Dear Rainbow Dash,

So we began gym class today.

I'm not even sure if I can explain how terrible it was. Where to start? The way that everypony stared at my stupid little wings? The way that the teacher looked at me like I was absolutely, completely, hopeless? The way that that stupid little colt came up to me and . . .

Ugh. I'm just going to start at the beginning, okay? .

I was doodling on my long division worksheet, ignoring everything that Mrs. Glossy was blabbering about, when she suddenly began to speak more loudly.

"All right, time for gym class!" she shouted, banging a yardstick on the chalkboard. I jumped, my heart pounding crazily. I had forgotten all about it! I raised a hoof, forcing myself to cough in a sickly manner.

"Mrs. Glossy?" I called out, waving my hoof around as everypony else flew to the door excitedly. (If you ask me, they didn't need any flight training!) She looked over me, giving me her stony attention for a moment. "Uh, I . . . don't feel well. I think that I ate rotten fruit for lunch or something."

She fixed her grayish-purple eyes upon me and raised an eyebrow. "We don't eat lunch for another hour," she said flatly. A few fillies, Dizzy Breeze among them, looked over and giggled.

I felt heat creeping up on my cheeks, but I pressed on. "Uh, I meant breakfast," I stammered, my voice cracking. "Please?" I faked another cough, putting my whole body into it.

She pressed her lips together. "Miss Scootaloo, if you had actually eaten some sort of rotten fruit, you wouldn't be coughing," she said in her know-it-all tone of voice. "That's a symptom of the common cold, not food poisoning. Now come along—don't you want to go to gym class?"

Would not really be an acceptable answer? Somehow, I doubted it. "But Mrs. Glossy, I really do feel sick," I pleaded. I was fighting a lost cause, and both of us knew it. She fixed me with another one of her glares and jabbed a hoof in the direction of the door.

"To gym class. Now."

While Mrs. Glossy was (probably) chowing down on about twenty headache pills, we walked down the hallway to the gymnasium. Since I was one of the last ones in line, I mainly followed everypony else, which I honestly didn't mind. We had to snake through so many hallways to get to gym class that I practically got lost, even with everypony else leading the way.

In Ponyville Elementary, there were about three classrooms, and we had gym class outside. Just sayin', that was a lot easier.

Anyway, after about twenty gazillion twists and turns throughout the entire land of Equestria (or something that big), we entered the gymnasium. Next to a basketball hoop, there stood an extremely buff cream-colored stallion with a whistle around his neck. He noticed us coming in and gave a sharp blast on his whistle.

"Rodents!" he bellowed, glaring at us with his beady black eyes. We all shrank back (especially me—I was hiding behind a tall colt in front of me, hoping not to be noticed), trembling.

Sounds like a nice pony, right?

"Rodents!" he repeated. He took a step close to our little cluster, giving us all the once-over. I took a few more steps back, hoping that the gangly pony in front of me would mask my terrifed expression.

Our teacher was using no effort to mask the disgust on his face. "You lot look like you can't even fly," he grunted, shaking his head and giving us a scowl worthy of Applebloom. "Why, when I was a boy, anypony over four could fly all over Cloudsdale without stopping."

A few ponies in my class were beginning to look irritated. Dizzy Breeze, of course, was the first to speak, but she didn't exactly stand up to him as much as she did brag to the rest of us. Batting her thick eyelashes, she raised a hoof and spoke in a disgustingly innocent voice. "Well, Mr. Cloudy, I've known how to fly practically since I was born," she said, tossing her pale yellow mane and smiling charmingly. "I went to flight camp this summer, and they had to put me up a few levels because I was so much better than everypony else."

I wrinkled my nose and mimed vomiting. Thankfully, nopony noticed, since Mr. Cloudy was busy looking impressed. "Well, well, well, young filly," he said, nodding his head. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Dizzy Breeze," she said, tossing her mane again and batting her eyelashes.

