The nurse’s office had a rather tame history, at least compared to the horror stories Ink had heard from other schools. Aside from the occasional scrape or bruising, and less often the fights that resulted in bleeding and swollen eyes, not much exceeded typical “roughhousing,” as Nurse Redheart had put it. To Ink’s knowledge, the more severe cases were when Artifex showed up on his first day and had his panic attack, Soul Writer’s broken arm, and one unfortunate incident of brainwashing and transformation leading to slight mental trauma. That one was on Sunset Shimmer, though the victims had long since forgiven her.

Tame as it was, it came as no surprise as Ink to find it seemingly empty of any other patients. Grainy-yellow curtains were pulled to one side, only slightly covering up the green, leather beds that were always so uncomfortable to rest on and clung to any open patches of skin like sticky vices. As a row of lights blinked and flickered from the ceiling, Ink heard the low, raspy sound of air conditioning blasting from a dark corner. Her mind went to a slightly darker place; if it were Halloween, she would have expected someone to have placed a fake spider in those corners. The moment the conditioner was turned on, it would jump out and attack someone.

One of the secretaries there, Miss Daybloom, was over at her desk, mulling over some files, and hadn’t heard Ink come in. Ink didn’t realize this at first. She stood at the entrance, hands clasped against her navy skirt, and she waited patiently. With the door closed behind her, the sound of students’ stomping their feet was muffled, like dull drums playing alongside a subdued orchestra.

Ink blinked, and mentally shook her head. She’d have to get out of the habit of monologuing real life so extravagantly.

Eventually, she realized that Daybloom hadn’t seen her. She politely cleared her throat.

“Huh?” Miss Daybloom looked up. Surprise flashed across her face, before it was replaced by cool neutrality. “Oh. Ink, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Turner called?”

“He did indeed. He said you had muscle spasms of some sort?”

She pushed aside the urge to turn guiltily away. “Uh, yeah! Something like that.”

“I see.” Miss Daybloom. “Well, you’re free to wait here for the moment. Nurse Redheart is busy in the back.”

“In the back? Why?”

“A student got hurt during gym. Sprained his ankle, from what I heard. She’ll be with you when she’s done.”

Ink thanked her and took a seat in one of the red lounge chairs. She crossed her legs and did her best to look everywhere but directly at Miss Daybloom. The silence was burdensome, but while Miss Daybloom didn’t seem to mind as she continued to sort through the files, Ink remained put, frozen in an awkward state of being.

There you go again; exaggerating for the sake of extravagance.

She heard voices. One was Redheart’s, calm and neutral, like a professional. The other was a boy’s, deep and stoic, but she could not tell to whom it belonged since it was muffled by a closed doors.

“All right,” she heard Redheart say, “I believe that ought to be it, then. You wait outside while I drum up some paperwork for you.”

The door cracked open, allowing Ink to hear a low, southern drawl come as a response. Her eyes widened. There were only a select few that had that particular accent. “Big Mac—”

“Ink Quill?”

“Eep!”

Nurse Redheart, despite her name and occupation, was a cold, cold lady—at least, that was what Ink thought, and it seemed to her she was the only one who thought that. The nurse had a certain aura to her that meant strictly no funny business was to be done around her, and as a result, her eyes, normally a calm blue, were, to Ink, reminiscent of northern, frozen waters. They were as sharp as icicles, too, boring holes right through Ink’s eyes and analyzing her mind. This all was contrasted by the amused eyebrow that Nurse Redheart now raised.

“Do you get a kick out of staring into space?” she asked Ink as she tried to recover.

“Um, no! No, of course not, heh heh, who would ever do such a thing?”

Ink tried to like Nurse Redheart; Artifex had told her she was a smart and quick lady. But that was his interpretation, and his was one based on the briefest of interactions. And Artifex naturally liked those characteristics. Ink, meanwhile, would have preferred not to have so many sharp-tongued people in her life.

Nurse Redheart shook her head. “Well, anyway. You’ll have to wait a few minutes. I have to finish some paperwork for this young man over there. Can you wait?”

“Uh, sure! Of course I can.”

She went into her office. She pulled some files from a cabinet, then clicked a few buttons on her computer. The printer beeped and papers began piling out.

Her back was turned away, so Ink decided to take this chance and got up. She was driven by a strange urge to get up and go, to see the boy in the other room, and she could feel a pool of questions drown her tongue. She hoped Miss Daybloom hadn’t noticed as she creeped into the room.

The moment she saw him, her mind went blank. She thought it was not—and she knew it was not—because of the fact that underneath his thin, black underarmor his muscles rippled, but it was because of the fact that his leg had gauze bandages wrapped all around it.

“Oh my God! Dude, what happened?” The words were out of her mouth before she’d realized that she was effectively invading upon his privacy.

