0.6
When Michael eased back into consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a dull throbbing in his leg. He was leaning against something hard and uneven and... yes, he was sure it was making his back ache. Beneath him, the ground felt shifty and lumpy.
Where am I?
A few patches of light separated themselves from the darkness.
Was it all a dream? Am I back in my room?
His mother's angry face appeared before him, suspended in the oblivion. He had started a fight with her. She had said something to him... and then his anger got the better of him and he replied. She had left his room, and she had been so angry, but then again, hurt.
Ha ha.
He started to clean his room. But his backpack was there too; it was telling him to go.
Ha ha.
His room began to blink with color, and suddenly, it transformed into the Jubilife skyline. He had trudged across an entire city in a single night... and now a fresh jolt of pain squeezed his leg to remind him. He had decided to run away, with nothing but a backpack and a cage carried along with him.
The girl. Now her face popped into view, that slight frown and amber eyes. She had looked at the cage, and said that it was too heavy a burden. She had laughed. Probably should be getting back to her cousin now, yes, he drank too much and would need a ride home. Stupid Stunky. Always there to ruin the day.
Ruined his day. Team Rocket had ruined his day. No more Space Race... Deoxys was watching from up above.
Laughing at him. Didn't want to sleep outside, but what choice did he have?
Then, a frozen image of the night sky. He had fallen asleep and the image vanished, replaced by a blank backdrop. The reel had ended.
But the laughter continued.
It had started out as a vague peal, but now it was slowly rising out... like something more than a memory.
Slowly and slowly, the patches of light took form, first into a canopy of trees. Tall, high off the ground. A blend of color became shrubbery, wild and overgrown. No one had stopped to maintain this route in months.
Next came the fence. White, picket maybe. It was broken and in some places the paint was chipped off.
A dirt path somewhere ahead, clean, but covered in footprints that previous travelers had left behind.
On it stood three figures.
First, a bulky frame which became a boy. He wore a baseball cap, and a burnt cigarette dangled in between his lips.
The second, a girl. Not pretty, but confident. Red hair. A nasty look in her eyes.
The third, a scrawny boy. Michael couldn't see his face; it was hidden beneath a sunhat.
They were laughing.
At him.
Michael sat up and opened his eyes all the way.
"Took you long enough, Tree Man!" hooted the boy with the cigarette.
"Did Mommy kick you out of the house or somethin'?" the redhead said, her hands poised on her hips.
"Who are you?" Michael said loudly. He struggled to stand, but his hand slipped on the tree bark and he fell back down. More laughter.
"We were just watching you sleep like a baby." The redhead made a horrible pouty face. "Poor wittle homeless baby has nowhere to go!"
"He's like one of those bums on the street! Wait 'till he grows a beard!" Once again, the pair tossed back their heads in loud, chest-heaving laughter. Somewhere underneath the noise, Michael heard the short boy's soft voice.
"I think he's one of those cave people," he said, hiding his smile behind his palm.
All of a sudden, the laughter stopped. The boy's companions turned to give him a strange look.
"What are you talking about?" the redhead said. "Cave people live in
caves. This guy lives by a tree."
"Yeah, he climbs trees like an Aipom! What with those huge hands of his. He probably has a tail too, but he hides it in his pants," Cigarette Boy said. "Well, Tree Man? Do you climb trees or what?"
Michael didn't answer, still not sure what to make of this. He had fallen asleep in an empty route, and had woken up to find three people standing in front of him. People he didn't even know. They were laughing so carelessly, so mercilessly, just like the so-called bullies at his school did. Only now did it occur to Michael how dorky he must have looked, sitting under a tree like he had nowhere else to go. Like he was a
wimp.
Heat rushed to his face. No one laughed at him. Not at Michael Rowan.
Cigarette Boy yawned. "I asked you a
question, Tree Man. Do I look like someone you wanna mess with?"
"No," Michael said sharply, voicing the first thing that came to mind. "You look more like a Bidoof to me. What, with your buck teeth and your fat a
ss. You probably think you're just so cool right now, waving it in my face like a flag."
