The hardest part about breaking up with Applejack was not, as Rainbow Dash had assumed beforehand, the break-up itself.

It wasn't the void that the break-up left behind, either, the phantom pains she felt whenever her mind drifted over any of the innumerable memories she'd made. Stolen kisses, fleeting embraces, tender nights and lazy mornings-after. Fingertips dancing along thighs, and chests, and collarbones and lips. Thinking on all that hurt, like a soccer ball being kicked full-force into her gut.

That pain wasn't the hardest part, either.

The hardest part was the fissure that the break-up created among their friends. The hardest part was deciding who got whom. It changed on a day-to-day basis, and mostly depended on who got to the girls first. As with most everything else about their friendship, and the relationship that emerged from that friendship, it became a competition between them. In a perverse paradox, avoiding Applejack allowed Rainbow Dash to feel [i]close [/i]to her.

Every day, Rainbow Dash would slide her way into the cafeteria line, ignore the vicious glare that Granny Smith sent her way from behind the buffet, and make a beeline for the table. If she was lucky, the group would only be partially assembled. Sad, half-enthusiastic smiles and waves from Sunset, or Pinkie, or whoever was there already, would beckon her over, and she'd sit with them, make the usual smalltalk, and pointedly ignore the elephant in the room.

If she wasn't lucky, and Applejack had beaten her there...

Well. Today was one such day.

Rainbow Dash paused in the center of the cafeteria, a statue among still-moving classmates, and stared at the table. Her friends were there – eating, drinking, making smalltalk. They looked at her; they smiled at her; they beckoned her over.

Applejack just turned her seat, baring her back to Rainbow.

Rainbow swallowed a lump in her throat, turned on her heel, and strode toward the cafeteria exit. Her belly was empty, and would remain empty. That suited her fine.

She passed a table where Scootaloo sat with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, and tapped her younger protege once on the shoulder without breaking stride. And Scootaloo, as ever, fell into step with her, mumbling a farewell to her friends.

Rainbow pretended not to feel Apple Bloom's gaze burning holes in her back as she walked.

"So, punching bag again?" Scootaloo said as they shoved their way through the cafeteria's double doors. "Am I holding it for you, or just watching you go at it?"

Rainbow shrugged. "Dunno. Guess we'll see."

Scootaloo was quiet for a moment. "You're gonna have to talk to her sooner or later, Dash," she finally said.

Rainbow clenched her jaw and tossed her head, swinging her ponytail from one shoulder to the next.

"Not today, I don't."

[hr]

Sixth period dragged on far longer than Rainbow Dash liked. Partly because they were reading Shakespeare, that blowhard, with his [i]thees [/i]and [i]thous [/i]and his weird references that went over everybody's head. She got the gist of it, thanks to Twilight's under-the-table study guide ("Sparklenotes"), but the finer points of the story were still lost on her. Which was Shakespeare's fault, really, for living way back in 1864, or whenever, and not knowing that nobody in the 21st century thought "nothing" meant "coochie."

...Mostly, though, it dragged for Rainbow because it was one of the few classes where she [i]couldn't [/i]avoid Applejack. The other girl was seated two desks behind, and one to the right, of Rainbow.

Rainbow supposed she, at least, had it easier than Applejack. She didn't have to look at her. She wasn't sure if Applejack was staring – she didn't have that powerful, palpable, heat-vision-esque hate-gaze that her grandmother and sister both had. But, Rainbow figured, she must've been.

In her place, Rainbow knew, she couldn't stop herself from staring.

Book in hand, Ms. Cheerilee circled the room, making the rounds and sliding between rows like a very scholarly bird of prey. She rapped the desks of students who slept; she peeked at notes and smirked (or grimaced) at what she saw; she read her book in that soft, yet clear and vibrant, teacher's voice.

"Of course," said Cheerilee, "as readers, we know Iago's not telling the truth. Othello, though – does he realize it?"

"No," the class murmured in a listless chorus.

Cheerilee paused at the front of the room, leaned her ample backside against her desk, and frowned. "Sorry, say that again? Once more, with feeling?"

"[i]No.[/i]"

Rainbow caught a hint of country twang among the chorus. Her hands, sore and chapped from the half hour she spent with the punching bag, clenched into a fist on top of her copy of [i]Othello. [/i]

Cheerilee smirked, and nodded in satisfaction. "And who remembers what we call that? When the reader knows something that the characters in the story do not?"

