My Little Brony

by K. M. Hayes

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shrugged. “Never mind. I’ll look up Bronies, okay?”

  “Good.” She cringed a little. “Just . . . be warned there’s some super weird stuff, too. And some dirty stuff.”

  My eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “There’s so much fan content you could drown in it, and there’s a stroke for every folk, you know?”

  “Interesting . . . thanks for the warning.” I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she referred to, but I guessed I’d find out soon. “It’s nice to know I’m not actually as alone as I thought I was. I felt like I was crazy for a bit.”

  “I know.” She let out a long sigh—like she knew exactly what I’d gone through—and leaned her head back on the wall. “Hey, so, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna get a lot of crap for what you did in English. You probably already have a good idea. Just figured I should warn you in case.”

  “Yeah, it’s already started.” I leaned my head back, too. There was something about Skye. It was like I got her even though I hardly knew anything about her. Like being with Quincy—easy to be friends for no reason. “Actually, it’s nothing new. My dad only brought me here because I was bullied so bad in middle school. I got made fun of and beat up all the time. Guess it’s unavoidable for me.”

  She looked over at me, her white pony ears making her look like a quizzical cat. “Really? You don’t live around here?”

  “About an hour away.”

  “Wow.” She grabbed her backpack, pulling some light purple fabric out of it. “Why’d everyone get on your case so bad?”

  “Because my dad’s a legendary football coach and I suck at football.” I watched what Skye was doing. With the fabric came a needle and thread. Finally, she pulled out a hand-sewn patch in the shape of Twilight’s cutie mark. “He was hoping to get me playing again, but I told him I hated football and now he’s not talking to me.”

  “So that’s why you were sitting with the jocks at first.” Skye pinned the patch to the fabric and threaded the needle with purple thread. “Gotta admit that seemed weird.”

  I laughed a little. “It was. I think my dad made them.”

  “You know, it reminds me of this one episode . . .” She didn’t take her eyes off her work, but I didn’t mind. It made it easier since her focus wasn’t on me.

  “Babs Seed?” I said.

  She looked up from her sewing with a bright smile. “Yes!”

  “That was the first episode I saw, when I was babysitting my sister. Made me feel like a jerk.” I finished off my sandwich. Another reason why it felt so easy was because Skye spoke the same pony language. We had an immediate connection because of this show we both liked. Finally, finally, I could reference things I’d absorbed from the show and someone besides Holly would get it.

  “That’s fantastic. My first episode was—” Her stomach growled so loudly I swore it echoed in the hall. She cringed. “Sorry.”

  I handed her my bag of chips. “Gave up on the lunch line?”

  “Yeah . . . thanks.” She opened the bag, hungrily eating a few. “That guy you threatened with the video before? His name’s Teagan. Won’t leave me alone, and he’s gotten even meaner since then. He’s in my math class. Must be an idiot if he’s a senior taking freshman math.”

  “Seriously. Too stupid to take a hint.”

  She smirked. “You know, the guys who are just mean don’t bother me so much. But him? He’s just plain scary. He says I belong to him even though I’ve told him I hate him.”

  “What?” My jaw hung open.

  “He says it’s destiny or something.” She let out a strained laugh, as if she tried to make it not a big deal. “He’s basically crazy.”

  “Are you okay? Have you told anyone?” Maybe I didn’t know Skye well, but I was worried about her. Teagan sounded like serious danger, especially from what I’d already seen.

  She shrugged. “You know how it is . . . but hey, maybe it’ll help now that I’m not alone. I mean, if we keep hanging out.”

  “Of course we will,” I said without hesitation. “We Bronies gotta have each other’s backs, right?”

  “Right.” She smiled and looked less tense than when she was talking about Teagan. I had felt Skye needed a friend, but hadn’t realized just how badly she needed one. “So, I know we don’t know much about each other, but you gotta come with me to the next Brony meet-up. You’d love it.”

