My Little Brony

by K. M. Hayes

  “You might have a better idea than me,” I grumbled.

  The guys at the table laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Had Dad put him up to this? I wanted to get up, but now I was here and everyone had seen me sit with them. Jake hit me lightly on the shoulder. “Dude, so he’s always like that?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Damn.” Jake took a big bite of his food.

  I did the same, not looking at the people at the table too much. But I couldn’t help noticing they were definitely older than me. And cooler than me. And bigger than me. Even the girls were tall and sexy and way out of my league. Not that I even had a league.

  “Hey, kitty cat!” a guy at the table called. Skye walked past the table with her lunch and paused. He threw an empty milk carton her way. “Scat! No strays here!”

  Skye had an incredible glare. She took a few steps forward, looking like she wanted to fight. “You know, they aren’t cat ears. They’re pony ears. From My Little Pony. If you’re going to insult me, at least do it properly so you don’t look like such an idiot.”

  I tried to hold back my smile, but she noticed it before I could wipe it off. Her eyebrow rose, as if she were confused to see me sandwiched between these football players.

  “Burn!” another guy at the table said. “Pony Girl’s got bite!”

  “Screw you,” the original insulter said to Skye.

  “You wish.” She whipped her hair back and out of the cafeteria she went. Skye might have had better comebacks than I ever did, but she still hadn’t stuck around for too long. My guess was she didn’t eat in the commons either.

  “So, you play ball?” Jake asked as if nothing bad had happened.

  I shook my head. “I used to, but I sucked.”

  “C’mon, that’s gotta be too harsh.” Jake’s voice was easy. Kind, even. And yet I couldn’t trust it. Not after how they had just treated Skye. If I wasn’t the coach’s son . . . “You couldn’t have been that bad,” Jake continued.

  “I was in the hospital five times from football injuries before I was ten.” I held my hands out in front of me. “And I’m still waiting for that growth spurt puberty promised me.”

  Jake smiled as he patted my back. “Hey, I was your size as a freshman, too.”

  I looked at him, skeptical.

  “Okay, I was three times as fat as you, but I was the same height,” he corrected. “People called me dough boy. Then I started playing football, and I grew a bit. All I’m saying is, it gets better, you know?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I didn’t get why Jake was being so open when I hardly knew him, but I appreciated it in a way. He was showing that he understood me, which I didn’t expect from such a big, tough-looking guy.

  “Maybe you could try again,” he said. “Freshman team tryouts are soon.”

  And there it was. This was even worse than Dad telling his players to be nice to me. He must have talked some of them into convincing me to play football again, which was absolutely the last thing on the planet I wanted to do. Not that I knew what I wanted to do instead, but football definitely wasn’t it. “Uh, maybe. Though I probably wouldn’t make it.”

  Jake gave me a flat look. “C’mon, your dad’s the coach.”

  “And he knows how bad I am. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t want me on his team.” Except Dad didn’t actually have sense on this topic.

  “You’re funny, man.” Jake finished off his milk and crushed the carton. He tossed it at the nearby trash and missed. “Good thing I’m not on the basketball team, right?”

  “Right.” As I finished my lunch, I devised a plan never to enter the cafeteria again so I wouldn’t have to sit with them. It was too weird. I felt like I was being stuffed into a box I clearly didn’t belong in, and I’d rather be on the outside than have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

  Chapter 4

  I WAITED FOR Dad outside his special coach’s office by the locker rooms, hoping he wouldn’t ask about today because I didn’t want to talk about it. Not that it was horrible—it was too not horrible. Except in a fake way that hadn’t made me feel any better than the jerks at my old school had. I wanted to go home, but I was stuck here until he was done with whatever coaching stuff he had to do.

  Guys spilled out of the locker room dressed in football gear, and I groaned. Of course he hadn’t told me he had scheduled practice on the first day of school. But I should have known since they practiced most of the summer, too.

  Dad stepped out of his office. He spotted me and stopped his march to the field. “Oh, there you are. How was school?”

  “Fine.” My answer for everything. Even when things were not fine. “So, you have practice?”

  He nodded, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “You could come, you know. Get to know the guys a bit. Maybe hand out towels and water—it’s pretty hot out there.”

  My jaw went slack. He wanted me to go out there and play water boy? Was he serious? I almost yelled that his crazy plan to get me back into this world wouldn’t work, but I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. “I think I’ll just go to the library and read. I can do my homework when you have practice. When I have it, at least.”

  “Oh, okay.” Dad put his hands in his pockets, looking down. “Well, I gotta get out there. Practice ends at four, so you know.”

  “Got it.”

  Dad turned his back on me, heading out with the straggling players. He slapped them on the shoulder and smiled, happy to be away from me and in his element. “Alright, boys! Let’s get this season started!”

  I sighed, letting go of the pang in my chest as I headed for the library. It was a pretty nice space with computers and shelves filled with books. The librarian smiled when I entered, happy to have a visitor. She stood as I looked around. “Can I help you find anything?”

  “Got any fantasy?” The library had been one of my hiding places in middle school, and so I had started reading while I waited out lunch time. Good way to escape.

  “Of course! Over there.” She pointed to the fantasy section.

