This chapter is possibly the longest I've ever written for this fic. (About 20 pages.) I don't know how quickly I'll be able to get the next one up, but in the meantime, I hope you'll like this one.
Read on!
0.9
Michael woke up early the next morning, which he hadn't done for as long as he could remember.
The previous day had ended rather quickly. When he returned to the hotel room, Michael immediately sat behind the desk and began to scribble on a fresh sheet of paper. His thoughts were clicking by faster than his hand could write, so he frequently had to stop and erase where his pencil had tripped over the lines. He had devised a formula based on the types of Henry's pokémon and what he had learned from the boy in the Pokémon Center. The formula for Byron's Gym was:
Geodude: Grass, water, fighting. (NOT electric.)
Onix: Grass, water, fighting. (NOT electric.)
Bronzor: Fighting. If all else fails, luck it out.
Below that, Michael made a few notes on each of Byron's pokémon's appearances and how they moved, trying to remember what he had read on the boy's PokéDex the previous day.
When he told Henry what he had found, the boy responded with a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. "Why didn't
I think of that?" When Michael asked him where his head had been when he lost to Byron, Henry replied with, "I guess I just didn't know what to do with my team." Michael would make a more personalized battle plan for Henry later - he'd have to take care of his own first.
Theoretically, Michael knew that if he were able to do a bit of research on the Gym and formulate a counterattack before a battle, he'd pretty much have it all in the bag before he stepped out onto the field. The thought excited him, but either way, he knew that he'd have to get more pokémon sooner or later. If his Turtwig lost, he'd be doomed.
This was the thought Michael was turning over in his mind as he got out of bed, ran his fingers through his hair, and sat down at the table. Henry's planner was wide open in front of him so he could read the date: Monday, May 30th. The battle was one day away. Henry himself was dead asleep in the second bed, with his arms thrown over his head and his mouth lolling open like a child's. Usually, this was the type of face he and his friends would color on with markers, but right now, Michael didn't feel in the mood. Without Cory and Brendan there, he felt a strange detachment from his old life, though deep inside, nothing really had changed.
He went over to Henry's side and shook his arm. "Wake up. We're going outside to catch pokémon."
Henry's lips moved soundlessly. He rolled over, letting his face sink into the pillow, so his voice came out as a mumble. "Urgh... What time is it?"
"Nine-thirty-one. Get up." Michael shook him again, and Henry rubbed his eyes. He began to kick off his blanket, and yawned deeply when he got to his feet. His eyes were watery and droopy, though the boy did his best to put on a smile.
"Morning." He blinked. "Wait. Is the battle today?"
"No. It's tomorrow."
Henry relaxed, breathing deeply. "Oh, good. For a minute there, I thought we missed it. We still have a day."
"Yeah and that's the problem. We have to catch some pokémon before the battle."
Henry blinked, puzzled. "But I already have a team."
"For
me, stupid. Do you honestly think I can beat the League with only a puny Turtwig?"
"Oh... right. What kind?"
Michael held up the formula sheet. "You have a good counter team, but I don't. I need a water type or a fighting type. Can I find either of those here?"
Henry rubbed his chin. "Well... yeah, I think you can find some fighting types in Route 207. I don't know about water, though."
"That's good enough." Michael placed the paper back onto the desk. "I'll also need to get some more pokéballs, and we need to battle at least once before tomorrow."
Henry yawned. "Then we have a big day ahead of us."
"Yes," Michael said impatiently. "And every second you waste by standing there looking at me is a second away from our preparation time! Get dressed and let's go."
This seemed to set Henry in motion. He rushed over to the closet and shut himself inside, and after a few minutes of rustling and clanging, came out in a T-shirt and shorts. The hat had magically appeared on his head, as had the knapsack on his waist.
Michael hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door. He turned, expecting to see Henry following along behind him, but instead saw the boy turn and walk into the bathroom.
Michael let out a groan. "Come on, you can brush your teeth later!"
The mirror lights came on, and water began pouring from the faucet. "No! You have to do it every morning!" Henry called. "Or your teeth will go all brown!"
"They won't go brown after one day. Trust me. Now get your a
ss over here."
"Fine," Henry snapped. The water and lights went off, and his sulking shoulders appeared from behind the door. Just as Michael was about to turn the knob, Henry made another turn, this time for the shelves. He took down a can and sprinkled some chunky bits of meat into his palm.
"Just let me feed your Stunky." He tossed the meat into the cage, right over the Stunky's sleeping body. He placed the can beside the cage, then finally joined Michael by the exit. "Okay, ready."
