“So, I’ve been thinking…” Rock says as we stroll through the empty halls between the library and bustling investigation scene. “Last night, there was that eclipse. Then yesterday, you said you just woke up like this, yeah?” I hum an affirmative note. I’ve had the same thoughts in the moments between forming plans to survive and trying not to think about taking innocent blood. “D’you think it might have something to do with that? The timing is kinda weird, plus, wasn’t all the news talking about how that one was special?”

“Yeah, it was a total ‘equinoctial’ eclipse. Happened on the same night as the Spring equinox. Apparently, Canterlot hasn’t seen a total eclipse on that particular date in thousands of years. It was also a supermoon, so it was a bit closer to us than usual. So yeah, you’re right, the timing is weird.” If only this information meant anything to me.

The babble of other students becomes marginally more intense as we near the library. I take a moment to focus on their voices, wondering if I’ll hear mine or Rock’s name. I can hear Ace’s name spoken in solemn murmurs, but if anyone is speaking of us, specifically, their speech is drowned in the hundreds of other exchanges.

“If things like this have happened before, maybe that’s why eclipses got such a bad rep, back in the day.” I say. Rock’s turn to hum agreement.

“But why wouldn’t the world be filled with mons—uh, stuff like werewolves and wendigos and whatnot?” I don’t remark on his obvious first choice of words, but I appreciate the alliteration. “We’ve seen tons of eclipses here, no vampires robbing blood banks or zombies crawling around. I mean, there’s urban legends and the Everfree has a couple cryptids running around, but that’s about it.”

“Allegedly. They’ve already proven the man-eating snake-balls were a hoax.”

“I’m tellin’ you, bro, that’s a government cover-up. I saw ‘em with my own eyes.” Rock says, fervently pointing to his eyes with two fingers. “It’s an escaped genetic experiment!”

“Uh-huh.” I deadpan, “And when we went to check it out, there was a bush that happened to be the same size as the snake-ball you said you saw.”

“It was in the bush!” Rock laughs, “I saw their little eyes glowing, man!” I laugh, too, careful to keep my teeth covered behind my lips. It’s a wonderful feeling I resolve to never take for granted again.

We talk and joke for a few minutes until we near the library, the crowds of clumped students visible through the convex wall of paned glass. They mill about the walkways and spaces between shelves like a colony of ants on break. A select few don’t seem to be phased by the grave nature of the gathering and visibly revel in their time away from classes, oblivious or indifferent to the dirty looks aimed their way. I check myself to be sure I’m not still smiling. As beneficial to our lives as Ace’s death could be, Rock and I need to remain as incognito as ever to at least mitigate the inevitable suspicion that will land at our feet.

We reach the doors and I pull one open. As I turn to hold it open for Rock, I detect a significant drop in the volume of chatter and catch the expression on his face change from one of nervousness, to exasperated anxiety. When I turn back, more sets of eyes are aimed at me than I can recall since the day of the Nightmare Night play. Even a few teachers look up from their huddles at the periphery of the room. As the moment drags on, the volume dips even further until the air simmers with the low hum of murmurs and susurrations, punctuated by the sobs of a few students, too absorbed in their grief to read the room.

The library is a huge, round room with two levels. The second floor is supported by an array of square, fluted columns that sport baroque designs at their heads and bases. In a shallow, circular depression at the center of the room, two concentric rings of tables, topped with computer stations, surround the brass sculpture of a horse’s head. Beyond them, two staircases rise to opposite ends of the second floor. Vast bookshelves, gently curved to follow the generally annular architecture of the room, form segmented, parallel lines all the way to the back walls a considerable distance away. Above, the domed ceiling is decorated with a series of repeating diamonds, painted to appear to be a bright blue, cloudless sky, seen through meters-thick, faceted crystal. The place is lit with warm, yellowish-white light, giving the impression of actually being under a transparent roof, especially with the ubiquitous carpet that’s colored an unobtrusive, almost grass-like green.

The funds and stock of literature needed to make this grand archive a reality was, reportedly, a donation from the very same Ghastenhauser family that employs my mom. One stipulation, upheld to this day, is that the library be open to the public, as often as would not overtly interfere with the education and activity of CHS.

I expected the room to be humid and stuffy with all the warm bodies inside, but the air conditioning must have been set to work in overdrive because the temperature is surprisingly cool and dry.

I take the lead and walk past the front desk, with Rock following just behind me as we’re forced to weave between bodies, single file. Though the library is remarkably spacious for a high school, with nearly the entire student body present, seating space is sparse and a vast majority have taken to gathering in circles on the carpeted floor. At first, I thought we could simply wander, avoiding questions and confrontation by pretending to leaf through books and study material. That may have, at least, looked like we were trying avoid the miasma of grim contemplation the rest of the school seems to be steeped in, but eyes and faces track us as we pass, only relenting when our gaze passes directly over them. I can hear Rock’s heart racing behind me. The poor guy has probably never experienced this much attention, let alone been afflicted with infamy we can practically smell. But that’s probably the scent of a few unwashed or sweat-prone bodies. I’m grateful my sense of smell is largely attuned to blood, over anything else.

