^ "Brackish" (10-28-2020)

—

DARWIN

Thursday, April 5, 2018

"Okay, so it's pretty simple," I said. "I'm on one end, you're on the other, and when I say go, you come for me as fast as you can, and I clock your speed. We're going to be tested on that during Midterms, and on Dive too. But I don't think..." I trailed off, then sighed. "Brackish. Brackish."

My Tentacool jerked, and as he turned to face me once again, it occurred to me how amazing it was that I was saddled with two Pokémon that were very easily distracted, albeit in different ways. Don was just twitchy, and startled easily, but Brackish... Everything from the life jackets hanging on the pool gate to the buoys cordoning the water off into segments was a thing of f*cking interest to this guy, and doubly so if it was shiny: for five of the past fifteen minutes, he'd been staring at my belt buckle with an uncomfortable intensity, and he'd turned his fascination to my watch when it had caught the light, driving the glare of the sun across the ruby in his gelatinous skull.

It was weird and unsettling, but I guess I understood: after all, up until last weekend, this guy had led a very dull and sedentary life, drifting on the ocean currents and waiting for prey — like my leg—to come to him. Now suddenly he was somewhere else, with strange sounds, sights, and scents, with a human that he could understand standing over him, telling him to swim from one end of his pool lane to the other for no goddamn reason. Probably, I'd be distracted too. That didn't make it any less frustrating, though.

Easy. Intimacy, not irritation. I brought Nero to mind again, and the way he'd looked at Magdalene's Pokéball. That's what we want, Blakesley. We want to know Don and Brackish just like that.

If only it was that easy! Even with Don, my "power of friendship" approach was off to a rough start — for me at least. All of this smiling was exhausting, and sometimes I wondered if my continuous encouragement sounded...fake. Sometimes it did, to me, but maybe that didn't matter — slowly, it seemed to be having an effect on Don, bolstering his confidence, helping him relax. That, combined with his slow but continuous improvements in Training Hall... I was beginning to really like how he looked when he took the field, with a straight back and a bit of hardness in his eyes. He was beginning to grow a backbone.

Brackish though... If this forced positivity was having any effect on him, I couldn't see it, and quickly, I was losing my patience.

"What's this? Is it lunchtime already, Blakesley?"

I stiffened as Sergeant Marshall appeared behind me; I scrambled to my feet and saw that he didn't look pleased with me today...which wasn't anything new. "No sir, I—"

"Did I ask you to respond, recruit? Shut up when I'm talking to you." He peered around me, down into the water. "What the devil is your new friend doing? Because it doesn't look like laps or a water relay to me. In fact, it looks like he's doing Splash. Did I tell you to teach your second Splash, recruit?"

"N-no, I just—"

"Shut your mouth! WHEN I WANT AN ANSWER, I'LL SAY 'ANSWER'! Now get down: fifteen push-ups!"

Trying not to groan, I got down and did as he asked. It hurt, a lot, probably because we'd finished doing remedials just fifteen minutes ago, and six laps ten minutes before that. By the time I was done creaking out number fifteen, my arms were beginning to go numb.

"Now, I'm going to walk away," Sergeant Marshall snarled in my face, "and when I get back, that new friend of yours better be moving its keister, if it has one, through this pool end to end, or else it'll be thirty push-ups. And then sixty. And then a hundred-and-twenty. Then, you'll owe me another two essays. You understand, recruit?" When I remained silent, he jabbed my chest, almost pushing me into the pool. "Answer me, recruit."

"Yes sir."

He walked off without another word, to go harass another one of us huddled around the pool, working with our new seconds. Combat had been split in two today, to be rotated out in two half-hour shifts: one chunk of us was here, undergoing our first training session with our water-types. The other half was out in the athletic field, going through drills with our point Pokémon.