  I blinked a few times, trying to comprehend the quick change in topic. It still wasn’t quite registering. “Okay, what is a Brony meet-up?”

  Skye shook her head, smiling like she enjoyed me being such a noob. “Oh, you have no idea the can of worms you opened. Bronies and Pegasisters get together, like, pretty often. From all around the world. We hang out and do pony stuff and just enjoy spending time with other people who get it. There’s even BronyCons.”

  “Cons?” This blew my mind. Were there really that many people who liked MLP? “What the hell are those?”

  “Conventions?” Skye crumpled the empty chip bag. “They invite some of the creators of the show, have panels and dances, and people sell pony stuff. I’ve never been, but it’s my dream to go and compete in the cosplay contests.”

  “I had no idea it was that big.” I was both overwhelmed and excited. There was so much I still didn’t know, but I had a way to learn and people to do it with. “Where’s this meet-up?”

  “In Austin. At the community college.” She picked up her sewing. “This Friday, actually.”

  “Really?” It couldn’t have been more perfect. That was the Homecoming game. Dad wouldn’t drive home until after the game, so I’d be stuck at school that whole time anyway. Judging by the away games I’d already waited through, I’d have until at least ten at night. “Could you give me a ride?”

  “Of course! Just meet me in the Home Ec room after school.”

  “Home Ec room. Got it.” After school made me think of Emma . . . of the way she had looked at me in English. I wanted to believe she’d still talk to me, but I felt it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Chapter 20

  SURE ENOUGH, AT the library after school, Emma wasn’t at our usual table. For a moment I thought about just doing my homework in peace. If Emma wanted to be childish about it, then whatever. Then I thought about what Twilight would do—she’d never let go of a friend over something like this. And Emma was a friend, just like Skye was becoming my friend, too.

  Now if I could get Emma and Skye to be friends with each other again. . . .

  I walked quietly toward the fantasy section, worried that Emma might hide if she heard me. Peeking around the corner, I expected her to be sitting there like the first day of school. But she wasn’t.

  I pursed my lips. There’s no good reason for her not to be here. She was on the last book of her current fantasy series, and she hated being left on a cliffhanger.

  I checked the next row. And the next. I finally noticed her shoes poking out from behind a desk in the far corner. She was hiding, and I felt a bit guilty for hunting her down when she didn’t want to be around me. But I didn’t want to let Emma go.

  Taking a deep breath, I strode over and leaned on the top of the desk. “Are we playing hide and seek now?”

  She squeaked and glared coldly at me. “Go away, traitor.”

  I sighed. “Emma, c’mon.”

  “Shh, I’m trying to read.” She lifted the book higher to block her face.

  I squatted down next to her. “Look, I knew you might be this way if you found out, which was one of the many reasons I tried to keep it a secret, but I guess I’m not as good at secret-keeping as you are.”

  No answer.

  “You really won’t be friends with me anymore?” I tried again. “Do friends have to like all the same things? I figured real friends could be as different as night and day and still stay friends.” Like Applejack and Rarity.

  Her eyes peeked over the edge of the book, eyebrows knit tight
over them. “Go hang out with Skye.”

  “What if we all hang out together?” I said, angry that she pushed me away after I had made the effort to find her.

  She dropped the book. “What?”

  “You regret what happened between you and Skye. I think you’d really like the show. So why not just hang out and watch it and be who you want to be?”

  She looked at me, shocked. Shaking her head, she said, “Leave me alone. Right now.”

  “Emma, please. It’s doesn’t have to be this way.” Things were supposed to work out like they did in MLP. I was honest with her, and kind, and all that stuff.

  “I know.” She pursed her lips, and tears formed in the corner of her eyes. “But I like my secrets being secret. If I did what you did, everyone would know. You just went where I’m not ready to go, and I’m jealous and angry and sad right now. So just . . . let me read.”