More for Rock’s benefit than my own, I scan the library for somewhere we can settle, my nerves jangling under the pressure of a thousand judgemental eyeballs. I focus on letting the scraps of conversation blend together to keep their words from unsettling or frustrating me. This would be a bad time to display my new ability to work as an unconventional traffic light.

The second level seems marginally less crowded, maybe there’s a spot up there.

“Pst, hey, weird kid...” someone hisses behind me. I turn to see an unfamiliar male student seated on the floor with his back against a shelf, pulling on Rock’s sleeve as he attempted to pass by. He had fallen several steps behind and stopped when the student hailed him. “Hey, lemme ask you somethin’.“ I feel the addressor’s choice of words irk me and pretend to rub one eye, checking to see if I can spot a red glow against my palm. Nothing yet, so I step over to Rock who’s already trying to stammer out a response.

“Come on, Rock, you don’t have to talk to—” I begin.

“No one’s talking to you, kid. Extract your creepy ass.” Says another unfamiliar voice. A girl, this time.

Wow. Bold words, considering I’m sure they suspect I murdered someone nearly twice my size. This time, I close my eyes entirely and rub the bridge of my nose.

“Hey!” A third voice pipes up. This one is also female, but familiar and belonging to someone I had hoped not to run across, just yet. I check for a glow against my palm before looking in the direction of one set of stairs, in time to see Rainbow Dash landing between a set of students who clearly weren’t expecting her to leap from what must have been more than ten feet up.

“Ms. Dash! This is not a gymnasium!” The librarian shouts from the front desk.

“Sorry, Ms. Cheerliee!” Rainbow calls back, without looking. She advances on me and Rock. Does she recognize me? “Watch yourself, Trixie.” Rainbow says as she strides past and steps up to the girl who so rudely tried to dismiss me. The girl crosses her arms, sneering at Rainbow. She leans casually against a shelf, one lavender eye covered by her long, pale blue hair. The unobstructed half of her cyan face glares at Rainbow with a hostile grin. If it weren’t for the mean expression, she might have set me off balance with her unique brand of cuteness that I can only describe as ‘bitter’.

“And what are you gonna do, goody-two-shoes? Gonna beat me up for your scrawny boyfriend?” She gives a theatrical gasp and looks to Rock. “Or are you here for your little lawn gnome?”

Even as the subject of her barbs, the urge to chuckle at the dig on Rock contends, fiercely, with the annoyance I have for this girl already. It’s like her voice has been custom-built to make every word as aggravating as possible on an emotional level.

“No, but if you don’t stop being a jerk, I can tell everyone about—hey!” Rainbow cries out in alarm before finishing the sentence. Another girl had appeared and tugged her backward by the collar of her t-shirt. It’s another friend of Twilight’s, a tall, freckled, sunny blonde with tanned peach skin. She wears her usual ranch boots and a southern-style denim skirt. She lacks her signature Stetson cap, likely out of respect for the dead. I hear she’s traditional that way. She looks at Rainbow with mild incredulity as she lets go of the shorter girl’s shirt. “What’s your deal, Applejack?”

“Now, you oughta know better n’ to stoop to her level, Dash.” She says, the country twang of her accent the very anthem of idyllic, wholesome, family values spokespeople. Gods, I can hear her voicing over an oatmeal commercial right now.

“You nerds couldn’t get on Trixie’s level if you took the elevator.” Trixie quips. This earns her several chortles from the crowd around us. Something in me snaps to attentions and fires off a retort before I can even think to stop my lips from moving.

“Yeah, an elevator wouldn’t stop at a sewer.” I regret speaking when I feel several dozen eyes turn my way and a smattering of amused chatter arises.

Why did I open my stupid mouth? I reflexively try shrinking away from the attention, but the effort is pointless here. Trixie’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, but she simply blushes and turns away, mumbling something harsh under her breath. Good, I wouldn’t be able to formulate words at her, much less have another retort after witnessing that weirdly endearing reaction. I turn to Rainbow Dash, whose face is split in a wide grin at me. Applejack stands beside her, trying to hide her own grin with tightly pursed lips. Rock stands beyond them both, a shaky smile cracking his nervous expression as he fidgets.

“Nice one, guy.” She says. I start, unsure if she’s calling me by a nickname or using a general pronoun. Are we that familiar already? We’ve only met once. Probably the latter. “Hey, there’s a couple extra seats upstairs if you wanna hang with us. Also, I kind of owe you an apology.” Rainbow says, scratching the back of her head with a humble look.

