The crowds roared. The fans screamed. All of the ponies leaned forward in their seats, eyes gleaming, eagerly awaiting the blare of the horn that would announce the start of the race.

Scootaloo spread her wings out proudly over her, crouching and pawing impatiently at the clouds. Her purple eyes narrowed with concentration, and the corner of her tongue wet her lips in anticipation. She could hear Rainbow Dash shout out, “Three!”

Her muscles tensed.

“Two!”

Her feathers unfurled, catching the light of the sun.

“One!”

You can do this, Scootaloo. You have what it takes, she thought, her heart hammering like a drum. Focus…focus…

“GO!”

The racers took off like rockets, their wings beating furiously, their eyes thin slits, their hooves reaching out in front of them. One pony, a very pale blue stallion with an almost-black mane and tail, drew ahead ever so slightly.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Scootaloo said under her breath, focusing all her energy into making her wings flap faster. It seemed to do the trick, for soon she was almost even with him. “Ha!” she panted. “Not so fast anymore, eh, Soarin’?”

Soarin’ sneered. “I may not be as young as I used to be, kid, but I’m still fast enough to beat you!” He drew ahead.

“We’ll see about that!”

Around and around the cloud course they went, Soarin’ taking the lead at times, Scootaloo ahead at others. On their fifth and final lap, though, it became clear that both were tiring.

“Looks…like your…age is taking…a toll,” Scootaloo choked out between gasps.

“Yeah? Well…I don’t see…you…faring any better,” he flashed back. The two had slowed considerably.

Soon they could see the finish line. As they drew closer and closer, the crowds erupted in a chorus of screams, half shouting Scootaloo’s name and the other half shouting Soarin’s. However, neither of them won.

A few of the other racers zipped ahead, soaring across the finish line before them.

Just as she saw the finish line cross underneath her, Scootaloo collapsed with exhaustion. Soarin’ fell down next to her, seemingly even more tired.

Rainbow Dash dove down from where she had been before, grinning ear to ear. Her Wonderbolts costume shimmered proudly. “Nice job, squirt,” she laughed, ruffling Scootaloo’s mane. “Fourth place out of fifteen. Not bad for somepony as young as you.”

“Thanks. Did I beat Soarin’?”

“Naw, but you got awfully close.” Rainbow Dash leaned down to help the young mare up, brushing a puff of cloud off her Wonderbolts suit. “Come with me.”

“Huh?” She tilted her head. “Where are we going?”

“Well, after every race or show, we have to sign stuff. C’mon, Scoots, you know this. I’m sure you’ll have a huge line of fans waiting for you to sign their stuff. I have to say I’ve never seen anypony gain so much attention for doing one stunt before. Well, of course, besides me and Spitfire and Soarin’, of course. Tell me, Scoots, how did you manage to destroy so much land with that little trick of yours?”

Scootaloo blushed and ducked her head down. “I, ah, I’m not actually sure, to tell you the truth. But we can forget about that, because I already paid for the damage.”

Rainbow Dash ruffled her mane again. “I’m just teasing you, squirt. Don’t take it personally.”

A new, older, raspier voice cut through the air. “Yes. It’s the captain of the Wonderbolts’ job to tease ponies.” All of them turned to see a yellow mare with a fiery mane and tail drop down onto the clouds. Her muzzle was tinged with gray, and her eyes seemed a lot more tired than before.

“Spitfire!” Rainbow Dash squealed.

Spitfire smiled, nodding. “It’s nice to see you again, Rainbow. How have the Wonderbolts been since I retired?”

“Oh, we’ve been great, Spitfire! I’m trying my best to lead them like you did.”

“Of course you are, Rainbow Dash,” she snorted. “Anyway, don’t you have places to be, things to sign?”

Rainbow Dash grinned. “Oh! Right! Yes! Poster signing!” She gave Soarin’ a long look, eyes sparkling. “Shall we?”

He returned the look, nodding. “We shall.” The two flew off toward the signing together, laughing softly about something.

