.
"I'm HOME!" I shouted joyfully, picking myself up and dusting little bits of cloud off of my coat. No reply. It was then that I noticed Grandma's note on the kitchen table:
Dear Scootaloo, I'm playing bridge with my friends this afternoon. I'll probably be home around 5 o' clock, so dinner will be a little late. Your Momma and Daddy will be home in time for dinner. Oh, and would you be a dear and chop up some onions for dinner?
Great.
After cutting up the onions (and practically going blind because some of the juice got in my eyes!), I stomped upstairs and started writing this letter. I can actually hear Grandma opening the door right as I write this, so I'd better go downstairs and say hi. Maybe if I tell her about how bad school is, she'll fly me down to Ponyville and let me live in the Everfree Forest. It'd be better than this Celestia-damned place.
Mrs. Glossy says that we start gym class tomorrow. She said that, as a real teacher, she didn't know much about what we'd be doing, but she assumed that it'd have something to do with flying.
I think that I'm going to throw up.
Doesn't she understand that not everypony can fly??????? Doesn't she understand that, maybe, not everypony's parents have time to teach them how to fly?????? Doesn't she understand that Ponyville is an earth-pony-based town, without much time for flying lessons?
Blah, blah, blah. Right. Now you're supposed to tell me that the whole point of flight training is so that I'll learn how to fly. Oh, and now you're supposed to tell me that not every pegasus knows how to fly, especially not at such a young age. But you know what, Rainbow Dash? I haven't seen one pony that's not able to fly. Not one. Even that one foal who I scared can fly like a pro.
I hate myself.
It's not like I haven't tried to learn how to fly. Look, maybe my wings are weird and small and I'm way better at using my scooter than flying. But sometimes, when I'm not crusading or just hanging out, I try to practice flying. I'll get up in a tree, start buzzing my wings like a hummingbird, jump . . . and fall. I don't understand it! I practice way more than anypony else, and I'm just doing what I see them doing! I can't help it if my head is freakishly big and my wings are tiny . . .
Just a few minutes ago, I tried to fly. I went to Grandma's backyard (can I even call it a yard if there's no grass?) and jumped around, flapping my wings so hard my lungs burned. And guess what? Nothing happened. The only thing I got out of the flight attempts was that I should do it in a more private place next time, since by the time I was done, thirteen ponies had given me strange looks. (Yes, I counted—it's not like I have anything better to do with my time!)
Anyway, I ditched the flying attempts and stomped upstairs, ignoring Grandma's greetings. What, are you going to yell at me for being rude now? It's not any ruder than Momma and Daddy are being to everypony.
I'm sorry. Rainbow Dash. I'm being a jerk. It's not like it matters, since nopony's ever going to see these letters, but still . . . I feel like there's something wrong with what I'm doing. I feel like crying, even if only babies cry. I'm going to stop writing now and go downstairs to see if there's anything to do.
Bye for now— Scootaloo
Dear Rainbow Dash,
Okay, so I'm back again. It's not because I'm bored again—kind of the opposite, actually. I didn't even get to try to have fun, because the second I took a step down Grandma's stairs, I heard a door slam. Daddy didn't actually say anything, but I could hear Grandma whispering his name and telling him to calm down.
I've heard what happens next a million times, so I really don't feel like listening to it again or telling you exactly what's going on right now. I can give you a summary, though, so here's what's probably going on as I write this: 1. Daddy's standing in the kitchen, his face unnaturally pale. He's got deep circles underneath his eyes, and he smells like really strong, really fermented cider. 2. He's coughing a lot and muttering about things that don't make sense. 3. He's bumping into things and cursing. 4. He's acting like a total alcoholic.
Yeah. So how, exactly, do I know all of this?
Well, it's not like this is suddenly a new thing. He's been sorta normal for a while, but lots of times, before I met the crusaders, things would get bad. Real bad. And sometimes, I'd be the only one around to stop him from hurting himself or hurting Momma. (Kind of ironic, now that Momma's the headstrong one and Daddy's weak!)
I don't have much left to write, but I'm not going down there. I can hear Grandma shouting at Daddy, and I think that Daddy might be crying a little. My hooves are shaking as I write this.
Why did he go out and start drinking again? And in Cloudsdale, of all places? The cider's probably not even that good . . .
All right. Off subject, I know. I'm just trying to distract myself from the major issue at hand, the issue obviously being that Daddy's drunk.
Want to know what's going to happen when Momma comes home? She's going to start yelling at Daddy and telling him that he's a moron. Then Grandma will see how screwed up my parents really are. And then . . . well, I don't know what's going to happen. As far as I know, nobody but Momma and I have ever seen Daddy drunk.
Great, just great. I think that I just heard something shatter downstairs. Now Daddy's cursing and screaming.
I'm not sure what's worse: my home life or my school life.
I'm not even sure if I can explain how terrible it was. Where to start? The way that everypony stared at my stupid little wings? The way that the teacher looked at me like I was absolutely, completely, hopeless? The way that that stupid little colt came up to me and . . .
Ugh. I'm just going to start at the beginning, okay? .
I was doodling on my long division worksheet, ignoring everything that Mrs. Glossy was blabbering about, when she suddenly began to speak more loudly.
"All right, time for gym class!" she shouted, banging a yardstick on the chalkboard. I jumped, my heart pounding crazily. I had forgotten all about it! I raised a hoof, forcing myself to cough in a sickly manner.
"Mrs. Glossy?" I called out, waving my hoof around as everypony else flew to the door excitedly. (If you ask me, they didn't need any flight training!) She looked over me, giving me her stony attention for a moment. "Uh, I . . . don't feel well. I think that I ate rotten fruit for lunch or something."
She fixed her grayish-purple eyes upon me and raised an eyebrow. "We don't eat lunch for another hour," she said flatly. A few fillies, Dizzy Breeze among them, looked over and giggled.
I felt heat creeping up on my cheeks, but I pressed on. "Uh, I meant breakfast," I stammered, my voice cracking. "Please?" I faked another cough, putting my whole body into it.
She pressed her lips together. "Miss Scootaloo, if you had actually eaten some sort of rotten fruit, you wouldn't be coughing," she said in her know-it-all tone of voice. "That's a symptom of the common cold, not food poisoning. Now come along—don't you want to go to gym class?"
Would not really be an acceptable answer? Somehow, I doubted it. "But Mrs. Glossy, I really do feel sick," I pleaded. I was fighting a lost cause, and both of us knew it. She fixed me with another one of her glares and jabbed a hoof in the direction of the door.
"To gym class. Now."
While Mrs. Glossy was (probably) chowing down on about twenty headache pills, we walked down the hallway to the gymnasium. Since I was one of the last ones in line, I mainly followed everypony else, which I honestly didn't mind. We had to snake through so many hallways to get to gym class that I practically got lost, even with everypony else leading the way.
In Ponyville Elementary, there were about three classrooms, and we had gym class outside. Just sayin', that was a lot easier.
Anyway, after about twenty gazillion twists and turns throughout the entire land of Equestria (or something that big), we entered the gymnasium. Next to a basketball hoop, there stood an extremely buff cream-colored stallion with a whistle around his neck. He noticed us coming in and gave a sharp blast on his whistle.
"Rodents!" he bellowed, glaring at us with his beady black eyes. We all shrank back (especially me—I was hiding behind a tall colt in front of me, hoping not to be noticed), trembling.
Sounds like a nice pony, right?
"Rodents!" he repeated. He took a step close to our little cluster, giving us all the once-over. I took a few more steps back, hoping that the gangly pony in front of me would mask my terrifed expression.
Our teacher was using no effort to mask the disgust on his face. "You lot look like you can't even fly," he grunted, shaking his head and giving us a scowl worthy of Applebloom. "Why, when I was a boy, anypony over four could fly all over Cloudsdale without stopping."
A few ponies in my class were beginning to look irritated. Dizzy Breeze, of course, was the first to speak, but she didn't exactly stand up to him as much as she did brag to the rest of us. Batting her thick eyelashes, she raised a hoof and spoke in a disgustingly innocent voice. "Well, Mr. Cloudy, I've known how to fly practically since I was born," she said, tossing her pale yellow mane and smiling charmingly. "I went to flight camp this summer, and they had to put me up a few levels because I was so much better than everypony else."
I wrinkled my nose and mimed vomiting. Thankfully, nopony noticed, since Mr. Cloudy was busy looking impressed. "Well, well, well, young filly," he said, nodding his head. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Dizzy Breeze," she said, tossing her mane again and batting her eyelashes.
"Well, Miss Breeze," he boomed, "I'm glad to see that not everypony in this class is a weakling. Perhaps you can teach other fillies and foals in this class to fly as well as you can!"
There was a brief outburst of noise. Every filly in the room was loudly claiming that they didn't need any help, and practically every colt in the room was waving their hooves in the air and shouting that they needed help from Dizzy Breeze. Mr. Cloudy waved a muscular hoof of his own and gave a long, sharp blast on his whistle, silencing everypony almost immediately.