“S-Sure.” I say, nodding to Rock. We head towards the stairs, weaving between students with Rock following at the rear, absently scratching at his arm; an old nervous tick. “Why would you need to apologize, though?”

“Eh...well…” Rainbow laughs nervously, “I sorta remember something I said to you this morning about...you being new here.” She says.

“See, we’ve all heard ‘boutchu n’ Ace by now. It’s pretty much all anyone was talkin’ ‘bout this mornin’.” Applejack adds.

“Anyway, it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that bothers you, if what we’ve heard is true, but I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“Oh.” I say. Rainbow fixes me with a queer look and a crooked smile.

“This is where you’re supposed to say ‘apology accepted’, dude.” She says.

“Dash!” Applejack says beside her, giving her friend a playful knock on the shoulder. Rainbow chuckles and throws a sly glance her way. She looks back at me and I realize I’ve stopped walking in the middle of the staircase. I feel my mouth open and close a few times in an imitation of Trixie, but no sound comes forth. Rainbow looks genuinely worried for a moment before Applejack speaks again. “Hey, now, you know she didn’t mean nothin’ by it, right? We all jus’ get caught up in our lil’ groups, ya know?”

“No harm done, R-Rainbow.” Addressing her by only her first name aloud feels strange and I have trouble forcing my mouth around it. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” I search for the words to describe how I feel at the moment. When I sense the silence has gotten awkward, I give up. “I don’t know.”

“You okay, man?” Rock says, somewhere behind me. I half turn to him and see that his face is glowing red, but his concerned expression says that whatever is causing it is not on the forefront of his mind anymore.

“Yeah.” I laugh, “Just being weird, I guess. Sorry guys.”

“Well, c’mon then! The rest o’ th’ Rainbooms are kinda anxious to meetcha.” Applejack says. “Rarity’s been ragaulin’—regala-ing—regis—she been spinnin’ some yarn ‘bout some hero she met back in middle school and we got some bets goin’ round that we think y’all can help settle. How’s about it, cowboys?” Applejack says with a wink.

Rock and I exchange puzzled looks and shrug.

“We can try.” I say.

I let the two girls go ahead of us and resume climbing the stairs beside Rock. I lean down and murmur something to him.

“So which one is it?” I ask.

“Huh?” Rock dons a perplexed expression as he stares fixedly down.

“The one you’re crushin’ on right now.”

“Shut up.” he says with a grin. I laugh and pat his shoulder. The girls wait at the top of the stairs and gesture for us to follow them as they head for a break between two bookshelves. On the other side, a group of beanbag chairs sit in the middle of a small clearing of shelves, occupied by five other young women. I know the names of each by sight.

Rarity, the most changed and refined since middle school, takes up only the edge of the vaguely chair-shaped seat. She strikes a prim, conservative pose that shows off her long, smooth legs and guarantees her skirt remains properly draped over her thighs. She’s dressed in her usual chic, accented with expertly chosen Spring-time colors to match both her pearly skin and rich, violet hair. Beside her, sits the puff ball of chaos itself, Pinkie Pie. As we approach, she’s turned away, quietly engaged in teaching a rhyme-chanting, hand-clapping game called ‘Red Knight, Midnight’ to Twilight Sparkle. Pinkie’s curly cascade of intensely pink hair bounces side to side as she dances in place to the cadence of the words. She reminds me of a genderbent video game character in her blue overalls and pink undershirt. Her bright blue eyes shimmer with repressed energy and the constant smile on her pastel pink face is tuned down, but still present.

Twilight Sparkle, paragon of nerdy cuteness, goddess in glasses, beauty with the big blue bun, transcendent transfer student, and looking way too pretty in a polo, claps hands with Pinkie, struggling to keep up with the chant. Her violet eyes are intensely focused on her hands, her lavender face is screwed up in concentration, and an uncertain smile tugs at the corners of her lips. If my heart could beat, I imagine it would outstrip the combined efforts of every shred of myocardium in the entire library as I watch her straight-cut navy blue bangs bounce on her forehead. The bright, magenta stripe that runs through it sways, hypnotically, in time with the wavy strands of hair that dangle in front of her ears. The way she sits leaves a gap between her dark purple skirt and the tops of her stocking-clad legs where a riotous glimpse of perfect, lavender skin shows. It reminds me of Vice Principal Luna’s outfit from this morning. How can those two not be related?