  Here I thought I knew Emma, but in that moment I realized there was so much more to know. She was as trapped as I was and just as scared to break free. I was slowly getting the courage to escape—she didn’t have that yet, and no one could push her out of a box she refused to leave. I saw it all over her face. She wanted to read, pretend none of this was happening, and forget her own problems for a second. I wouldn’t take that from her.

  I sighed. “Fine. But I’m not giving up on you.”

  She pouted. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

  I laughed, lightening the mood like Pinkie Pie would have. “Whenever you’re done torturing yourself, I’ll be at the table doing homework like usual.”

  As I walked off, I hoped she wouldn’t call my bluff and realize how desperate I was to keep her as a friend.

  Chapter 21

  THE SOUNDS OF sportscasters were familiar to me with the cadence of speech turning into a speedy burst of narration. The voice went higher as players made their moves and the results became clearer. Ironically, Quincy wasn’t watching sports—he was watching people play video games.

  “See, Mom?” he said as he pointed at the tournament streaming on the TV. “It’s a real thing!”

  Mrs. Jorgenson had her hands on her hips, staring at the screen. “So these guys are really paid to play this game?”

  “Yes!” Quincy stood up and went to the TV, acting like a weathercaster as he pointed out each thing on the screen. “This is the game, and the players are controlling these characters. See their faces down here and how the names above the characters match? And this is the score. . . .”

  I only half listened. Quincy didn’t need to convince me, and I had other things to investigate. Mainly, the world of Bronies. I was curled into a chair in the corner of the room, figuring I was safe to check out stuff. I could shut down the app the second someone came over.

  I typed “Brony” into my phone’s browser. It had never occurred to me to search for other MLP fans online until Skye suggested it. I guess I had pictured them all as little girls like Holly, and that would make me a huge creep. But as I stared at the stuff that came up in my search, I didn’t know what to think.

  There was a whole wiki for the show, plus definitions of what a Brony was. On top of that, I even found a documentary about Bronies. I’d definitely watch that later. There were pictures of guys dressed up in pony gear like Skye, and a crap ton of fan art way better than mine. I found the BronyCon Skye had mentioned—it looked pretty awesome, not that my parents would ever let me go.

  I also found the weird stuff Skye had referred to, the suggestive pictures and even some gory stuff—so not like the show.

  But still, as I went down the rabbit hole of links and images, I didn’t feel as alone. I wasn’t the only guy who liked this, not by a long shot. From the pictures it seemed like guys from all different walks of life were Bronies. Not just geeks but military guys, too. It was cool to see how far MLP could reach, and it only made me want to be part of it more.

  At the same time, a seed of apprehension was planted when I thought about going with Skye to the Brony meet-up. These guys were serious fans—they’d probably know way more than me and think I wasn’t one of them because I was so new to this. I’d barely gotten the courage to say I liked the show, and I didn’t hold a candle to guys who were such outspoken, proud fans.

  Plus, I’d be with Skye. Alone-ish. Was this, like, a date? Suddenly, saying I’d go seemed like a bad idea all around.

  “What are you looking at?” Quincy said, jarring me out of my thoughts.

  “What? Nothing!” I closed my browser, but Quincy grabbed my phone with lightning speed.

  “You keep saying that!” He opened my text messages. “But you’re eyes are glued to this thing all the time. Who’re you talking to?”

  I tried to get it back from him, but he held it high over my head. Quincy was about five inches taller than me, so I could hardly reach it when I jumped. “I’m not talking to anyone!”

  “Sh, sh, sh, sh,” he ticked as he looked through my messages. I knew that all he saw were texts from him and my mom. He looked back at me when he was done. “Okay, you’re not texting a girl. Then what the crap are you looking at on this all the time? And no lying.”

  I sighed deeply. It was already out at school. Why I had such a hard time telling Quincy, I didn’t know. But I snatched my phone from him and tapped on my browser again. I held it out for him to see so I wouldn’t have to explain. “There, are you happy?”

  He tilted his head, looking at the search results. “Bronies? What the heck is Bronies?”

  I rolled my eyes and tapped on the definition link. “This.”