At first, his statement cast off into silence. No one reacted. Then Michael heard a strange squealing sound, and the short boy erupted in giggles. He doubled over, and his knees sank into the leaves. The redhead rolled her eyes.
Cigarette Boy, however, had flushed a deep red. "Well well well! Looks like we've got us a smartass! Hey Tree Man, didn't your mommy ever teach you about respect?"
"Didn't yours ever teach you not to shove your pimply nose into other people's business?" Michael retorted.
The small boy's laughs increased, but this time they were ignored. Both Cigarette Boy and the redhead were looking at Michael now, their fists clenched. Man, he really knew how to turn the tables.
"I've had enough of your cheek," Cigarette Boy said. "We go to this route every day to practice and we've been doin' it for years. We don't like smartasses, but we take 'em down just as easy. Now look me in the eye, Tree Man, and tell me if you wanna be starting something." He crossed his arms, and waited.
Michael looked at him for a few moments, already beginning to map out a plan of action. Cigarette Boy was leaning slightly to the right, and his arms were slightly lopsided. Uneven weight distribution. One hand curled into a fist, and the other hung limp, as if it belonged to someone else. With the right angle, Michael could probably manage to knock him down. Sure the kid had muscles, but Michael had enough experience to know that size did not always mean strength.
Feeling braver than usual, he rose and cracked his knuckles. "Bring it on."
They seemed surprised by this, but Cigarette Boy's sneer held a hint of satisfaction. He stepped forward and the sunlight caught his arm, underscoring the ripples in his muscles. Michael braced himself against the tree, ready to run, ready to kick, ready for anything...
But to his surprise, the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pokéball.
"Go!" he said, and a flash of red light illuminated the forest. An Azumarill sprang from the capsule, landing on all fours. Michael was bewildered.
Am I supposed to fight that thing?
He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do.
"I'm waiting, Tree Man. Or did all your pokémon run away already?"
A pokémon fight? Michael turned back to his tree. The Stunky was still there, watching curiously through the bars. Its ribcage was showing slightly through its skin. The Azumarill could pin it down in seconds. So the only thing left was...
Turtwig.
Michael's heart sank as he went over to his backpack and fingered the pokéball nestled in the pocket. He twisted the knob and watched the Turtwig materialize before him. In the daylight, its blue-green skin seemed even brighter.
On cue, the others began laughing.
"Whoa! What's with its skin?" the redhead exclaimed, her hands pressed to her mouth. "Is it like diseased or something?"
"Doesn't matter," the bulky boy said, crossing his arms. "It's going down! Jaws, use Tackle!"
What am I supposed to do now? Michael thought, resisting the urge to bite his lip.
Several yards away, the Azumarill was preparing for a full-blown attack. It sprinted forward, and a cloud of dirt was raised as it gained speed. Beside him, the Turtwig stood absolutely still.
"Move out of the way!" Michael urged. "Go left! Play chicken! Do something!" The Turtwig turned its head to look at him.
"No! Don't look at me, look at -" But before he could finish his sentence, the Azumarill had collided with the Turtwig, eliciting an audible
wham. Their combined momentum left deep skid marks in the dirt. The Azumarill wrestled Turtwig to the ground, where it lay flat on the back of its shell. Its legs moved back and forth, like a dying insect.
Michael gritted his teeth. "Get up!"
The Turtwig began to rock back and forth, but it remained where it was. Finally, Michael bent down and flipped it over onto its feet. The pokémon shook, but held firm. Ovn the other side of the battlefield, the three teenagers were laughing and jeering. Cigarette Boy pumped his fist in the air.
"Finish it off! Use Water Gun!"
Michael slapped his forehead.
I lost. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, and now I lost to them. He took one last look at his Turtwig. The sprout on its head was bent, making the leaves jut out at awkward angles. As he looked at it, he felt something click in his brain.
Grass! Michael drew himself up.