Looking away before I pop my first vampiric boner and/or a nosebleed, I see the secret bombshell that is Fluttershy. She’s kneeling on the floor in an Eastern style, eyes closed, and humming a soft lullaby. A buttery yellow dress is draped in a picturesque circle around her, like the maiden subject of a Renaissance painting. Everyone knows she’s attractive, but her furtive demeanor and habit of hiding behind her substantial head of rosy hair keeps most from noticing. It’s an innocent, wholesome beauty, mostly appreciable in the way one sees the beauty of a younger sibling, like a flower that’s too perfect to touch and innately forbidden, besides. In Fluttershy’s lap, spiraling scarlet and gold flames frame the amber face of Sunset Shimmer, former resident bitch of CHS. Once, a manipulative popularity hound and the cause or focus of most drama, she took a sharp turn in her disposition after coming into regular contact with the other six girls in the group. The transformation was rapid, mysterious, and regarded with much suspicion, but after several months, she’s managed to establish herself as a notably charitable and helpful peer. Incidentally, she’s also become somewhat of an unspoken sex symbol, at least among the men. Sunset’s looks have a completely different effect than Fluttershy’s; easy to lust after, but nearly impossible to approach. Her black leather jacket is draped over her middle, covering a large portion of a blazing sun design in the center of her bright purple t-shirt. Black motorcycle boots rest on the floor at her hips. Though her eyes are closed and her blue-jean clad legs are casually crossed at her feet, her furrowed brow betrays intense discomfort. Buried within the layers of hair, a compact pillow in the shape of a horseshoe supports her neck.

“Hey, ya’ll,” Applejack calls out. Bright eyes turn our way, and I feel the impact of one particular set. Sunset’s eyes remain closed, however. “This here is Gyre Strand n’ Rock. Ehm, we didn’t happen t’ get your last name there, Rock.” She says this last sentence in an abashed tone, most certainly conscious of the dilemma faced when asking someone for a surname. Not everyone has one, but it’s generally considered rude to ignore the possibility or imply that not having one is improper or unexpected. The lack of a surname still bears archaic connotations of belonging to a lower class. Demonstrably inaccurate these days, but the stigma remains.

I look away from the girls, mostly so I don’t have to meet Twilight’s gaze and risk imploding. Rock’s face is downcast and he seems to be on the verge of digging out a hole in his sleeve and the flesh beneath it. I give him a nudge and his head pops up to me, as if I had woken him from a standing nap, then around at the expecting audience with snappy motions reminiscent of a bird. His mouth opens, but only a high note whines out. Having anticipated this, I answer for him before it gets too awkward.

“Rock Steady,” I say. “Sir Rock Steady, if you please.” I give him another nudge.

“Hah...yeah, that,” He squeezes out. If his heart beat any harder, it might shatter his ribs. Genuinely worried for his sanity and health, I form an idea. Possibly, a terrible idea.

“Sorry, ladies, can you give us a sec?” I say, amazed that the sentence came out intact. A soft chorus of assent answers and I tug Rock’s shirt before stepping back. He takes the que and follows me. I set my back to the girls and face Rock. “Hey,” I whisper, “take a couple breaths with me real quick, alright?” He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. He begins breathing in and I follow suit, taking a much smaller breath, a tiny breath. Just small enough. I hope. He begins breathing out just as I feel something happening in my lungs, as if the muscles are trying to tighten through impossible geometries. I wait for Rock to begin breathing in again and puff out the miniscule pocket of air. The red-ish coloration is mercifully subtle, a trick of the light, if you weren’t already aware of what you saw. Rock gives a subtle cough, interrupting the inhalation. “You alright? Feel better?”

“No.” He mutters, immediately.

Relax. Just a little. Don’t be afraid to be yourself.

Rock’s heart rate drops, noticeably. It’s still elevated, but he doesn’t seem to be on the verge of cardiac arrest, anymore. His eyes open and he looks up at me.

“Actually, yeah.” He sighs and his shoulders visibly drop. “Yeah, that helps.”

“Okay then—” I start, but Rock’s eyes suddenly harden.

“Wait, did you—” I turn away and step back over to the group.

Rarity and Pinkie disengage from a heated conversation they had been having while my back was turned. They don’t meet my curious gaze, but a small flush and amused expression creep onto Rarity’s face. Twilight sits beside them, facing her lap with both hands wringing out a hem of her skirt.

“Sorry, we’re just not used to meeting so many new people at once. I’ll be honest, I’m a bit nervous.” I say as Rock rejoins the gathering, too. There’s a warm chuckle beside me as Applejack lays a hand on my left shoulder.

“Awh, shucks, partner. Ain’t no need t’ feel nervous ‘round here.” I return the smile she offers and try not to laugh at her use of borderline cartoonish country colloquialisms. If it wasn’t for her true Southern heritage, charming accent, and soothing voice, it might be ridiculous, but she makes it sound fairly natural. Beyond her, Rainbow seems to be studying Rock.