Thomas was also part of the pool group, and he was on the far end of the space with his Squirtle Trina. He looked a lot better today: his hair was back in tight cornrows, and he had his clothes on straight, and he was actually smiling, even though it was a bit strained. That it was there at all was probably because of Trina: she was swimming around in swift circles before him, spinning and doing tricks in a bid to cheer him up. I hoped it kept working, because he and I were going to have to have a tough conversation before the day was up, one about Seawatcher Orientation. Which was tomorrow, after school.

I'd talked to Grandpa Jon about this a bit last night, when I'd been preparing for bed. Mom had already turned in for the night, and when I'd gone into the kitchen looking for a cup for my toothbrush, I'd found him there, having a cup of Sitrus Berry tea and staring out into the night through the patio doors with a grave expression. It hadn't changed when I'd described to him Thomas's sour mood over the past week, and when I'd finished, he'd put down his mug and told me not to worry, that he would take care of things if Thomas ultimately refused to come along.

His tone had been mild and free of threat, but I worried about what he might've meant. Specifically, I worried that "taking care of things" might somehow involve Berechiah and his violating Pitch.

You'll convince him, I thought, a little half-heartedly. You'll make him understand. Maybe it was a good thing that Berechiah was possibly involved, because that, at least, put Thomas up against a wall; the merman's very name still gave the both of us the willies, and deep down, I was sure Thomas knew that he needed brain damage as much as a hole in the head. And after that hellish quarantine, he had to be done with drama for a while. Right?

Still, I was not looking forward to that talk. During Training Hall? No, I didn't want to waste time that I could be using to train arguing. Before we go to the Oceanic Conservation Club meeting?

I groaned. Another headache I'd almost forgotten about. Rubbing my eyes, I brought the pool back into sight — Sergeant Marshall was on the other side, yelling something down at one of my classmates and his Shellder. One thing at a time, Darwin. For now, get your Tentacool moving.

I cleared my throat. "Brackish?"

He came back up from where he'd submerged — Sergeant Marshall yelling tended to do that. "It's all right, he's gone now," I said. Pause. "For now. He'll be coming back around in a minute to check on our progress."

I expected for that to induce some anxiety in my new Pokémon, but was disappointed — just like that, Brackish was distracted again, this time by the sun's glare reflected in my shiny black boots. He sidled up to the edge of the pool, and a tentacle slithered up onto the pavement towards my shoe.

"Whoa!" I scrambled back, even though I doubted I'd feel the sting through my steel-toed footwear. But after the Abandoned Ship, I wasn't taking any chances. "Brackish, control yourself, and pay attention. We're supposed to be training. We can't... Brackish?"

No good — he was staring at the fence now, which was shining in the bright light. My teeth hammered together. He'd probably try to touch the f*cking sun if it was close enough!

Close enough... Hmm. I cocked my head, suddenly getting an idea. I rose to my feet and checked on Sergeant Marshall — standing behind another classmate, and still yelling. Quickly, I made my way around the pool until I was on the other side, at the opposite end of the lane that had been designated to me. I peered up at the sun. Right spot... I reached into my pocket and called, "Brackish! Brackish, look!"

My volume made my Pokémon look up, along with several of my classmates, and suddenly I had his full attention. Or rather, what I held in my hand had his full attention: a quarter scavenged from the depths of my pocket, tilted so that it caught the sun just so. It had to be beaming a spotlight.

"Want it?" I called. I knelt to the cement, and then lowered down further, until my hand was hovering above the water. "You can have it. Come here."

Brackish sped towards me like a starving man coming for a buffet — I barely had time to start my watch. Ten... Eleven...Twelve... At fifteen seconds, the Tentacool was before me, a bevy of tentacles rising up to claim his prize. Unfortunately, I didn't let go of the coin fast enough, and got stung — it hurt like a bastard. F*ck me!

I swung my hand about and swore colorfully as Brackish examined the silver coin, holding it up into the sunlight. Then he...ate it. Put it underneath him, and it was gone. I wondered if that was where he stored all his trinkets.

When my hand finally calmed down, I had a red welt swelling across my palm, but I wasn't bleeding, at least, and there were no tentacle remnants stitched into my skin, so I guess I was all right. I examined the clock again. "Fifteen seconds," I said, impressed. "Nice job. You can move...when you want to."

