My Little Brony

by K. M. Hayes

I smiled, remembering how we’d watched episodes during lunch on my phone. Emma had brought Skye lunch from home and hung out with us more. It was pretty awesome. “Though, well, it turns out you were kind of right to avoid it all and just keep lying to your parents.”

  “I guess so,” she conceded. “Though I do wish I could go to that meet-up with you and Skye. It sounds fun.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I pulled at my shirt collar, feeling uncomfortable since I hadn’t exactly told Skye that I couldn’t go with her this time. She figured I would—we had signed up to make that rainbow cake—but with my parents at war I was scared to ask Mom if I could go. She would probably say yes, but if Dad heard that . . .

  When we entered the Home Ec room, Skye was at the fabric-cutting table holding up a shirt covered in pink, yellow, and blue fringe. It might have been too much, but the way she arranged the colors diagonally made it look cool. Pinkie Pie would have certainly approved. She smiled as she shook it a little to show the movement. “What do you think, guys?”

  “It’s a party in a shirt,” I replied.

  Emma laughed. “That’s the perfect description.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going for.” She set it down on the table, eyeing it with pride. “I’ve been doing a lot of casual wear—thought I could try my hand at some more special occasion pieces.”

  “Cool.” Emma leaned on the table and touched the fringe. “What are you pairing it with?”

  “I was thinking a white pencil skirt and hot pink heels,” Skye said. “So it’s fun but still a bit mature?”

  Emma nodded. “That’s awesome. I’d wear it even if I didn’t know about the show.”

  Skye beamed, and they went on about fashion stuff I had no clue about. The terms only vaguely sounded familiar thanks to Rarity. It sure hadn’t taken these two long to get back into their old friendship. They were clearly a good pair who never should have been apart. It was fun watching them, and it made me feel like I had at least done one thing right.

  After Skye packed up, we started to walk to her house. Emma lived five houses down, but we never went the rest of the distance with her. Emma didn’t want her parents to see us accidentally.

  There was a time when I’d have fought her on that, but currently, I thought she was much smarter than me. Besides, if she ever decided to be honest with her parents, it should be her choice on the timing. It sucked to be outed before you were ready.

  “Hey, so we need to get the ingredients for the rainbow cake,” Skye said to me. “I have a little money, but if you could split the cost in half with me that’d be great.”

  I gulped. Here was the opening, and I had to take it. “Yeah, I can definitely pay for half and help make it, but I actually don’t think I’ll be able to go that night.”

  “What?” Skye stopped walking. “But your parents know! Are they seriously not gonna let you go? Your mom seems so nice!”

  “It’s just . . .” I put my hands in my pockets, hating to say it because I wanted to go and none of this was fair. But I couldn’t think about myself and what I wanted anymore. “Every time I bring up something pony-related, my parents fight. So I haven’t even asked my mom, and I kind of don’t want to. My little sister freaks out when they get mad. It’s all so ugly and I’m tired of it.”

  Skye’s shoulders slumped. “That’s not fair. I can’t even fight with that.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “But I can still help with the cake. I mean, since I’ll be here waiting for my mom anyway.”

  “Fine, I guess I’ll just have to deal. Everyone will be so sad you’re not there.” We started walking again and were almost to her house. “And don’t say they won’t notice—Tyler and Frankie notice everyone.”

  I smirked. “How’d you know I would say that?”

  “Because you think people don’t see you,” Emma said. She looked away from me, embarrassed. “But they do.”

  “It’s true,” Skye continued. “You stand out. That’s why you get bullied. My mom keeps promising me that after high school being different will be an asset, but I’m not sure I believe it.”

  “I didn’t until I met Tyler and Frankie,” I admitted. “They seem really happy and no one at that college cared about the meet-up.”

  “Good point.” Skye stepped onto the grass. “See you later, Emma. Hope you can come someday, too.”

  Emma nodded, smiling sadly. “Maybe when I’m old enough to drive.”