“Yeah!” I flinch at the blast of high-pitched noise to my right. Pinkie Pie had somehow snuck up on us and was standing before me and Rock, looking, for all the world, like she might burst from excitement at any moment. “We’re all super cool and relaxed and super duper friendly and none of us like to make people feel left out or unlikeable and anyone is welcome to join our group—well, unless they act like a big meanie all the time but even then, giving them a chance is always nice but you don’t seem like that ‘cause Rarity says you’re the guy that helped her and Fluttershy once and—oh!” She stops to provide her tortured lungs with some air, “My name is Pinkie Pie, by the way.” She breathes, holding out both dainty, pink hands by crossing them in front of her in an X. I shake with my left hand, careful not to crush it or lacerate her with my claws. She doesn’t seem to notice the dead coolness of my skin. Thank the gods for air conditioning. Rock shakes her hand after surreptitiously wiping it of sweat.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Rock and I say in unison, causing all three of us to laugh after a silent beat. Rarity approaches and offers her hand to me.

“I do believe we’ve already met, Doctor Strand,” She says, coyly, shaking my hand and batting a set of long eyelashes. I hum an affirmative note and she shoots a knowing grin at Pinkie who dons a look of playful annoyance. “But I’ve not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Sir Rock.” For a moment, I wonder if my idea failed when I notice Rock’s pulse is still racing, but he takes her proffered hand without hesitation and replies in a startlingly deep, knightly voice and posh accent.

“No, madam, you have not.”

Pinkie giggles aloud at this and Rarity steps back with a polite titter. I almost jump when I see Twilight approaching.

“H-Hi,” is all I can manage to say. Gods, did I remember to brush my teeth before I left? Does my breath smell like blood? Is my outfit too plain? I should have worn my other shoes.

“Hi, Gyre. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, holding out a hand with a warm smile. A subtle, fading rosiness colors her cheeks.

“Yeah, me too.” Fuck! “I mean, it’s nice to meet you, too.” I take her hand in mine and time seems to slow to a crawl as I desperately attempt to calibrate my grip to achieve maximum respect and manliness. I catch another exchange of amused looks between Rarity and Pinkie out of the corner of my sight. Was I that obvious already? I want to find the nearest window and step into the merciful, golden light pouring through.

The thought is sobering. In my state, how could a relationship ever work? With anyone? I’d likely just be putting them in danger. And to Tar’ with turning them, if I ever figure out how it works. I could never inflict this condition on anyone else, especially not someone like Twilight. I feel the weight of the realization as it truly crystallizes, piercing my heart with its cruelly jagged reality. The dark, bitter pearl of resentment I’ve been nursing since taking Rock’s blood cracks and its poison leaks forth.

“Right Gy’?” Rock says, his voice loud and sharp.

“Hm?”

“See? He just thinks really hard sometimes. You get used to it. Sometimes he even drools a little.” I snap back to full attention at Rock’s tease and I can feel my face grow warm.

“No I don’t, you little goblin!” I step behind him and wrap an arm around his neck in a loose chokehold. He feigns ragged gasps for a few seconds, then pretends to go limp. I let go and we step apart, joined in our laughter by most of the girls. Rarity just smiles and rolls her eyes. We all hear a faint groan and turn to see Fluttershy smiling down at Sunset as she stirs and her eyelids crack open, revealing aqua blue eyes.

“Good afternoon, Sleepyhead. Feeling better?” She coos.

“Fluttershy?” Sunset gasps, jackknifing into a sit and wincing as the pillow falls from her neck. She rubs her eyes with one hand and massages her neck with another. “What happened?”

Fluttershy chuckles sweetly. “You curled up on one of the seats and fell right asleep, but you kept tossing and turning and rubbing your neck, so Rarity gave you that pillow, but you wouldn’t settle down. My mom used to put my head in her lap and sing me a song when I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Oh. Thanks Fluttershy,” Sunset says, trying to turn her head to face her friend, but stopping halfway, with a grimace. “I do feel better.”

“You’re very welcome. We have some new friends with us.” Fluttershy stands in one graceful motion and steps around to Sunset’s front, offering a hand. She takes it, but it’s clear she isn’t putting much of her weight on her friend, even though Fluttershy tenses with effort. Sunset stands with the sound of a popcorn machine operating at maximum efficiency. We all cringe, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she stretches and yawns with a few more visceral pops. Sunset opens her eyes and scratches her stomach as she looks around.

“Rock and Gyre, I presume?” She says, smiling at us both.

“Yes ma’am,” Rock says. Sunset huffs a tired laugh.

“Please don’t call me that.” I don’t have to look to know Rock’s face is taking on a fresh shade of red. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’d offer to shake your hands, but I think I’m getting sick. One of those Springtime colds, you know?” Sunset says. “So,” she claps her hands before her. “Who won the bets?” The other girls look at each other, shocked and confused expressions all around..

“How did you know about that? You were dead asleep when we made them. Like, snoring and everything,” Rainbow says. I expect to see Sunset’s indignant reaction at being outed as a snorer in front of new acquaintances, but our opinion either means very little to her already, or she just doesn’t care.