Mac looked up, blinking slowly. “Oh. Hello, Ink. Thought you’d just come right in, didn’t ya?”

She ignored the little jest in his voice, despite finding it oddly pleasant. “Nevermind that. What happened to you? Why’s your leg all bandaged?”

“Gym,” he said, running a hand down his leg. “Playing basketball. Made a hard turn on the heel and twisted wrong, Ah guess. Nurse Redheart said Ah probably sprained it.”

Ink winced. “It does look like that happened. It’s all swollen.”

“Eeyup.” He groaned. “Of all the fool-brained things to do, and right when mah family needs my help the most!”

“Your family? What do you mean?”

She hadn’t consciously realized she’d taken a seat in the rolling stool by the wall. She sat there, comfortable and complacent, as one might feel when in one’s own home. Big Mac raised an eyebrow to this, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, with Ma and Pa gone,” he explained, “we’ve a lot less ‘young-blood’ able to help us on the farm, as Granny Smith puts it. Applejack, Apple Bloom, and I usually help, but with this in the way—” He tapped his leg, wincing; “—that’s gonna be a pain.”

Ink frowned. “What, are you usually carrying in the largest presents or something?”

“Eeyup,” he replied easily. “Ah buy a tree from downtown, drive it up to the farm mahself, and set it up.”

“Sounds tough.”

“It ain’t too bad. Y’get used to it after a while.”

Ink paused, tilting her head. The printer was still running, and Nurse Redheart and Miss Daybloom were still busy. She wondered what time it was; then she put that thought away.

“I sense there’s a ‘but’ in there,” she said with a light smile.

Mac laughed. “Yer awfully perceptive, Ink. Like that Artifex friend of yours.”

“Ha! Please; Artifex is so much more perceptive than me.”

“Yer right, though. Normally, even if Ah was injured like Ah am now, Applejack and Apple Bloom could handle the other chores. But Applejack is going out with her friends, as is Apple Bloom. So that leaves me an’ Granny by ourselves, and with this injury, it’ll pretty much be just Granny.”

“How bad is your injury?” she asked, curious.

In answer, he pulled the bandages down a little. Ink cringed at the sight. Everything from half of the calf down was red and swollen and puffy. “Wow. And that’s just from twisting your ankle funny?”

“Eeyup.” He offered a chuckle; he sounded embarrassed. “Goes to show you shouldn’t go all-out without warming up first.”

“I don’t know, Mac. You look pretty hot to me.”

The words were out of her mouth before she even had thought not to say them. As an awkward silence descended, she slowly realized what she had just said. A fearsome blush splashed across her face. Mac’s face was hard to read; she couldn’t tell if he was angry or upset.

“O-oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” she exclaimed. “That just—I just—I don’t even know where that came from! Oh, God, you must think I’m weird and we’re never going to look each other in the eye calmly ever again and—”

Booming laughter interrupted her, but it wasn’t booming like thunder. Rather, it was like the crash of the ocean’s waves, the sound of which carried for miles, and she was in a lighthouse looking at the wide, expansive mass before her. Mac slapped his good leg and was shaking and rumbling all over.

“Hoo-wee!” he finally said, once his laughter had subsided. “Well! Thank you kindly fer the compliment, Ink. Ah guess Ah am pretty heated.”

He… wasn’t mad?

Of course, you idiot! Why would he be mad? You just complimented him!

He was grinning at her, grinning like he had caught on to a joke that only he understood. “Ah have t’admit, Ink, never thought I’d hear that from you, of all people.”

“Uh… ehehe! Um, I never thought I’d hear that from myself!”

The two shared their laughter. Ink’s nervousness began to subside; for that, she was grateful. For some reason, she figured it would be awkward if she and Mac had gone forever onward stiff and uncertain around each other.

Now that’s a weird thought… But she didn’t know quite why.

Then, their laughter was interrupted by a quiet, yet stern “Ahem” coming from the door.

Ink eeped again, and in a rather high-pitched tone as well. This caused Mac to let out a loud guffaw, before he struggled to cover his mouth with a hand and stifle his laughter. Nurse Redheart’s eyebrow might as well have been a rocketship at this point, so high was it raised.

“Ink,” she said, “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter the room just yet.”

“Uh, uh, w-well, y’see… Big Mac here; he’s, uh, a friend! Yeah! And I was, y’know, worried about him and I wanted to check up on him. Yeah. That’s all. Nothing… nothing wrong with that, right?”

Nurse Redheart harrumphed. “I suppose compassion and worry are worthy incentives to bursting in on a patient. Do try to refrain from doing it in the future, though, dear. One patient, one doctor, unless there’s surgery involved. All right?”

“Aren’t you a nurse?”