Of course! Water can't hurt plants! It can only help them!
He turned back to the Turtwig, his eyes gleaming. "Use a grass attack! Water Gun can't hurt you, you're based on grass!" Michael felt a little silly saying this to a pokémon, but for some odd reason, he could tell that the Turtwig understood.
It threw its head back a little, far enough so a few leaves dislodged from the sprout. At first, Michael didn't know what it was doing. But then, with a single flick, the leaves were sent tearing through the air like razors. Azumarill didn't even have time to move. The leaves seemed to stick to its body, leaving behind traces of red where they touched. The pokémon gave a single cry, then toppled. A tiny cloud of dust billowed around its body.
Michael was dumbstruck.
"What? NO!" Cigarette Boy snarled. His knuckles were white as he raised the pokéball to the Azumarill's body. After its outline faded away, he looked back up at Michael. "You'll be sorry, punk!"
From behind him, the second boy smiled eagerly. "My turn?" Just as he was about to step forward, the redhead shoved him aside.
"No, Henry. It's mine." She withdrew a pokéball of her own. It was covered in stickers. "I'll teach you some manners. Go Timmy!" A lean orange pokémon emerged from her hands, landing in the spot Azumarill had just vacated. Michael immediately recognized it as a Buizel - one of those annoying companions that the school swimming team practiced with. He had always thought that the yellow sacs around their necks looked like shock collars.
The Buizel's tails flicked back and forth as it steadily lowered itself into a crouch. It looked ready to break into a sprint.
"Again! Do the leaf thing again!" Michael said to the Turtwig. For a minute, he thought he saw it smile. Again the Turtwig threw its head back, and sent another series of leaves rushing towards the Buizel. But before they could make contact, the pokémon disappeared in a blur, letting them pass harmlessly to its side. The blur ran in a zigzag, and collided full-force into the Turtwig. The attack raised a cloud of dirt, making Michael cough. When it cleared, he saw that the two pokémon were still wrangling, rolling over and kicking at each other.
"No!" Michael shouted. "Don't be a wimp! Use your surroundings! Knock it off balance!"
"All right! Timmy, use Hydro Pump!" the redhead shouted, her brow furrowed in determination.
Michael closed his eyes for a moment.
Hydro... like water! Water again! He looked over to his Turtwig. It was lying on its side, its body bruised and dirty.
"Get up, get up!" Michael bent down and lifted the pokémon to its feet. He looked it in the eye. "I will not lose this! I don't care if it kills you, tear that Buizel's head from its shoulders!"
The Turtwig narrowed its eyes. "Turtur!" it screeched. It threw its head back again, but in the meantime, Buizel was preparing for an attack of its own. Its mouth was wide open, and some sort of liquid was bubbling in its throat. For a minute, Michael wondered if it was about to vomit. But instead, it lifted its face just as a wide jet of water sprayed out of its mouth, like some sort of fire hose.
The water accumulated, then swept the Turtwig away in a torrent. The stream carried it off somewhere behind the bushes. Michael let out a growl. He spun around on his heel, ready to kick the Buizel down himself, but was immediately surprised to find it twitching on the ground with tiny cuts sprinkled along its body.
What the...?
The redhead seemed equally surprised. The corners of her lips were twitching as she slowly approached her pokémon. She maintained silence as she bent down over by the Buizel and returned it back into its pokéball. Then she went over to Michael, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a thin stack of bills. She slapped the money into his hands.
"Ugh. Whatever. Freak." With that, she stormed off towards the open trail. Cigarette Boy was next. He went over to Michael, withdrew a single dollar, and let it fall to the ground.
"Oops." He turned abruptly and went after the redhead. Michael was left standing alone with a bemused expression, a handful of money, and absolutely no idea what had just happened.
For a minute, it was quiet. A Starly screeched from somewhere overhead.
"Wow..."
The voice nearly made him jump. Michael turned, and saw that the short boy was still there. He had come out from behind a bush, and was looking at Michael with reverence. "I've never seen anyone win against them before. How'd you do it?"