“How did I know about that?” She murmurs, looking just as puzzled as the rest. “My dream was very...Nightmare Night. Something about a vampire or a zombie or something.” I stiffen and glace sidelong at Rock who is doing the same to me. “Weird,” Sunset laughs. At the last second, I think to try peeking at her teeth, but they vanish behind her lips before I get a definitive look. “So-o-o-o…?” She spreads her hands and looks at each of the girls in turn. Some nervous laughter abounds.

“Campfire time!” Pinkie shouts, leaping onto one of the beanbags and landing with her head dangling off where her feet should be. “Can we have the honor of our bonfire taking her place?” Pinkie says, grinning at Sunset.

“Oh, with pleasure.” Sunset rubs at her neck and takes up the curved pillow before laying down with her head in the center of the ring of seats. She sighs as she settles in and closes her eyes. The other girls take up the remaining seats. Pinkie, to my amusement, actually produces a bag of jumbo cinnamon marshmallows and a single, collapsible bamboo skewer.

“What the f—” Rock begins, but he’s cut off by a loud pop heard from a set of speakers being set up on an impromptu stage somewhere below us.

“Come on boys!” Pinkie calls. We take up two of the remaining three seats. I’m both disappointed and relieved that Twilight is seated on the opposite side of the circle. Instead, Rock and I are flanked by Rarity and Rainbow, with Rarity to my left, seated with just as much regality as before. “Marshmallow?” Pinkie says, waggling her eyebrows at me and Rock. I politely decline, but Rock nods vigorously. She produces another skewer, opens the bag and spears a puff on the end, handing it off to be passed around the circle. Sunset sniffs the air and hums.

“Hey, the fire is getting low, I think you’d better feed it before it goes out again.”. We all laugh while Pinkie giggles and stabs another puff with her skewer, lowering it near Sunset’s mouth. She raises her head off the ground with a groan and engulfs it in one motion. “Ow. Worth it,” She whines as she chews.

“Alright, girls.” Rarity says, “So what’s the prize for whoever wins the most wagers?”

“How about picking the band for the next concert?” Rainbow says. A round of agreement meets her suggestion. “Great! You ready then, fellas?”

“I guess,” I say. Rock nods, chewing on his sugary treat.

“Okay, first question. Are you two dating?” Rainbow blurts.

I wasn’t ready, but Rock really wasn’t ready. He begins wheezing, obviously choking on his marshmallow. He begins pounding on his chest with a hand over his mouth. If his face isn’t red from embarrassment, it’s definitely a result of the sticky death blocking his windpipe. Just as I’m rising to help, a moist explosion sounds off from his throat and the marshmallow audibly impacts his hand with a wet slap. He takes it back in and swallows it whole, then proceeds to begin wheezing again, this time in laughter.

“Dash!” Applejack shouts again, slapping her friend’s shoulder much harder than before.

“What? Are we not living in modern times?” She says, a huge grin threatening to split her head all the way around to the back.

“Well…” I say, absently taking the packet of alcohol wipes offered by Rarity and passing it to Rock, “No.”

“Bam!” Rainbow shouts, flexing both arms, striking a dramatic pose, then sweeping a pointed finger at the entire circle. A few members looked subtly disappointed. Girls and their shipping. “Point one to RD!”

“Okay, next question.” Pinkie says, swirling back upright, somehow keeping her skewered marshmallow in about the same position, all the way through the movement. “Flash denies being the one who helped all those kids during the Noodle Incident, even though everyone insists it was him.” Seriously? How am I that forgettable? “Someone here thinks it was you. Is that true?” I want to tell her the truth, but every string of words that comes to mind sounds pretentious and braggy, especially with Twilight looking right at me.

“Yep! The man, the myth, the legend, is sitting right here,” Rock answers for me, throwing his arms at me in a grand, presenting gesture, like I’m some kind of game show prize.

“Oh, I was sure I recognized those eyes.” Rarity says. “See darling?” She turns to Fluttershy, “Flash did offer, but it was really this gentleman, here. One point to me, Applejack, and Twilight.” She turns back to me. “Speaking of which, and you don’t have to answer this one if you don’t want to but…” her voice lowers to a conspiratorial tone, “...there was something you gave me that day. Do you remember what it was?”

“Yeah…” I groan. “I’ll answer the question, though, don’t worry.”

“Very sporting of you, but it’s really not compulsory.”

“No, it’s fine, go ahead.”

“Very well. Then…” She pauses, as if to build anticipation. “...was it white and gold or blue and black?”

“Shouldn’t you know that? You took it home to study, didn’t you?”

“I’m afraid it was stolen beforehand, darling, I’m sorry. But I did take a photo first.” Rarity produces her smartphone and, after navigating through her apps, shows me an old social media post in which she had shared a picture of the dress. The lighting wasn’t very bright, but the colors seem clear to me.