Outside, the city was warm and sunny, and filled with people. The early morning energy was beginning to wear off him, and Michael found himself fighting to keep his eyes open as he crossed the street. Their first destination was a hardware store two blocks down. The store had only one room, heavy racks lining the walls, displaying shiny metal goodies. As far as Michael could tell, he and Henry were the only people who shopped for hardware at nine in the morning. The only other person there was a cashier, who also looked quite tired. He acknowledged them with a nod, then went back to drinking his coffee.
Michael perused the aisles, his eyes skimmed over the shelves. He didn't find any pokéballs, however. He met Henry back at the center of the store, seeing that he was also empty-handed. The store clerk, still watching them, seemed to read his mind.
"Looking for pokéballs?"
"Yeah," Michael said.
The clerk nodded. "We got 'em. Come around here. We don't keep 'em on shelves."
Michael approached the counter, and saw the clerk remove a basket from one of the invisible cabinets behind it. It was filled with them, all under a price label of $4.50.
Each.
Michael did a double-take. "Four-fifty?"
"I don't price them, kid, I sell them. Those are the only models available, and they'll probably be the only ones available ever. One choice, one price."
Michael thought hard, staring at the paper. "Do they ever miss?" he asked, looking over to the clerk. "Like, can the pokémon break out?"
"Sometimes," the man answered. "No refunds, though."
"Can they be reused?"
"If you don't throw too hard."
Michael looked back down at the pile of shiny metal orbs. He handed over the money solemnly, and removed one. The clerk placed the money into a separate box.
"Anything else? We have premium pokémon food on sale, and new issues of Pokémon League Weekly for twenty cents."
"I'll take the
Weekly," Michael said, reaching into his pocket for some coins. Against all odds, he had grown to like the magazine. Though it was corny at times, occasionally he'd find something in there that was worth reading. Plus, it gave his mind something to concentrate on that didn't have to do with the Space Race. Having immersed himself in the trainer's world as deep as two days would get him, the urge to turn on the television was beginning to dwindle. He took a look at the front cover when the clerk handed it to him:
Elite Four get new Facility Decor. Boy oh boy.
On their way out, Michael stopped by a bench and flipped through to the article. Henry looked on by his side.
"... Pokémon League's Elite Four get renovated..." Michael recited, skimming across the rows of print. "Wow, they spent $15,000 on new decorations and sofas for their trainers? That's so stupid."
"Told you they were rich," Henry murmured.
Michael scanned down the page, but found nothing else. "You know what I don't get? They never put up pictures of that place. All they do is tell us how awesome it is. Not even a map, for Pete's sake. If we don't know what it looks like, how are we supposed to know where it is?"
"It's about fifty miles off the coast of Sunyshore," Henry said. "And that's all they want you to know. It's supposed to be a surprise, like sort of incentive to get people to compete harder."
"Wow." Michael turned the page. "I wonder if it's actually as good as they say, or if it's all just a bunch of hype."
"They've got trainers from all over the region wanting to beat it. It must be good then," Henry said. "And at any rate, there's only one way to find out, right?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Michael dog-eared the page before closing the magazine. "All right, now we have to catch a pokémon. You know where Route 207 is?"
Henry rose to his feet. "Yeah, it's past the northern exit. It's a bit far, but we can make it."
"Let's go then."
They stepped back out into the stream of foot-traffic, and started forward through it. As they walked, Michael recited his plan for the Gym. Henry kept his eyes mostly on the signs, though he nodded intermittently.
"We know that Byron has two rock type pokémon and one steel type pokémon. Remember how that kid with the PokéDex said that his Buneary did a good job against the Bronzor?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, Buneary's a fighting type. And if I'm right, fighting types have some influence over steel. So we have to find a fighting pokémon for me now."
"But what about me?"
"You have a Clefairy. Does your Clefairy know any moves that involve some sort of punching or kicking?"
"Yeah, she knows this move called Wake-Up-Slap, where she basically just slaps the other pokémon on the face. Would that count as fighting?"
"Maybe. What about punches?"
Henry shook his head. "No punches."
"Then just do what you can with Wake-Up-Slap. Oh, and another thing. Don't use Pachirisu."
"Why not?"
"Because it's an electric type pokémon. Have you ever tried to use an electric move on a ground type?"
"Yeah!" Henry exclaimed. "And it never works! The lightning bolt goes through, but it's like it vanishes! The pokémon doesn't even get hurt or anything!"
"That's because they negate electricity. Their type resists it. So don't even bother trying. Stick with grass and water if you can. They both erode."
"What about wind? Wind erodes too."
"Okay, but would a tiny breeze move a boulder?"
"I guess not... I'll just use my Burmy then."
"Yeah, and you know the expression 'kill two birds with one stone'? Guess what that means."