"Well, Miss Breeze," he boomed, "I'm glad to see that not everypony in this class is a weakling. Perhaps you can teach other fillies and foals in this class to fly as well as you can!"

There was a brief outburst of noise. Every filly in the room was loudly claiming that they didn't need any help, and practically every colt in the room was waving their hooves in the air and shouting that they needed help from Dizzy Breeze. Mr. Cloudy waved a muscular hoof of his own and gave a long, sharp blast on his whistle, silencing everypony almost immediately.

"Quiet!" he bellowed. The colts who were still insisting that they needed help from Dizzy blushed and fell silent. In a calmer voice, Mr. Cloudy said, "Well, thank you, Miss Breeze. I certainly could use a lot of help in the unit that I'll be teaching for most of the year." He paused for dramatics, though everypony knew exactly what he was going to say. I could have said it for him, unfortunately.

"Flying lessons." He gave the class a huge grin, or as huge of a grin as a burly teacher can give a class of elementary-schoolers.

Everypony (except for me, naturally) broke out in excited chatter.

"Flying lessons!"

"I don't need these stupid lessons . . ."

"I've been trying to increase my wing beats per minute ever since I learned how to fly!"

"It's gonna be like flight camp all over again!"

"We're gonna be like the Wonderbolts!"

"QUIET!" shouted Mr. Cloudy again, giving another blast on his whistle. Everypony cringed and faced him attentively. Ever since he had mentioned the possibility of flying, he seemed to have gained lots of popularity.

"We're going to start out with some basic flight drills," he said, pointing towards a red line drawn on the clouds. There was a minor stampede as everypony either flew or sprinted over to it, trying to find the best place on the red line (as if there really was a "best place" on some faded red line). "First, we're going to try to do some wing-push-ups."

I relaxed a bit, getting into the perfect formation for wing-ups. I had done plenty before, and I'm not trying to brag, but I'm the best at doing wing-ups in my grade. I'm even better than Rumble, and he actually participated in the tornado! Maybe this class wasn't going to be so horrible, if we were just going to do wing exercises. I practice those all the time, hoping that it'll help me learn how to fly!

After fifteen wing-ups (which I did perfectly, by the way), Mr. Cloudy gave us a few miniature weights that we were supposed to lift with our wings. Again, totally easy. Then he had us jog in place for two minutes to get our heart rates up. I was starting to relax as I jogged. I mean, was this all there was to flight class? There was more pressure to fly back in Ponyville's gym class, for crying out loud!

Then, of course, Mr. Cloudy had to ruin everything. He blew his whistle, and my classmates fell, panting, onto the floor. (I was pleased that I wasn't even winded, not that anypony really noticed.) "Rodents!" he barked for the third time. "Is that all you've got?"

My classmates, wheezing, shook their heads. I shook mine rather cockily, telling everypony how totally awesome I was. Honestly, if they couldn't do fifteen wing-ups and run for two minutes . . . sheesh. I've scootered for four hours straight before!

It was about then when Mr. Cloudy decided to put a damper on my mood. "Flight drills!" he snapped, blowing his whistle just for fun (it seemed that way to me, anyway). "You're going to fly to the other end of the gym and back."

Fillies and foals snapped to attention, leaping out of their sweaty piles and fluttering their wings. My heart jolted, and I nearly had a panic attack. They were already flying? How could they get ready so quickly? Didn't they realize that there was a flightless filly among them who was about to be left behind in three . . two . . .

Well, if they didn't realize it immediately, they sure realized it when I was on the opposite side of the gym from them, buzzing my wings and blushing furiously. They stared at me for a few moments, their thick brains puzzling over what they should do.

Boy, for thick-brained pegasi, they sure figured out what to do when their classmate was embarrassed pretty quickly. Their solution? Laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. Some were actually doubled over with hilarity; others never ran out of steam and continued giggling like idiots. I attempted to give them all my killer stare, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, not with my cheeks burning fire-truck red.