“Oh. Well, it was blue and black. Obviously. Why?” Before I even finish speaking, both cheers and groans arise from the others. I notice Twilight is cheering and her elated voice brings a smile to my face. I’m surprised the question wasn’t how I had acquired the dress in the first place. I suppose that means they all likely know, already.

Sunset speaks up from the center, voice muffled by a mouth nearly full of marshmallow. “Sounds like Twilight is in the lead. No surprise there. Got anymore of these, Pinkie?”

“Did you eat the whole bag?” Pinkie replies, sounding both shocked and amused. Sunset opens her eyes and lifts the limp sack of plastic above her face. Two puffs lay at the bottom.

“Not, technically,” Sunset says, sounding somewhat surprised herself. “Guess I was hungry. Sorry guys.”

“It’s okay, I brought an emergency stash!” Pinkie says, hopping up to rummage through a backpack that could only belong to her. By the time she returns, Sunset is chewing on the last two puffs.

“Next question,” Rainbow says, with a mischievous grin. “do either of you have a cr—” before she finishes speaking, a blast of noise from the speakers downstairs drowns out all other voices and sounds. I flinch and clap my hands over my ears as Celestia’s weary voice booms throughout the library.

“Gyre Strand, please report to the front desk. Gyre Strand, please come to the front desk.”

There’s a certain pressure one can physically feel, on your skin and in your guts, when a vast collective of eyes and minds are focused on you in such close proximity. Whether this is psychosomatic or a very real and measurable paranormal phenomenon, I’ll probably never know, but it’s unsettling. Rock and the others turn uneasy looks my way as everyone else within line of sight begins murmuring and openly staring.

“Well, the reaper calls. It’s been good,” I say as I begin standing. “See ya, ladies. Good meeting you.” Rock begins to stand, but I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Just chill here, I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Alright,” He says, settling back down. He gives me a sympathetic look and we bump fists before I depart, waving to the others. Walking down to the first level is like passing through a gallery of portraits from cheesy horror films, where only the eyes of the people move to follow passersby. Celestia waits beside the front desk, opposite a busy Ms. Cheerilee, looking positively wilted in comparison to her appearance this morning.

“How are you, Gyre?” She asks as I approach. I almost respond by saying that I’m fine, but the realization that I am, in fact, little more than uncomfortable being the center of attention, gives me pause. Am I already reverting to a blood-starved state or does seeing the grisly remnants of a murder disturb me so little? I thought I would be in emotional turmoil over the shock, but all that concerns me is the thought of the personal vendetta Ace’s father will likely take up in his son’s place. Who am I?

“Not great, ma’am,” I say.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe if the rest of the day goes well, we’ll have some good news for you.” She looks truly hopeful about that statement and offers a wan smile. I feel like the lie I told Coach Steps is coming true. Celestia takes a few steps toward the door. “Please, come with me. Someone would like to talk to you.” I follow and she leads me away, out of earshot of the students moving in and out of the library on the way to the nearest restroom. “I didn’t want to put more attention on you than you may already have, but you should know that it’s the detective that needs to speak with you.”

“Oh. Have they mentioned why?”

“No, which leads me to believe it could be sensitive to the investigation,” She says, her tone suddenly more stiff. “Since you’re mother hasn’t arrived yet, I’d just like to remind you that you don’t have to speak with the police without a legal representative. I could recommend one, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” I say. Guilty or not, the most consistent advice I’ve ever heard is to always lawyer up. Always. We walk in silence for a few minutes, Celestia shooting furtive glances my way. Once or twice she looks like she’s about to say something, but decides against it.

Say what you want to say, I think at her, curious if the effects of the red mist are still active, but her behavior doesn’t change. I’m oddly relieved.

“Gyre, I—” Celestia says, but stops when her voice cracks. Only a sliver of her face is visible to me as she fixes her gaze down the hall, where investigators scurry about. She pauses for a long moment and takes a subtle breath. Maybe the command worked after all.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I just wanted you to know how sorry I am that I...abandoned you to that police officer this morning.” She clears her throat and her voice is back to the stiff business tone from before. “It wasn’t like me. I know that, so there’s no excuse for my behavior.” She turns back to me and I can see the hint of suppressed tears in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I need you to know that.”

I catch a woody, chemical whiff of liquor and have to fight myself to suppress the outward signs of surprise. As I suddenly understand, I almost tell her, right then, exactly what happened to her this morning.

“I believe you,” I say. “Whatever happened, I’m just glad we’re both okay.” The scraps of tears never leave her eyes as she stares down at me. Gods, she’s tall. Her arms twitch upward in an uncommitted motion that she disguises by fiddling with the lowest button of her blazer, as if it had been in danger of coming loose. She lowers her arms back to her side slowly, haltingly. I step into them and put my arms around her. She doesn’t hesitate, for even a second, to return the embrace. It isn’t until we part that I realize where my face had been pressed. Leave it to a teenager’s mind to ruin the sweet tenderness of a moment with perverse thoughts.

