//------------------------------// // The Schoolgirl Crush // Story: Adolescence // by Scout Feather //------------------------------// That morning, Scootaloo got exactly what she had expected. “Hurry up! Eat your breakfast! Get your saddlebags! Don’t forget your lunch. Did you do your homework? Oh for Celestia’s Sake, Scootaloo. Get moving, Missy!” “Ugh,” seemed a pretty appropriate answer to everything. A grunt and a nod. She moved from room to room begrudgingly, taking her sweet old time, much to the frustration of her mother, who was rushing her out the door. “It’s a good thing your father and I came home last night.” She paused for a second, shaking off a thought, “I doubt you even would have gotten up in time. You’re such a hassle in the mornings.” “But I’m a big pony! I can take care of myself, Mom!” She whined, bracing herself as her mother stuck a brush halfway through her mane to aggressively tug through a few knots. Her mother simply clucked her tongue impatiently as she returned the brush to its place on a table. “Now, now. Don’t you want to look pretty for the colts at school?” Her mother tried to ease a nervous smile. Clearly, she was trying to adjust to what had happened. To last night. Her father had said that Scootaloo was ‘going through changes,’ and becoming more like a grown-up every day. Was this her mother trying to accept it? She never made comments about colts before. Why would she care about colts, anyway? Scootaloo’s father, sitting at the table with the daily newspaper, flashed his daughter an apologetic smile as she simply stared at her mother with a deadpan expression. Was she serious? “Ugh, Mom. You’re so lame.” She rolled her eyes and turned to the door, walking outside and down the small path that lead through the miniature vegetable garden her mother had been meaning to tend to for three years. ‘I’ll do it next week, I promise. I’ve just been so busy lately.’ “Scootaloo, this is the third time that you’ve come to school late, and with unfinished homework. And to think; you used to be one of my star pupils. What happened?” Cheerilee leaned in, her face serious and deadly. It was a face that all young ponies still in school feared. The ‘You’re-in-big-trouble-and-I’m-going-to-meet-with-your-parents’ face. The ground seemed amazingly interesting at this point. Scootaloo felt nothing but disinterest. From the crack in the doorway of the teacher’s office, she could see the other ponies in the classroom, whispering and giggling amongst each other. She saw her usual seat: so close, yet so far away. Next to it was an empty seat where Apple Bloom normally sat, apparently absent for the day’s lesson, free from any humiliating lecture or threat of detention ‘For the third time this week! What’s gotten into you?’. She also saw Sweetie Belle, and for some reason, her heart leapt in her chest. A cold pit grew in her stomach. “Scootaloo! Are you even listening? I’m telling you that if you don’t start paying attention in class, showing up on time, and doing your homework, I’m going to have to have a meeting with your parents. Do you understand?” There it was. She wrote off a check mark on an invisible list in her head. Exactly as she expected. “Yessum,” was all she replied, half paying attention to Miss Cheerilee, half to Sweetie Belle, who was sitting, prim and proper, with her hooves folded in front of her. An imaginary tune seemed to play in her head, and she bobbed along as if in a daydream. “Then head on in. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving. Don’t make me issue another detention, young lady.” “Yessum,” was Scootaloo’s reply again, uncaring and distant as she slithered out of the room, catching an exasperated sigh from the teacher. Within seconds she was in her seat, unwilling to be the center of a dozen eyes staring straight at her for long. Each and every one of them secretly pitied her, thankful it was her getting in trouble, and not them. She found her usual seat across from Sweetie, and opened her books. As soon as she was sure it was safe, and Cheerilee had begun the lesson, she leaned in to whisper, “Psst. Where’s Bloom?” “Home sick,” was the reply. “Got the flu. Bad. Poor girl.” Sweetie looked down at her desk sadly. “She’ll pull through. She’s a Crusader, she’s tough!” This seemed to encourage Sweetie, who brightened up and nodded, smiling. It made Scootaloo feel good. Her stomach did a little flip, and she winced. Thankfully, Sweetie didn’t notice. She tried to focus on schoolwork, channeling all of her attention, but it was hard. She kept finding herself drawn to looking at her friend. Was her coat always that shiny? Surely, her overbearing sister made her brush every day, but did it always give off such an alluring glow? Scootaloo straightened her head and locked her eyes to the front of class again, general interest in trying not to upset her teacher any further overtaking her. But why was it so hard? The morning proceeded in a similar fashion. Scootaloo would remain transfixed to Cherilee; to the lesson. Then something would flash or twinkle out of the corner of her eye, and her gaze would turn elsewhere. Then, as if knowing its destination all along, her eyes would be drawn to Sweetie. Once or twice she would catch her gaze, and Scootaloo’s head would snap back to the front of class, cheeks burning. It went on like this for a few hours. She was just starting to ponder the reason she felt so strange around Sweetie Belle all of a sudden when her teacher’s voice caught her attention. “Scootaloo, I ask again. What is the square root of sixteen? If you’ve been paying attention, this would be easy.” A dozen or so eyes were glued to her, a few ponies giggling. Scootaloo gulped. She didn’t know. She was screwed. The vision of her not-too-distant future echoed in her head of neverending detention, being held back a grade, and no friends for a whole month. “Four,” Sweetie mouthed wordlessly. Scootaloo didn’t even dare look at her for the time being, clearing her throat. “Four.” Cherilee actually smiled, and nodded. “Correct. Thank you, Scootaloo.” Scootaloo finally took the chance to look back at her saviour thankfully. Sweetie simply gave a humble nod just as their teacher began to wrap up the math class. “And when we get back from lunch break, we’re going