Henry smiled. "Rock types can hurt flying types! That makes so much sense! Did you-"
"I already added that to the chart." Michael winked. "Already two steps ahead of you."
They looped their way through the city gradually, and Michael began to see the beginnings of a strange white building. At first it was obscured by other, lesser structures, then over time, it became more pronounced. Michael realized it was made out of stone. There was no telling how many floors it had, for in place of windows there were intricate carvings and statues.
They came closer, and Michael could read the ornate letters on its face:
OREBURGH MINING MUSEUM - SINCE 1660
Underneath that, a paper banner:
REAL Fossils! Recent mine discoveries! Open from 8 to 9 every day!
Michael's eyes widened. He had never seen a real museum before, only pathetic symposiums his school sometimes took field trips to. Though it was wider than it was tall, the building still gave off the grand impression of height. Real pillars stood around its perimeter, parting to make room for a parking lot, a few trees, and a statue of some historical figure holding a shovel. People sat smoking on its benches, admiring the view.
"Wow," Michael said aloud. "That's a really cool museum."
Henry looked up, squinting. "Yep. That's the Oreburgh Mine Museum. This means we're almost there."
"We should visit it sometime."
"Yeah."
They stood for a moment, just looking up at it, then continued walking.
//////
Route 207 was a tired, rugged landscape that felt more like a continuation of the city than a separate entity. Most of its plant life worn away from years of foot travel and landslides, leaving bare foothills disturbed occasionally by patches of dry grass. Here, the Coronet mountains were closer than ever. Michael could feel the land's upward slope, from plains to hills to cliffsides. He had studied them in school for two painful weeks, and now knew almost everything about them. Their highest peak, Mt. Spear (the name always made him laugh), reached a staggering 37,648 feet. No one had ever reached the top.
The route was sparsely peopled - Michael saw a group of trainers here and there, and a few hikers, sweaty and drinking greedily from water flasks. Pokémon were also abundant. Starlies sat in the trees, plucking their feathers, and families of Geodude snoozed in their burrows.
"The Machops should be here," Henry said. "They're all over the place."
"Where should I look?"
"In the bushes. That's where Kyle found his."
Michael took a look around. Bushes were scarce, but they were full and large. He went up to one and ran his fingers through it, letting a few leaves fall to the ground. Nothing happened. He shook it harder, but all he heard was an empty rustle. He went over to the next one and repeated the process. Still nothing.
"Check around it too!" Henry called to him. "Here, I'll help." He approached another bush and carefully pried apart the branches.
They went for about twenty minutes without finding anything, twenty painful minutes of aimless wandering, while the heat got stronger and stronger. Michael was beginning to regret not taking a water bottle with him, let alone having breakfast. The boys decided to take a break under a tree, where the heat would not reach them yet, their heads tilted back against the trunk.
When he closed his eyes, Michael could feel the heat throb inside of him. His head felt heavy.
"Man... why does summer have to be so hot?" Henry complained.
"Because the Earth tilts on its axis and the sun hits us," Michael mumbled. "I don't like it any more than you do. Deal with it."
"I guess..." A sigh. "I wish I was at home right now. We have a pool, and I used to swim all the time in the summer. The water was nice and cold and blue. Then my mom would make smoothies, and I'd drink it right by the water. Strawberry banana. With those little umbrella things."
"Well, you're not at home right now. And your mommy's not here to kiss your booboos."
"I didn't
say that," Henry's voice receded a little. "I just said she made really good smoothies. She'd buy fruit fresh from the store, right before anyone else. She always wanted to buy a plot of land and start a farm herself. Just for the family."
"What, is your family rich or something?"
Henry nodded, and when he did, his cheeks grew slightly pink. "Yeah."
Michael opened his eyes halfway. "So your parents give you whatever you want?"
"Yeah, but they're not... like, they set limits. They tell me to shop smart and don't buy me anything unless I can prove I need it. They got me my Burmy for my birthday, but the rest, you know, I caught myself."
Michael smiled a little at the irony of the moment, but for a while, he said nothing.
"So?" Henry's voice came, after a while.
"So what?" Michael replied. "What am I supposed to say?"
"I don't know. It's just that when I tell people I'm rich, they always look at me weird. Maybe because I don't seem like it, or it's a bad thing."
"Nah, you seem like the type. Rich boy, always gets everything he wants. Then you have me, the kid who gets nothing, has no one, who has to fend for himself. It's not bad to be rich, you just can't let it take over your life. See, it's like what I said before. You can be nice and pampered when you're a kid or you can live in a wooden shack and eat dirt all day; it still won't matter. Because when you grow up, none of it applies. The minute you leave home and set off on your own, it's just you. You against the world."
Henry nodded slowly.
For a while, they sat in silence. Then, Michael heard a gasp.