Michael scowled. "You're with them. So beat it, before I kick your a
ss too!"
The boy shook his head sadly. "They're not really my friends. All they do is take advantage of me. They treat me like dirt."
Michael snorted.
I wonder why.
"To tell you the truth," the boy continued, "I'm no good at battling. I always lose. But you're, well... you're amazing."
"Hardly." Michael eyed the bills in his hands. "What's the deal with them giving me money? Did they lose a bet or something?"
The boy eyed him curiously. "What do you mean? That's what all trainers do. It's the code of honor. You lose, you pay money. It's respect."
Michael paused for a moment. "So I can get money for beating people?"
The boy nodded.
A smile spread across Michael's face. "Neat. Well, I gotta go. I'm gonna find my Turtwig and get into some more battles. Later." He turned in the direction of the stream. It was already beginning to dry, but the initial path was still discernable. Turtwig must have landed somewhere in the bushes, if it was even strong enough to hold on.
"Wait." The boy's voice cut him off, just as he took his first step. Michael turned back.
"What?"
"You're going to Oreburgh, right?"
"I don't know. Sure?"
"Can I come with you? I just need to get back to my hotel room." The boy's face reddened. "I don't know a lot of people here and I, well, I don't want to hang around Chester and Veronica anymore. So, if it's okay with you, I mean... the town's really big, and I'm afraid I'll get lost."
Michael stopped for a moment, wondering if he was actually serious. This kid was the furthest thing from cool that he had ever seen. He was almost positive that after only a single day at his school, that boy would be running home in tears. He was probably a kiss up in class, bringing apples to the teachers and actually appreciating them. His mother probably bought him those cargo shorts, saying that they looked 'absolutely precious' on him. His hat made him look like a tour guide, or some sort of zookeeper.
Michael was seconds away from saying all of this, but reason stopped him. It would only be for a few hours. Plus, his arm was tired from carrying the Stunky around.
"Fine," he said. "But you're holding this." Michael went over to the cage and handed it to the boy, who smiled gratefully.
"Thanks! I'm Henry, by the way." He hoisted the cage on his arm like a handbag.
"Michael."
Henry peered inside the cage, tapping it with his finger. The Stunky shrank back. "Where did you get this guy anyway?"
"I caught it, obviously."
"Like... with a pokéball?"
"No, with my hands."
Henry's eyes widened. "Coooool."
Michael turned to face the stream. "I have to find my Turtwig."
"Is that it right there?" Henry pointed. Sure enough, behind a nearby bush, Michael's Turtwig lay in a heap, its front legs gripping a loose branch. Its tongue was hanging out from between its lips and its eyes were closed.
Michael scowled as he approached it. "Come on, get up!" he said. "You can't battle if you're lying around. Lazy." The Turtwig did not move. Michael nudged it with his foot, but it gave no response. He exhaled sharply. "What's with you? Are you dead or something?"
Henry squatted beside the Turtwig. "It's probably just tired. You have to give it a few days to rest."
Michael groaned.
"But," Henry lifted a finger. "There is a faster way."
"And that would be?"
"Just take it to a Pokémon Center."
"A
what now?"
"A Pokémon Center. It's like a mini hospital for pokémon. They put your pokéball inside this special heating chamber, and the therapy supposedly makes your pokémon recover from anything."
Michael nodded. "Okay. Where do we find one of those?"
"There's one in Oreburgh Town. It's not too far away from here. And -" Henry leaned in closer. "- they have a Gym!"
Judging by his tone, Michael guessed he was supposed to be excited by this. But all he could manage was a blank look. "What's that?"
Henry's mouth gaped, as if it were the dumbest question in the world. He fought for words for a moment, then finally managed to say, "You're not a trainer, are you?"
Michael froze. "No," he said firmly. "And if you have a problem with that, you can leave."
"So... you're pretending to be a trainer when you're actually not?" Henry's expression was neutral. Michael braced himself.