Spitfire stared after them, a distant look in her eyes. “I always knew they’d end up together, before I even knew Rainbow Dash’s name. They just seemed so…right together. Just like you and Rumble.” She shook her head. “So. Signing. Just follow those two and they’ll show you where to go.”

Scootaloo nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Spitfire. It’s a shame I wasn’t in the Wonderbolts when you were captain. I hear you were a great leader.”

“Thank you, Scootaloo.”

*   *   *

Scootaloo swept the tip of the pencil across the poster, swirling and curving it just like she had for the past twenty minutes. The poster’s owner, a small lime green filly, beamed up at her.

“When I grow up I want to be just like you,” the filly said, her eyes shining. Then she bounded off, holding the rolled up poster in her mouth.

With a sigh, Scootaloo took the next poster to sign, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Take care, kid,” she told the pony in front of her. Poster signing was interesting, sure, and it was great to know ponies appreciated what she did, but after ten or so minutes it became too routine for her.

“’Loo!”

Her ears shot up. There was only one pony that called her that, and that pony was Rumble. Sure enough, she could see her gray-coated husband streaking through the crowd toward her. Behind him scampered a small gray filly, the pride and joy of Scootaloo’s life.

“Rumble!” she exclaimed, leaping out of her seat to meet him.

The pegasus threw his arms around her, hugging her close to him. His eyes glistened with love. “Aw, ‘Loo, it’s great to see you again. Sometimes I think your Wonderbolts tours and races are too long.”

“Me too,” she murmured, burying her face in his soft mane.

“Mommy! Mommy!” the filly chirped, hugging her leg tightly.

Scootaloo laughed and pulled away from Rumble, lifting the filly and kissing her forehead. “Hi there, Storm,” she whispered. “How’ve you been?”

The filly giggled, “Mommy, it’s only been two days since you saw me!”

“I know, sweetie. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

Rumble gave Scootaloo a concerned look. “How much longer is this Wonderbolts tour? Storm and I miss you.”

“Aw, Rumble, cheer up. It’ll only be a few more days, and then I’ll be home for two whole weeks! Besides, the next tour we go on, I promise I’ll bring you.” She threw her arm around him warmly. “Picture it, hon. You, me, Storm, and all of Canterlot Castle. It’ll be great!”

He dropped his gaze to the clouds below. “Yeah, I know…” As if suddenly realizing something, he twisted his head around. “Oh, ponyfeathers. Sorry, ‘Loo, but Storm and I gotta go. We’re holding up the line. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Love ya, Rumble.”

“Love you too, ‘Loo.” Smiling halfheartedly, he threw their filly onto his back and dashed away, throwing one last look over his shoulder.

Scootaloo settled back into her chair, signing the posters, keeping one eye on the TV in the corner.

An image flickered on the screen and a well-groomed red stallion appeared behind a desk. He was wearing a bright red tie and straightening a stack of papers on the desk. As the camera focused in, he looked up and smiled.

“Good evening, Equestria, I’m Newsflash, here with all the latest news. I must say, not much has been going on lately. So first I’ll begin by saying what a pleasure it is to know how much the music industry has changed since I was a foal. Back then it was all about how loud you could turn up the bass, but now, it’s about true talent. Here to show you just how much talent our lovely citizens have is none other than one of Equestria’s best singers. Fillies and gentlecolts, give it up for today’s interviewee, Sweetie Belle!”

Scootaloo’s ears perked up. Sweetie Belle? Being interviewed on live TV? Sweetie Belle?

The camera shifted to show an elegant white unicorn trotting in through the door. Her purple-and-pink mane, curled slightly at the edges, bounced as she walked. Her green eyes were angled ever so slightly, sparkling brightly in the lights. Her flank was adorned with a purple-and-pink bell next to one purple music note.

“Thanks, Newsflash,” Sweetie Belle laughed, her voice sounding remarkably the same since the last time Scootaloo heard it. “Really, might I say what a pleasure and honor it is to be here today?”