"Michael! Look!"
He opened his eyes fully now, and saw Henry's outstretched hand. He was pointing to the path, where a tiny green body had emerged. Michael leaned forward for a better look.
It was a Machop, all right, wandering in the clearing. The pokémon was completely oblivious to the humans that lurked only a few yards away; it was walking amiably, alternating between swinging its arms and picking at the ground. The sun cast a fragile shine on its leathery skin, highlighting the obvious ripple of its muscles. It wasn't as big as the one he had seen on the battlefield, but at this point, Michael didn't care. Henry stood up into a crouch, and whispered into his ear.
"Okay, now's your chance! You want to catch it completely off-guard. Like, not make a sound. Then you slowly creep up to it, and just throw the pokéball. It'll stay in for a few moments, and when it's caught, the red knob will lock itself. But if the pokémon's strong enough, it could break free, and then you'll have to try again."
Michael nodded. "Okay." He took the newly-bought pokéball out of his backpack's pocket and crawled forward, till he was almost out of the tree's shade. The Machop's big brown eyes found their hiding place, swept over their faces, then trailed off to the treetops.
Michael turned back to Henry. "Here's what we're gonna do. You come in from the left, slowly, so it'll see you. I'll come in from the right, where it won't see me. You'll distract it. Do a dance or whatever, just get it to watch you. Then I'll just throw the pokéball, and the sucker won't even know what hit him. Got it?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Henry gave him a thumbs-up.
They started off simultaneously, Michael on his hands and knees, and Henry getting up onto his feet. He began to hop around and clap, and the Machop turned to the source of the noise. It blinked.
"Heeey, look over here!" Henry called. "Yoo-hoo!" The Machop shifted its stance. Its hands curled into fists, then uncurled, until it realized that there was no danger. Just another stupid boy doing some stupid dance, it probably thought.
Henry continued to clap, though now he switched from hopping to skipping. He skipped left, then right, then back, the Machop's gaze followed his every move.
Meanwhile, Michael was advancing behind it. The pokémon was still unsuspecting of him, as according to plan. He inched closer every few seconds, until he could see the tiny rise-and-fall of its chest. He could reach out and stroke the spines on its head if he wanted to.
Come on little guy... He took the pokéball into both hands and began to twist it open.
Stand nice and still...
The pokéball fell open in his hands with a loud clank. The Machop's body shuddered, and the pokémon spun around. Seeing him, and realizing it was tricked, the Machop let out a cry and darted off.
"No! Get back here!" Michael scrambled to his feet. The Machop was aiming for the bushes again, running with its head ducked down like a football player. He started after it as fast as he could, but the Machop had gained too much ground already. Still, Michael kept running, running and shouting.
"Henry! Get it!"
Henry jerked his head to the side just in time to see the Machop pass by him. He dove forward, catching it around the middle. They fell to the ground, Henry grunting, the Machop squirming. It kicked and smacked at his shoulder.
"Hurry!" Henry winced. His arms were wrapped around the pokémon's body in a cruel hug. Michael held the open pokéball to Machop's body with shaking hands.
Almost instantly, all color from the pokémon's body vanished, swallowed by a sudden light, blinding white. It blossomed and burst, taking the route along with it in a horrible, torrential sucking. The light shrank, disintegrating into a shapeless beam, fleeing into the pokéball's interior like a lightning bolt. Stripes of pain erupted in his hands, and the metal gained a sudden weight. The light pooled into a tight clump around the pokéball, then it closed with a loud slurp. It jerked out of his hands, bounced, and rolled into the dirt.
The pokéball lay on the ground, twitching. The red knob was twisting back and forth of its own accord, making strange squeaking noises. It began to twist down, then it locked, and Michael heard a soft
ping as it touched the metal.
Henry smiled. "It's over. You've caught it!"
Michael looked down at his hands. They looked like they had been burned with rope. He picked up the pokéball using the tail of his shirt, though its dulled heat still prickled his fingers.
"Damn, that hurts!" he winced.
"That's why most trainers wear gloves. We'll get some when we go back into town."
"Uh-huh." Michael staggered over to his backpack and dropped the pokéball inside. He waited for a few moments for the pain to subside, then slung it over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go."
Michael started back towards the city. When Henry caught up with him, Michael said, "Man that was the freakiest thing I've ever seen."
"What?"
"The pokéball. I swear, my eyes still hurt from it. Are all captures that chaotic?"
"Yeah. But you get used to it after a while. Gloves help too, for the heat. I always wear mine when I'm catching."
"Didn't they ever think of making them out of something other than metal? Or at least covering them with an insulator?"
"I don't know, but I guess if they're doing it, it's probably for a good reason."