  “Thanks.” To my surprise, someone else was there. Someone I recognized. Emma, the prim girl from my English class who had dissed Skye, huddled on the floor with a thick book I’d read before—book six in a twelve-book series.

  She looked up when she realized she wasn’t alone and slammed the book shut. After she scrambled to her feet, she stuffed the book back in its spot. “Drew, right? Coach Morris’s son?”

  I held back my eye-roll. I would get that a million times a day now. “Yeah. Emma, from English?”

  She nodded, looking to both sides like she’d been caught stealing. “Hey, uh, I know I don’t know you and stuff, but could you maybe not tell anyone you saw me here reading that?”

  “Why?” I couldn’t help asking since it was just a book and not even a dirty one.

  “Because my parents don’t want me reading fantasy novels,” she whispered. “They think those books ‘harbor evil and darkness.’ I’d be dead if they knew.”

  “Ooookay.” I had heard of this before, but I’d never met someone whose parents were that serious. My parents weren’t much for church-going, just on holidays and when my very religious grandma visited. “I will tell no one. Not like I have anyone to tell.”

  She smiled. It was a lot nicer than I expected after how she had sneered at Skye this morning. “Thanks.”

  I looked at the shelves, unsure of what else to do. It wasn’t like I often found myself in the presence of a girl who read the same books—who wasn’t looking at me like I was the worm of the school. “But one thing?”

  “What?” Her eyes grew tense.

  “You gotta finish that series.” I smiled when she let out a breath of relief.

  “I thought you were gonna blackmail me or something!” She looked longingly at the book she was reading. “Have you read it all?”

  “Yup. Stick it out, though book eight is brutal.”

  She covered her ears. “Don�
��t spoil it!”

  Surprised, I heard myself laugh, something I didn’t do much anymore. “I won’t. Just warning, in case you want to give up on it after that. I almost did.”

  Emma slowly pulled her hands down. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Awkward silence came after, since I had no idea where to go from there. Emma didn’t seem to either and grabbed her book back off the shelf. I found one as fast as I could and left the aisle because it seemed weird to invade her privacy. It’s not like I knew anything about her except her deep, dark secret of reading fantasy.

  I took a seat at a table by the library window that looked out on the commons area. It was a nice spot, and I almost looked forward to doing my homework here while Dad did his coaching thing.

  The book was okay, but I wasn’t hooked. I almost wanted to go back, but I’d have to see Emma again. Was I expected to talk? What would I even say? No, I’d stay where I was and deal with it. I kept reading, hoping the story would pick up, but it wasn’t the escape I wanted.

  I found myself looking out the window each time a stray student passed. There must have been more than football going on since the school hadn’t emptied like I thought it would.

  That’s when I saw the rainbow that was Skye. She was skipping and holding what looked like fabric, hugging it to her chest like a prized possession.

  “You can’t look away, can you?” Emma’s voice came from behind me.

  I turned to see her staring at Skye, too. “Yeah. She’s interesting.”

  “That’s one word for it.” Emma sat down next to me, which I did not expect. “We used to be friends, actually, before she went crazy. Best friends.”

  “Crazy?”

  Emma nodded. “We live on the same street and played as kids, but then she started watching that show at the end of sixth grade. She’s been obsessed ever since. Turned into a total freak.”

  I sensed a bit more to it than that. “You weren’t allowed to watch it, were you? My little sister watches it—I’m pretty sure there’s magic in it, so your parents would be mad about that, too.”

  Her face turned pink. “Why would I even want to?”

  I shrugged. Because your best friend does.

  “You don’t believe me. You think I wanted to.”

  I put my hands up. “I didn’t say that. I just said you probably weren’t allowed, and Skye didn’t care and got into it without you.”

  Emma frowned, and something about it twisted my insides. She was kind of cute, if I looked past the frumpy dress. “Okay, are you some kind of mind reader or something? Because that’s freaky.”

  “It’s all the reading,” I said. “When you read a lot, you learn there’s always more to the story than what you see.”

  “Fair enough.” Emma watched Skye as she disappeared down the hall. “But I still think you might be psychic. Or maybe a girl.”

  My eyes went wide. “What?!”

  “Guys aren’t that insightful.” She looked me over, and I blushed. “And you’re kinda short. And pretty. Like guys in a boy band.”

  I could not get any words out. What she said was such a mix of insult, and compliment, and truth, I didn’t know what to make of it. But one thing I did know. “Trust me, I’m a guy. And you’re really upfront for someone who begs other people to keep secrets.”

  She smiled. “I haven’t told anyone what I told you. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  She looked at the clock and jumped up. “Oh! My mom’s probably waiting for me. She gets off work just after school is over so I always have to wait. See you later?”

  “I guess.” As she waved good-bye, my heart raced a bit. Did I just make a friend? Or was it something different? I couldn’t deny I was much more comfortable talking to Emma than those football players.

  And I think I liked that.

  Chapter 5

  I DID WHAT I always did after school—headed right through our west field towards Quincy’s house. A barbed wire fence separated our properties with a big sign that said NO TRESPASSING. Luckily I didn’t count. Ducking under the wire, I headed onto Quincy’s land.