Mr. Cloudy blasted his whistle, glaring at the class. "QUIIIIEEEEETTT!!!" They fell silent, stifling their giggles and wiping tears of laughter away. He gave them one last warning glare and turned to me. "So," he said simply

"So," I replied. I didn't mean it to come out obnoxiously, but I guess it must have, because his cheeks grew red and the ponies from my class all giggled.

"So, Miss . . ."

"Scootaloo," I replied, feeling small. "I'm new."

"Clearly," he muttered, facehoofing. I blushed. Teachers only facehoof when they're seriously considering shooting you, which was something I really didn't want to experience.

He strolled nearer and nearer until our snouts were practically touching. I could smell the coffee on his yellow teeth. "Well, rodent, I'm not sure what you do in that other school that you went to. But in Cloudsdale Elementary, we follow the teacher's instructions. When I tell you to fly, you fly, you got it?"

I shrank. "But I . . ."

"You hear me, rodent?!?"

"But Mr. Cloudy, I . . ."

"No excuses!" he barked, holding himself stiffly. "Now, missy, you get yourself over to that side of the gym ASAP, you hear me?"

Obviously, I hear you, I thought. You're practically screaming at me. I didn't want to get in more trouble than I was already in, though, so I buzzed by wings furiously. Realizing that I looked like a total idiot, with my wings buzzing and my body staying put, I quickly discarded the idea of actually trying to fly. Instead, I did some sort of shuffle-flap-step to the other side of the gym.

My class burst out into laughter again, and honestly, I didn't blame them. Imagine this, Dash: There's this little, blank-flank, orange filly with tiny wings and a big head. That's dumb enough, right? Well, now imagine her crossed with some sort of freaky snail that's trying to fly. Picture that, and you might have some sort of idea of what I looked like.

Mr. Cloudy didn't even attempt to end the laughter. I think that he was a bit too busy being completely appalled. "What in Equestria are you doing?" he asked, dumbfounded.

I didn't answer. He facehoofed once more.

"You can't fly . . . at all?" he asked, his voice muffled thanks to the big hoof blocking his mouth. I blushed furiously, shaking my head. "Where did you come from, kid?"

"Ponyville," I whispered.

"Ponyville," he grunted. "Boy, that explains it." He turned to the class (they were still in hysterics, by the way) and raised his voice. "Oy! Anypony want to give this rodent here flying lessons?"

Dizzy Breeze's hoof shot up. "I'd love to help a filly in need, Mr. Cloudy," she said in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm a great teacher, you know!"

"Great," grunted Mr. Cloudy, shooing me off. "Take her outside, all right? The rest of you—hey, it's not that funny!—are going to do some more speed drills . . . are you even listening to me?"

Outside, it was just the tiniest bit chilly. I breathed in the early fall air, pretending that I was scootering through the streets of Ponyville. It got a bit harder to lie to myself when Dizzy began blabbering."

"So you can't fly?" she asked, sneering at me. "Seriously? Wow. My mother says that I could fly when I was first born, practically. She says that I'm precocious." She jutted out her chin, acting like she was so special because she knew a word that I didn't. "That's why I was the first in my class to get my cutie mark, you know."

"Good for you," I said sarcastically. The sarcasm cleared my mind a bit, causing me to feel a bit less tearful. My eyes flew over her flank briefly and took in the three puffy pink clouds. "What's your talent, making cotton candy clouds like Discord?"

Dizzy Breeze sniffed and stuck her snout in the air. "My mother says that we shouldn't joke about that. When Discord came along, he made the Rainbow Factory gray and the snowflake factory so hot that a few workers almost died! It took my mother weeks to clear everything up."

I snorted. "Whatever. Aren't you supposed to teach me how to fly?"

She let out a high-pitched, obnoxious giggle. "Oh yeah, that's right! Is it really true that you don't know how to fly, or were you just joking?"

I gritted my teeth. "Of course I can fly! I just haven't practiced in a while, all right?" That was quite possibly the biggest lie I had ever told. I practiced lots. I just couldn't exactly fly yet . . .