"Quiet!" he bellowed. The colts who were still insisting that they needed help from Dizzy blushed and fell silent. In a calmer voice, Mr. Cloudy said, "Well, thank you, Miss Breeze. I certainly could use a lot of help in the unit that I'll be teaching for most of the year." He paused for dramatics, though everypony knew exactly what he was going to say. I could have said it for him, unfortunately.
"Flying lessons." He gave the class a huge grin, or as huge of a grin as a burly teacher can give a class of elementary-schoolers.
Everypony (except for me, naturally) broke out in excited chatter.
"Flying lessons!"
"I don't need these stupid lessons . . ."
"I've been trying to increase my wing beats per minute ever since I learned how to fly!"
"It's gonna be like flight camp all over again!"
"We're gonna be like the Wonderbolts!"
"QUIET!" shouted Mr. Cloudy again, giving another blast on his whistle. Everypony cringed and faced him attentively. Ever since he had mentioned the possibility of flying, he seemed to have gained lots of popularity.
"We're going to start out with some basic flight drills," he said, pointing towards a red line drawn on the clouds. There was a minor stampede as everypony either flew or sprinted over to it, trying to find the best place on the red line (as if there really was a "best place" on some faded red line). "First, we're going to try to do some wing-push-ups."
I relaxed a bit, getting into the perfect formation for wing-ups. I had done plenty before, and I'm not trying to brag, but I'm the best at doing wing-ups in my grade. I'm even better than Rumble, and he actually participated in the tornado! Maybe this class wasn't going to be so horrible, if we were just going to do wing exercises. I practice those all the time, hoping that it'll help me learn how to fly!
After fifteen wing-ups (which I did perfectly, by the way), Mr. Cloudy gave us a few miniature weights that we were supposed to lift with our wings. Again, totally easy. Then he had us jog in place for two minutes to get our heart rates up. I was starting to relax as I jogged. I mean, was this all there was to flight class? There was more pressure to fly back in Ponyville's gym class, for crying out loud!
Then, of course, Mr. Cloudy had to ruin everything. He blew his whistle, and my classmates fell, panting, onto the floor. (I was pleased that I wasn't even winded, not that anypony really noticed.) "Rodents!" he barked for the third time. "Is that all you've got?"
My classmates, wheezing, shook their heads. I shook mine rather cockily, telling everypony how totally awesome I was. Honestly, if they couldn't do fifteen wing-ups and run for two minutes . . . sheesh. I've scootered for four hours straight before!
It was about then when Mr. Cloudy decided to put a damper on my mood. "Flight drills!" he snapped, blowing his whistle just for fun (it seemed that way to me, anyway). "You're going to fly to the other end of the gym and back."
Fillies and foals snapped to attention, leaping out of their sweaty piles and fluttering their wings. My heart jolted, and I nearly had a panic attack. They were already flying? How could they get ready so quickly? Didn't they realize that there was a flightless filly among them who was about to be left behind in three . . two . . .
Well, if they didn't realize it immediately, they sure realized it when I was on the opposite side of the gym from them, buzzing my wings and blushing furiously. They stared at me for a few moments, their thick brains puzzling over what they should do.
Boy, for thick-brained pegasi, they sure figured out what to do when their classmate was embarrassed pretty quickly. Their solution? Laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. Some were actually doubled over with hilarity; others never ran out of steam and continued giggling like idiots. I attempted to give them all my killer stare, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, not with my cheeks burning fire-truck red.
Mr. Cloudy blasted his whistle, glaring at the class. "QUIIIIEEEEETTT!!!" They fell silent, stifling their giggles and wiping tears of laughter away. He gave them one last warning glare and turned to me. "So," he said simply
"So," I replied. I didn't mean it to come out obnoxiously, but I guess it must have, because his cheeks grew red and the ponies from my class all giggled.
"So, Miss . . ."
"Scootaloo," I replied, feeling small. "I'm new."
"Clearly," he muttered, facehoofing. I blushed. Teachers only facehoof when they're seriously considering shooting you, which was something I really didn't want to experience.
He strolled nearer and nearer until our snouts were practically touching. I could smell the coffee on his yellow teeth. "Well, rodent, I'm not sure what you do in that other school that you went to. But in Cloudsdale Elementary, we follow the teacher's instructions. When I tell you to fly, you fly, you got it?"
I shrank. "But I . . ."
"You hear me, rodent?!?"
"But Mr. Cloudy, I . . ."
"No excuses!" he barked, holding himself stiffly. "Now, missy, you get yourself over to that side of the gym ASAP, you hear me?"
Obviously, I hear you, I thought. You're practically screaming at me. I didn't want to get in more trouble than I was already in, though, so I buzzed by wings furiously. Realizing that I looked like a total idiot, with my wings buzzing and my body staying put, I quickly discarded the idea of actually trying to fly. Instead, I did some sort of shuffle-flap-step to the other side of the gym.
My class burst out into laughter again, and honestly, I didn't blame them. Imagine this, Dash: There's this little, blank-flank, orange filly with tiny wings and a big head. That's dumb enough, right? Well, now imagine her crossed with some sort of freaky snail that's trying to fly. Picture that, and you might have some sort of idea of what I looked like.
Mr. Cloudy didn't even attempt to end the laughter. I think that he was a bit too busy being completely appalled. "What in Equestria are you doing?" he asked, dumbfounded.
I didn't answer. He facehoofed once more.
"You can't fly . . . at all?" he asked, his voice muffled thanks to the big hoof blocking his mouth. I blushed furiously, shaking my head. "Where did you come from, kid?"
"Ponyville," I whispered.
"Ponyville," he grunted. "Boy, that explains it." He turned to the class (they were still in hysterics, by the way) and raised his voice. "Oy! Anypony want to give this rodent here flying lessons?"
Dizzy Breeze's hoof shot up. "I'd love to help a filly in need, Mr. Cloudy," she said in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm a great teacher, you know!"
"Great," grunted Mr. Cloudy, shooing me off. "Take her outside, all right? The rest of you—hey, it's not that funny!—are going to do some more speed drills . . . are you even listening to me?"
Outside, it was just the tiniest bit chilly. I breathed in the early fall air, pretending that I was scootering through the streets of Ponyville. It got a bit harder to lie to myself when Dizzy began blabbering."
"So you can't fly?" she asked, sneering at me. "Seriously? Wow. My mother says that I could fly when I was first born, practically. She says that I'm precocious." She jutted out her chin, acting like she was so special because she knew a word that I didn't. "That's why I was the first in my class to get my cutie mark, you know."
"Good for you," I said sarcastically. The sarcasm cleared my mind a bit, causing me to feel a bit less tearful. My eyes flew over her flank briefly and took in the three puffy pink clouds. "What's your talent, making cotton candy clouds like Discord?"
Dizzy Breeze sniffed and stuck her snout in the air. "My mother says that we shouldn't joke about that. When Discord came along, he made the Rainbow Factory gray and the snowflake factory so hot that a few workers almost died! It took my mother weeks to clear everything up."
I snorted. "Whatever. Aren't you supposed to teach me how to fly?"
She let out a high-pitched, obnoxious giggle. "Oh yeah, that's right! Is it really true that you don't know how to fly, or were you just joking?"
I gritted my teeth. "Of course I can fly! I just haven't practiced in a while, all right?" That was quite possibly the biggest lie I had ever told. I practiced lots. I just couldn't exactly fly yet . . .
"Good," snickered Dizzy. "When I heard that you were from Ponyville, I had my doubts. My mother says that it's filled with earth ponies, and sometimes their flightlessness can rub off on pegasi. That's why we don't live in Ponyville—it's filled with losers."
"That isn't true!" I snapped. "Rainbow Dash, the coolest pegasus in Equestria, lives there! You can't tell me that it's filled with losers. She's, like, the best flier in the world! She's totally gonna be on the Wonderbolts some day!"
Dizzy Breeze wrinkled her nose. "Rainbow Dash? Isn't she that one pony who wrecked the Grand Galloping Gala one year?"
I paused. "Well, actually, it was more Fluttershy who . . . um . . . anyway. Anyway, she did a sonic rainboom when she was just a filly! She's done it a bunch of other times, too . . ." Well, maybe "a bunch" was a bit of an exaggeration. You could do a bunch if you wanted to, and you know it.
Dizzy scoffed. "Right! That's not—" The bell rang in the middle of her sentence, signaling the end of the period. I gratefully sprinted out of the schoolyard into the gymnasium, feeling like I'd gotten the last word.
At lunch, I sat alone, chewing one of Grandma's veggie loaf sandwiches. I sat on the bleachers outside, watching ponies swing and slide. I was tempted to run out onto the playground, have fun, laugh with everypony and act like I was one of them. But I couldn't do that, not yet. Not ever. Not when I was just a flightless, earth-pony-wannabe-loser.