The rest of my training with Brackish went...fairly well. It was hard to keep him focused, but I learned a thing or two about him: while Don worked to impress, Brackish clearly needed a prize to fight for, and for right now, spare change would do — I got two more speed runs out of him for a penny and a dime, and got him to Dive for two nickels.

I was relieved when Sergeant Marshall came and passed without comment, but after he left, worry came over me as I watched my Tentacool swallow the two coins, looking happy. I felt that mercenaries made for bad partners — people you paid for loyalty would abandon you when it suited them, and I didn't like that Brackish needed incentive to obey my orders. It would work for now, but how could I get him to see me as more than the guy that had cool shiny things to give him?

I supposed I would simply have to try what I was doing with Don: invest in him, so that later, he might invest in me.

The rest of the class went without a hitch, and I went to lunch famished and with a slight headache from moving around and smiling in the sun too much. I ate in the classroom, but went down to the cafeteria for a bottle of water to swallow down with some headache medicine. While there, I cast my eyes around for Thomas, and saw him stuck in the middle of his friend group, half of which were on their phones. He was still smiling and seemed to be laughing, and on the way back from the cooler, he spotted me and flashed me the peace sign, which was encouraging. I hoped the rest of the day built up his good mood — maybe we'd be able to talk without the conversation collapsing into an argument.

The rest of the day passed without incident, save for Pre-Cal, where we were dumped with a giant study guide whose completion was a hefty grade separate from our Midterm examination. We had a week or so to complete it, but between this, the Seawatchers, the Oceanic Conservation Club, and my other Midterm assignments, I was starting to feel the contours of the garrote closing around my neck. Luckily for me, Basic Drawing functioned as kind of another study hall, and while I was working on my first of two solo still-life projects (the corner of a hallway, to be done in great detail), I started mentally budgeting out my free time over the next few days, and felt better about the mountain of schoolwork building on my shoulders by the time the period was over.

When the final bell rang, I headed from Knight Hall back over to Armstrong, and switched out my bookbag and textbooks for my half-empty Pre-Cal binder and pencil case. I didn't expect that I would need much else — I'd gotten an email from Helena Stern this morning, reminding me about the meeting and telling me that I wouldn't need much more than pencil and paper, as it was mainly informational. I looked longingly toward the exit door, which was being flooded with students heading out to be picked up by parents and carpool, and then headed down the hall.

I saw two people as I headed for the first floor science classroom: Principal Reyes, who asked me how things were going with Brackish, and Thomas, who was with Patrick and Riley and headed straight towards the exit. "Hey Snowman," he said as he passed.

I stopped, confused. "You're not going to the meeting?" I asked.

He lifted his split brow at me, and then his smile disappeared, to be replaced with a look of great annoyance. "Sh*t," he groaned, rubbing at his brow. "Why the hell did you have to remind me, Snowman?" He looked at me, and then back at his pals, who looked confused. Actually, Patrick kind of looked...suspicious, and I'll be damned if I knew why.

"What's going on?" Riley asked.

"Club sh*t," Thomas said. "Later." He split off and gestured to me, and I fell into step beside him. Behind us, Riley and Patrick went on...but not before Patrick gave me another weirded-out look that I still didn't understand.

"There goes my afternoon," Thomas complained. "I was locked in for ice cream, too. Thanks a lot, Snowman."

"It's not my fault. Do you want to be held back?"

"I don't wanna be in this place a second longer than I have to," he said with irritation. "Especially if all they're gonna talk about is biology. How long is this meeting gonna be?"

Probably an hour or less, I wanted to say, but I was studying him out of the corner of my eye. Now...? But I didn't know how to broach the subject, and I hesitated for a bit too long: a moment later, we were at the door of the science classroom, and we stepped inside.