“Ha, ha, you’re too kind, Sweetie Belle. If anything, I’d say we should be lucky to have you. So, first question. How does it feel to be the most famous non-princess pony in Equestria?”

Sweetie Belle blushed. “Please, Newsflash, that honor goes to the members of the Wonderbolts, or maybe my sister, Rarity. But I know what you mean.” She tilted her head. “Hmm, that’s a toughie. Well, first of all, it feels amazing. I mean, I’m not the best singer, but it feels great to know that ponies appreciate what I do.”

That’s exactly what I thought earlier today! Scootaloo thought.

“Although at the same time, it’s a bit hard. Ponies don’t look at me and think, that’s a nice pony. They see me and they think, wow, that’s one of Equestria’s top singers, I should get her autograph. Sometimes I get kinda frustrated. I want ponies to like me for who I am, you know?”

Newsflash nodded sympathetically. “I know the feeling. Now, on to our next question. Is there anything that really motivated you to write your songs?”

“Well…” Sweetie Belle’s face let up in a smile very familiar to Scootaloo. It was her “somepony just told me to talk about what I really want to talk about” face. “Of course, as you know, my husband, Featherweight, is very close to my heart. Lots of times I sing about how I feel for him. I bet you can guess which of my songs are about him, Newsflash.”

“Hmm…is one of them Burning?”

“Right you are! Then there’s also one of my more remorseful songs, which I wrote for my parents.” A hushed silence fell across the room for a few seconds. “I…I never really told them how much they meant to me. I wasn’t a very good daughter. Never Let Go is about how I’ll always remember how great they were to me.”

“Hang on, hang on. What about Three Little Dreamers? That one’s about somepony you lost, am I right?”

Sweetie Belle flinched, her eyes widening and her mouth gaping open. Her eyes grew distant. For several moments she stood there, staring at nothing, not moving a muscle.

Newsflash placed a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “Sweetie Belle? Are you okay? Who’s it about?”

She started. “Huh? Oh.” Her hoof shot up, wiping tears from her eyes. “Sorry about that, I just kind of…blanked out. No, you’re right. That song is about somepony I lost. They didn’t die. In fact, as I hear on your show sometimes, they’re doing quite well. I wrote that song about Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, two of my closest friends.”

Scootaloo’s jaw dropped, and her pencil clattered to the table. For a moment she forgot all about signing posters.

“Well, why does that make you sad? They’re still alive, so what’s the problem?”

“I…” She hesitated. “I…I’m not really sure. When we were foals, we were the best of friends. We literally did everything together. Every free moment we had, we spent it together, trying desperately to earn our cutie marks. We, ah…we called ourselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I know, it sounds silly, but they were like sisters to me. A year after I earned my cutie mark, Rarity and I moved to Canterlot so she could grow her business. While there I enrolled in a school for vocals, and, well, I’m sure all of you know what happened next. Big names started to notice me, and my career had begun. I met Featherweight in Canterlot years later, and we remembered each other from Ponyville. We fell in love, married, and here we are now. I’m expecting my first foal. But—and I’m terribly sorry to say this—I don’t think I’ve spoken to Apple Bloom or Scootaloo in about fifteen years.”

Scootaloo stiffened. Had it really been that long?

“I know they’re doing well. Scootaloo married Rumble, had a little filly, and joined the Wonderbolts. Apple Bloom opened an art studio with Pound Cake and their four foals in Ponyville. It’s just…” She trailed off, looking at Newsflash nervously “Newsflash, can you keep a secret?”

Newsflash laughed, “Sorry, kid, but we’re on live TV.”

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you anyway. When the three of us eventually earned our cutie marks and prepared to go our separate ways, we promised each other we’d meet at our old clubhouse at the same time every year. On the appointed date I went to our old clubhouse and waited. I waited twenty-four hours, Newsflash, but neither of them came. I understand, I really do. Scootaloo was busy, what with Rainbow Dash training her and everything. Apple Bloom was alternating between working the farm and painting. So I left and came back the next year. But they never showed up. Five years I traveled there, Newsflash, and five years I was disappointed. I know they must’ve been busy, but…we never broke promises to each other. It just…it hurt…a lot…”

“Hello? Hello! Equestria to Scootaloo!” a voice snapped.

