Before we get started, lemme just say that I ripped the title of this off of some stupid book on my shelf. It sounded kinda interesting and didn't make any sense, so I figured it was a good book. Then I remembered that I had to read it in high school and that it sucked major horseapples cause it was about this loser in high school coming of age.

I think my title makes much more sense.

I was originally gonna call it, The Things I Want by Soarin', but it didn't sound that great. It took me a while to come up with a title before I actually started writing, seeing as you can't start without coming up with a title.

I've been writing for a long time. In my head, I mean.

Let's just throw this out here now. Girls are dumb. So dumb. Or maybe I was the dumb one, since I couldn't even talk to one of them. Trying to talk to a girl is kinda hard. You gotta act all cool and sound like you're bored even though in your head you're trying to plan out the rest of the conversation and making sure that you don't say something stupid. So pretty much 75% of the time you can't even enjoy the fact that you're talking to a girl because you're so worried about saying something dumb that afterwards, you can't even remember what you were talking about in the first place! Or her name.

I'm bad with names. Can't remember any of them. Maybe it's because ponies all have names made up of nouns and verbs and adjectives, and I think pronouns, if I remember anything from high school. My name is easy to remember, since I'm so unforgettable, ha-ha. Soarin'. Just Soarin'. There aren't any other Soarin's in all of Equestria. Now that I think about it, I'm not too sure that's such a good thing. I mean, what if I royally mess up? If somepony asks I can't just play it off like, "Oh, you must be talking about another Soarin' that infiltrated a pie factory and ate all the pies."

Did I mention I like pie? I love pie. Almost as much as girls. But you already know that, since I'm so famous. I bet you already know a bunch of things about me. Like how awesome my mane is. So long and silky, flowing in the wind.

Spitfire. Stupid, sexy Spitfire. I could write a poem about her, which is weird since I hate poetry. I could go on and on about her voice, which wasn't very girly at all. She didn't have the voice of an angel and couldn't sing for her life, but that didn't matter, 'cause her rough, scratchy voice was enough to make me shiver. Or I could talk about her streaked fiery mane that smelled of cinnamon (no, I don't sniff her hair, you creeps). Those brilliant eyes that hypnotized me, orange and dazzling. Those flanks, oh sweet Celestia, those flanks. Honestly, I think I fly better when I'm positioned behind her, since I pay much more attention to what's in front of me.

You've probably guessed that Spitfire is smoking hot. And that I liked her a lot. Yeah, I was trying to think of a more subtle, romantic way of doing it, like talking about how my heart kicked up a notch every time she walked by, or how I'd start talking like a dweeb. I don't pay attention to my heart when the mare of my dreams trots by. That's one thing that bugs me about romance novels. Nopony ever talks like a normal pony!

I should probably start this at when this all began, my crush on Spit, I mean, but that'd mean I'd have to go back all the way to when we were foals. Plenty of potential for prequels and sequels to this epic story. So I'm gonna do something with in media res (which is just a fancy way of starting things at the middle) and flashbacks.

A cold winter day in Cloudsdale. No sun, only snow-covered clouds, white, wispy, and stretched out, like cotton candy. I think they were called cirrus clouds. Not at all fun to play in. They weren't very bouncy either, like a cumulus. Picture this: a playground built out of clouds on top of a cloud. Pegasi foals flying around and playing. It was cold. Most ponies would be freezing, but we were used to it, us pegasi.

And then there's me, playing on the swings, a striped navy blue scarf around my neck, keeping me warm as I swung up and down, kicking my hooves as hard as I could to get higher and higher into the air to experience the sensation of flying for a brief second as I reached the peak before the swings brought me back down. Up and down I swung. My mind was more preoccupied with counting how many more swings before I had to get off.

"My turn, Soarin'!"

I stuck my tongue out at Thunderlane and jumped off, spreading my wings to float back down. In that moment, I saw her.

The new filly in flight school. What was her name again? Right, Spitfire. She was weird, I thought. A bit like Fluttershy (who could hardly fly), except Spitfire could fly.  

I was just a kid back then. I didn't think too hard about walking over and waving hi. I think I was more worried about catching cooties.

"Hi!"

Her mane was a disaster. She looked down at her hooves and mumbled, "Hi."

Somehow, my brain managed to work out the fact that Spitfire was cold, judging by the way she shivered. I thought it was kind of funny how her name had "fire" in it.

"You wanna wear my scarf?"

"That's okay," she said.

"No, really! Have it!" I thrust it out at her.

Spitfire looked at me for a bit. "Won't you be cold?"