We were early, but there were already a bunch of other people there: Helena, Ms. Scales, my BIO teacher, Marjorie... Quentin Flowers, I was surprised to see, and a couple of underclassmen that I didn't recognize. Most were sitting in the neatly lined desks facing the whiteboard, which was currently glowing under the glare of a projector; Marjorie sat beside it, typing away at a beat-up red laptop. It looked like she was setting up a Powerpoint presentation; she looked up a moment when we came in, and I froze as her stare went to me, and then hardened on Thomas. Then she got back to work.

"And there goes my good mood," Thomas said with shameful volume.

Helena spun around — she'd been standing at the whiteboard, penning down an agenda in thick, blocky letters. She beamed. "Hello, you two! Thank you for coming. Why don't you sign in and have a seat, and grab some snacks? We're going to start in a few minutes."

At the desk near the front, there was a case of bottled water, and a box of eco-friendly snacks that looked like they were made by and for aliens. Thomas scratched his name on the sign-in sheet beside Marjorie and declined the refreshments, probably because deliberating over them would require him actually being within two feet of his glowering ex. I considered them a moment, though: lunch had been a long time ago, and it was going to be a while before I was finally in front of a bowl of leftover beef stew. I decided on a bag of cheddar and sea salt popcorn — it looked the most appetizing out of the bunch. I took a seat a row in front of Thomas, who was slouching in the last row over his phone.

"Darwin, how're things going in Combat II?" Ms. Scales asked. She was sitting behind her desk, grading a stack of quizzes. "I heard you have a Tentacool now. Any better than the Sharpedo?"

By several orders of magnitude. "Yes ma'am. I worked with him today."

"Glad to hear it. I'm also glad that you were able to drag Mr. Ryans-Wade in here today. Marjorie and I had a bet going: twenty bucks that he would either not show up, or show up late."

Behind her computer, Marjorie stiffened and turned orange. Behind me, Thomas made a weird sound, like he was trying to be amused and annoyed at the same time.

The classroom fell under an awkward silence, and right at 3:30 PM on the dot, Helena swung away from the board and crossed the room, closing the door. When she reached the front of the classroom, she clapped.

"All right!" she announced. "Welcome, everyone, to the first Oceanic Conservation Club meeting of the year. Has everyone signed in, and stuffed themselves with food and drink? Save the bottle caps, by the way — we're going to give them to an environmental non-profit that's buying them by the half-pound to fund a reforestation project." She bent behind the front table and lifted a large plastic jar. "You can put them in here when you're done.

"Where was I? Yes: me. My name is Helena Stern, and I'm the president of the OC Club—that's our nickname." She indicated Marjorie. "This is Marjorie, my VP, and you all know Ms. Scales: she's our advisor, and she'll be sitting in on most of the meetings. We've got a lot to get through today in only a short amount of time, so prepare yourselves: I'm about to go into my info dump, and then we'll get into icebreakers and a short activity." She stepped aside so that we could better see the projection screen: Marjorie had pulled up a Powerpoint titled "The OC Club: Everything You Need To Know In 30 Minutes Or Less." "Don't bother trying to memorize all this: it's all in our club constitution, and I can get you a copy if you want. These are just the highlights."

I listened carefully as she started in on the Powerpoint, beginning with the Oceanic Conservation Club's mission statement: as its name implied, it was to spread knowledge about the world's largest bodies of water, and encourage students to take action on issues concerning oceanic health, exploitation, and abuse. The club planned to tackle these two objectives via a mix of workshops or informational sessions; volunteer efforts; field trips; and school beautification projects. The plan, for now, was to meet every Thursday afternoon through Midterms, and then take the Club's first off-campus excursion of the year to downtown Slateport City's Oceanic Museum.

"I'm getting ahead of myself here," Helena said with a bright smile. "That trip to Slateport City isn't until the twenty-ninth, so between now and then, we're going to be spending some quality time together in this classroom every Thursday. And I want to know who I'm going to spending it with! So let's take a break and get to know each other a little better. What say we all do an icebreaker?"