“Ink.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll just, ah, wait outside… again…”

She did just that, stepping past Redheart and returning to the leathery seats. Miss Daybloom, without looking up, chuckled. “Got caught, did you? No surprise there. Redheart and I could hear you two laughing from all the way over here.” Her eyes twinkled, and she winked at Ink. “You two must be good friends.”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, good friends.” Even though I’ve only really known him for a day or two…

She waited there for a little while as Nurse Redheart and Big Mac talked, probably over her. She fidgeted in her seat, still wanting to get up, but she sensed that doing so would earn her the nurse’s ire, if she hadn’t already. Miss Daybloom, she noticed, kept a careful eye on her, so she couldn’t get anywhere close to where Mac was.

Where Mac was…

Why did she want to get close to where Mac was?

Well, we didn’t really finish our conversation was the only answer she could come up with. Even then, it felt like it was missing something. She chose to put it out of her mind for the moment.

Eventually, the door opened, and Mac stepped out. His hands were full of paperwork and a pen. He nodded to Ink, and she nodded back, and he took a seat next to her. The paperwork was exactly what one would expect for getting such an injury; he had to sign a few things. Ink watched him for a little bit. He has surprisingly neat handwriting.

“Ink.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an order, from Nurse Redheart, one that she knew she ought to listen to. Resisting the urge to gulp, Ink got up and pressed down her skirt. “Coming,” she said.

She almost went through the doorway, but stopped. She cast a glance behind her, at Mac, and he nodded and smiled at her. She didn’t get to respond; Nurse Redheart was already closing the door. But that little gesture alone—it, for whatever reason, warmed her heart.

Admittedly, this was not the diagnosis that Ink had hoped for. Two possibilities had originally arisen in her mind when she was walking to the nurse’s office. One: that the nurse concluded she did have muscle spasms, and she would be forced to take a bunch of pills to regulate it. Or two: that the nurse concluded she did not have muscle spasms, and she’d be called out for lying to Mr. Turner and go down in history as the girl who faked muscle spasms to get out of Physics. Either option were not ideal, so she supposed this end result was the best one.

She came out of the office dwelling on this as Redheart went into her office to finalize some paperwork for her. Since her visit was shorter and less serious than Mac’s, there would be less paperwork to fill out, and she could do it at home. She watched Redheart print out the necessary files, before walking back over to the reception area.

Her eyes darted over the last phrase of the diagnosis, and she paused, feeling somehow empty because of it. The line about “parents” was upheaved in her mind and rolled around, before she pushed it away.

Mac was there, and he had finished his paperwork. He looked up and smiled. “Still scared?” he asked.

“Scared? Why would I be scared?” She knew she didn’t sound at all convincing, and she hoped Mac didn’t notice—

“You’ve got that wide-eyed look, like deer in the headlights,” he said. “Ah’ve seen it. Apple Bloom used to be like that, too.”

“Oh.” She sat down next to him, sighing. “Yeah, I guess I was a little scared. But only a little!”

“Ah believe ya.”

Nurse Redheart came out with all of the papers—they were in a neat stack—and handed them to Ink. “Have your parents fill this out,” she said. “Miss Daybloom, if you would, please.”

Miss Daybloom scribbled something down, twice, and handed something to the nurse. She peeled it, revealing two excused passes, and she gave one to each. “You can go now, she said, “and you’d better hurry, or you’ll miss the rest of your second block class.”

She paused. “One more thing. Wait here, Mac.”

She went into another room and came back with a pair of crutches. “So that you don’t put any more pressure on that ankle of yours,” she simply said. Big Mac accepted the crutches graciously.

Ink and Mac both got up and thanked the women for their service. Ink held opened the door for the older boy, and they walked out.

Not just out, though; out together. Ink only noticed this fact when Mac mentioned it.

“Oh! Um… so we are.”

“Is yer class on the same floor as gym?” he asked.

“Uh…” She had to think about that for a moment. “N-no, actually.”

“Oh. Well, then you’d better run along before yer late, like Nurse Redheart said.”

“O-oh, that’s okay!” she said, waving an arm aimlessly in front of her. “I-I don’t mind! A-and someone has to make sure that you don’t fall or anything!”

Big Mac looked a little sour, but it was probably his pride, she reasoned. “Wasn’t gonna fall,” he muttered.

Then his crutches skidded and he nearly did fall, had not Ink caught him. “Oof!” she exclaimed, nearly keeling over from his body’s weight. “Y-you okay, Mac?”

“E-eeyup,” he stuttered. She helped him stand back up. “S-sorry.”

“S’okay. Least you didn’t, ehe, knock me down and sprain my leg, too!”

They laughed at that. They were on the second floor, and gym was on the first, so they traveled to the nearest stairwell and went down it. Their steps echoed against hard flooring. Ink grew suddenly aware of the fact that they were the only two roaming the halls.