I was going to be cold. "How about we share it?"

She smiled. "Okay."

Two foals sitting on a cloud, sharing a single scarf wrapped around their necks. I felt awfully proud of myself, being so nice.  She scooted a little closer to me. I think we touched. I got that feeling for the first time. That weird, butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling, which sounds gross, by the way. I felt light. A little jittery.

As you can see, we became best friends after that.

Friends. Just friends.

Friends.

It was injustice. A crime against nature. Me, being so handsome! Being so...me! Being friendzoned! I mean, I only asked her out once for prom, so maybe it didn't count.

This relationship stuff makes no sense.

I mean, just look at me! My glorious mane! My chiseled jaw, these toned muscles! My nice, big wings! I was the pinnacle of pegasi! A specimen of grace and beauty! Okay, that's a bit of a stretch.

But my mane!

I could have any girl I wanted, but they were just low-hanging fruit. There wasn't even a relationship to be had with those other girls. I think they wanted my body more than me. Or maybe just the fact that I was a Wonderbolt.

Enough about the past. The past was stuff in history books and things that weren't happening anymore. All said and done. I wasn't going to worry about things like "what if" and "maybe", since it was totally not my style.

Like I said. The present.

And in the present, everypony was glaring at me. I couldn't tell, since we all had our goggles on. But just by the way they were standing, I knew they were glaring at me. I'd probably done something wrong. I couldn't exactly remember. I was busy thinking about other things. What to do about life, and love. Somewhere in the middle of my philosophical ramblings while pulling off a stunt, all the other Wonderbolts trailed away from me and landed down on a nice, big cloud.  

"Soarin', what the hay!"

And Spit was mad. You could tell because her eyebrows would get all wonky and then she looked like she was gonna deck me or something. Come to think of it she'd been getting mad a lot lately. Mostly at me. Then I noticed how cute she looked when she was mad.

"Soarin', are you even listening?"

Smile and nod. I'd probably messed something up during the routine. I was easily distracted. And then that got me thinking about this quote I read a while back.

"This is the fifth time you've been out of form!"

Hell hath no fury like a mare scorned.

"Soarin'? Earth to Soarin'!"

"He's prolly thinkin' about pie again, boss."

Spitfire sauntered up to me. Was she going to kiss me? Instead, she plucked my goggles from my face, making sure they snapped against my head.

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my head.

"Did you hear what I said?" she asked.

"Uh-huh."

"What did I say?"

I hated these kind of questions. But I figured I was getting good at answering trick questions.

"I'm getting distracted?"

"Yes! You can't keep getting distracted! What are you even thinking about anyways?"

"Pie," Rapid Fire answered for me, and everypony got a good laugh out of it.

And as always, I played dumb. Actually, I was dumb. And pretty funny, I liked to think. That was probably why they kept me around. For my personality. And my flying skills.

I shrugged.

Spit let out this adorable groan. "Ugggh! Soarin', you're not gonna be on the Wonderbolts much longer if you keep this up!"

"Sorry," I apologized.

"Don't say sorry. I want to see an improvement."

Let's be honest. Nopony in real life ever says sorry the way they do in those cheesy movies and stuff. Nopony ever wants to take the time to sit down and have this long, meaningful discussion about how sorry they are and put on this phony act that'll make anypony roll their eyes. And when ponies do say they're sorry, it's really quick and they probably didn't mean it anyway.

"Sorry."

"What did I just say? Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry!"

I watched them all fly off without me. I slumped, and let out a sigh that I'd been ready to let out two weeks ago.

Good job Soarin'. Messed up again. You're so good at it.

I rubbed under my eyes. Why was I so tired?

I wasn't sure when it started. During, or after the Grand Galloping Gala? I was starting to get fed up with it all. We were always doing shows and panels and signing autographs. There was no time to talk anymore, no time to enjoy the bits we made or spend time with each other. Things used to be different, or maybe that was just me making things up in my head. Things used to be fun. It felt like less of a job, and doing something we all loved together as friends. At best, we were just teammates now. I missed that camaraderie. Even during practice we did our own little tricks and got lazy.  After practice we'd all get drinks, get dinner, go to nightclubs, hang out. Now it was just practice, practice, practice. It wasn't any fun anymore. Any of it. All of it.

Spit and I hadn't had a real conversation in a long time. And every time I invited her for a coffee, or maybe a slice of pie (which I liked to think were dates since it was only us), she'd turn me down.

I needed a pie to cheer me up. Thinking back, I'd been eating a lot of pies. Mostly to make me feel better.

But maybe one more wouldn't hurt.