"What if I am?" he snapped. "Do you want to tell me what's right and what's wrong?"
"No... it's just really... cool. How you don't care or anything." Henry fumbled for words. "I won't tell anyone," he added quickly.
"Whatever."
Henry's face fell. "Well, this stinks. Even non-trainers are better battlers than I am."
"No one sucks that bad, kid."
"Well, I do. I really do. I mean, pokémon won't listen to me, and they're all really slow for some reason..."
"Good luck with that," Michael said. "So how far is Oreburgh?"
"About three miles."
"Then you can lead me there. After that, I'll leave you alone, and you can go back to your hotel room."
"Okay."
"Cool. Let's go." Michael gathered his things and started forward.
For the first time in his life, he heard a beat of footsteps behind him.
//////
He and Henry walked through the remainder of Route 203, neither of them saying much along the way. Through it all, Michael was absorbed in visions of money.
If I could beat everyone in town... I could become the most powerful battler in the world! I'd be rich!
Henry, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the route itself. His eyes never left the tree canopies, and his mouth formed an 'O' whenever he saw a brightly-colored pokémon flick between the branches.
"I wonder how many kinds of pokémon there are..." he said at some point, eyes sparkling.
Michael didn't reply, however. He was too busy mentally constructing the pool in his future home.
When they finally decided to stop and rest, the sun was high overhead and leaves were drooping from the heat. They chose a shady spot underneath an oak tree, where they sat watching the clouds. Michael reached into his backpack and zipped open his snack compartment. He withdrew a chocolate bar and began chewing with closed eyes, savoring the flavor.
"Do you have anything else to eat?"
Michael opened his eyes. Henry was eyeing the bar enviously.
"Uh, do you want some?" He broke off a piece and offered it to him.
Henry shrugged. "I can't. Mom says chocolate's bad for your stomach if you eat it too much."
Michael frowned. "Is your mother here now?"
"No."
"Then take it. Don't be a wimp, she's not gonna come out from behind a tree and spank you." He held up the piece again. Henry laughed a bit, but still didn't take it. "Whatever," Michael popped it into his own mouth.
He threw the remaining wrapper into a separate pocket. Then he took out his notebook and opened it up to a clean page.
Dear Cory and/or Brendan,
Sorry I didn't give you guys any sign that I was running away. It was kind of a last-minute decision. I just want you to know that I'm fine, and I'm about to go to Oreburgh City.
Michael frowned, then scribbled over his lines. What if his mother or someone else got to the letter first? He started again.
To whom it may concern,
DO NOT READ THIS LETTER! FOR MY FRIENDS' EYES ONLY!
Michael crossed it out again, then slumped back against the tree. It would be impossible to write a letter without the possibility of interception. He stopped to think for a minute, when he realized that Henry was peering over his shoulder.
"What'cha writing?" he asked.
Michael shook his head. "Nothing." He tore off the page and threw it into his backpack. He could always start again when Henry wasn't looking.
"Okay." Henry reached into his own tote bag and pulled out a small canister. "Pokémon food," he said to Michael. "Here, I'll give some to your Stunky. It looks awfully hungry." Henry sprinkled some of the contents into the cage, and the Stunky squealed gratefully.
Henry giggled. "You should really let this Stunky out of its cage. It looks like it could be a lot of fun to play with."
"It'll run away," Michael said.
For a minute, he absently watched the Stunky eat. It was eyeing Henry gratefully, and prancing around in circles. Michael's pencil dropped back down onto the paper and began to sketch the spiky outline of its fur. As the pokémon turned, Michael observed the curvature of its cheeks and the shape of its eyes. He did some shading, and added a grassy background. He was no artist, but the final result left him satisfied. He gazed down at it for a few moments, and ended up adding a sun and some clouds.
"Can I ask you something?" Henry said after a while. Michael looked up, and saw that Henry was watching him draw.
"What?"
"Why is your Turtwig differently colored than normal?" Henry pulled on a blade of grass. "Sorry if it's a personal question or something, but I was just curious."