“Wha—huh?!” Scootaloo yelped, flashing back to reality. “Oh. It’s you, Rainbow Dash. What do you want?”

Rainbow Dash gritted her teeth. “Look around, squirt. It’s closing time for the arena. We have to go.” She flared her wings impatiently, beckoning to the rest of the Wonderbolts behind her.

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Rainbow, is there any chance we’re going to Ponyville during this tour?”

“Um, yes. The name of this tour is ‘Small Towns, Big Names,’ smart one. Ponyville’s got Twilight Sparkle, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack, and was the hometown of me and Rarity, and you and Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle and tons of others. Duh!”

“Good. Can you bring me two parchments and a quill? I’ll meet you guys back at the hotel. I just have something I need to bring to the post office.”

Rainbow Dash looked her up and down before snorting. “Whatever. Knock yourself out, kid. Just don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.”

*   *   *

Sweetie Belle hopped into the fancy carriage, wincing at the flashes that kept piercing through the night. She brushed her mane out of her eyes and leaned back against the cushiony seat, her eyes closed tightly. That had been, without a doubt, the longest interview she’d had. The questions had kept getting harder and took a longer to answer, so much so that by the time the questions were done, Sweetie Belle could hardly open her mouth to sing a preview of her next song.

Her husband hopped in next to her, yanking the door shut with a sigh. “Yeesh. Is it just me, or do your fans keep getting more and more rabid? A couple of them were trying to pull out locks of my mane.” He rubbed the top of his head pitifully, sticking out his bottom lip. “Of course, I would stand for much worse to keep them from getting to you, Sweetie.”

“Aww, thanks, Featherweight,” she said, smiling. “That’s so sweet.”

“What can I say? I’m a sweet stallion,” he replied, grinning. Then his grin fell and he looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Sweetie Belle murmured absently.

“You look upset. Are you—are you experiencing pain? Do you need to go to the hospital??” Featherweight’s eyes grew as large as the moon. “Tell me you’re okay!”

Sweetie Belle laid her hoof on Featherweight’s, laughing softly. “I’m okay, I really am.”

“That’s what they all say. Stay here, I’ll tell our driver to drive to the nearest hospital.”

As he stood up to exit the carriage, she placed her hooves firmly on his shoulders and pushed him back into the seat. “Featherweight! Seriously, I’m fine. I was just…thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

She shifted her gaze out the window, staring up at the stars. “Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. Why didn’t they ever even write to me? Was I not important to them?”

Featherweight furrowed his brow. “Sweets, I’m sure they tried to write to you. Maybe their letters just didn’t get through.” He glanced out the window, saying, “See? There’s the mailpony now, talking to the driver. You never know, it could be one of them.”

“Yeah, right.”

No sooner had she said that than the door flew open and their driver, a gray stallion, poked his head inside. “Sweetie Belle! It’s for you!” he said excitedly. “From one of the Wonderbolts!”

Sweetie Belle gave Featherweight a quick look. “Well, there are tons of Wonderbolts besides Scootaloo that would write to me,” she insisted, taking the letter and tearing it open.

“Read it! Read it!” Featherweight urged, peeking over her shoulder.

“I am.”

Dear Sweetie Belle, it read. I watched the interview, and I agree. It’s been too long. I’m sorry I broke my promise. Can’t say much now. Meet me at the old clubhouse at noon in three days. Apple Bloom will come too. –The Wonderbolts’ Resident Chicken.

Sweetie Belle’s jaw dropped. How could Scootaloo have seen the interview, written the letter, sent the letter, and it have arrived before Sweetie Belle had even left the place she was being interviewed? It was impossible!

Featherweight whistled. “Dang. How’s she see the interview and send this all within four hours?” he wondered, speaking Sweetie’s thoughts out loud. “And how do we know it’s really her?”