"Good," snickered Dizzy. "When I heard that you were from Ponyville, I had my doubts. My mother says that it's filled with earth ponies, and sometimes their flightlessness can rub off on pegasi. That's why we don't live in Ponyville—it's filled with losers."

"That isn't true!" I snapped. "Rainbow Dash, the coolest pegasus in Equestria, lives there! You can't tell me that it's filled with losers. She's, like, the best flier in the world! She's totally gonna be on the Wonderbolts some day!"

Dizzy Breeze wrinkled her nose. "Rainbow Dash? Isn't she that one pony who wrecked the Grand Galloping Gala one year?"

I paused. "Well, actually, it was more Fluttershy who . . . um . . . anyway. Anyway, she did a sonic rainboom when she was just a filly! She's done it a bunch of other times, too . . ." Well, maybe "a bunch" was a bit of an exaggeration. You could do a bunch if you wanted to, and you know it.

Dizzy scoffed. "Right! That's not—" The bell rang in the middle of her sentence, signaling the end of the period. I gratefully sprinted out of the schoolyard into the gymnasium, feeling like I'd gotten the last word.

At lunch, I sat alone, chewing one of Grandma's veggie loaf sandwiches. I sat on the bleachers outside, watching ponies swing and slide. I was tempted to run out onto the playground, have fun, laugh with everypony and act like I was one of them. But I couldn't do that, not yet. Not ever. Not when I was just a flightless, earth-pony-wannabe-loser.

I crumpled my lunch bag up and tossed it on the ground, spreading myself out onto an entire row of bleachers and staring at the sky. When would I ever be able to be one of the ponies up there?

Somepony next to me cleared their throat, causing me to almost fall off the bleachers. "Hey!" I snapped, jerking my head around and searching for whatever idiot had the nerve to startle me like that. Since I was on the top row of bleachers, I only had to look to my right, my left, and my front . . . unless somepony was behind me.

I swiveled around. "Oh no," I grumbled, facehoofing. Hovering in the air was a skinny blue pony, the same pony who I had stared down on my first day. The wimpy pony, the loser pony . . .

The pony who had his cutie mark. The pony who could fly.

"Hi," he said cautiously, fluttering his azure wings and sitting next to me. He gave off an air of absolute terror, something that didn't exactly make me like him more. "In gym class today . . ."

My eyes flashed; my hooves flew out. I shoved my face right into his, causing him to recoil. I didn't care. "Yeah, I guess you thought it was real funny, huh?" I shouted, glaring at him. "Well, guess what? I don't care about what you think. I don't want to hear you making fun of me, okay? It doesn't matter. It's not like I even want to be here. Besides, I can totally fly! I'm better at flying than you'll ever be, all right?"

He stared at me with his large brown eyes. I turned away. "Never mind," I muttered, scrambling down the bleachers and hoping that he couldn't see that I was crying. "I'm going home."

"But it's the middle of the day," he pointed out in a whispery, weedy voice, flying down after me. He had a point, but I didn't care. I sprinted away, wishing that I had my scooter.

"But I wasn't going to make fun of you," I heard as I ran further away. I didn't turn around, though I was curious. I didn't want him to know that I had tears pooling in my eyes.

I think that Grandma was a little surprised when I came home from school just after twelve o' clock, but she didn't question it. In fact, we didn't say a word to each other as I stomped upstairs and she sat at the kitchen table staring at her hooves.

When I went to my room, I did what I've been doing almost every day lately. I grabbed a piece of paper, a pen, and scribbled out this letter to you.

It's getting late as I finish writing this letter, and I can smell Grandma's spaghetti cooking. I've stopped crying over the course of the past hour or so, but I can feel the tears coming on again, and I don't want Momma or Daddy or Grandma to see me crying. I don't want anypony to see my crying, least of all that weird blue colt.

I hate my life.

From,
Scootaloo

P.S. If the blue colt didn't want to make fun of me, what did he want to do?