The voice with the country twang mumbled, "dramatic irony?"

"Quite right." Ms. Cheerilee frowned again, angling her head. "Are you okay, Applejack? You sound a bit tired – are you getting enough sleep?"

"Gettin' plenty of sleep nowadays, Ms. Cheerilee, thanks. Got nothin' t'keep me up at night."

Rainbow's face heated up.

Ms. Cheerilee gazed uncertainly at the farmgirl, before shrugging, pushing off from her desk, and resuming her circuit around the room. "Understanding dramatic irony is important to understanding drama, both with the play, itself, and beyond – in other works that we'll read together. Or that you'll read alone. Because you're all such voracious readers, I know."

She winked, and there were a few scattered, self-deprecating chuckles.

"In the case of Iago, Othello, and Desdemona, [i]we, [/i]as readers, know that Iago is manipulating Othello into hating his wife. He doesn't know that, however. One imagines the play would end far differently if our protagonists were present for any of Iago's hateful soliloquies. Alas, it ends in tragedy."

Ms. Cheerilee shut her book and clasped her hands together over it. "And it ends in tragedy because...?"

"'Cuz Othello's a hot-headed sack o'crap, Ms. Cheerilee."

The class snickered again. Rainbow didn't join them.

Ms. Cheerilee's face screwed into a frown. "I was looking for a more literal answer, Applejack, but I suppose we can dive into interpretation and analysis a little early. What's your take on Othello's character? And, please, try to be a little less crude when you elaborate"

"Beg pardon, ma'am, but I dunno what else t'say," Applejack replied. "It's plain on the page, is what it is. Man's got a temper, jumps t'conclusions, acts without thinkin', makes a dumb, bone-headed mistake."

Ms. Cheerilee's arms folded. "I can't say I disagree with your assessment, entirely, but what about the role Iago played?"

"Don't matter." Applejack's voice was like a knife. "Don't matter one bit what he said; Othello should'a known better. Should'a trusted his wife t'keep her word an' cleave t'him, 'stead of doubtin' her."

"Maybe Desdemona should have given Othello a reason to trust her," Rainbow growled into her book.

Ms. Cheerilee's face lit up with a smile. "Well now! Looks like we've got the makings of a lively debate. Rainbow, why don't you elaborate?"

"Yeah, Rainbow. [i]Elaborate,[/i]" Applejack drawled. "I wanna hear this. I wanna hear why Othello was [i]right [/i]ta lose his marbles an' wanna hack his wife to messes."

"Chop," Ms. Cheerilee interrupted. "Sorry. Go ahead and answer, Rainbow."

"I..." Rainbow glanced down at her book, eyes scanning frantically through it for a passage to latch onto. "Uh, well... it's on... it's on page, um... line..."

Applejack's derisive chuckle made her pause and clench her jaw.

"Y'know what?" Rainbow folded her hands on her book and forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Ms. Cheerilee, but I've changed my mind. I agree with Applejack."

This particular combination of words had not been heard by Ms. Cheerilee, at any point, in the past. "Seriously?" she said dumbly.

"[i]Seriously[/i]?" Applejack echoed equally dumbly.

"Yeah. Seriously. She's right." Rainbow steeled herself, turned in her chair, and grinned smarmily at Applejack. "Desdemona did [i]nothing [/i]wrong. She's the [i]real[/i] victim here, and she's gonna make sure [i]everybody [/i]knows what a big, bad guy Othello was to her, because in her simple little farmgirl head––"

"Desdemona ain't a farmgirl, featherbrain."

"Uh, it was, like, 1864? Everybody lived on farms back then."

Applejack's palm slammed into her forehead. "For the love of––"

Ms. Cheerilee chuckled nervously, cutting her off. "Well, I suppose there's room to argue that – I mean, um – could we perhaps say that both Othello and Desdemona were equally victimized by––"

"Equally, nothin' – beg pardon again, Ms. Cheerilee. Desdemona got right shafted by her lug of a husband, an' I got no sympathy fer him."

Applejack's eyes smoldered – hey, looks like she had the heat vision after all.

"Or maybe," Rainbow shot back, catching and holding that burning gaze, "maybe Desdemona got exactly what she had coming to her!"

Applejack's jaw dropped. "He stabbed her to death, Rainbow Dash! Did you even read th'damn book?!"

"Applejack, I did say to mind the profanity."

"Uh, it's a play, Applejack? Not a book? Dumbass."