I crumpled my lunch bag up and tossed it on the ground, spreading myself out onto an entire row of bleachers and staring at the sky. When would I ever be able to be one of the ponies up there?
Somepony next to me cleared their throat, causing me to almost fall off the bleachers. "Hey!" I snapped, jerking my head around and searching for whatever idiot had the nerve to startle me like that. Since I was on the top row of bleachers, I only had to look to my right, my left, and my front . . . unless somepony was behind me.
I swiveled around. "Oh no," I grumbled, facehoofing. Hovering in the air was a skinny blue pony, the same pony who I had stared down on my first day. The wimpy pony, the loser pony . . .
The pony who had his cutie mark. The pony who could fly.
"Hi," he said cautiously, fluttering his azure wings and sitting next to me. He gave off an air of absolute terror, something that didn't exactly make me like him more. "In gym class today . . ."
My eyes flashed; my hooves flew out. I shoved my face right into his, causing him to recoil. I didn't care. "Yeah, I guess you thought it was real funny, huh?" I shouted, glaring at him. "Well, guess what? I don't care about what you think. I don't want to hear you making fun of me, okay? It doesn't matter. It's not like I even want to be here. Besides, I can totally fly! I'm better at flying than you'll ever be, all right?"
He stared at me with his large brown eyes. I turned away. "Never mind," I muttered, scrambling down the bleachers and hoping that he couldn't see that I was crying. "I'm going home."
"But it's the middle of the day," he pointed out in a whispery, weedy voice, flying down after me. He had a point, but I didn't care. I sprinted away, wishing that I had my scooter.
"But I wasn't going to make fun of you," I heard as I ran further away. I didn't turn around, though I was curious. I didn't want him to know that I had tears pooling in my eyes.
I think that Grandma was a little surprised when I came home from school just after twelve o' clock, but she didn't question it. In fact, we didn't say a word to each other as I stomped upstairs and she sat at the kitchen table staring at her hooves.
When I went to my room, I did what I've been doing almost every day lately. I grabbed a piece of paper, a pen, and scribbled out this letter to you.
It's getting late as I finish writing this letter, and I can smell Grandma's spaghetti cooking. I've stopped crying over the course of the past hour or so, but I can feel the tears coming on again, and I don't want Momma or Daddy or Grandma to see me crying. I don't want anypony to see my crying, least of all that weird blue colt.
I hate my life.
From, Scootaloo
P.S. If the blue colt didn't want to make fun of me, what did he want to do?
I spent most of yesterday avoiding eye contact with everypony, being an obnoxious, stupid brat, and wishing that I was somewhere else. When I came home, I was expecting to be cared for, but apparently kindness and attention isn't something that my parents are into. Who'd have guessed, huh, Dash?
Anyway, when I went to school this morning, I was sullen and ready for another day of acting like an idiot. We have gym class every Tuesday and Thursday, which meant that we were going to have it today. I was considering just walking out of school again, but I didn't want to push my luck. Mrs. Glossy had looked at me strangely all day yesterday, and I figured that she had either figured out that I was a delinquent or heard all about my inability to fly. Either way, it only increased my irritation and sullenness.
I stomped through the hallways, glaring at anypony who dared to look in my direction. I kept my head low and my pose threatening, hoping that the combination of these two positions would ward off anypony who tried to talk to me. By the time I had entered the classroom, nopony had attempted to talk to me or laugh at me (that I knew of), boosting my mood considerably. I even forgot that the blue colt was sitting several seats down from me. Unfortunately, I was reminded of his existence when he cleared his throat. I reluctantly turned and gave him a long, hard glare. "Yeah? What?"
He shrank back, whimpering a tiny bit. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Scootaloo? I just had to ask you this question and I—"
Mrs. Glossy walked into the room at that moment. She had an expression of anticipation on her face, which could only mean trouble. I felt my heart start pounding just a bit faster than normal. Was she going to yell at me for skipping school? Was she going to laugh at me for being a flightless dodo? Was . . . I could go on and on.
It didn't turn out to be any one of these, shockingly. She rapped a ruler on her desk, causing everypony to jerk their heads up and rearrange themselves so that they were sitting up stiffly, the epitome of perfect students. "All right, students," she sang, practically skipping over to her desk. I'm not kidding. She pretty much sang it. It kind of freaked me out, if you want to know the truth. I mean, if Miss Cheerilee had done it, it would have been totally normal, because she pretty much sang everything that she said and pretty much skipped everywhere she went. Seeing an old lady do it, though? It scared me, almost, and it only increased my trepidation.
"Today," said Mrs. Glossy, rummaging in her desk drawers, "is a very special day. Any guesses why?"
Silence. A few trembling hooves were half-raised, but they were quickly lowered when Mrs. Glossy looked at them.
"Well," Mrs. Glossy continued, breaking the awkward silence, "today, we'll be doing something extremely special. Do you all want to know what it is?" Weak head-nodding. "Today is the day when we begin our first major project!"
I relaxed. When she had said "special," I got a little worried that it would have something to do with flying. I mean, a major project wasn't much better, but at least there was less chance of me humiliating myself in front of everypony.
"We're going to be studying the founding of Equestria," said Mrs. Glossy, her voice losing some of its musical quality and taking on a quality that told us that she had memorized whatever she was about to say. "Long ago, there were three tribes: earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi, all of whom . . ."
I stopped listening. I already saw that pageant that you were in, and I didn't really want to hear the whole story again. The only reason I went was because you, Applejack, and Rarity were in it, and Big Macintosh could get us there for free. Momma was real mad when I got home, because I hadn't told her where I was going, but it was worth it. I didn't get any presents for Hearth's Warming Eve that year (except from Applebloom and Sweetie Belle), but the pageant was enough of a present.
I jerked out of my memories when I heard my name. "Yes?" I said, shaking my head and blinking a few times. Giggles rippled around the room, and Mrs. Glossy gave me an irritated look.
"I was simply pulling your name out of the basket to give you your partner," she grumbled. Looking at me suspiciously, she rifled around in the basket for another piece of paper. "Scootaloo aaaannnndd . . . Feather."
Feather? What kind of a name was that? I mean, obviously I had more pressing issues at hand, one of them being that I was doing some stupid group project, but for the moment, all I could do was wonder whose parents would name them Feather. It had to be some sort of idiot, and from the name, they sounded pretty quiet and weird. In fact, they were sounding a lot like . . .
Oh Celestia, NO, I thought desperately. If I am paired up with that shy, weird, skinny colt, I will go nuts and— Whipping my head around, my eyes fell upon the blue colt. His lank, navy blue mane was falling over his eyes, but I could tell that he was peering up at me. Lifting one hoof shyly, he gave me a nervous "hi-we're-partners-now" wave.
My heart froze before stuttering and pumping unnaturally fast. No. I was not going to be paired up with some weird pony who had his cutie mark and could fly a million times as well as I could! That was not an option! I'd rather be paired up with Dizzy—well, actually, no, I wouldn't, but still . . .
I glared my way through the rest of history class, and Feather shyly fidgeted through it. I don't actually remember if we actually got any work done, but I'm fairly certain that we didn't crack open a single book. I actually feel a little bad about it now, since I wasn't exactly mad at Feather. I was more agitated that we were going to have gym class again, that I was going to be laughed at, that I'd probably break down and start crying. The thing that really agitated me, though, was that I was working with somepony who could fly, who could probably fly for miles and miles without getting tired. It's depressing knowing that even the biggest wimp in Equestria can fly, and I still can't get my big head off of the ground. I wish that there was some kind of diet that would shrink my head . . .
Anyway, it's probably rather obvious that I wasn't in the greatest mood by the end of the class. When Mrs. Glossy told us that it was time for gym class, I wasn't exactly jumping up and down with excitement, either. Slowly, I gathered my books, considering faking a big fall. Sure, I'd look like an idiot (again), but I could say that I'd sprained my wing or something. Then who knew how many gym classes I'd get out of?
I was preparing to "trip" over a desk when Feather finally talked. And, for once, it wasn't to me. "M-Mrs. Glossy?" he whispered, raising a hoof. "I was wondering if Scootaloo and I could go to the library. You know, to work on our project more?"
She paused, pursing her lips. "Well, Feather," she said uncomfortably, "I'm pleased that you're taking an interest in schoolwork. I'm not sure if I can let you skip gym class, though . . ."
"Actually, you can," stated Feather. He opened a huge book on his desk to a bookmarked page and pointed to a paragraph. "Right here in the school rulebook, it says: 'Any child may miss an extracurricular class—e.g., music, gym class, or art—with a teacher's permission and a pass.' " He looked up at Mrs. Glossy, who was staring at him like she'd never seen a skinny blue foal before.
"Oh," she said, at a loss for words. I, too, was frozen—who in Equestria reads the school rulebook? "Well, Feather, I suppose that we could let you and Scootaloo study in the library . . . after all, it's a school project, and, well, it's more important than flying lessons, if you ask me."