  “So, a year! I’m holding you to it.” Skye pulled out her keys, and we waved good-bye to Emma. Then we were inside making something for dinner. After a week of this, it had begun to feel normal, kind of like going to Quincy’s but with more work. I never had to take the trash out at Quincy’s, and yet here I helped out—especially when I was eating their food and they were scraping by. It was the least I could do.

  Harley and Ms. Zook got home at about the same time every night, and we ate while Harley told us everything he did at work. He had the best stories, about crying little kids he gave suckers to, about how gross it was to clean up broken eggs, about how to bag groceries properly. I don’t know how he did it, but he made the most boring things sound exciting.

  “And then the grandma was trying to pick up this giant—giant—box of . . .” The doorbell rang, and he frowned at the interruption. “Oh man! Your mom’s here, Drew.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I better go.” I stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed my backpack.

  “She can come in, you know,” Ms. Zook said. “We’d be happy to have more company.”

  “Thanks.” I bit my lip, looking toward the front door. “It’s just that it’s kind of a long drive, and my little sister doesn’t like it when my mom has to leave her.”

  “I understand,” she replied. “Maybe we can all get together sometime at your place on the weekend.”

  I tried not to look horrified by the proposal. Dad would love for me to bring even more “pony freaks” home. I’m sure he’d act like I’d brought zombies into the house. “We’ll have to see. Bye.”

  “See you on Monday!” Skye said.

  “Yup.”

  Heading to the door, I opened it and Mom was there smiling widely. But that wasn’t all—she also had puffy, red eyes, which meant she had been crying. “Hey, sugar! Wanna grab a milkshake on the way home? I need a milkshake.”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  I determined to ignore what Mom was hiding. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it anyway. But as we grabbed our milkshakes and drove home chatting about superficial things, the pit of guilt in my stomach only grew. By the time we hit our driveway, I couldn’t go inside without losing it and starting another fight.

  “Hey, is it okay if I stay over at Quincy’s tonight?” I asked. It was short notice, but his parents were usually cool with it.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “Tell Mrs. Jorgenson thanks for being so hospitable, okay?”

  “Of course.” The car stopped, and I got out. Instead of going inside to grab stuff, I headed immediately to the field and Quincy’s house in the distance. I’d survive a night of not brushing my teeth if it meant I didn’t have to see Dad or hear him insult me and Mom.

  Pulling out my phone, I texted Quincy a warning. Coming over now. Did you save me pizza?

  His reply was swift. There’s some left. Hurry or I’ll eat it.

  Almost there. I smiled. At least Quincy was on board—he’d watched almost the whole MLP series now, but he wasn’t sold on the Equestria Girls. Said he had to draw the line somewhere.

  I only had to knock twice before he opened the door and let me in. Letting out a deep breath, I said, “It still smells like pizza in here.”

  “It’s on the kitchen table.”

  Although I’d had dinner at Skye’s and a milkshake with my mom, I grabbed a piece of pepperoni pizza and ripped into it. Guilty or not, I hadn’t lost my appetite. In fact, it might have grown in the past month.

  “So,” Quincy said with a sly smile. “How’s your
herd of girls?”

  I rolled my eyes. He’d admitted to being jealous that my friends at Yearling High were two cute girls, so I let the dig slide. “They’re good. I’m the one with all the problems these days. Too bad you don’t go to school there, too. Then we’d really be a herd.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

  I paused mid-bite, pizza hanging out of my mouth. I couldn’t have heard that right. Quincy wanted to go to school with me? “Are you serious?”

  He shrugged. “Half the homeschoolers are in high school now and making other friends. It’s been really boring around here with you gone all day all the time. And, I don’t know, I’m fifteen but I’m almost a junior class-wise. If I didn’t like it, it’d only be, like, a few semesters.”

  I swallowed my bite. “You can’t just say something like that and not do it. I never hoped you’d go to school with me, and if you take it away now, I would hate you.”

  He laughed. “Well, it’d be next semester.”

  “Too bad you weren’t doing it sooner,” I said. “Then I could convince your mom to take us to the Brony meet-up instead of putting my mom in a bad spot again. And we could switch driving to school. It’d make it so much easier to—”

  “Wait.” Quincy held up his finger. “Back it up. There’s another Brony meet-up? When?”