I glanced awkwardly across the classroom, and found that everybody else (save for Thomas, who was still on his damn phone) looked just as uncomfortable. Glad to see I wasn't the only one who hated icebreakers.

"Marj, you want to tell them how this works?" Helena asked.

Marjorie stood up from behind the computer. She was in a skirt today, which wasn't short, but her legs looked a mile long each beneath, especially in her knee-high socks. She lifted a roll of toilet paper. "Take enough to do the job," she said. "And pass it on."

I blinked as she handed the toilet paper roll to one of the underclassmen. Take enough to what? I didn't get it, but got Butterfrees in my stomach, as I always did before these things. Quentin got up and brought the roll over to me, and I tore off a good five squares. When I handed it back to Thomas, he pulled off ten which... Of course he f*cking did.

"Everybody got some?" Helena asked as Marj tore off some and then handed it to Ms. Scales. "Okay, here we go: we're all going to take turns, and however many squares you got, you have to tell us the same amount of facts about yourself. So." Helena lifted her portion. "Five squares. Five facts. Simple enough, right?"

I stifled a groan. If there was one thing I hated more than talking in public, it was talking about myself in public.

"I'll go first," Helena said. "Helena Stern, Professorship Branch." She tore off a piece. "I dream of becoming a marine biologist." She pulled off a second square. "I like medieval romances." Another square. "I'm an only child." A fourth. "My parents and I have a Swellow named Cygnus. And..." She dropped the last piece. "I am a huge fan of Archer Attwater. He's the CEO of the WorldWaters Foundation." She dusted her hands. "There, see? Easy! Who wants to go next?"

She cast her direct gaze around the room, and everyone kind of looked down and away, trying to avoid her sun-glare stare. She lifted an expectant brow when it landed on me, and my palms sweated. Might as well, just to get it over with... Right? But just as I was about to stand, Thomas creaked out of his seat behind me.

"Guess I'll go." He chuckled. "Anybody else pull ten? Guess I gotta curb my enthusiasm when I wipe."

"I'm sure it'll save a few trees," Helena said cheerfully.

His turn took a little longer, and not just because he had more toilet paper — he seemed to have trouble figuring out what to say, and I wondered if he didn't make some of it up. I could believe that he had a stepmom, two stepsisters, and a younger stepbrother, that he wanted to try to qualify for Hoenn's Elite Four, that his dad was a general in the Navy, and that he'd played recreational basketball in elementary and middle school... But he liked puzzles? And building models? And sculpting? I call bullsh*t.

"Thanks for sharing, Thomas," Helena said when he finished. "Do me a favor, and don't go back to your phone just yet, though. You'll have plenty of time for social media when the meeting is over."

Thomas grumbled and stacked his feet on the back of my chair, but I noticed he kept his phone in his pocket.

"You looked like you wanted to go next, Darwin," Helena prompted.

Right. I stood, feeling too tall and awkward when most of everyone else was sitting. "Er... I've only got five," I said.

"Say your name, first," Helena said.

"Sorry — Darwin Blakesley, Battle Branch." I'd already brainstormed what to say, I just had to say it. All the same, it was nerve-racking: "I'm an only kid. Most of my family lives in the Sinnoh Region. I don't like the heat—"snicker from Thomas—"I sometimes listen to music in my free time. I used to roller skate as a kid."

"Thanks, Darwin," Helena said. "You and Marjorie should talk sometime — who knows, you two might share the same taste in music."

I glanced at Marjorie, and she glanced at me, and I think it was clear to both of us that a friendly conversation between us wasn't likely.

The two underclassmen — Anthony and Daisy respectively — went next, followed by Quentin and Marjorie. Quentin liked running and shooting guns, and made a joke about that making him perfect for the Battle Branch, which we all thought was funny. I was stunned that Helena was actually halfway on the mark about me and Marjorie having similar music tastes: when she went, one of her facts was that her favorite artist was April Angst, a contemporary cellist and pianist that, with her Kricketune, made lyric-less music that made me restless. Absently, I wondered what her favorite track was — mine was "Pentagram", with "Inside Eye" running a close second.