"Do you even know how they work?"
"Nope," Henry said simply. "No one does. For the most part anyway, unless you're a scientist or something."
"Who invented them?"
"Some guy. I forgot his name. But you gotta hand it to him, he's really smart. Being able to fit a whole pokémon into a tiny space is really genius. It's like condensing matter. Maybe that's why they get so heavy while the pokémon are inside."
"Maybe."
The two boys continued down the path into the city. Up above, the sun was rising out of the clouds, bringing in the full heat of day.
//////
When they returned to the hotel, the courtyard was buzzing.
The crowd was bigger than what Michael had seen the previous day, for some reason. The noise carried a sort of peppy excitement that one would find at a bazaar. Strangely, when he looked around, he saw that few kids were battling. They kept their pokéballs on their belts, talking animatedly.
Somehow, Henry located his friends' faces in the sea of bodies. The familiar faces of Martha, Cindy, and Kyle waved to them from the flagpole, where the population was thickest. Michael and Henry went over to them, pushing past the others.
"Hey, what's going on?" Henry said. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah, something's going on all right!" Kyle smiled. "Leroy's set up a trading booth! He's giving away his pokémon."
"Who's Leroy?" Michael said.
"He's this kid who's been here a while. He's not a trainer, but he goes to the Gym to watch the battles. He carries around this doohickey he calls his PokéDex... I don't know how he got all those pokémon, but he seems pretty cool about giving them away. He gave me a Starly."
"I got a Bidoof," Martha said.
"Wait... hey, that's the kid we helped! Remember, Michael? In the Pokémon Center!" Henry said.
"Yeah. So he stays here?"
"I guess so. Let's go talk to him."
They made their way to the front of the crowd. A line had assembled around the benches, and Leroy sat in one of them. His PokéDex was strapped to his trousers, and he had a bag of pokéballs sitting beside him.
When he saw Michael and Henry, his smile brightened.
"Hey, it's you! How've you been?"
"We've been great!" Henry said. "We were in Route 207 catching pokémon. Your pokémon data has helped us loads!"
"I'm glad to hear that." Leroy tapped the bag. "Want one? I have a Machop, Buneary, Goldeen, Zubat, and a Shinx. I caught them for my Dex, but now I really don't need them anymore."
Michael's shoulders sagged. "Are you kidding me? I go out and spend my own money to catch a Machop, and it turns out I could have gotten an hour more of sleep and still have gotten one for free?"
Henry giggled. "Sorry about that."
Leroy shrugged. "Well, next time you'll know where to find me. Heh. So, you want anything?"
"Yeah... we'll get the Goldeen," Michael said. "Water's a good counter for rock."
Leroy took out a pokéball and handed it to Michael. A paper label was taped to it, displaying the pokémon's name. "Anything else? Don't be shy, I have a lot more."
Henry rubbed his chin. "Ummm, do you have any more water types?"
"Let's see..." He searched through the bag and came out with a pokéball labeled 'Magikarp'. "You want him? He knows a few water moves."
"Sure." Henry took the pokéball and placed it into his knapsack.
"Well, it's been nice doing business with you. What do you guys mean by counters, though? Are you planning for the battle or something?"
"No, I came up with a formula on how to beat the Gym," Michael said. "Basically I found the type weaknesses to each of Byron's pokémon, so now I'm trying to make a team that will go perfectly against his. It's foolproof! I keep a chart, so that way when I discover a new weakness, I'll have a place to record it."
Leroy nodded. "Wow, that's creative. I've never heard anyone do it that way before. Mostly, I see people come in and just do it all-out, hit him with whatever they've got. But you know what's weird? People with some types of pokémon usually lose more often than others."
"Yep, that's exactly what I'm talking about."
"You know, I think that this would be really useful for the PokéDex. If my machine had this, my life would be ten times easier!"
"Then make a suggestion to the professor."
"Yeah, I think I will. When I get done with this, at least. I'm almost to forty entries." Leroy tapped his PokéDex proudly. "Well, see you around."
"See ya," Henry said.
They stepped off to the side, and Leroy called "Next!"
Sebastian stepped forward. He nodded to Leroy. "Hey dude."
"Hey Sebastian. How goes it?"
"Pretty good. You must be proud of yourself; people are talking about you all over the courtyard!"
"It's nice to be famous." Leroy grinned. "So, anything in particular you want?"
"I overheard you and Michael talking about counters and stuff. I think that's a pretty cool idea. You don't mind if I try it out, do you?" He turned to Michael, who shook his head.
"Not at all. Go for it, see if it works for you."
"Cool." He turned back to Leroy. "Then I'll get a grass type. Do you have anything like that?"