Michael didn't answer. His gaze returned to the paper, and he doodled a quick tree in the landscape.
"It's not the first time I've seen it," Henry said softly.
At this, Michael looked up. "You've seen it before?"
Henry nodded. "My friend had a Zubat that was green. She took it to a bunch of specialists to have it checked out, but they didn't know what was wrong with it. They ran all these tests and drew all kinds of graphs. They wouldn't give it back to her, though, even after she asked. And there were no more like it, so she couldn't get another one."
"That's weird..." Michael said. "Did it ever change color or anything?'
Henry shook his head. "Nope. I was wondering if you knew about it, since you have one of those weird ones."
Michael slapped the page with his palm. "It's stupid how no one knows about any of this. When I asked that Emerson dude about my Turtwig, he just kicked us out. And he's supposed to be the authority on pokémon."
"Wow, that was really mean of him to do that."
"He's probably just too lazy to do his homework. I bet that the answer is sitting right there in one of his books, but he can't be bothered to look because he's too busy trying to quit smoking." Michael spat, and shoved his notebook back into his backpack. "Anyway, I'm not just gonna sit here all day. You ready to go?"
"All right." Henry stood, and began to gather his things.
Michael urged his heavy limbs to move back onto the path. Up ahead, he could see the beginnings of a strange rock formation. Branches obscured his view, but he was fairly certain that there was a sign hanging over it.
"There's Oreburgh Gate," Henry explained. "It's the only public entrance to the city."
Beyond that, Michael could see the hazy outline of the Coronet mountain range. Its jagged pattern stretched across the horizon, from the region's southern shores to its snowy northern valleys. The sun rested atop a blunt peak, illuminating the land on the other side. He exhaled slowly. For the first time, the world seemed like such a big place.
"Well, we're not gonna get there by just looking at it," Michael said after a while. "Let's go." Michael started forward. From behind, he heard the beat of Henry's footsteps as he rushed to keep up.
The Oreburgh Gate didn't have any doors. Its floor wasn't paved, and flickering ceiling lamps served as the lighting. The air inside was hot and thin. There were a few people here as well, cooing to wailing children and using pay phones. The lamps casted unnatural shadows on their faces, making them look demented.
"My gosh, it's like a cave in here," Michael shuddered.
Henry let out a dry cough. "Yeah. I hope the city isn't this bad."
It wasn't. The first thing Michael noticed when they stepped out into the light was how
brown everything was. The roads, the buildings, and even people's clothes had that same dusty shade. Unlike Jubilife, there were no flashing lights or advertisements to be seen. The closest thing to technology was the complex system of pulleys that circulated the town, transporting rocks of various sizes. Michael's eyes traced the maze and quickly found its starting point - a large opening in the ground on the far side of the city. Like Jubilife, it was buzzing with activity. But this town was like a tiny ant colony - small, but hardworking. Everyone here seemed like family, instead of just a bunch of strangers gathered in one spot.
"I always liked this place," Henry finally said, inhaling.
"So where's the Pokémon Center?"
"It's a bit further in. I'll show you."
Henry led him in a winding path, crossing intersections and sharply rounding corners. During a span of five minutes, Michael went through at least seven different visualizations of what the building might look like. Would there be a line? Would it cost him money? Would it be like one of those fancy clubs that never let anybody inside?
Just when Michael thought his head would explode, Henry stopped and pointed. "Look!"
In front of them was an ordinary-looking building, with shining windows and a bright red roof. A pokéball was painted on its door, but apart from that, it was nothing special.
On the inside, Pokémon Center resembled a laundromat. The walls and floor were white, and were lined with strange machines. Michael watched as a woman placed three pokéballs onto a metal tray and closed the lid. Her machine glowed red for about a minute, then she withdrew the pokéballs and put them back into her purse.