  “Next Friday,” I said. “They’re every month.”

  “You going with the girls?”

  “It’s just Skye . . . but I’m not going.” I looked at the pizza crust in my hand, suddenly not that hungry. While I’d told Emma and Skye about my parents fighting, I hadn’t gone into much detail with Quincy. We were neighbors—I didn’t think Mom would want the neighborhood finding out. “You know my dad. He’s still pissed about everything and won’t let me.”

  “I wanna go!” Quincy said.

  “What? You were laughing at me last time!”

  “Well, last time I didn’t know the show was cool and that I could make friends with cute girls.” Quincy went over to the couch in the living room and sat down. I followed. “What if I met you after school and we went? My mom would drive us—my parents don’t care at all that I like it.”

  “Lucky.”

  He flipped through the guide on the TV, looking for whatever interested him tonight. “I guess when your kid has Tourette’s, you get over judging people too much.”

  “I guess so.” Now that Quincy had planted the seeds of hope in my mind, I couldn’t help pursuing the possibilities. “You think your mom could really take us? Because if she can, I might actually be able to go. Skye was so bummed when I told her I couldn’t. We were supposed to make this cake and stuff.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A cake, huh?”

  “We signed up for food duty.”

  “Interesting. I like food.” He stopped on some anime show. “So do you want me to ask my mom, like, right now or something?”

  “Yes.” Because this could be the best of both worlds. I wouldn’t be a noob like last time, and I’d tell Mom where I was, and we could pretend I was hanging out with Quincy like always. No fighting necessary.

  Quincy pulled out his phone to text his mom upstairs. A moment later she replied. He smiled. “See? No problem. She’ll do it.”

  “Awesome.” Now I had to find the right time to tell Mom.

  Chapter 36

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Dad was on the sofa watching football with the volume on high while my mother worked in the kitchen making homemade rolls for dinner. Holly was up in her room pouting about not being able to watch her show. She, shockingly enough, never got grief for disliking football. This was the perfect time. Dad would be so engrossed he’d never hear. Holly was gone and wouldn’t blurt out my plans.

  I’d thought about texting Mom to ask if I could go to the Brony meet-up with Quincy, but I worried Dad would somehow see the text. They popped up on the phone screen for all to see. Or maybe he checked her phone sometimes like he checked mine. Either way, I figured talking in person would be the best way to leave no tracks.

  So I casually walked by Dad, and when I stepped into the kitchen I said as loudly as I could, “Hey, Mom! When’s dinner gonna be done? I’m starving.”

  Mom glared at me. “When the rolls are done rising, so not for awhile.”

  “Aww, man!” I came closer to her, and she jumped in surprise. I lowered my voice. “Actually, I have something to ask you.”

  She looked to both sides, catching on to what I was doing. “What is it?”

  “There’s this . . . thing I want to go to.”

  “Thing?”

  “Yeah.” I looked over my shoulder. My “safe” plan wasn’t feeling so foolproof right now. “You know, that thing I went to the night I, uh, went missing?”

  “Oh! Oh . . .” Mom cringed. “Sugar, I don’t know—”

  “Quincy wants to come, too,” I said quickly. “Mrs. Jorgenson said she’d drive, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. I wasn’t even going to ask, but when he said he could . . . would it be so bad? I’ll just be out with Quincy, and you can relax, pretend we’re at a movie.”

  She smiled sadly. “I’m afraid there’s still a lot for me to worry about.”

  “I know.” I hung my head, wondering if I should have asked at all. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  “What?” Mom stopped kneading the dough, her eyes wide. “Did you just say this was your fault?”

  “Well, yeah . . .” I shouldn’t have said that either. Suddenly, this felt like a bad idea. I wanted to go to the meet-up too badly, and I should have accepted that I couldn’t. “You and Dad fight about me all the time. Holly and I aren’t deaf.”