Sweetie Belle pointed to the signature at the bottom. “That’s Scoots’ signature. It’s the same as it was when we were fillies.”

“But…Ponyville’s way out of the way for us, and three days isn’t a long time. Besides, are you sure you should go in your condition?”

“I’m going, Feather. I haven’t seen my friends in almost twenty years.” She waved at the driver, who was still standing with his head inside the door. “Mr. Hoof, would you be a dear and drive me to Ponyville? I’ll pay you double what I normally do.”

The stallion nodded. “Of course, Ms. Belle. Right away.” His head vanished and soon the carriage shook slightly and began to move.

Sweetie Belle lay back on the seat, her head resting on Featherweight’s shoulder. He stared down at her, his eyes soft, before relaxing and closing his eyes.

“Goodnight, Featherweight,” she murmured, half-asleep already.

“G’night, Sweetie.”

*   *   *

“Mom! I need help with—”

“Mom! Yellow Cake kicked me!”

“I did not!”

“Yeah you did!”

“No! I only kicked you because you called me a liar!”

“I only called you a liar because you lied!”

“Mom, can you help me with my homework, please?”

“Hey, Mom, I’m hungry!”

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

“ENOUGH!” Apple Bloom snapped, leaping up and whirling around. Her mane was scruffy, her eyes were bloodshot, and her nostrils flared. “Ah have had enough,” she said, calmly this time. “Yellow Cake, apologize to yer sister.”

Yellow Cake shuffled his hooves and dropped his golden ears. “Sorry, Apple Cider,” he mumbled bitterly. His brown mane fell around his eyes.

Apple Cider sniffed and turned up her nose. “Ah suppose it’s alright.” Suddenly she leaned forward, growling, her nose pressed against her younger brother’s. “But if ya kick me one more time, Ah Pinkie Promise Ah will kick ya so hard you’ll be landin’ in Manehattan.”

“G-got it, sis!”

Apple Bloom turned to her other two children. “Now, Firebush, ya said ya were hungry?”

The bright red filly nodded, standing on the tip of her hooves.

“Alright. Ya know where th’ kitchen is. Pick out somethin’ healthy and turn on some cartoons ta keep ya quiet, y’hear?”

“’Kay!”

“Bumblebee, ya needed help with homework?”

The oldest of Apple Bloom’s children, a pale yellow filly with a golden-brown mane and tail, sighed and nodded. “Yeah. My idiot teacher decided to give us homework on homeostasis, but what we learned today was how to—”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Bout that. Uh, ya better ask yer father ‘bout that one, hayseed. Ah’m no better at smartpony school stuff than Ah am at dancin’.”

Bumblebee groaned, “Whatever,” and wandered off to find Pound Cake.

Apple Cider and Yellow Cake stared after their sister with a mixture of fear and annoyance.

“Ma, she’s in one of her moods again, ain’t she?” Yellow Cake asked.

“’Fraid so. If Ah were you Ah’d go play in the orchard, just until she goes over ta her friend’s house.”

The two were happy to oblige, arguing with each other as soon as they stepped out the door.

Sighing with relief and rubbing her aching head, Apple Bloom sank back into her chair and gripped the paintbrush in her jaws, swirling it across the painting with one final touch. Then she drew back, squinting and looking at the picture from different angles. At last satisfied, she admired the painting. The painting was a sunset scene, an apple orchard in the background. The thing that really made the picture was the reddish tinge to everything and the way everything was proportioned, like something somepony who was slowly going insane would see. The trees bent in all sorts of angles, the hillsides were oddly positioned, and the apples on the trees were way larger than they should’ve been. Everything was brilliantly done, the colors blending in such a way to draw you in and never let you go. Apple Bloom called it Living With Regret.

“Apple Bloom?” a soft voice called.

“Aw, fer cryin’ out loud, what the hay do you want?” she demanded, spinning around. “Oh! Pound Cake! Sorry, Ah thought you were one of the kids. Still, what the hay do ya want? Ah’m a little busy.”