Celestia sniffs and turns back to the end of the hall as my face grows briefly warm. I take the que and we proceed to the nearby counselor’s office, where Detective Tale and two officers greet us. The detective takes up the edge of the counselor’s desk, her legs crossed with one ankle resting on her other thigh and her arms resting atop a thick manilla folder. The officers flank her, standing upright and rigid, with hands clasped at their waists.

“Ah, thank you for bringing him, Mrs. Celestia. Gyre, would you like to take a seat? We have some important questions for you.” Celestia doesn’t bother to correct the detective, unless she got married since last my mom spoke of her, less than a week ago. I take the seat against the wall, by the door. “We’d like to speak with him privately, ma’am.”

“Actually, I don’t mind if she stays. In fact, if she doesn’t mind staying, I’d prefer it,” I say. As the detective and two officers shift in place and exchange quick glances, my principal looks from me to the others, folding her arms across her chest without a word.

“Mister Strand, I strongly suggest you reconsider that sentiment, for reasons that will become clear as we begin.” Detective Tale leans forward over her crossed legs and pushes her round glasses up her nose. “What we’d like to go over with you is likely to affect your sense of...um, personal dignity. There’s nothing predatory about my advice, I’d just like to be considerate.”

The room falls silent for a moment as I consider this. Celestia seems to be leaving the decision to me.

“I’ll hear you out then, I guess. I’m sure you have a lot to do anyway, Ms. Celestia.”

“Alright, I’ll be sure to point your mother this way when she arrives,” Celestia says and nods to me before leaving the room. Soon, her heels can be heard fading into the distance.

“Very good, Mister Strand.” Tale takes her arms off the folder and opens it, removing the top sheet. She gives a neutral sigh and makes a small show of looking over the paper. “Now, I’ve been reviewing your statement, and nowhere do you mention having any sort of relation to the deceased. Why is that?” Her eyes dart up from what I’m assuming is my statement form and lock onto mine.

“Because if I had one, I wasn’t aware of it,” I say.

“Mister Strand, having regular contact with another individual on an almost daily basis is, at the very least, close to the definition of a ‘relation’. So I’ll ask: what was the nature of your relation to Ace Longshot?” I shrug and fold my arms over my torso.

“He bullied me pretty often, but if you didn’t figure that out today, you—all of you—probably knew that already.” I say, gesturing to all three. “The amount of times he’s been reported and got away with the shit he’s done to me and my friend is pretty ridiculous, if you ask me. Must be nice to have a dad on the Force.”

“I can’t speak for my colleagues, but I assure you that it was news to me. About your friend, Rock: Can you attest to his whereabouts last night?”

“He didn’t do it, obviously,” I say, some snarkiness creeping into my voice. I adjust myself before speaking again. “But no. Cell phones are great, but us kids don’t keep track of each other on them and, contrary to popular belief, we don’t all upload new selfies with GPS-coordinate metadata every five minutes.”

“Well, I have to ask because your peers seem to think you two are pretty close.” One of the officers next to Tale coughs. I feel my face begin to redden again. That statement wouldn’t have meant much to me until about fifteen minutes ago.

“Not that close,” I say, more roughly than I intended, which I am aware makes it sound like I’m lying. “What’s Rock got to do with anything?”

“I’ve done some digging and, to your earlier point, it was difficult to find the record of an incident taking place a few years ago during school hours, in which your friend attacked Ace in the middle of the lunch room, unprovoked.”

“Yeah, he was—”

“Defending you, I know. The internal documentation is virtually written in riddles, but I get the gist of what went down. It seems your friend can get very aggressive when he wants to.”

“That was years ago and he hasn’t laid a hand on anyone since,” I say, starting to get annoyed with what Tale is suggesting. I close my eyes in case they decide to start a light show. The detective sighs and I hear her lift herself off the desk with a grunt.

“Maybe you’d like to take a look at this.” I open my eyes to see the entire manilla folder being offered to me. It’s unlabeled and almost a half inch thick with contents. I take it and look back to the detective. “Go on, you can open it.” She steps back and places a hand on her hip. I unfold the cover to reveal a series of photographs. Classic.

My humor over the cliche comes to an abrupt end when the contents of the photos begin to paint a very clear, if incomplete, picture. I reach the end, then leaf through them again. Tale waits patiently as I assimilate the information before me. I close the folder and hand it back to her, feeling like I’ve just handled a slab of diseased flesh. Voices and footsteps from outside dent the awkward silence that stretches on for about a full two minutes.

“Mister Strand,” Tale says delicately, “I take it you weren’t aware you’ve had a stalker for the past five years.”

Makes Me Wanna Die - Tricky

Clues, context, comedy, crushes, alliteration. This one has it all. What a strange chapter...