  “Whoa, back up one second.” She picked up the dough and put it in the bowl. This meant I was going to get a talking-to. “This is not your fault. You found something you like to do because of a show you like to watch—that is a fantastic thing! It is not your problem that your father has the most narrow view possible on ‘being a man.’ I’ve spent years trying to get that through his thick skull, and I’ll keep trying till I’m blue in the face.”

  Mom said I wasn’t in trouble, but it didn’t feel that way. “But if I wasn’t interested in this stuff, then you guys wouldn’t be fighting about it. So you can say it’s not my fault, but it kinda is.”

  “It’s not!” She let out a frustrated grunt. “You know what? Screw this. You’re going to that Brony meet-up.” Clearly looking for a fight, my mother raised her voice. “You are going to that Brony meet-up and no one can stop you!”

  “Mom!” While I knew she was being supportive, in that moment I felt betrayed. I didn’t want Dad to hear, and she made sure he did.

  The sound cut off on the TV.

  Dad’s footsteps pounded towards us.

  They would probably divorce after this, and the world would end, and I’d lose the things I liked most about my life. This was not how it was supposed to go. Why couldn’t she have said yes or no quietly and let it go unnoticed?

  “Did I hear something about them stupid-ass ponies?” Dad said, his voice raised.

  “I’m taking Drew to the Brony meet-up on Friday,” Mom’s voice was polite and sugary sweet. “Holly would love it, so you’ll just have to fend for yourself when you get home.”

  Dad clenched his jaw. “Did you forget the boy is grounded?”

  “I’m ungrounding him.” She put her hands on her hips. I was about to witness the fights they usually kept in their room. “He would have asked to go last time if he knew you supported him. So it’s your fault he went missing, not his.”

  Dad pointed to me. “He got in a fight last week! Was that my fault, too? He’s still grounded.”

  “He was defending himself! Just like he has to defend himself with you,” Mom shot back. “You’re always sayin’ he should be tougher, and then he stands up to these bullies and you switch stories.”

  “Fighting, disappearing, lying—and you think this crap he likes is good for him? So if he li
ked drugs, we should support that, too?”

  “My Little Pony is NOT drugs! Drawing is NOT drugs! That’s the dumbest comparison I ever heard!” Mom’s voice was loud now, and I was sure Holly heard it. If she came down here . . .

  “Mom, Dad, please stop figh—”

  “It’s worse than drugs!” Dad said, not even seeing me now. “If he was on drugs, at least people wouldn’t think he was a freak of nature.”

  Mom scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed yet, you’re the only one who thinks that! He has friends, Scott. More than just Quincy. And they’re cute girls! He has dreams and people are inviting him to things and he’s happy—this is exactly what we wanted for him when we decided to move schools!”

  “He’s getting bullied just like before. You want that?” Dad glowered at her. “This is all your fault, brainwashing him and letting him watch girly stuff. Stop trying to make him into a sissy.”

  I partially stopped listening. What Dad said hit me like a ton of bricks. Just like with the football thing, he blamed this on Mom. He didn’t see her as supporting me, but as the enemy who conned me into liking something I shouldn’t. If I didn’t speak up now, he’d spend the rest of his life blaming this on her like he did before.

  “That’s enough!” I yelled over them.

  They stopped and looked at me as if they just realized I was still in the kitchen.

  “Stop talking like I’m not right here. I’m sick of this! Talk to me! This is about me. You’re both blaming it on each other and pretending like it’ll get fixed if you leave me out of it and it won’t.” I pointed to my father, glaring at him. “This is not Mom brainwashing me. I love to draw—that was my decision and she didn’t even know about it for awhile. Only Holly did. Stop trying to blame her for what you hate about me. Take it out on me.”

  Mom teared up. “Drew, you don’t have to—”

  “Mom, I’m glad you support me,” I said gently. “But please stop picking fights with Dad to show that support. You can’t make him change. I can’t make him change. I wish he would be okay with everything, but I’m starting to learn that it’s okay if people aren’t okay with me. Like you said, I have friends. I have you and Holly. I don’t need the whole world or even my own father to accept me. . . .”