Sleepover


                                            >"Hey, Anon!"

                                            >You glance down the hall to see an unexpected face mouthing your name.

                                            >Twilight Sparkle. What could she possible want from you?

                                            >As she approaches, clinging her books against her chest in stereotypical fashion, you shut your locker and turn to face her.

                                            >"How are you?"

                                            "I'm... fine."

                                            >You make no effort to mask your confusion.

                                            >She continues sheepishly. "I know we haven't really talked much before. There was that one time at Pinkie Pie's party, and again at the Fall Formal..."

                                            >Why's she recounting your history together out loud? What expository nonsense is this?

                                            >"But I've gotten to know the back of your head a lot in Bio this year, and I like to think that counts for something."

                                            >You glance at the clock on the wall.

                                            "Sorry, Twilight, I've got about two minutes to get to Spanish."

                                            >Desperate to grab your attention, she suddenly blurts out, "I wanted to invite you to a slumber party."

                                            "A slumber party?"

                                            >Twilight looks at you with complete sincerity and a slight tinge of humility. "Poor word choice. I suppose it'd be more of a sleepover. It's not really a party if it's just us two."

                                            >Every sentence out of her mouth takes a left turn.

                                            "You want me to sleep over at your house, just the two of us?"

                                            >"As friends, obviously," she bumbles.

                                            "But we're not friends."

                                            >You didn't mean that to come out in a rude way. You're just genuinely baffled by her impromptu offer.

                                            >"I guess I was hoping we could be." She avoids your eyes, red with embarassment. "It's fine if you don't want to..."

                                            "No, I just— I don't see how your parents could agree to that."

                                            >"I didn't say they did."

                                            >Once again, you lean in with an expression of confusion.

                                            >"Sorry, I meant they'll be out of town this weekend. I just found out last night, so that's why I'm asking now. If you already have plans, I understand."

                                            >Plans? What plans? Jacking off in your room?

                                            >You don't really know this girl. She sits behind you in Biology, that's pretty much it.

                                            >But it's interesting, her proposition. You're curious about what a sleepover with someone like her could entail, and what do you have to lose, anyway?

                                            >You screw up your relationship with a girl you barely knew in the first place? Big deal.

                                            >And honestly, she's kind of cute, awkwardness aside. It might be fun having an excuse to stare at her for a night.

                                            "Yeah, okay."

                                            >Her eyes light up with excitement. "Really?"

                                            "Sure, why not?"

                                            >"That's so cool. Here's my address." She opens her notebook and scribbles on a page before tearing it out for you. "Swing by Friday night. Bring your pajamas and a toothbrush!"

                                            >As she walks off down the hall, she smiles at you and wiggles her fingers in a goodbye wave.

                                            >You look down at the page clutched in your hand. Her address, written in purple ink. Something strange about her handwriting, though.

                                            >She dotted the 'i' with a heart.

                                            >The bell rings, and you look up to realize you're standing in a now-empty hall.

                                            >Shit. You're late for Spanish.