"Absolutely!" said Feather, smiling and ducking his head. "Scootaloo and I are okay fliers anyway, so it's not like we really need to practice that much. We can do it on our own time."
Well, that was quite possibly the biggest lie that I had ever heard anypony say, right up there with "Sweetie Belle is just like her sister" and "Rainbow Dash isn't cool." I was totally fine with being called an okay flier, though, so I bobbed my head and gave Mrs. Glossy my best smile.
Mrs. Glossy sighed and shook her head, smiling. "Here," she said, scribbling out a quick hall pass. "Be sure to check in with me before lunch, just so I know that you two haven't run away." I felt my cheeks burn as she gave me a meaningful look, and I scampered out of the classroom as quickly as I possibly could.
We walked (well, Feather flew) to the library silently, Feather leading the way. He hovered a foot off the ground, which would have normally irritated me, but I was willing to let it go for the moment. After all, he had been the one that got me out of gym class.
Feather led me to a table in the back of the library, and we sat down, looking up at the bookshelves. Feather flew to the top shelf, grabbed a thick book, and flew back down, tossing the dusty book on the table. I glanced at the cover. "The Pony's Guide to Equestria," I read, stifling a yawn. "Sounds thrilling."
My sarcasm was lost on the foal. "Isn't it?" he sighed excitedly. "I love reading about our ancestors. Did you know that Commander Hurricane and Chancellor Puddinghead got married a few years after Equestria was founded?"
My jaw dropped open. "You're joking, right?" There sure hadn't been anything about that in the Hearth's Warming Eve pageant!
"Nope. They started the whole theory of different-race marriage, which made things a whole lot easier for everypony. And Starswirl the Bearded . . . I could go on and on about him." He sighed, smiling fondly at the book. "This project is going to be so amazing."
I checked his flank, wondering if there was some sort of cutie mark for being a history geek. Nope. On his flank was a barely-there puffy gray cloud. (Does anypony in Cloudsdale have a non-cloud related cutie mark?)
Noticing my lack of speech, he blushed. "Sorry," he said. "Yeah, we'd, um, better start working. Do you have a pen or pencil?"
"Yeah," I said, uncapping the pen and holding it in my mouth. For a few moments, we were silent. The only sounds were the scratching of pen on paper and the turning of pages. Feather's shyness seemed to be back, and it was irritating me. Even if the colt managed to get me out of gym class, I didn't especially want to spend an hour with him.
Thinking of gym class reminded me that I should probably thank him. "Oh, by the way, thanks for getting us out of gym class and all." I said it in a somewhat bored tone, as if it was no big deal. He looked up from the tiny print, blinking a few times and giving me a shy smile.
"Well, I thought that you might want a break," he murmured. We made eye contact for a split second, but he blushed and looked away. "I could use a break, too—I don't really like flying in front of other ponies. I worry that they'll think that I'm showing off."
Oh, such a problem, I thought. If I could fly, I'd be spending all my time flying in front of other ponies! I didn't want to seem rude, though, so I pushed away my thoughts and spoke. "You flew in front of me," I pointed out.
He shrugged. "Well, you're different. You don't seem like you'll judge me like everypony else in this school does."
I snorted. "It's hard to judge flying skills when I can't even fly myself." Then, realizing what I'd said, I clammed up and stared at the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Feather shrug again.
"Well, not being able to fly is better than being an obnoxious featherbrain," he commented casually. He ducked his head. "Nopony in this school has half a brain. Nopony in this town has half a brain. All that they think about is flying and looking cool. I mean, I love flying, but there's more to life than that. Reading, making friends, just thinking for a moment . . ." He trailed off. "That's kind of why I wanted to talk to you. When I heard that you were from Ponyville, I got really interested. Lots of ponies think that Ponyville's full of hicks, but I've heard that everypony down there's caring. Even the pegasi are interested in making friends, not just flying."
I nodded like a bobblehead. "Yes! I have these two really good friends down there who . . ." I stopped. I didn't want to think about friends just yet. "I mean, there's this one super-cool pegasus called Rainbow Dash who loves flying, but she also has friends. She's the coolest pony ever, but she doesn't worry about that all the time."
"Exactly," sighed Feather. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. You seem cool, but you don't seem like you're trying too hard to be the fastest flier like Dizzy Breeze." He made an "I'm-about-to-vomit" face.
"I seem . . . cool?"
"Yeah," he said. "In a weird way. But, yes."
That's how most of our "study session" went. He'd say something, I'd say something, he'd say something, I'd say something stupid, and he'd ignore my stupid statement. When it was time for lunch, we sat together, and by the end of the day, it seemed like some of his shyness had gone away a bit.
For the first time in a while, Dash, I actually am looking forward to school tomorrow.
Not much happened over the weekend, so I haven't written in a while. Daddy didn't get drunk (thank Celestia) and there were no big fights (thank Celestia again). Nothing especially good happened, though. I didn't want to invite Feather over in case he saw Momma and Daddy fight. It was raining, so I couldn't go outside, so I spent a lot of time in my room daydreaming about Ponyville and even studying Equestrian history a little. (Hey, I was really bored—cut me some slack!) I personally don't see what Feather gets so excited about.
Now that it's Monday, though, I have to get back to reality. Though I don't have gym class till tomorrow, I still can't stop worrying about what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I obviously can't study in the library every day, and there's no possibility that I can learn how to fly in such a short period of time.
I've been thinking about asking Feather for flying lessons, but I can't bring myself to do it. Even though he's the best pony to ask for flying lessons—other than you, of course—it's still so embarrassing. I hate the idea of him looking at me the same way that everypony else looks at me. I'd get so humiliated that I'd never be able to look at him again, and I don't want to wreck the only kind-of-sort-of-maybe friendship that I have with him. Besides, he's so shy that he'd make things more awkward than things would have to be. Honestly, I don't know if I've ever met a shyer pony. Today he was back to being weird and quiet, as if the weekend had wiped his mind of our laughter together on Thursday and Friday.
"Hey," I greeted Feather on the playground. He was hovering in the air by the bleachers, where we normally hang out. He fluttered to the ground and folded his wings in, giving me a shy smile.
"Hi," he said in a voice barely above a whimper. There was complete silence for ten whole seconds, which may not sound that long, but which felt like it lasted forever.
"What's up?" I asked, laughing. "You're getting all shy again, silly! Aren't you going to start spouting some stupid stuff about Starswirl the Bearded and Commander Hurricane? You're gonna turn boring like every other pony in this town!"
"Yeah," muttered Feather, giving me a hint of a smile. "Right." Was it just my imagination, or did he look a bit paler than usual?
"You look kinda sick," I said, stepping towards him and peering closer. He cringed away, and I faltered, confused. "Feather? You okay?"
"Uh-huh," he said, ducking his head and keeping his eyes at the ground (or clouds, rather). "I just had a long night last night. I guess I do feel a little sick."
"That sucks," I said, grimacing in sympathy. Then, brightening, I said, "Hey, maybe this means you'll be able to get out of gym class tomorrow! You'll have to give me tips on looking sick—we can fake it together and maybe just read in the library again!"
"Yeah," said Feather in a flat tone. He gave me a smile that looked forced, and he looked overjoyed when the bell rang. Unfolding his wings, he fluttered over to the school's doors and entered before I could yell at him to wait up.
I didn't see him at his cubby, either. When I entered the classroom, he was sitting in his usual seat, staring at his desk and poking at his pencil with his hoof. I went over to him, feeling uncertain. "You okay?" I whispered, trying to communicate with my eyes that he could tell me anything. He shrugged and shook his head, keeping his eyes glued to his desktop.
"I'm okay," he muttered, his voice even quieter than I was forcing mine to be. "Didn't get much sleep last night. I feel kind of sick. You know—everything that I already told you."
There was an underlying hint of irritation to his comment, which took away my nerves and made me frustrated. "Well, fine," I snapped, feeling my cheeks heat up from anger and the knowledge that I was being a bit of a featherbrain. (No pun intended—you know, Feather? Brain? Feather on my brain? Whatever.) "No need to tell the 'only interesting pony' at this school whatever's bothering you. Why bother? There's no point. I'll just ignore whatever's bothering you like the rest of them."
He lifted his head from its limp position. There were deep circles under his eyes, making him look half intelligent and half stupid. "Scootaloo, it's no big deal. We can talk at recess. I just didn't get enough sleep last night, all right? Sorry if I'm being cranky."
I gave him a scowl that wasn't scowl-y enough to be really mean and sat down, ignoring him. If he wants to be an idiot, that's his choice. I'm not going to stop him.
I sort of scowled my way through every class till about twelve, when lunch started. When I was rummaging around in my backback, searching for my paper bag of food, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Jerking up, I was startled and irritated(and somewhat glad, though I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anypony that) to see a certain blue colt hovering in the air behind me. He was looking as nervous as ever, with a dorky lunchbox gripped in his mouth.