Leroy fished into the bag. "Let's see... I have a... Budew? That's grass."
"Sure thing. What about water?"
Leroy gave him another Goldeen.
"Can I have a Shinx too? I've always wanted one."
Leroy took out a third pokéball and gave it to Sebastian. He cradled them in his arms.
"Nice doing business with you."
"You too, Sebastian! Good luck with your battle."
"Thanks." He stepped off to the side to meet Henry and Michael. Cindy, Martha, Tony, and Kyle came around to join them.
"Hey Sebastian. What did you get?"
"A Budew, Goldeen, and Shinx. Look out Byron!" He laughed, and the rest of the group joined in. However, a new voice, a new laugh, broke through them. Before Michael could match the voice with the face, he was shoved roughly aside to accommodate a new body into the circle. He stumbled, but regained his footing. Henry, who had been pushed as well, fell silent.
Sebastian's smile faded. His voice was flat and monotone. "Dennis."
The boy stepped forward and the circle widened, as if none of its members wanted to come in contact with him. Dennis was still wearing his black sweater, and a lollipop stick was dangling from his mouth like a cigarette. Michael wondered if he had meant it that way.
Dennis waited. "So, none of you are gonna ask me how my battle was?"
Silence. Then, Sebastian spoke. "What, did you lose?"
"Nah, I won. See?" He held up what appeared to be a shiny coin. Before Michael could get a good look at it, it was back inside his pocket. "Byron was so easy. We crushed him flat. You're planning to do the same, I see."
"We all are," Sebastian said. "That's what we're here for."
"Yeah, but people have different ways of achieving their dreams. Some people, like me, work hard at it and keep going until they win. Others, for some strange reason I can't understand,
cheat."
Clearly, this was not the word he had been expecting. Sebastian eyed Dennis, on the line between uncertainty and hostility. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I couldn't help but overhear your little friends talk. You, him," he pointed to Michael, "and Leroy. You do know that what you're doing is illegal, right?"
"What are you talking about? There's nothing illegal about a pokémon trade."
"Do you even know what a legal trade
is, smart one? A trade is when two trainers transfer their pokémon over to each other with a binding agreement, meaning that they sign actual
papers and don't just give them away. Or do you Southern folk really forget things so quickly?" He reached into the other pocket of his sweater and brought up a rumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it, and Michael immediately recognized the brochure he had received at Byron's gym. He handed it to Sebastian. "Read it and weep."
Sebastian's eyes were lost in the paper for a few minutes. If the pamphlet contained groundbreaking information, then he didn't show it. His expression remained neutral as he looked back up at Dennis. "So? You can't do anything about it."
"Wrong! Yes I can. As a matter of fact, I can go to the Gym right now and report you. I'll get you disqualified before you can even battle. The both of you. And yes, I said both, so that includes you. Sitting and drawing." He turned his gaze over to Michael. "I saw you watching my battle yesterday. You were just
sitting there and
drawing. You do know that this is a trainer's hotel and not an art camp, right?"
"He has a chart!" Henry piped up. "He's a trainer and he's gonna use it to beat the Gym. He'll have a badge just like you."
The boy's grin broadened. "Woooooooooow. You guys are such losers. Is that it right there?"
Michael suddenly realized he was still holding the chart. But before he could grab it back, Dennis had snatched it from his fingers and opened it up. He read it over like a doctor would read a patient's diagnosis. Michael felt strangely exposed.
"Yep... yep. Wow. Yeah, I think I'll have to keep this." He folded the paper again, and began to fold it smaller, tucking it inside his fist. Michael's arm seemed to act of its own accord. He wrapped his fingers around the boy's wrist and held on firmly.
"You better not."
"Or what?" he sneered.
"Or I'll kick your fat a
ss."
The kids around him gasped, loud and deep. The boy stepped back, and Michael let his hand slip away. "Well, that sounds like a threat to me. And you know? I don't care. I'll eliminate some competition today. I'm gonna go straight to the Gym and tell them myself. You, Sebastian, and Leroy will all go home crying-"
Michael took a step forward. "I said
fuck off! Mind your own business!"
Dennis didn't seem intimidated. He turned on his heel and began an exaggerated march towards the hotel building.
"La-la-la! Let's see you try and stop me!"
The crowd unquestioningly parted to make way. Hundreds of eyes darted from one boy to the other, waiting for some kind of reaction. At that moment, Michael's entire future flashed before his eyes. This one kid, whoever he was, could ruin everything he was about to work for.
Without a second thought, he lunged forward. His hands curled into claws and latched onto the hood of Dennis's jacket, pulling him back. The boy staggered, then grabbed Michael's shoulders to balance himself, digging his fingernails into his skin. They felt like prickly needles. Michael swiveled, but their grip held.