After Ms. Scales gave her three facts, Helena said, "It's nice to meet you all, and I hope we have some good times together this year. Let's move on, so we can get out of here." She lifted a finger. "I want us to all do a short activity together, so that you all know the kinds of things we'll be getting into in this club. So we're all going to get to know the last but central figure of our little group: the ocean itself!

"I'm pretty sure you guys all know the boring stuff about the ocean: there're twelve on planet earth, they're filled with water, water's made of oxygen and hydrogen, et cetera, et cetera, so let's go a little deeper. I want everyone to get into groups of two and research three lesser-known facts about the ocean, or water in general. We'll present our findings at the end of the meeting."

"Phew, done!" I almost jumped as Thomas threw his arm around my neck. "I got nervous there for a second, but I guess I ain't got nothin' to worry about with the Snowman on my side."

I scowled — if Thomas was so academically incompetent that he couldn't even look up three facts about the ocean, we had a damn problem. Marjorie and Helena seemed to concur — the former glowered at me, and I was tempted to duck so that her glare could actually reach Thomas. Helena hummed, and stacked her hands onto her waist.

"Thomas, I think you'd do a lot better with Anthony," she said primly. "He's been a little quiet over there — maybe you can help him open up a little. Quentin, why don't you work with Darwin instead? Marjorie, you can partner with Daisy."

Thomas's face fell. "Choosing for us, Helena? That ain't no fun."

"Don't be like that. This isn't about how fast you can finish the assignment: it's about working with someone new, getting to know your fellow members." She tilted her head towards Anthony, who also looked less than pleased about this, and Thomas grumbled, until Ms. Scales shot him a dangerous look. Then he got up, muttering under his breath, and the rest of us got moving as well. Marjorie went over to Daisy, and Quentin came over to me, giving me a friendly smile.

"Hi," he said. "You forget to choose a club early on, too?"

I blushed. "Well, I—"

"Can't blame you: I heard about all that stuff with your Sharpedo. I'd probably have forgotten about clubs too." He sat down. "But you have a Tentacool now? Awesome. How'd that go today?"

There was a bit of idle chit-chat, and we got down to work. It was a pretty simple activity, but I was glad that Helena had moved me with Quentin all the same: we used Quentin's smartphone to search up information, and had it been Thomas's, he probably would've gotten distracted by the ads riddling the search engine, or texts popping up along the top of the screen. Quentin was focused, and actually seemed interested in what we looked up — that's probably why I could tolerate him a lot more than most of the stupid goofs in our grade level.

He picked out one fact, me another, and then we agreed on a third before relaxing, and waiting for everyone else to finish up. While we did, Quentin asked me about Brackish again, and I described our telling training session today, and how Brackish would fetch, but only for a shiny prize. Quentin rubbed his jaw as I spoke, and laughed when I told him how Brackish swallowed all his coins.

"Imagine what he'd do for a dollar coin!" he said. "Think that would be allowed at Midterms? Seems kind of like cheating... You know?"

"Yeah," I said morbidly, "that's what I'm worried about. Marshall didn't say anything about it, though." But that might've been because I'd actually gotten Brackish moving, which was encouraging. Maybe at Midterms, that would also be what he was concerned about: the ends, not the means. That still didn't mean that I was comfortable with toting around my coin jar during the physical examination, though.

"Maybe you should get him a gift," Quentin suggested. "Something more important than spare change. Something he'll see as more than just a trinket he'll turn a trick for. Something that'll make him proud."

I raised a brow. "You think that'll work?"

"Sure. It worked for Tati—she was a huge bitch when I first got her, you know? Head up her ass, too cool for school, that sort of thing. But when she passed the phys exam at the end of last year, I was super proud of her — I mean, I'd thought all of my training had gone to waste, in one ear out the other. But she did great, a lot better than I thought she would, and I was so proud, so I got her a ribbon, and Arceus, she loves that thing! I think it was the color or something, and she wears it like armor. It makes her proud, you know? And it made her start to open up a little more." He shrugged. "She's still a little prissy, but I'm pretty sure all Skitties are at one point or another, and things are better than they used to be. And if she does well on Midterm, I think I'm gonna get her something else, to keep her spirits up."