He took the lunchbox out from between his teeth and awkwardly held it in his hoof so that he could talk. "Hi?" he said hesitantly, as though he was asking a question. I nodded in response. "Are you gonna be eating outside today, Scootaloo?"
"I do it every other day," I said, my voice muffled thanks to the lunch bag clasped between my teeth. "Am I suddenly gonna stop now?"
"Oh. Right." He looked kind of relieved, and his wings did a little relaxed flutter instead of the stiff flapping they had been doing for the last few minutes. "Well . . . bleachers?"
We sat on the bleachers, chewing our food and staring at our classmates as they giggled and flew around. Feather was obviously uncomfortable, but I didn't feel like being the one to start the conversation just yet. My anger did thaw after ten minutes or so, though, so I cleared my throat and relented. "So what was it that you wanted to tell me, Feather?" When he paused and squirmed, leaned closer to him and narrowed my eyes into slits. "You promised to tell me."
"Yeah," he said, folding his wings and unfolding them quickly. "Uh, it was just kind of a long night last night. Long story and all."
I was quickly draining of the calm attitude that I'd had before. "Look, Feather, you said that you were going to tell me exactly what happened at recess." (Actually, he hadn't, but I figured that he'd told me something along those lines. Besides, it wasn't like he'd remember his exact words.) "So are you going to, or aren't you? You're being annoying like everypony else in this stupid school."
Maybe it was that comment that pushed him to tell me. "Oh. Sorry." His blue cheeks took on a tint of red. "Last night, I was up really late reading and thinking and . . . my parents were kinda being weird. Well, my dad mostly."
I paused mid-chew, the bread from my alfalfa sandwich turning to stone in my mouth. "Acting weird . . . like, how?" I asked, spewing chunks of grain from between my teeth. Feather didn't seem to notice, which I appreciated.
He shrugged, looking like he regretted ever telling me that something was wrong. "Like weird-weird. You know—normal stuff. He was just a little mad. He thinks that I'm not being talkative enough."
"Oh." I stared at the bleachers, kicking one of my back hooves around a bit. I don't know what I had been expecting—another alcoholic dad? I knew that I had been expecting something more interesting than, oh, a slightly irritated father. I didn't want to betray my feelings, though, so I leaned back casually and went on chewing alfalfa and bread. "Well, next time he gets annoyed with you for not talking, just tell him that you're hanging around with me, okay?" I grinned at him, tossing my mane out of my eyes. He gave me a small smile back.
"Thanks, Scootaloo," he said, leaning back as well. We stared at the sky for a while, both squinting and staring at the puffy clouds. Every so often, a pegasus would soar across our vision, racing another or bucking clouds with their hind legs. Their bucking of the clouds reminded me of Applebloom and how her family used to buck trees. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it and focused on the sky, willing my eyes not to grow wet.
As if he was reading my mind, Feather cleared his throat and began speaking. "Er . . . are you keeping touch with your friends in Ponyville?" he asked shyly, as if he were afraid the question was too personal.
I chewed on his question for a few seconds. "Well, kind of, I guess," I said vaguely. "Sweetie Belle and Applebloom are . . . busy. We do, um, talk, though. I guess. It's just that nopony in my family has enough free time to fly me down to Ponyville. Well, Grandma does, but her wings are getting weaker." I continued to stare at the sky, hoping that he wouldn't see through my weak lies.
"Huh." Feather was quiet for a few more seconds, allowing me to peek at him. He was staring at the sky like me, leaning back on his elbows. "So, are you, like . . . writing letters? Stuff like that?"
"I'm writing letters a lot," I said immediately, confident that this, at least, was not a lie. (Hey, he didn't ask who they were to—or if they were being sent at all!)
Feather rotated to me fully, and I knew that I had to return his gaze if I didn't want to be impolite. Turning to him, I noticed a hint of apprehensiveness in his big eyes. "Scootaloo?" he asked uncertainly, doing that cringing thing he does when he's about to say something risky. "There are chariots that you can take down to Ponyville, you know. It's just a few bits, and if you get a membership, it's even less. You could visit your friends every weekend. More, even."
I thought for a moment. What was I supposed to tell him first? That my parents couldn't spare a few bits? That I was too scared to ask Grandma for any bits? That my parents didn't exactly know (or care) that I had friends in the first place?
Or maybe that I was scared to tell Applebloom and Sweetie Belle the truth about my family and why we moved . . .
"I'm not really sure about that," I said at last.
Feather scrunched up his face, the way he does when he's thinking really hard about something or reading some hard history book. "Well, if it's a matter of bits, then maybe my Mom could fly you down. I bet that I could even fly you down, or—"
"Feather," I grunted, giving him a slight glare. "I don't really want to go down, not yet. Momma . . . uh . . . says that I'm, uh, gonna be able to visit s-soon." (Okay, blatant lie there, but who really cares?)
"Yeah," said Feather, obviously doubting me. Thankfully, he didn't call me on my lie, instead leaning back onto his elbows and staring up at the sky again. I followed suit, glad for the opportunity to stop making eye contact. "You know, I heard that there's a spell that unicorns can do to make earth ponies and unicorns walk on clouds. Maybe you could—"
The bell rang, interrupting his train of thought. I gladly got up, lunch bag in mouth, and practically sprinted over to the doors. I was getting the pit in my stomach that's been coming whenever I think of my friends back in Ponyville. Feather didn't try to bring it up when we saw again, and after school, when he started walking over to me, I pretended that I didn't see him and hurried away. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings, but the last thing I wanted was to talk about Bloom and Belle in front of him. He might figure out what a total liar I am.
I miss the other Crusaders more than I want to admit. And yet . . . what? I'm scared of them? No way! So why am I not contacting them?
Argh. I don't understand anything. I thought that Feather might be nice to talk to about parents, but I guess not. I thought that it might be easy to think of Applebloom and Sweetie Belle, but it's been one of the hardest things about my move so far. I hate this stupid place.
Right now, I'm lying in my itchy bed and writing this to you on stupid flowery stationery. (I did not choose this stationery! It's Grandma's, okay?) It's kinda hard to see the paper in the dark, and I don't want the adults to know that I'm still awake, so my hoofwriting might be a little messy.
I know what you're going to tell me—fillies shouldn't be up past their bedtimes, it's nearly midnight, all of that stuff that grown-ups say. But I just can't fall asleep. I feel sick from worry.
It's kind of ironic, actually, that I really feel sick right now. Today I faked sick because I didn't want to go to gym class, so I spent a lot of the day lying in bed. I got so bored that at one point I almost wished that I was back in school! I mean, the feeling quickly faded, but still . . . I don't know if I've been more bored in all of my life. What I really wanted to do was run around outside, but Grandma's got this thing about sick days: if you're sick, you're sick, and that means that you're going to lie in bed and eat dry toast and be checked on every five minutes by an adult.
To be totally honest, I think that Grandma knew that I wasn't really sick. I've never been much of a liar, so my conversation with Grandma this morning was full of badly faked coughs and sneezes. Grandma sounded really suspicious during the whole thing, but she finally relented and told me to get some rest. I'm pretty sure that she knew that something was up with school. She can actually be pretty cool sometimes!
The thing is, though, she's Grandma. That means she's still living about a hundred years ago, which means that her theories about the ways that fillies should act can be a little . . . let's say . . . old-fashioned. I mean, maybe a hundred years ago, "sick" fillies were supposed to lie in bed and eat gross, healthy foods. But now, the whole purpose of a sick day is to do the stuff that you can never get away with in school!
I personally think that she was trying to punish me for faking sick. Well, lesson learned, Grandma. Never again am I going to fake illness. Even if I really get sick, I'm going to school. Anything would be more interesting than today's torture!
So that's the fascinating story of how my "sick" day went. Wondering what's making me so worried? Well, that's what came after school.
I went downstairs for about the millionth time that day at three-thirty. Grandma was in the kitchen washing dishes wearily. For the first time that day, I felt a stab of guilt for acting like a jerk the whole day and whining about not being let outside. "Grandma?" I asked nervously, ducking my head. She glanced over at me, sighing.
"Scootaloo . . ."
"Sorry," I said guiltily, my voice low. I peeked up at her through my messy magenta hair, pleased to see a look of satisfaction on her face. Then, pushing my look, I quickly asked, "Um . . . can I go outside to play? I feel a lot better." Then, to butter her up, I added, "All the sleep that I got really helped me."
She looked at me hard, pressing her lips firmly together. My stomach sank. Great job, Scootaloo, I thought. You made her upset again. Hasn't she already done enough for you and your parents? Shouldn't you at least be grateful for that, you moron?
I was startled to hear her speak in a non-negative tone. It wasn't exactly happy, but it was definitely better than the way she had been speaking lately. "Go," she said wearily, clunking the dishes down on the counter and drying her hooves on a dishtowel. "Just be back before dinnertime."