"You're dead meat!" Dennis snarled.
Several people rushed over to watch what was going on. In a matter of seconds a large crowd had formed around them, all pointing and exclaiming. Michael caught a glimpse of Henry among them. His face was chalk white. Then, out of the blue -
"Fight! Fight!" A boy began to jump, pumping his fist. Others caught on to the chant, and the noise swelled.
"Yeah! Fight! Fight!"
Michael ignored the growing chorus. His eyes were on Dennis, and his arms were trying to pry off the fingers that gripped his shoulders. With surprising speed, Dennis pulled one arm back and swung it against his cheek. The punch was like an electric shock. Michael's head was knocked sideways by an iron mallet, and he felt the world spin. His head might have swiveled around all the way around and come back, like a Noctowl's.
If they ever punch you in the head, buddy, just punch 'em right back. You don't take hits from anyone.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
The faces blurred, then cleared. He heard a grunt, then realized it was his own. He had fallen to the ground for some reason, and Dennis was kicking him in the shins, the stomach, the arms. The sneaker jabbed into his flesh then drew back, aiming for another. This time, he grabbed the leg blindly and held on, until he felt the boy's knees buckle. Dennis fell like a great giant, his upper body bouncing off the concrete.
Michael's head was still spinning as he got on top of the boy and pinned down his arms, trying to remain steady against his flailing. It was a technique Richard had taught him before his first day of middle school, in case he ever needed it.
"You're not going anywhere!" he shouted, drawing his face within inches of the boy's. His voice sounded ferocious and distant.
"Yes I am!" Dennis rocked from side to side, but Michael didn't budge. "I'll get you disqualified!"
"No!" Michael swung his fist against the boy's clammy cheek, bringing as much force as he could to the blow. He felt something crack beneath his knuckles, and the boy recoiled, screaming. He punched him again on the other side, watching with sick pleasure as the boy's head gave, spinning from side to side, just like his own head must have spun. He punched him again and again, till the blood from the boy's nose had painted his knucklebones.
"You're not saying anything to anyone," Michael said. "Or I'll find you and knock you out cold. You'll look like your opponent's Turtwig when I'm done with you.
Got it?" Now, the boy's eyes trembled with fear. Michael could see a large red circle where his fists had struck, and the stream of blood from his nose had advanced down his cheek. He might have been crying blood. Michael jabbed his hand into the boy's pocket and pulled out his chart.
As a parting gesture, he gathered the last of his mouth's saliva and spat it into the kid's face. "You might want to wipe that." Michael got up and dusted himself off. The ringing in his ears drowned out the sounds of the kids around him, turning them into a pool of warbled confusion.
Michael! Michael!
So they were calling his name now. What, would he be some sort of hero now? He felt a ripple of annoyance. But at the same time, he wanted to know what the pamphlet had said...
Michael!
Leaving the chaos behind him, he stormed off towards the building without another word.
"Michael, wait! Wait!" came Henry's voice. He jogged up to Michael's side, his arms waving. Michael wheeled around to face him, grimacing.
The white had still not left Henry's face, though it didn't look as ghastly as it did in the crowd. Henry struggled to form words.
"That was amazing! You totally whooped him! I was really worried there for a second when he punched you, but you did it!"
"You idiot!" Michael's sudden anger caused Henry to step back. "You just had to open your big mouth and blab about the chart. This is all your fault!"
Henry's smile became panicked as Michael backed towards the door. "I'm sorry! I really am!" he said. "I had no idea what was going to happen! I just thought that because you were prepared and everything you'd win and put him in his place because he really deserved it and we'd get him to stop bothering everyone! I didn't know, I mean why did he say that he'd get you disqualified? Is the chart not allowed or something?"
For a minute, Michael stared at Henry's face. His eyes were pleading. Behind them, Dennis had gotten to his feet, and was now heading back to his friends. The crowd followed, pecking him with laughs. Somewhere among them stood Leroy and Sebastian, both talking rapidly.
"No," Michael finally said, looking Henry in the eye. "It's not illegal. That kid was a dork. It was just an empty threat. People do it all the time to get you scared, but you can't fall for it. You have to stand up for yourself instead of hiding in the corner like a little baby."
"Hey, Michael!" Leroy and the others approached him. "That was intense! My gosh, we thought for sure you'd be a goner! "
"Thanks for that," Sebastian said. "I don't think he'll be bothering us anymore. And if he does, we know what to do, right?" He attempted a smile, but it faded quickly.
"What did the pamphlet say?" Michael said.
"Didn't you get one?"
"I never read it."
Sebastian looked at him. His eyes were heavy. "Here. You might want to know now."