A gift. I rolled it around in my mind a moment, thinking it over. Yes of course — why the hell hadn't I thought of that? A prize that Brackish wouldn't expect, one big enough and shiny enough to not just claim his attention, but floor him, maybe enough to induce gratitude for the one who'd given it to him. That made it sound like blatant emotional manipulation, but if it he performed well during Midterms... Well, that wouldn't be fake, would it? And my pride certainly wouldn't be fake. And I wanted to be proud of Brackish, and Don. I wanted to know them like Nero knew Magdalene.

"It's a good idea," I said. "I think I'll do that."

Quentin's reply was cut off by Helena — the girl was talking loud and standing over Thomas across the room, looking displeased. "Thomas, didn't I say to save social media for after we adjourned? Why are you making Anthony do all the work?"

"I'm not," Thomas insisted. "He wanted to look up the stuff, so I let him. Arceus, I was just checking my messages—"

Quentin snickered. "Looks like he's going to be this club's problem child."

There's always one. "At least she's not actually afraid to be on his back," I grumbled. "Most of the time, he won't listen to me."

Quentin glanced back over at me, wearing that same, perturbed look that Patrick had been wearing earlier this afternoon. Unease worked its way through me with cold fingers.

"So it's..." I stiffened up as Quentin spoke—suddenly he was awkward, and halting. He finished clumsily: "True?"

My heartbeat ratcheted up. "What's true?" I repeated.

He scrutinized me a moment, and appeared confused. Then he shrugged. "Nothing," he said.

I stared at him, my mouth open: I wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about, but I didn't, because a greater part of me did not want to know.

Luckily, before I could begin down the dark road of speculation, Helena clapped and called us back together. "Okay guys, let's start: three interesting facts about the ocean." She didn't ask for volunteers, but looked straight to Thomas. "Thomas, why don't you start?"

He scowled at her. "Anthony found—"

"Not Anthony, bud. You. Come on, let's go."

Holy sh*t. No wonder this girl was on the road to being the valedictorian. Thomas, looking like he wasn't in the mood for another argument, got up and plucked his group's slip of paper off the table.

"Three facts about the ocean," he said. "One: there more artifacts underwater than there are in all the world's museums combined. Two: the deepest point in the seafloor is the Sinnohvian Breach, located in the ocean between the Hoenn and Sinnoh Regions. Three: there are more unidentified and Legendary water-type Pokémon than any other type."

"Thank you," Helena said, her voice clipped. "Daisy, do you want to go next?"

Daisy stood and talked about how the oceans covered more than fifty percent of the planet's surface, how there was a frozen ocean on Mars, and how only about forty-percent of the Hoenn Region's landmass actually lay above the ocean, and then it was our turn. Quentin spoke for us.

"One: water-types provide little more than two percent of the global oceans' volume. Two: there are actually lakes and rivers that exist beneath the ocean's surface. Three: there are more than 30 million tons of gold and other precious metals in the ocean."

"Good work," Helena said. "Thank you for all of your interesting facts! I guess you can all see by now that there's a lot more to the world's oceans than meets the eye, and because of that, many of the problems that our beautiful seas face are also complex and hard to combat, like acidification, pollution, and, of course, climate change. We'll get into that during another meeting, but for now, I hope that everyone has whet their appetites, because there's a lot more to come." She grinned. "And so our first meeting comes to a close."

"Dues," Marjorie said lowly.

"Oh yes! Thanks, Veep. Yes, we have dues, folks, meaning that to be an active member of this club, you're going to have to pay up. Seventy-five dollars might sound like a lot, but trust me, we're going to make it worth your while. If it wasn't for the dues and the fundraiser from last school year, we actually wouldn't be going on our little trip on the twenty-ninth."