Hardly believing my luck, I thanked her and sped out of the kitchen in case she was going to change her mind. Beaming, I tilted my head up to look at the sky and practically skipped around Cloudsdale. (I quickly realized how stupid I looked, though, so I stopped and tried to look cool.)
I strolled along the sidewalks, enjoying the bouncy feel of the clouds underneath my hooves. I eventually found myself at the playground. A bunch of my classmates were still there (no Dizzy Breeze, though), flying around or going on the slide or just laughing. I stepped onto the playground, feeling like an outsider. Cool and calm, I glanced around, taking slow hoofsteps around the playground. I tried not to make eye contact with anypony, feeling my cheeks burn whenever somepony stared at me, wondering why I was there.
I tried not to look like I was looking for anypony, but I guess that it was just a little too strange for a loser like me to be hanging around in a public place without Feather. A filly with braces and a thick mane walked up to me, clearing her throat. "You looking for Feather?" she asked, spraying spit as she spoke.
I cringed, wishing that it wasn't quite that obvious. "Uh, yeah," I admitted, glancing away from her and trying to discreetly wipe her saliva off of my cheek. "Is he here?"
She shook her head. "He left a while ago. He's probably at the library or something." She pointed vaguely down the road, waving a hoof.
"Thanks," I mumbled, giving her a quick smile and starting to speed-walk off the playground. I guess she wasn't quite done, though, because she walked directly in front of me and cocked her head. Uncomfortably, I backed a way a little.
"Aren't you that filly in Mrs. Glossy's class who can't—"
That was it. I darted off of the playground, not caring how stupid I looked walking when everypony else could fly. I didn't stop until I was next to the huge library. Trying to make my hoofsteps as light as possible, I stepped into the library, letting the door close quietly behind me.
Inside, it was completely silent. I mean, completely silent. The only sound was the rhythmic open-stamp-shut-slide of the librarian stamping books. I never went to the Ponyville library often, but suddenly, I felt myself wishing that I was back there with Spike and Twilight Sparkle, who didn't make you feel tiny and insignificant and who didn't glare at you when you glanced around and didn't really read anything. Okay, so sometimes Twilight got a little weird, but it's better compared to . . .
Horseapples. I'm thinking about Ponyville again. Okay, so back to the stupid Cloudsdale library:
I stumbled around stupidly for the next few minutes before I got it into my small brain that I should probably check in the nonfiction section instead of among the picture books. I jogged gratefully in the direction of the stairs, ignoring the disapproving stare of the librarian and the strange stare of the mother reading to her foal (both of whom were probably wondering why I wasn't flying). I tried to pretend that they didn't bother me, instead sprinting up the stairs as fast as I could and scanning around the library for Feather. Books, books, books, and—
"Scootaloo!" I heard a shy voice calling from behind me. Whipping around, I was pleased to see the skinny blue colt. He had seven thick books lying open on the table next to him, with about twenty more unopened books stacked around him.
"Hi," I said breathlessly, jogging over to him. "What're you here for?"
"Reading," he responded calmly, rearranging himself in his puffy cloud chair. He propped an old orange book on his knees, blissfully turning page after page. "You weren't gonna be able to do anything after school, so I thought that I'd maybe work a little on—" He frowned a tiny bit, cocking his head. "Where were you today, anyway? You don't look sick."
"Uh—" My mind went totally blank.
"Was it 'cause of gym class today?" asked Feather shyly. "I bet I could have got you out of it by—"
"Sheesh! No!" I snapped. "Look, my family, uh, just has to finish unpacking. Momma said that I could take a day off of school to finish rearranging my room and stuff like that. You know, if there wasn't anything important going on at school. And there . . . there wasn't," I finished lamely.
Feather looked skeptical, but he didn't press it (which is one of the reasons he's the best pony in Cloudsdale—he doesn't push stuff like that). "Oh," he said, shrugging. I buzzed my wings nervously, wishing that he would stop staring at me like I had food on my face.
"You wanna get out of here?" I asked coolly when the silence had gone on a bit too long. Feather nodded cheerfully, tucking a few books into his satchel and swinging the bag over his shoulder.
"Wanna know something totally awesome that's going on today?" he asked happily, skipping down the stairs. He didn't wait for me to respond, his words spilling over each other. "There's a weather show going on today!"
"Huh?" I asked, confused. He rolled his eyes, hitting himself in the forehead with a hoof.
"Oh, right! You don't know about that!" Instead of waiting for me to comment on that sad fact, he went on with his overexcited babbling. (Whatever this "weather show" was, it was obviously good!) "Okay, so once a month or whenever there's a special event, there's this weather show. That's when a bunch of pegasi on the weather team get together and do this epic show with a bunch of rain and lighting and clouds. I'm totally going to be a member of the weather team as soon as I get old enough to." He seemed to realize that he was practically having a wingboner over this weather show, and he blushed a bit. "So, um . . . it lasts thirty minutes or so, and it's right outside of the rainbow factory. If you want to come, um, if it's okay with your parents . . ."
Right. They probably wouldn't even notice if I didn't come home at all. "No, they'll be fine with it," I said, shrugging.
"Great!" said Feather cheerfully, doing a little excited wing-buzz similar to my nervous one. "It's probably already started, but if we hurry, we can get there before they start doing the lightning!"
Together, we hurried to the rainbow factory—he flew, and I ran, wishing that I had my scooter. He shouted above the cold wind rushing past our ears, excitedly telling me exactly what was going to happen. "They elect a few pegasi every month," he shouted, grinning from ear to ear, "to take a few clouds outside of the rainbow factory. Then they make shapes with the lightning and make a bunch of tiny little rainstorms. Only really talented pegasi can do it!"
"Are you gonna do it when you get old enough?" I asked, slowing down as I saw the fountains of rainbows pouring out of the clouds. I could hear booms of thunder, followed by the cheers and gasps of ponies.
Feather hesitated. "I dunno," he said. "I mean, you've got to be really talented. If I train, maybe . . . I don't think I'll ever be good enough, but it's really what I want to do." He gestured at his flank with his front hoof, and for the first time, I really took it in that he had his cutie mark. The gray cloud with the little lightning bolt on it stood out against the blue timidly, as if it was scared of being noticed.
"What's your cutie mark mean?" I asked, pointing at it as if he needed help locating it. "Like, how'd you get it? What does it mean that you're going to do?" My heart pounded a bit, and not because of the bright, crackling lightning filling in the spaces of our conversation.
"I got it right here, actually," he said, shyly kicking the clouds beneath him with a front hoof. "They were having one just for Cloudsdale Academy, so we got to go on a field trip here." His eyes went glassy, and I could tell that he was on the brink of telling some sappy story about discovering who he was. It was with great self-control that I didn't gag or tell him to shut up.
"They were kind of doing a tamed-down version of this," he went on. "You know—less lightning, no thunder, only little drizzles. I was into it, though, since I'd never seen anything like it before. I was smiling throughout the whole thing, and I guess they noticed. At the end, they asked for a volunteer to kick a cloud for them, and they chose me almost immediately.
"When I kicked the cloud . . . well, I'd never felt anything like that before. I could feel the lightning bolt shooting out and making my fur stand on end, and I could feel this big gush of rain pour out. Everypony just stared at me, but in a good way. I felt better than I'd ever felt, and that's, um, that's what happened." He ducked his head shyly, looking up at me nervously.
"Oh. Cool." I paused, considering the advantages and disadvantages of getting a weather-related cutie mark. I mean, I would finally have one, but if I got something weather-related, I'd be expected to stay in Cloudsdale forever.
My pondering was interrupted by Feather nudging me. "Scootaloo?" he said nervously. "Um, Scootaloo, I think that that stallion's staring at you," he said. I looked up, confused.
"What stalli—" I froze. I mean, I seriously felt as though I had been frozen into an ice cube. Standing about ten feet away from me was a stallion who was obviously drunk out of his mind. His eyes were bloodshot, he was stumbling around and tripping over his own hooves, and he looked ill.
Worst of all, he was my father.
My heart stopped. My face drained of color. "Feather," I said, taking shallow breaths. "We need to leave now, okay?"
He frowned, looking as scared as I felt. "Scootaloo? Is something wrong? Do you know that stallion or something? Is he—"
"Stop," I said weakly, backing away from the huge crowd. The flashing of lightning was making me feel dizzy, especially when combined with the shouts of the overexcited ponies in the crowd. How could they be happy at a time like this? How could they not care about the fact that Feather was about to find out that my father was a drunken idiot? How could they not care about the fact that I was just really seeing this for the first time?
I don't remember much of what happened next. I remember running so fast that my legs burned, not caring where I was going, and feeling like I was about to puke. I couldn't think, couldn't see. I only remembered that I was still alive when I felt somepony wrestle me to the clouds.
"What's wrong?!?" shouted a panicked voice. I stared up at the sky, my vision blocked by a blue foal. Though my vision swam, I struggled a bit and forced myself off of the ground.