Michael looked over the pamphlet in his hands. He opened it up, and through his half-stupor, began reading.
Welcome, trainer, to the 1963 Sinnoh Pokémon League! This is a regionwide competition in which you are given the opportunity to prove your skills and mastery in the art of training pokémon. No matter your gender, no matter your age, you just might be the next big sensation to become one of Sinnoh's Best Top Fifty... and beyond! As a rising trainer, you will travel the region and visit many historic towns and cities, learn about their backgrounds, and have opportunities to take exclusive, informative tours not available to the general public. Not only that, but you will also partake in eight Gym battles, one for every town you visit. For every win, you will receive a silver badge. Keep them safe, because after you have collected all eight, you may advance to the Elite Four. This is a challenge for the qualified trainer only, operating in its own headquarters just off the coast of Sunyshore City. (For more information, see page 2.) The trainer who wins this season's League will receive an unforgettable prize, including a front-cover appearance on 'Trainers Today' magazine and an interview with Sinnoh News Net. Any trainer is eligible to participate, just register with your local Gym!
Below that was a list of rules. Michael's heart skipped, but he read on.
BASIC RULES & GUIDELINES FOR APPLYING:
- You must be a legal trainer to enter. (You must have received your trainer ID before January 1st of this year. Any trainer cards received after that date will not be accepted.) Birth certificates might be asked for to confirm the information.
- You may not use any pokémon that are not yours, or that were trained by someone else at any point. (Breeders or basic obedience classes not counted.) Proof or certificate of ownership may be asked for.
- Your pokémon must be in good health and have updated vaccinations. You may be asked to present documentation.
- You may not give your pokémon any type of steroid or drug to enhance their performance. These are considered illegal in this competition, and trainers in possession of pokémon under their influence will be immediately disqualified.
- Trainers are encouraged to operate alone, and without assistance from any outside source. This includes, but is not limited to: using another's pokémon before or after battling, 'reserving' or switching battle dates, and using guides of any sort.
Any badges obtained under circumstances that break one or more of these rules are considered void and will not be counted. Offenders are subject to be banned from the next season's League, and will be fined for up to $1,000. Please note that any non-trainer who might be involved in rule-breaking, which includes but is not limited to direct assistance, will also be penalized.
These rules are subject to change at any time. For more information, call the hotline at (806) 661-9267 or visit your local Gym for more details.
Good luck, trainers of 1963!!!
As Michael closed the pamphlet, he felt a jolt run down his spine. He had broken three of the five rules listed, and he hadn't even battled yet. All it would take was an attentive eye and a quick search through his papers for him to be caught, and most likely banned. Michael blinked slowly, his ears still buzzing. He looked over to Henry, who had not moved an inch, then at the other sympathetic faces that surrounded him.
"So, he was right."
"Yeah," Sebastian said solemnly. "But it's not all bad. We'll just give back all our pokémon to Leroy, and that way if Dennis does go to the authorities, he won't have anything to back himself up."
Michael remained still. He found himself stepping backwards, away from them. The trainers frowned. Michael was suddenly stricken by an urge to escape. To run away. To hide. Michael turned and ran off, hobbling to the building as fast as his backpack would allow.
"Hey, wait!" Henry's footsteps pounded after him again. "Where are you going?"
"Back inside."
"Why? Aren't you gonna return your pokémon?"
"No. Later," Michael lied.
He went back inside, found their room, and unlocked it, all with a strange desperation. He dropped his backpack by the door and went to the bathroom, eager to get the blood off his hands. Henry followed him in.
"What did the brochure say, though? I didn't get to see it. What are the rules?"
"You have your own," he said.
"Yeah, but I forgot! I didn't really read it, just like you!"
"Then read it now. It's on the table." Michael finished, turned the faucet off, and dried his hands. He went back into the room and lay down on his bed. Henry followed him there too, and stood in front of him.
"Just tell me. I need to know. Is the chart allowed?"
"Yes it is."
"But what do the rules say?"
"Read them!"
"But-"
"I told you already, they're on the table! Are you just so helpless without your mommy that you can't act for yourself? Use your own goddamn eyes!"
"Fine! Just-"
"What now?"
Henry sighed. "You've had a hell of a day, I get it! And you're angry, that's fine too. At least let me get you some
water!"
Michael paused, looking at Henry's face. The small kindness seemed to offset his annoyance. He nodded. Henry walked out of view, going to the other side of the room which he couldn't see. Michael heard a clink, and the pouring of water from somewhere - a water bottle? - and he was handed the glass. Michael took a few sips, letting the cool wash around his mouth, his throat, then handed it back. The buzzing subsided a little.
"Good. If you want any more, it's on the nightstand."
Michael nodded in thanks, and closed his eyes.