"Rainbow, that applies to you just as––"

"Yer dodgin' the question. Heck, yer dodgin' [i]both [/i]my questions."

"Ladies, there's 'spirited debate,' and then there's––"

"And you're talking out of your ass and making it all about you! Because that's [i]all you ever do[/i]!"

"Rainbow, Applejack, that's enough––"

Applejack, furious, slammed her palms down on her desktop, her face contorted with rage.

The sound of shattering wood and twisting metal silenced her before she could say anything.

Seconds ticked by – the two girls glared at each other, and the classroom stared at them in turn. Ms. Cheerilee stood by, caught up in the same spell as her students.

The bell rang, and the spell was broken.

"Oh, thank God," the teacher muttered under her breath as her students filed out. "Homework's on the board; finish it by Monday. Applejack?"

The farmgirl had the decency to look abashed. "Yeah?"

"Vice Principal Luna's office."

"...Yeah." Applejack wrenched her eyes away from Rainbow's, and gathered her belongings. "Sorry about the––"

"I know you are. Thank you." Ms. Cheerilee's eyes followed Applejack out the door, before turning on Rainbow and narrowing. "And, as for you..."

"Yeah, yeah." Rainbow folded her arms on her desk, and rested her chin on them. "I'm sorry for cussing."

"And for what else?"

"I..." Rainbow remembered who she was talking to and bit back her retort. "I shouldn't have pushed her like that."

"No. You shouldn't have." Ms. Cheerilee's narrow-eyed gaze seemed to soften. She stepped closer to Rainbow, slid into the empty desk in front of her, and looked expectantly at her.

Rainbow lifted her face from her arms. "What, you want me to talk about it now?"

Ms. Cheerilee nodded. "Of course, if you'd prefer to talk to the vice principal––"

"Wouldn't be my first choice."

"The guidance counselor, then."

"Wouldn't be my [i]second [/i]choice." Rainbow blew a puff of air at her bangs. "Guy smells like cat piss."

"He works part-time as a janitor; the ammonia seeps into his clothes."

Rainbow frowned. "Seriously?"

"You didn't hear it from me. Also, language." Ms. Cheerilee crossed her legs. "Have you and Applejack been fighting?"

"We're always––"

"I don't mean in the usual way."

Rainbow huffed and slumped in her seat. "Is it any of your business?"

"My students' well-being is always my business. When their personal issues start to influence their classroom conduct..." Ms. Cheerilee cast a glance at Applejack's ruined desk. "That's usually a sign that I need to intervene."

"Not like I broke mine," Rainbow muttered.

"And that's why I'm letting you talk to me, instead of the administration."

"What do you even want me to say?!" Rainbow snapped, bolting upright. "Yeah, we–– we broke up, alright? And it sucks! It sucks a lot! Everything's all..."

She gestured vaguely to the ruined desk.

"Like that. It's all like that."

She balled her fists on her desk and clenched her jaw to strangle her own sobs.

[i]And it's easy to blame her. 'Cuz then I don't have to blame myself.[/i]

Cheerilee's expression softened further, and she allowed Rainbow a moment to compose herself. At last, she spoke, softly.

"You can change classes, if you'd like. I'm sure we can shuffle you into a different period. I teach senior English in the morning, as you know."

"...Shakespeare at 8 AM doesn't sound much better than Shakespeare at 1:30. No offense." Rainbow let out a wet, snotty breath. "AJ might take you up on that, though."

A thin smile crossed Ms. Cheerilee's face. "No she won't. That'd be letting you win."

Rainbow snorted, and the snort became a laugh. It died when a thought occurred to her, and twisted her guts in a knot. "She's gonna get suspended, isn't she?"

"That's for the vice principal to decide. But, in all likelihood..."

"...Yeah." Rainbow shut her book and slid it into her backpack. "Do I need to... I mean, do you want me to stay any longer?"

Ms. Cheerilee pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're free. But watch how you talk to your peers in my classroom, regardless of who they are. [i]Capisce[/i]?"

Rainbow looked blankly at her teacher.

"...[i]Capisce.[/i]" Ms. Cheerilee's face fell. "It's Italian. It means 'do you understand?'"

"Oh. Uh." Rainbow nodded vigorously. "I, uh, I capeese."

"...Because we're reading [i]Othello, [/i]and I thought it'd be clever, because... Italian."

"Yeah, no, it's clever. It's super funny."

"Don't you dare patronize me, young lady." Ms. Cheerilee scowled, a playful glint in her eye. "Now. Away with you."