  His parents did keep horses and other animals on their acres. Clucking from the chicken coop, bleating from the goats, a whinny from a horse—all normal sounds at Quincy’s place.

  The huge, shiny ranch house was built in the style of an old farmhouse but with better plumbing and electricity. I stepped onto the porch and knocked.

  “Oh hi, Drew,” said Mrs. Jorgenson as she let me in without fanfare. She was much older than my mom, since Quincy was their youngest kid and the only one still living at home. “We were wondering if you were coming or not.”

  “Gotta wait for my dad to finish football practice now,” I said.

  “Ah, got it.” She looked at me sympathetically, knowing the whole story as we’d been neighbors ever since I could remember. “Quincy’s in his room.”

  “Thanks.” I went for the hall, knowing my way around their house as well as my own. Quincy’s door was propped open, and he sat at the edge of his bed with a video game controller in his hands. He mashed the keys, eyes intense on the screen. He liked to play games because he didn’t think about his tics as much when he focused on them.

  He caught sight of me. “Hey man! One sec, gotta get this boss down.”

  “No prob.” I sat on the bed next to him, watching the fight go down. I often watched him play single-player RPGs. Mom didn’t believe in gaming consoles, so watching Quincy was the best I could get. We played other games together, too, but I honestly liked watching the RPGs. The stories were actually pretty good.

  “Yes!” Quincy jumped up after he beat the boss. Then he sat back down. Now that the fight was over, his nostril-flaring tic started—always in sets of three flares. “That was close. Looks like you survived school.”

  I nodded, the day still processing in my head.

  His eyes narrowed. “Was it that bad?”

  “No . . . it was, I don’t know, normal?” I didn’t have the right words for it. “Well, maybe what I imagine normal is for people who don’t get picked on.”

  His wincing tic broke his confused gaze. “So it was good then?”

  “Maybe? Though it all felt fake, I guess.”

  “Fake?”

  I sighed. Quincy was about the only person in the world I talked to—really talked to about myself and my thoughts. So I launched into the whole story about how my dad had set me up with the football players to get me back into the game.

  “Don’t you think you’re reading way too much into this?” he asked when I finished. “Maybe that Jake guy is just a nice guy. And maybe your dad only wanted to make sure you weren’t bored after school waiting all the time.”

  I grabbed a controller, wanting to play something before Mom called me for dinner. “My dad would have ignored me if it wasn’t a setup.”

  “But what if he’s trying to fix things?” Quincy picked a two-player game from the list on his console.

  “You have to be so damn levelheaded,” I grumbled. But that’s how Quincy was, always ready to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Even though he was homeschooled from a young age, he seemed to make friends way easier than me. I knew he had several within the homeschooling network. Sometimes they would hang out here, too, but I always left because I felt like I didn’t belong with them.

  It was weird how I felt like I belonged with Quincy but not when he had other friends around. He seemed to understand my discomfort and didn’t get mad at me for not wanting to hang out with them. And he still always made time for me because he said he liked me best. Maybe it was dumb, or sappy, or whatever, but Quincy got me through the hell of middle school. I might not have survived otherwise.

  I liked things how they were now, chilling out and playing video games. We joked around, and I told him about Skye and Emma.

  “Whoa, you talked to a girl for more than a few seconds?” Quincy laughed as he knocked my character back and killed
me. He pretty much always won, but I didn’t mind. “And not for a class assignment?”

  “Yeah, I still can’t believe it either.” A smile tugged at the side of my mouth again as I thought of Emma’s caught expression when I found her.

  “I always thought I’d be the first of us to have a girlfriend,” he said. “I better get on this.”

  “It’s not like that.” At least I didn’t think it was.

  “But maybe it will be.” Quincy and his positive outlook on life—he had totally missed the memo on the sullen teen thing.

  I shrugged. Although I had talked to Emma, I still thought about Skye. Or maybe both of them, and how they stopped being friends over something as trivial as a cartoon. And yet I sensed they missed each other, maybe even needed each other. Like how Quincy and I hung out. It made sense for no real reason.

  It was completely not my business and probably not something I could even do. But as I sat there in Quincy’s room, feeling truly comfortable and myself for the first time all day, I wondered if I could somehow help Emma and Skye be friends again.

  Chapter 6

  EMMA DIDN’T TALK to me in English class. Ever. She didn’t even look in my direction, but she glared plenty at Skye. After school in the library, I was her personal confession booth. She’d dump this random stuff on me about her life, and I’d nod while working on my homework.

  I should have found it annoying, but it wasn’t. Yet. It had only been a week.

  Then there was Skye. She wore a different, brightly colored outfit each day with a set of matching “pony” ears, but I still thought they looked like cat ears. Word had spread fast about her, and even though she’d been a freshman for only a week, people called her Pony Freak.

  And me? Well, I still hadn’t figured out how to avoid Jake Harvey. I tried to make my own school lunch and sit by my locker, but he hunted me down and took me back to the football table in the cafeteria. So I had to watch them mock Skye every lunch period.

  Neighing sounds on Tuesday.

  Lewd jokes about how horses do it on Wednesday.