They emerged on the first floor and went down the hall, before crossing around a corner. They passed Mr. Solil’s class. Right next to the door was a bulletin board, displaying the Quotes project from October. Ink’s pace slowed so she could look at it. She hadn’t tried very hard on it—she did fairly well, a B, and she accepted it—and so it came as no surprise to her when her quote did not appear on that board. And it also came to no surprise to her that in the center, the winner was Artifex Frost, for, of all things, a custom quote—that is, one he had made up.

“You grow when you begin to live, learn, and love—day by day, moment by moment.”

“How is he?” Big Mac suddenly asked. She realized he’d stopped right beside her, and was also looking at the Quotes board.

“Huh?”

“Artifex. How is he?”

“Oh. He’s doing fine, I suppose. Definitely better than he was during the Fall Formal, from what I’ve been told.”

Mac nodded at that. “That’s good. He’s a nice guy once you get t’know him.”

“Yeah. He is.”

“You and he are pretty close.”

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

“You’d be a cute couple together.”

Ink spluttered. “W-what? Aw, not you, too, dude!”

Mac laughed that deep, rich laugh of his. “Ah’m just teasing ya, Ink. ‘Sides,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, “Ah’ve also seen the way he looks at a certain ex-Siren.”

“Oh? Ohh…” She smiled then. “Well, feel free to tease him about it. He likes that.”

“Somehow, Ah doubt that.”

They passed the Quotes board and went down the hall again. They were a little quiet, before Mac asked her, “So how’s the novel coming along?”

“It’s… not coming,” she said. “I, uh, only got one interview done today. With Gaige. Thanks for the idea, by the way.”

“You’ve already thanked me enough. How’d it go?”

“Eh. It was all right. Gaige is just crazy, y’know?”

“Not really. She and Ah haven’t really talked.”

“Oh. Right. But yeah, some of it—of what she said, I mean—was helpful. So I guess I’ve got a good starting point—at least some sort of starting point.”

Mac nodded. “That’s good t’hear, Ink.”

She looked at Mac. His face was a little flushed, likely from the awkwardness of having to use crutches. A thought came to her. “Um, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Eeyup?”

“... where exactly did you get the idea for interviews from? You don’t strike me as a guy who’d, you know…”

They stopped walking, and Mac fixated her with a narrowed look. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised her hands, apologetic. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just, like, interviews? Interviews about relationships? The whole idea sounds like a process a real, published author might use.”

She paused. Then she gasped. “No. Macintosh Apple, do you read romance novels—”

“N-no! O-of course n-not! Ah just, Ah-Ah mean—”

“What’s your favorite? Pride and Prejudice? Tender is the Night? Twilight?”

“N-no! Ah mean—Ah don’t read romance novels!”

He was blushing; blushing so much, in fact, that he really did resemble an apple, and his green eyes were like little cute worms that sometimes stuck out and said hello. That image alone was enough to tickle Ink’s heart. She began laughing, harder and harder, until she was clutching her gut and had bent over. She was sure the entire school could hear her—and a small part of her was deeply embarrassed—but the other part of her didn’t care. She kept laughing and laughing while Mac stuttered and sputtered and scrambled for a coherent explanation.

“Ah just read it in one of them magazines Applejack gets,” Mac managed to say. “Y’know, like those trash Cosmo magazines or whatever!”

She finally stopped laughing. Now she was wheezing. But she decided to give Mac the benefit of the doubt. “Oh? And in that magazine you read an entire article about how an author goes about getting ideas?”

“It was a good article…”

“Ha! Okay, Mac, I believe you. Though there’s nothing wrong with wanting to read a little bit of romance every now and then.” She giggled as he stuttered again.

He was still blushing and she was still giggling by the time they reached the gym. The doors were closed, and they could see several students on the court. No one seemed intent on coming over to bother them. Her giggles subsided, and Mac returned to his usual state.

Ink realized they would have to say goodbye. She reminded herself it was for the moment, but she couldn’t deny she had enjoyed their little conversation.

“You’re not gonna fall again, okay?” she told Mac. It was more of an order, really, rather than a warning.

He nodded ruefully. Then he lifted one of the crutches. “Ah don’t think it can get much worse than this.”

She didn’t know what else to say, so she opened the door for Mac and stepped aside so he could get through. He stopped halfway, turned to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. His blush was gone, and he was smiling again. “Thanks fer walkin’ with me, Ink. Ah appreciate it.”

“Oh! Yeah, no, it’s fine, Mac. I liked it, too.”

He walked away. She watched him go, feeling odd. He stopped when he was at the bleachers, turned around, and raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question.

“Oh! Um, well…” She hesitated; hesitated; then: “Bye!”

She was gone; the door was closed behind her; but his laughter, booming and deep, trailed after her, and she welcomed it.