Rainbow slung her backpack over her shoulder, and headed for the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, and turned back to her teacher. "Ms. Cheerilee?"

"Hm?" The older woman was still seated in the empty student desk – a thin ray of sunlight washed over her, through the window. "What is it?"

"Do, um..." Rainbow fiddled with the strap of her book bag. "I mean, uh... how do you... how do you make it right with someone? Someone you hurt, I mean. Someone you... someone you love."

"To be frank, I'm probably not the person to ask for advice on affairs of the heart, Rainbow Dash. They've never quite been my forte." Ms. Cheerilee smiled sadly, her skin all but shimmering in the sun. "But, with people in general... an apology is never a bad start."

"Apologize. Right." The word tasted ashy in Rainbow's mouth. "Thanks."

She turned the knob.

"And Rainbow?"

Rainbow glanced back at Ms. Cheerilee.

"If I ever catch you working with Sparklenotes again, you'll be scraping gum off my desks well into next year. I'll have you held back from graduating [i]just [/i]so that you can do it."

Rainbow flushed, chuckled nervously, and fled.

[hr]

Applejack's face was still red and puffy when she emerged, sniffling, from the vice principal's office. Upon sighting Rainbow Dash, she immediately pretended she wasn't crying.

"...Hi." Rainbow stuck her hands in her pockets. "Um... you get suspended?"

Applejack's lips curled into a pout. She shook her head. "But I gotta pay fer that desk. 'Cuz o'you."

"Hey, I didn't make you––" Rainbow stopped, took a deep breath, and held it for a while, as Applejack waited for the rest of her retort.

"...I'm sorry for that. For going at you."

Applejack's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The hell is this?"

Rainbow shrugged. "An apology?"

"Fer what happened in class? With the desk?"

Rainbow nodded.

Applejack's jaw shifted. "Jus' fer that?"

Rainbow hesitated, and shook her head rapidly. "AJ, I'm... I've been..." She flapped her arms, once, limply against her sides, at a loss. "I gotta be straight with you––"

"First time fer everythin'."

"I've been a total––" Rainbow stopped, and planted a hand on her hip. "Wow, really? Gay jokes?"

Applejack's lips curled into a smirk.

Rainbow followed suit. And the girls shared a laugh – something wet, and quiet, and not quite joyful.

Then Rainbow said, "I've been a bitch."

"Sure have." Applejack fidgeted. "But, uh... then again... I think I helped get us here, too, Rainbow."

"Hey. I'm apologizing to you. You can fix your own guilt issues when it's your turn."

"It ain't a contest, Rainbow," said Applejack. The smile she wore after her laugh faded. Pointedly, she added, "You hurt me real bad, y'now."

Rainbow cringed. "Yeah."

"An' I don't know if you an' me can... y'know, like we used to."

"...But I wanna." Rainbow sniffed, and wiped her nose on her forearm. "Maybe it's dumb to think that we could, but I still wanna go back, AJ."

"Go back to what? If you could choose." Applejack folded her arms. "What would we go back to?"

"...I just want you back, AJ." Rainbow took a step forward, arms half-extended. When Applejack recoiled, she balled up her hands and dropped them to her sides. "I don't mean like... girlfriends, again."

"'Cuz we ain't good at that."

"We're really not."

"So... jus' friends?"

"Yeah. Just friends. Just like before."

Applejack fixed Rainbow with a gentle, evaluatory look. Slowly, she shook her head. "I jus' don't know if we can. Go back to what we were, I mean. Not after everythin'."

Rainbow felt something tear in her chest, but she nodded her understanding regardless.

Then a rough, calloused hand, its touch stirringly familiar, gripped hers. A leathery thumb stroked her knuckles, with tenderness belied by its owner's superhuman strength.

"Don't mean we can't be nothin', Rainbow. Jus' can't be like we were." Applejack was smiling; her eyes were red, and clear of malice. "But hey. I'm game fer findin' out what comes next, if you are."

Rainbow grinned broadly.

Then Applejack was holding her, and she held Applejack in turn, and she was pretty sure Vice Principal Luna was staring at them through the door's window, and she really, [i]really [/i]didn't care.

"I'll pay for the stupid desk, you know." Rainbow pressed her cheek against Applejack's ponytail, draped over her left shoulder.

She felt Applejack's tears pepper her neck, and her chest shudder with laughter.

"Oh, sugarcube. Yer damn right you will."