"Feather?" I asked, confused. How did we get so far away? Was my father with us?
"I'm getting somepony," he said, his voice shaky. My stomach did a swan dive. I leapt up, buzzing my wings and hovering over to him.
"No!" I told him, my teeth chattering. "I don't need help. It was just kind of, uh, loud, I guess. And maybe I'm still recovering from today. I'm still sick, you know." I badly faked a cough, though it probably wasn't necessary if I looked as nauseated as I felt.
"Okay," said Feather, looking scared to death. He stopped walking and turned to me, nervousness filling his big eyes. "Scootaloo . . . do you know that stallion that was looking at you? Is that why you panicked? Is—is he bad or something?"
"No!" I denied his question immediately. "I don't know who you're even talking about. I didn't see any stallion looking at me." (Okay, so I'm not the best liar, especially not under pressure. So sue me.)
"Oh," said Feather, shrugging. He looked at me sideways while I did my best to keep a completely normal (while still somewhat sick-looking) face. "Do you need help getting back to your house or something?" he asked, turning around and walking with his back turned to the weather show. "You know, just in case you pass out? You still look really pale."
"I'm okay," I mumbled, looking away from him and strolling ahead. "I'll be fine on my own."
I could feel his eyes poring into my back, but I didn't look back. I couldn't bear to see what his expression looked like. Hurt? Angry? Horrified, as he slowly pieced together the facts and figured out that the alcoholic stallion was my father? I was dying of curiosity, but I couldn't take any more misery. A few moments afterward, I broke into a run in the direction of Grandma's house, wanting to take Feather's eyes off of my back.
I slowed down after I turned to the corner, glancing around at the neighborhood that surrounded me. A few streetlamps had flickered on, and with the yellow light in the air, I realized just how dark it had gotten out. Grandma was going to freak out when I got home. And Daddy? How late was he going to stay out? Until it got completely dark out, or longer? Or what if he didn't come home at all? Or . . .
Turns out I'm worrying for nothing, Rainbow Dash. He came home just a little after dinner, when everypony thought that I was sleeping in my room or doing homework like a good little filly. That's the good news, I guess. The bad news? As I write this, he's currently throwing up in the downstairs bathroom. Aside from being completely disgusting, it's the most painful thing I've ever heard.
Don't get me wrong—I'm used to hearing him throw up. It used to happen all the time, especially in the mornings. But I thought that he'd stopped! Did losing his job really mess him up this badly? Or was it the move to Cloudsdale?
Or maybe he's been drinking for a while. Maybe he's just been doing a worse job hiding it.
I'm done writing. I'm going to try (and probably fail) to sleep now.
Okay, yes. YES, I'm currently cutting gym class. And NO, I don't want a lecture from you about it. Not that you're the kind of pony who'd do that, but just to be safe. You can't really trust anypony with this kind of stuff. I mean, even Feather doesn't think that I should be skipping out, but I lied and told him that I'd be studying in the library for our project. (I've really been on a streak with lying to him lately.)
Right now, I'm not studying Private Pansy and Commander Hurricane like I told Feather I'd be doing. I'm hiding in the third bathroom stall down, my hooves out of sight in case anypony comes looking for me. Before coming here, though, I made sure to take a few sheets of notebook paper and a pencil—you know, to keep me from getting bored and all. Besides, I've gone a whole week without writing to you and I just thought I'd give you the heads-up that I'm still alive! (What am I saying? You're not actually receiving these letters. Stupid.)
Anyway, I just wanted to update you a little on what happened. I only missed Tuesday's gym class, and I thought that it would be risking it a bit to take another sick day. Besides, look how last time's sick day ended! So I decided that I'd go to Thursday's gym class.
Never again. NEVER. AGAIN.
What about it made it so bad, you ask?
Oh, just a FEW things.
Like when I entered, Mr. Cloudy did a double take. I'm not kidding! He stared at me, blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. When he saw that I was still there, though, his expression grew considerably more grim. "Scootaloo, isn't it?" he asked flatly. He had a here-we-go-again expression on his face, which I didn't appreciate but could understand.
"Yes, sir," I said, trying to make my voice as grim as his. I half-lowered my lids, trying to create the impression that I was bored with him and his stupid whistle. Feather, who had been silently hovering behind me, ducked his head and scuttled past me. He gave me a shy, hopeful nod, but he had the kind of look in his eyes that told me he wouldn't want to be in my horseshoes.
He squinted one eye shut, sizing me up. "You're the one who can't . . . you're the Ponyville one?"
"Yes, sir," I repeated. From the expression on my face and the tone of my voice, you would have thought I was going for the grand prize of Little Miss Couldn't-Care-Less, though my heart was racing and all I wanted to do was run away.
Mr. Cloudy visibly winced. He glanced around at my classmates, who were looking at us with curiosity. Mr. Cloudy knelt down, lowering his gruff voice a bit. "Are you disabled or something?"
My jaw dropped. "N-No!" I sputtered, losing my cool facade. "I'm not disabled! There's nothing wrong with my wings!" I tucked them in protectively, feeling my cheeks burn. Great—first I'm a loser, then I'm disabled!
Mr. Cloudy didn't look convinced just yet. Clearing his throat and rubbing his neck, he put on a serious expression. "Look, kid, have you thought of flight lessons of some sort? You can find plenty of flight instructors around who specialize in kids who are a bit late in developing . . ."
Oh, Celestia, NO. The last thing I wanted to do right now was get into a conversation with Mr. Cloudy about "development." I turned around and strolled onto the gym floor, pretending that I hadn't heard him. I couldn't resist slowing down a bit and turning my head when Mr. Cloudy didn't seem to react.
I watched as he threw up his hooves, rolling his eyes. "I give up," he muttered, turning away and heading towards the bag of basketballs. Satisfied, I kept my wings safely tucked in and hopped over to Feather, who was nibbling at his hoof nervously.
"How'd it go?" he asked, noting my smile and giving me a grin of his own. "Is he mad at you for missing so many classes?"
"Didn't mention anything about it," I said, glancing around. To my disappointment, Dizzy Breeze was standing a few ponies down, her smirk spread across her face as always. "He just said that—" I stopped talking, realizing a few words too late that I didn't especially want Feather to hear about how I couldn't fly. Surely he knew, but saying it out loud would be just a little bit too much for me at the moment.
"Said what?" asked Feather, looking at me curiously. He glanced at my wings awkwardly, craning his neck to get a glance of my still-tucked-in wings. "Did he say something about—"
"Rodents!" barked Mr. Cloudy, giving us a shrill blast of his whistle. For once, I was glad to hear his voice and whistle. Turning attentively, I positioned myself so that I looked like I was fascinated with him and his stupid comments about flight camp.
"Mr. Cloudy?" asked Dizzy Breeze, blinking her eyes mock-sweetly. "I have a question."
"Yeah?" he said vaguely, not really paying attention. "Make it quick."
I scowled. If I had a question, he would have kept on blowing his whistle and being a featherbrain. I guess when you can fly, though, you get certain advantages in Mr. Cloudy's opinion.
"Do you still need me to tutor Scootaloo?" she asked. At the sound of my name, I jerked to attention. Upon realizing why she had used my name, my cheeks began to burn.
"I don't need a tutor," I snapped. I wished that I hadn't said it a second afterward—what says "immature" better than denying that you need help?—but I didn't let myself lose my composure. I had to stay cool, stay tough.
Mr. Cloudy gave me a sideways glance, as if he couldn't believe that I had just spoken without permission. "She needs help," he stated in a flat voice that made everypony giggle. (Yeah, it's just comedy central here in Cloudsdale Elementary.) "Take her outside, all right? You don't seem like you need much help. I'll call you two if we do anything aside from basic flight drills."
Giving Mr. Cloudy my best glare, I ducked my head and stomped outside, with Dizzy Breeze leading the way grandly. To make matters worse, she was flying as she led me out. I swear, she does these things to make me feel like dirt on purpose . . .
"So," she said, smiling at me brightly. I glared at her, hating the smug look in her eyes. "You need flight lessons? Seriously? I thought you told me that you were just out of practice."
"I am!" I snapped, scowling.
"Then how come you need lessons?"
I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of hitting her as hard as I could. "I don't need lessons," I told her, my teeth gritted. "That's what I've been telling everypony!"
She gave me a sideways glance, a smirk on her lips. "That's good, I guess," she said, snickering slightly. "I wouldn't want some cripple in our class. It might slow the rest of us down, you know?"
I stiffened, buzzing my wings defensively. "Shut up," I said. "I'm not crippled." I hated the word as it rolled off of my tongue, but I couldn't help it. I had to prove to her that I wasn't some sort of loser, that I could handle her insults and throw them right back at her.
"So prove it," said Dizzy Breeze, tossing her pale yellow mane and grinning at me evilly. "Why don't you fly during gym class next time or something? Are you scared that you'll get hurt while flying or something?"