  He read it. Something must have clicked because his brows popped up and he looked at me. “Hey, this is the thing that Skye girl likes, right?”

  I nodded, taking my phone back.

  “Did you, like, watch it?”

  I nodded again. “With Holly, that night I had to babysit . . . and then, well, I kept watching it.”

  Quincy stared at me, his face motionless save for a few nostril flares. It felt like forever before he said. “So, you’re a Brony. That’s what you’ve been hiding?”

  “Yeah, that’s the big secret,” I said.

  “Huh . . .” Quincy pursed his lips, and I knew he wasn’t going to take this like I hoped. “I was definitely not expecting that.”

  “I figured.”

  “So, you actually like the show?” Quincy wouldn’t look at me when he asked.

  This put me on the defensive. I had been understanding when he said he wanted to be a pro gamer—which was not at all a normal career—and now here he was judging me about My Little Pony. He was supposed to be my best friend. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No!” Quincy winced. “Well, it’s just a little weird, is all.”

  “Weird.” I’d heard worse at school, but it hurt more coming from someone I hoped had my back. Was this how Skye felt when Emma wouldn’t give the show a chance? Was this how they stopped being friends? I didn’t want to lose Quincy, but it seemed like a real possibility at this point.

  “It’s, like, all pink and girly,” Quincy continued. This time he looked at me uncomfortably. “You’re not . . .”

  “No, I’m not gay. That’s what you were about to say, right?” I’d heard it so many times at school, but hearing it from him made me want to hit things. “That’s so messed up! Gay people can like all sorts of stuff—you’re not gay because you like a girl show!”

  Quincy held up his hands, his wince tic in full force. “Okay! Sorry, it was just the first thing I thought of.”

  “I seriously thought you’d be less judgmental. I didn’t laugh at you when you said you wanted to be a pro gamer—I just supported you,” I said, my anger at the insults boiling over. “You of all people should be open-minded. You know what it’s like to be judged.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Quincy glared at me in return. “Are you talking about my tics?”

  I didn’t say anything, knowing I’d gone too far.

  “So just
because I’m a freak of nature I am supposed to automatically be this perfect person who understands everyone and everything?” Quincy sh-sh-sh-ed me and punched a pillow. “Gah! Screw you, Drew. Sorry for not being perfect and thinking it’s a little weird that you like pink ponies! I was only asking because I was trying to understand.”

  “Whatever.” I wanted to leave. This was not how it was supposed to go. “Just forget it. Forget everything. I was going to ask you for advice because Skye asked me to go somewhere with her, but never mind. It couldn’t possibly be a date. I’m a sissy boy. I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Drew, wait!” Quincy called as I headed to the door.

  I didn’t. I left his house, running away because I couldn’t face him. Maybe I overreacted, but I didn’t know what else to do. I needed him to be okay with it, even if he didn’t want to get into MLP like me. But he wasn’t. Of all the people who’d judged me, my best friend’s opinion hurt the most.

  Chapter 22

  NOW THAT THE word was out, things kept getting worse at school. In small ways, like how people in class wouldn’t partner up with me unless I was the very last person left. In big ways, like how people would ask me if I had mental problems or if I was gay.

  “You gonna start dressing up, too, Drew?” a guy said when Skye and I walked out of English together.

  “Ooo, kinky!” his friend laughed.

  They walked off like it was nothing, just a drive-by “joke” to entertain themselves on the way to class. A few people looked at us, obviously having heard, and giggled.

  I wanted to say it didn’t bother me, but I’d be lying if I did. Even with Skye there to share in the grief, it still sucked.

  Skye rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Cheerleaders wear their costumes, and jocks wear theirs. Why can’t I wear mine?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re not even costumes—they’re clothes. The cosplay stuff I saw online is way more elaborate.”

  “Right?” She smiled widely. “I’m working on a really cool piece for competition, if I ever save up enough to go to a con, that is. It’s going to be epic.”