The color drained out of my face. Seventy-five dollars?

"Don't worry though," Helena continued. "They're not due for a while — by Midterms. So don't panic...but also don't forget." She checked her watch. "All right, I think that's enough for now. We'll send out an email of there are any schedule changes for the next meeting, so until then, dismissed!"

Chairs creaked as we got up and got going. Quentin waved at me before heading for the door, and I stared after him, still rattled by what he'd...not said. So it's...true? I racked my brain, trying to think of what might have put that strange look on his and Patrick's faces, but came up blank. Yet there was a roaring in my ears all the same, because it was about as clear as a full moon at night that someone was saying something weird about me, and I appeared to be the only one who didn't know about it.

And? You aren't dead and you aren't hurt, so who gives a damn who's talking about you? I tried to cement this in my mind as I walked out of the classroom, and so nearly jumped when Thomas appeared behind me.

"Did you see that crap?" he snarled. "Snooty little... Up my ass just because I was checking my phone. I bet you Marj put her up to it. Hell, they had a bet about if I was even gonna be there. Then they single me out the whole time? Somethin' fishy was goin' on, Snowman, mark my words."

"Put your phone away next time, and see what they do. Then you'll know for sure."

He glared at me. "Who the hell said there was gonna be a next time? I can barely stand Ms. Scales yappin' about biology most days and now I've gotta do it for an extra hour every Thursday? No thanks."

"So what? You're just doing to repeat the tenth grade?"

"Shut up, Snowman, I'm ranting."

We went outside, and in the parking lot way across the green, I spotted Grandpa Jon's old truck idling in an empty space, growling like an angry Granbull. Since I missed the outgoing bus to Petalburg City, he'd agreed to pick me up after school today. I saw Thomas narrow his eyes at the truck, and said, awkwardly, "Uh... Do you need a ride?"

He snorted and fished out his phone. "No thanks. My sister should be here to pick me up soon." He squinted at the sun-blasted screen. "...After she finishes getting her hair done? Piece of—"

"Grandpa Jon wouldn't mind," I said.

"I mind, Snowman. I can wait around for half an hour. Phone's still on..." Another squint, and he became sullen. "Forty percent."

"Do you have a charger?"

"Left it at home."

I stopped — Thomas went on a few paces before I called him back: "Thomas."

He glanced over his shoulder and stopped before reversing. "What's that look on your face?" he asked.

Probably one that said I was fortifying myself. "You're going to have to see him tomorrow," I hinted.

He turned away. "I already told you—"

Just like that, my patience was gone. "Shut up and listen, stupid. I told Grandpa Jon about this funk you've been in for the past week, but he didn't look worried about whether or not you would be coming to orientation tomorrow. You know what that means, right?"

Of course he did, and his jaw tightened. "They can't make me do sh*t, Darwin."

That was a stupid statement, so I didn't bother refuting it. Instead, I said, "It's two hours of your life. It's in Slateport City, a private beach, Grandpa Jon said. There'll be food and drink there, and we'll finally be getting some more info on..." I gestured. "You know..." I dropped my voice into a whisper, even though we were out here in the dying sun alone. "Mermaids. Don't you want to know more about that? Or do you want Berechiah to short-circuit your brain, and leave you a cucumber on a hospital bed?"

He bristled at Berechiah's name, and for a moment, I saw the correct mix of emotions in his eyes: doubt, and resignation. But then the flame fired up, and he swung away from me, pissed-off all over again.

"I don't need this sh*t. Smell you later, Snowman."

My shoulders drooped as I watched him storm off down the sidewalk. Well, Grandpa, I thought, I tried.

--

Featured Artwork: Marjorie Ellis and Helena Stern

What terrible artwork I made for my girls! (Though it's not surprising, this is 2018 art, which is pretty bad by current standards.) These RTHS IDs double as their concept art, and I must say, I don't know what I was drinking when I came up with Marjorie's hairstyle. It's so...complicated. XD