"Here, I'll show you how to use it." Henry pulled him over to an unoccupied machine and repeated the process. It hummed, displaying a constant temperature of 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Minutes later, Turtwig's pokéball came back out. It felt warm in Michael's hands.
"That's it?"
Henry smiled. "Yup. Turtwig's as good as new."
Michael found it hard to believe that, but decided to take Henry's word for it. "Well, okay. Thanks, I guess." There was a pause. Henry began to rock back and forth, eyes drifting towards the ceiling.
"So... are there any good places to battle, or is everything just lumped together here?" Michael asked.
Henry clicked his tongue. "Well, there's a park at the center of town. I can show you that too. A lot of trainers come there to practice, but..."
"But what?"
"The people there are really mean." Henry looked down at his shoes. "They... they like to make fun of people, let's just say."
Michael let out a groan. What was this kid, six? "I think I'll be fine."
Henry shook his head. "No it's not a good idea! Trust me. They'll pick on you, just like Chester and Veronica did."
Michael laughed. "You actually think I was afraid of your little dweeb friends? Let me clue you in on something. I was the coolest guy in my school. No one picked on me, because they all respected me. So I'm the last person you should be worrying about when it comes to those sissies."
"But those kids are all bad!" Henry persisted. "They smoke and stuff!"
"Just because someone smokes doesn't mean they're bad. My brother... he smoked, and he was the best person I ever knew." He looked at Henry again. "So are you gonna take me there, or am I gonna have to find my own way?"
"Well... okay. But we can't stay long, okay?" Henry pleaded. Michael rolled his eyes.
"Yeah sure whatever. Let's go."
They left the Pokémon Center. Henry led him through several more streets, until they came across a large square clearing. The entire city ran around it, branching off into a bunch of little dirt paths that led to the park. Some kids were here already, sitting on benches and under trees. And although he searched, Michael saw only one boy who was smoking.
"Well, here we are!" Henry said. "Who do you want to battle first?"
Michael took a look around. He saw one girl sitting on a swing set stroking a Piplup, and a boy by the fence playing with his Machop. Neither of them looked like they could take a hit, much less pay a good amount. He walked past them. The other kids either didn't have pokémon with them, or turned away when he approached.
Michael continued through the park, and stopped when he reached a tall white fence. A group of five boys was leaning against it, talking slowly and casually.
"They look like a good group," Michael said. "What if I beat them five to one? How cool would that be?"
Henry, however, was shaking. "Oh no..." He reached up to bite his nail.
"What?"
"You see those boys over there?" He pointed to the group. Someone had told a joke, and now they were all laughing heartily. Michael instantly thought of his friends, and felt a pang of guilt.
"They're the ones who make fun of me," Henry said, keeping his voice low.
"And what am I supposed to do about it? You have to stick up for yourself."
"Yeah, but -"
"Yo, it's Henry!"
Michael looked up. One of the boys had noticed them, and was slowly coming their way. The gang trailed behind in a semicircle of grins. Henry seemed to shrink in their presence.
"So who's your friend?" said the first boy. He looked over to Michael, giving him a quick once-over. Michael did the same. He noticed that the kid was wearing a Team Galactic shirt.
"You got a name?"
"Michael. Michael Rowan," he said simply, hands in his pockets. The boy nodded.
"What you doing hanging around a wimp like him for?" He jerked his thumb in Henry's direction.
"He's showing me around town." Michael nodded towards his shirt. "Been watching the Space Race lately?"
The boy grinned. "Yeah. Team Galactic is boss, man."
"Did you see those shots of Deoxys?"
"Yeah yeah, nothing special. If you ask me, the Rockets are just desperate for an excuse to beat us."
"Agreed," Michael said. "It's pathetic, really."
"Yeah and for all we know, they could've faked it. Why, we could take a picture of Henry's face and say it's an alien species."
Michael began to laugh.
"What do you want from us, Mack?" Henry finally said.
The boy turned back to Henry, his smile fading. "Not feeling too brave without those friends of yours covering your a
ss, are you? Is that why you brought Michael along? Think you can scare us away?" The rest of the gang began to chuckle.