to learn about the Equestrian Justice System! Won’t that be fun?” A series of groans passed around the classroom as Scootaloo tossed her books aside and grabbed her lunch. “Ready, Sweetie?” “Yeah, just one sec. I’m finishing up.” She was still copying down a few notes. “Go on ahead, Scoots.” But Scootaloo didn’t hear her, as she was too busy staring. She remembered the night before, when she had been thoroughly engaged in her ‘activities’, of the image her mind had drawn of Sweetie Belle touching herself. Scootaloo blushed like mad. Her wings shuffled, but she couldn’t stop staring at Sweetie. At her glowing white coat, her perfect posture, her amazing, curved, blank-- “...You okay?” Sweetie repeated, a worried expression written across her face. Scootaloo jumped. “Fine. Just swell. No problems here!” This drew a giggle from the other filly. “Oh Scoots, you’re so silly.” She remarked, packing up her books and grabbing her lunch at last. “Y-you think so?” “Yeah! I mean, a cutie mark isn’t going to appear out of nowhere just because I’m studying really hard. Rarity promised to take me to Manehattan with her if I did good on the next test.” Scootaloo was about to correct her on the absurdity of a studying cutie mark, but she decided it was in her best interest to shut her trap. “Uh, right. My bad.” As they situated themselves around the usual tree, the Cutie Mark Crusaders Minus One unpacked their lunch in an unusual silence. Sweetie had her favorite: a daisy and tulip sandwich. Scootaloo was eating peanut butter and jelly. Neither said a word for a good couple of minutes. “So, uh… thanks. For, you know, bailing me out. That was pretty cool,” Scootaloo suddenly mumbled quietly. “Huh? Oh, that was nothing, Scoots. We’re friends, and friends stick out for each other!” Sweetie piped up happily. This caused Scootaloo to bite her lower lip. That feeling had returned to her stomach again. It was like a million tiny insects gnawing at her. She remembered once, when being so nervous about an upcoming test, that her father had explained it as ‘Butterflies in your tummy. It’s just natural.’ Unfortunately, Sweetie noticed. Leaning in, a look of concern spread across her face. “Hey, are you alright? You don’t look so good…” “F-fine…” was the reply. She wasn’t. Scootaloo was a terrible liar. Sweetie was at her side in an instant. “Seriously, Scootaloo. You don’t look so well. Are you sure it’s not the flu?” A slow, sad shake of the head was the response. “Headache?” No, that wasn’t it. “Are you sad?” Scootaloo faltered. Was she? At the bottom of everything she was feeling, was it sadness? It didn’t really feel that way. Her eyes met Sweetie, who took it as yes. She was immediately swept up in a crushing hug. She was strong for a pony her size. It made Scootaloo blush even more. But it felt good. She hugged back as casually as possible, even daring a little nuzzle to the ear. She got one on the cheek in return, making her stomach do flips. Sweetie drew back, wearing a comforting expression. “Better?” Scootaloo nodded. In the light of the afternoon sun, Sweetie looked awfully pretty. Pretty enough to kiss, she thought, thinking back. It had been last summer, during camp week. All the young ponies in town had gone, except Apple Bloom, due to the rapidly approaching harvest. So Scootaloo and Sweetie had spent the week together, the first time truly alone since befriending Apple Bloom. On the last day, after the lights were out and campfire songs had been sung, they snuck out to the dock and looked out at the starlit water – and they kissed. But ever since then, nothing had come of it. It had been an experiment, that was all. Sweetie Belle had asked her to, and Scootaloo, thinking nothing of it, obliged. For cutie marks or something. She couldn’t even remember the reason, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten the kiss. She did remember thinking of how absurd it was to kiss another filly. She couldn’t possibly like it. That was weird. Right? So why, huddled under their sacred tree, in the middle of the schoolyard full of their peers, did Scootaloo suddenly lean forward and kiss Sweetie Belle’s cheek? Sweetie Belle sat there for a long time. Her eyes went wide and her cheeks, not unlike Scootaloo’s, were beet red. No one dared say a word. “I-I have to go. Um...do schoolwork. See you!” Sweetie stammered, finally breaking the silence as she got to her hooves and bolted to the schoolhouse. Moments later, the school bell rang. It was almost angelic: her saving grace. Yet at the same time it was like a deathly summons to her doom. She trudged regretfully to the schoolroom and sat down, avoiding all eye contact. It didn’t seem like anyone had seen the peck on the cheek. She didn’t even look at Sweetie Belle, afraid of the judgement that lay behind her eyes. A conversation started to play through her mind. How could you, Scootaloo! It...it was just a thing we did last summer! An experiment! I’m not into fillies! You should be ashamed! It’s not right! It’s gross! How could you do that in front of everyone? Don’t you know what they’ll say? Ugh, you’re so weird, Scootaloo. I don’t think we should be friends anymore. Tears started to well up in her eyes, but she hid them, casually bringing out her books and opening them so she could have a chance to nonchalantly wipe a hoof across her eyes. She was weird, thinking of Sweetie like that. Why did she kiss her? That was so stupid. As her book opened, a note fell out, rolled across her desk, and bounced to the floor. As Scootaloo bent to pick it up, she could have sworn she caught Sweetie’s sideways glance, but she couldn’t be certain. Confused, she unraveled the neatly folded paper and read it from underneath her desk, where it couldn’t be seen by wandering eyes. She was at least well-versed in the art of note-passing. It read: Scootaloo, I’m really sorry for running away like that. I was really scared. Let’s meet at the clubhouse later. Signed, Sweetie Belle True to Sweetie’s style, it even included a few hoof-drawn hearts at the bottom. It seemed like she had taken extra care in making them, but maybe it was just Scootaloo’s imagination. Hope filled her, while doubt also gnawed at her, as she folded the note and tucked it away. She didn’t look at Sweetie for the rest of class.