My cheeks grew bright red. I could handle her insults, but the very idea of me being scared of flying was enough to make me want to bite her head off. Just because I don't fly, everypony automatically assumes that I'm scared! Have they seen me with my scooter? Did they see me that one time that I went over the branch with all the birds, or the time that I was in the air for like ten seconds, and you complimented me? Well, no, I guess they probably haven't, because my scooter's in Ponyville, but you know . . .
"I'm not scared," I explained, kicking the clouds and staring at the puff of white moisture. "I've been telling you for the past five minutes, I don't need your help. I can fly just fine on my own, and this . . . this is stupid," I finished lamely. I looked up at her to judge her reaction, mildly terrified and mildly excited.
Dizzy Breeze bit her lip, her face a mottled red. "If that's true," she whispered, leaning in with a threatening smile on her face, "then I want to see you fly. You don't have to do it right now—I understand how important it is for cripples to get their practice before even a short flight. Next gym class, maybe?"
I didn't even correct her when she called me a cripple. (Ew. I hate writing that word.) "Definitely!" I barked, buzzing my wings irritably and glaring at her. "That'll be totally easy!"
She gave me a slow smile, cocking her head. "Well, do you want me to practice with you? My mom says that I'm really good at teaching ponies who aren't—"
"Shut up," I growled through my teeth, narrowing my eyes and buzzing my wings. "I'll give you the best flight show you've ever seen by next Tuesday."
Well, it's Tuesday now, Dash. And want to know something? I'm hiding in a bathroom stall, writing you this letter to pass the time until lunchtime comes.
Wanna know the thing that drives me nuts? The thing that drives me really nuts? There's no way to win in this situation. Dizzy Breeze is gonna get the best of me either way. She's either gonna see that I can't fly, or she's going to think that I chickened out at the last moment because I was too scared to show her my lame flight skills . . . which is actually true. Ugh.
And want to know the WORST thing? Feather's going to figure out that I can't fly. He's just going to start thinking like everypony else and think that I'm some sort of loser. Well, maybe I am. I just don't want him to find out that he doesn't deserve to be friends with me, and he's going to ditch me and everything's going to go wrong and I'm . . .
Argh.
As soon as I'm done writing this letter, I'm going to tuck it away and run to check that Feather hasn't abandoned me yet.
Feather has been coming to school on and off for the past few days, and when he does come, he's been acting really weird. He's barely talking to anypony—not even me—and when he does talk, you can barely hear what he's saying. And yesterday, when we had lots of time to work on our projects, I thought he'd be psyched, but he spent most of our time in the library staring out the window with his mouth hanging open. When I asked him about it, he shook his head like he had been dreaming and laughed awkwardly.
"I'm fine," he said, rubbing his crystalline blue eye and blinking yellow dust out of them. "I'm just into the book, I guess." He lifted up the book like it took all of his effort and showed me the cover.
I wrinkled my nose. "You've been on the same page for the past thirty minutes, Feather," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Come on—what's going on? Were you up late or something? Are you sick? Why haven't you been coming to school every day? You're always at school!"
"I've been sick," Feather said haltingly. He yawned widely and pushed back his tangled blue mane with a shaky hoof. "My mom...she wanted me to stay home for a little while. You know. No big deal or anything. It—yeah. Stuff."
I rolled my eyes again, my laugh faltering. "You sure? You look really sick and annoyed. Something up?" I glanced around, making sure that nobody was listening in on us, and lowering my voice, I went back to my interrogation. "Are you trying to get out of gym class? 'Cause if that's what you're doing, I can totally help you. I didn't want to tell you, but for the last few gym classes, I've been hiding in the bathroom and reading or writing to Rain—" I stopped, cringing. He didn't need to know about that. "I mean, I can help you skip gym class. I'll even research with you, if that's what it takes."
Feather groaned and leaned back in his chair, something he never does unless he's really nervous or annoyed. "Scootaloo, it's not about gym class, all right? I don't care about gym class. And you really shouldn't be skipping, okay?"
I blushed and smiled sheepishly. "That's not the point," I said, turning to him and making the most serious face I could. "The point is that you look bad and I'm worried about you. That's it." I waited a second, checking his expression, but his lips stayed tight and his head only ducked further into his book. "Well...what do you think about what I just said there?"
"Very caring," he muttered, slamming his book shut and flapping his wings. Gracefully, he slid out of his chair and went up to the top shelf, scanning the line of books and grabbing a new, thicker book. His left wing wobbled on the way down, a sign of his exhaustion—he never messes up unless he's crazy tired or sick or something. "Scootaloo, we're supposed to be working, remember?"
I felt a surge of irritation. "Hey!" I snapped, reluctantly opening my book again. "I was working. You were the one that was staring out the window and being all weird. I swear, something's up."
He tried to give me his best glare, but, of course, since he's Feather, it sort of looked like a snail was crawling across his face. The fact that he had huge bags underneath his eyes didn't help his ever-so-attractive expression. "Scootaloo?" he asked in a pathetic growl. "I really want to work. Sorry. Okay?"
I felt like a featherbrain underneath his serious gaze. "Sorry," I muttered, forcing my head down to the page in front of me. I felt something hot and sharp pierce my stomach. I don't like feeling this way towards Feather, but when he gets all serious like he did today, sometimes I can't help it. When he gets sad and cranky, he makes me feel like I'm stupid for feeling cheerful for once. He makes me feel worthless.
So I wasn't in the best of moods on my walk home. I stormed down the streets, barely noticing that I could find my way back home to Grandma's house without getting lost. When I finally got to her house, I grunted at her in the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs to my room. When I got there, I buried my face into my pillow and squeezed my eyes so tightly shut that no tears could leak out.
After an hour or so of lying on my bed and hating myself, I heard hoofsteps coming up the stairs. I stiffened, wiping the tears out of my eyes and staring at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing ever. Seconds later, I heard a knocking at my door. "Come in," I called, clearing my throat. I prayed that I didn't sound like I'd been crying. Which I totally hadn't been.
The door swung open to reveal Grandma, who stood there looking concerned. "Scootaloo?" she asked. "Are you feeling all right? I haven't heard anything from you all afternoon."
I rubbed at my eye to make sure there wasn't any wetness and turned towards her, smiling. "No. I'm cool. I just have a lot of homework."
She raised an eyebrow and peered at me over her glasses. "You're staring at a wall," she said flatly.
Sometimes, I think she's too observant for her own good. Can't she just get senile already?
I faked a laugh, clearing my throat and rubbing the back of my neck. "...R-Right. That's...that's part of the assignment. It's, um, it's a history thing. We're studying the history of walls, so we're supposed to study our own walls and make notes on them so that we can compare how they've evolved over time." I felt my cheeks begin to burn. I was fairly proud of myself for making that all up on the spot, but judging by the expression on Grandma's face, she wasn't impressed.
"Good to know that they're teaching you quality material in schools these days," she said, sighing. Then, to my surprise, she walked through the doorway and joined me on my bed.
"Hi?" I said awkwardly, fidgeting. Grandma's the relative that we're closest to, and she's really nice and all, but she's never been really affectionate and touchy-feely.
She put her forehoof around my back and sighed, joining me in staring at the wall. "I know how hard this move has been for you," she said quietly. "I don't think it's fair that a filly as young as you has to go through something like this."
"It's no big deal," I said quickly. This was a lie, obviously, but I didn't want to maker her feel worse than she already did. "Lots of ponies have to move."
She tried to make eye contact with me. I avoided her, and she sighed. "That's not what I mean, Scootaloo," she said. I jerked my head up, startled. Her eyes looked intelligent and searching.
"I..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say. Did this have something to do with my parents?
"Strong Hoof has been acting strange lately. And your mother..." She sighed, clucking her tongue. "She's gotten odd over the years. I always thought that she was the sensible, nice pony of the couple, but she gets crueler every time I see her." She stopped abruptly, shaking her head. She glanced down at me. "I hope you don't mind me saying all this."
I didn't trust myself to speak. Swallowing, I nodded at her and kept my eyes glued to the wall.
"It's not right, Scootaloo." The mattress bounced as she stood up. I kept my eyes trained on the wall so that I wouldn't have to make eye contact with her. What could I say after a conversation like that?
She bent down and kissed me on the forehead. "I wish that I could make you feel better, Scootaloo," she whispered before walking out the room. I felt a tear pool in the corner of my eye, but I brushed it away.
Stupid. The one moment when Grandma shows any recognition of what's going on with my parents, I freak out and clam up. I could have told her about when I was little, how Daddy would hurt Momma and himself. I could have told her about that time I saw him at the weather show, completely drunk. I could have even told her about how Feather was acting strange today, and how I was worried about him. But instead, I just sat there like an idiot, waiting for her to leave. What is wrong with me?
I always screw everything up. I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I don't want to have to see Grandma again, and seeing my parents is out of the question. If I can help it, I'm not ever leaving this room again.