Pound Cake lifted his hooves as if surrendering. “Whoa, whoa, calm down, Ms. Snappy-pants. I was just going to see if you were okay, but I think I know the answer.”

“Ah’m fine. Besides, it ain’t none of yer business how Ah’m doin’ and why.” She crossed her arms stubbornly.

“Actually, AB, I think it is my business. I deserve to know how my little wifey’s feeling.” He stuck his tongue out at her and gave her one of his famous grins. The kind of grin that always made ponies feel like slugging him in the jaw. “Although, I can see you’re busy. I’ll just pretend you don’t exist until dinner.”

Apple Bloom flattened her ears and glared at him. “Pound Cake, Ah don’t know how Ah can put up with ya.”

“I’m real glad you do put up with me, though,” he said earnestly.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Your cooking’s amazing!” Before he even finished speaking he had to dive out of the way to dodge the paintbrush Apple Bloom had chucked at him.

“Pound Cake, yer the most infuriatin’ creature Ah’ve ever met!” she hollered, her face red with anger.

“And that’s why you love me,” he concluded, handing her the paintbrush. “Relax, AB, I’m just kidding. I’m glad you put up with me because you’re amazing and beautiful and intelligent and talented and—”

Apple Bloom cut him off. “All right, Pound, Ah think Ah get it.”

He grabbed her hooves and pulled her out of her chair, twirling her so she ended up in his arms. Though she was by no means short, Pound Cake was several inches taller than her and had to look down at her. “Y’know, Apple Bloom,” he murmured, “I think you’ve overworked yourself, what with the kids being home for summer vacation and whatnot.”

“No, ya think?”

“Tell you what,” he went on, pulling away from her and handing her an envelope, “you just read what’s in that envelope and then have yourself a long vacation. I’ll have Fluttershy and Big Mac stay here to help watch the kids while I’m at work, and you can go wherever you want and just relax. Sound good?”

She thought for a moment. “Yeah, but…where would Ah go?”

He shrugged. “You can go anywhere from Canterlot to Apploosa, it doesn’t matter to me. Although, uh, I take back what I said before. You should probably prepare before you go on vacation. I’ll help you pack and everything. As you very well know, money isn’t an issue. Since we live on the farm, we don’t have to buy food, we can just pick it. The farm was paid for a long time ago, and since I started working in a higher position at the factory, we’ve got a pretty good flow of money coming in. Hay, I could even arrange for you to stay at Canterlot Castle if you wanted!”

Apple Bloom gave a sigh of contentment and leaned against Pound Cake. “Have Ah ever told ya Ah love ya, Pound Cake?”

“Yes. Yes, you have. That’s sweet of you, but you’re being really sappy and not like yourself and it’s kind of creeping me out. I really think you should see what’s in that envelope.”

“Ya mean ya read it?!”

“Well, yeah.”

The mare leapt away from him, her eyes shooting daggers. “What the hay is yer problem, Pound Cake? What if it was some super-secret message for me and ya went and read it?! Sometimes you just—AUGH!”

Once again, Pound Cake found himself dodging flying paintbrushes. When the assault ceased, he grinned at his wife. “There’s the Apple Bloom I know and love. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Only once Pound Cake was gone did Apple Bloom look at the envelope he had given her. The front had no return address, so she slid the letter out and read it aloud.

“Dear Apple Bloom,” she began, “I can’t explain much in this letter, but it’s been too long since all of us have gotten together. Huh, that’s weird, Ah wonder who wrote this. Meet me at our old clubhouse at noon in three days, and we’ll talk then. Sweetie Belle will be there too. Sweetie Belle? From, The Wonderbolts’ Resident Chicken.” She looked up in surprise. “There’s only one pony who knows my name, Sweetie Belle’s name, and is a huge chicken. But…why would Scootaloo wanna see us? She’s got a big shot name, a sweet little daughter, and a great husband. Sure, Sweetie’s a famous singer, but what about me? Ah’m just a painter. Oh, well, Ah guess Ah’ll find out then.”