"It's... it's not like that..." Henry looked down again, and began drawing circles in the dirt.
"You need to learn respect, little punk. Don't think I'll forget what you tried to do to us."
When Henry lifted his face again, his cheeks were red. "Let's leave, Michael."
"Mike can do whatever he wants, right? He's a cool head."
Henry tapped Michael on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go!"
"Hey, why don't you leave the kid alone and let him do what he wants?" The boy turned again to Michael. "You can hang out here if you want, Michael. You can help us maintain order in the park. Too many wimps like him, if you ask me. How about it?" The boy extended a hand. His arm was covered in dirt, leaves, and bruises.
But before Michael could reply, he felt something jerk his arm forward. All at once, the gang groaned. It took a few seconds to realize what was happening. Henry had grabbed him by the arm and was stomping down the path, like a mother would do to her child. Michael felt his face redden as he struggled to pry his fingers off.
"Sh
it! Henry, let go! What the hell are you doing?"
"Those kids are mean, and I don't want to be around them."
"So?" Michael looked back over his shoulder. The gang was shouting something over to them, but he couldn't hear what it was. They were already nearing the exit. "Man, why do you have to be such a -"
"Wimp? Dweeb? Nerd?" Henry sighed and dropped his hand. "Everyone's so mean to me here!" His voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. Pretty soon, they were spilling down his cheeks.
Michael gritted his teeth. "Stop crying. It's embarrassing."
"I don't care!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "I'm sick of everyone treating me like this! It's not fair! Everyone does it! It's everywhere I go, and I don't know why!" He was seconds away from stomping his foot, but before he could, Michael grabbed his shoulders.
"Listen to me, people are only gonna laugh harder when they see you cry! So shut up!" Michael shook him a little, and Henry quieted down.
"I'm sorry!" He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Those kids just annoy me so much! They're the reason I hate coming here."
"Fine. Is there another place I can go to battle without having you scream in my face?"
"T-the Gym, but..."
"Now what?"
"I'm not good for that either!"
"Hang on, hang on. What is a Gym, exactly? Tell me."
Henry sniffed again. "Not... not a lot of trainers want to do it. It's for the topest of the top. They say it's hard like crazy."
"Do they give money?"
"Yeah..."
"Then let's check it out."
"Wait, I don't want to go there either," Henry said.
"Ugh. Why not?"
"Because I always lose!" A fresh stream of tears fell from his eyes. "I'm not good at anything!"
Michael sighed. "Give it another shot, okay? We'll go together."
"No! I won't!"
"You're acting like a little kid."
"But I know I'll lose!"
"Then you'll really lose! But if you're certain that you're gonna win, then you'll win."
"But it doesn't work like that for me! You don't know what it's like to have every single person you talk to laugh at you! You don't know what it's
like!"
"Oh God, I am so sick of your sob stories! You're so damn soft!" Michael gave him a sharp punch in the shoulder. Henry staggered back, wincing with pain. "There's always gonna be some kid out there who has it worse than you do. But that kid isn't crying about it. He's fighting the world and making something out of himself. I'm giving you a choice. Today. Are you gonna be a closet wimp, or are you gonna do your own thinking?"
Henry pondered this for a moment, wiping his nose of his sleeve. "Okay... Fine."
"Good."
Henry looked up at Michael with watery eyes, and smiled. "Thanks for that."
"For what?"
"For calming me down. You're a good friend."
This caught Michael off guard. He stepped back a little, and looked at Henry curiously. "Okay. Uh... thanks."
They left the park in silence. Michael's mind was churning. First his teacher had put him down. Then his mother had left him, dropping off the face of the Earth. Then a bookstore clerk had called him a monster. Then a pair of kids had laughed at him for sleeping under a tree.
Then out of the blue came Henry, the kid who wore a sunhat, almost a foot shorter than him, the pinnacle of middle-school nerdiness, and the first kid who had ever called Michael Rowan a good friend.