DARWIN

Thursday, April 12, 2018

The next few days ran together in a glut of white noise — most of my classes (except for Basic Drawing, where we were just continuously working on our midterm still life projects) had ceased their lessons and transformed into big review sessions or study periods where those of us who liked procrastinating could catch up on any missing assignments. And thank Arceus: I began to clean up some of the checklists in my planner during this free time, and by Thursday afternoon, I was feeling a little more upbeat about meeting approaching deadlines — it was like someone had loosened the academic noose around my neck.

That, or they took it off me and gave it to Thomas. He had a pretty rough week, and not just because I was giving him a hard time in our tutoring sessions and actually made him do work — it seemed the teachers were also bearing down on him about all the blanks they had for him in their gradebooks. By the sound of it, things were worse than I'd suspected for him — hell, he was two steps from a D in Pre-Cal.

Or so he claimed. Part of me wondered if he was just using the bad news as leverage over me.

"Goddamn, can you just give me the answer already?" he snapped Wednesday during study hall — we'd been in one of the rooms in the back of the library, where there was indeed a blackboard with sticks of chalk. I'd scribbled the quadratic formula on it, which he'd used on the extra credit assignment with only marginal success: he'd managed to figure out one problem, but had a hell of a time with the other nine. "It's due tomorrow," he'd continued. "I can learn this after I turn it in, Snowman, come on!"

And if that had been my first interaction with Thomas Ryans-Wade, the strain on his face might've actually guilt-tripped me into giving in. Unfortunately for him, I'd heard every variation of this refrain only two thousand times from him since freshman year, so he got no sympathy from me.

As a result, he was in a pissy mood on Thursday when we headed for Ms. Scales's biology classroom for our second Oceanic Conversation Club meeting. I'd expected him to bow out and sneak from the building with Riley and Patrick, but apparently he hadn't been finished complaining about all the mental gymnastics I'd put him through this week. So he actually found me and badgered me all the way to the classroom:

"F*ck me, Snowman, and f*ck you too: you know I dreamed about that crap last night?"

"The quadratic formula?"

"Yeah! I was..." His scowl deepened. "I was in that damn room in quarantine, and you were making me do five hundred problems."

"Making you?"

"You had a whip in your hand. Don't ask me why."

I went right past that, not sure I was liking the turn this conversation was going. "If it's in your dreams," I pointed out, "it's probably in your long-term memory. At least you'll know what to do when you see those problems on the test, right?"

"I can't take a flipping test in this state, Snowman. Do you even know what you've done to me? I think I need my head checked: I'm pretty sure I've got bleeding on the brain."

How the hell was this guy in high school if he couldn't even do a few math problems without getting a headache? "We've still got War Games 3 for Battle Mechanics."

He pinched his nose as we made a turn and headed down a set of stairs. "Is that harder than Pre-Cal?"

"Well, on this one, you have to write three paragraphs describing—"

He groaned. "Dammit, Snowman. Tell me to just take the L on this sh*t. The club meeting too. Go on, tell me." He rubbed at his eyes. "If you say it, I'd probably actually feel okay doing it."

I pursed my lips. I'd probably be okay with him deciding to collect a bunch of zeroes for these missing assignments too — less time I had to put in trying to explain stuff to a guy who clearly didn't want to make an effort in understanding it, and more time to devote to my own preparations for Midterms.

Then I thought about Cora, who'd kept me company yesterday at the Sea House while me and Grandpa had finished installing the new Aviary door. As promised, I'd brought my biology and chemistry textbook for her to look at, and had been rather shocked when she'd told me that she couldn't read. But this hadn't mattered to her: she'd sat quietly in the corner and pored through the thick textbooks as though she was reading prophecy, studying the elaborate pictures and diagrams with almost childlike enthusiasm.

After we'd put in the door, Grandpa Jon had gone off to consult someone in the communication center about exchanging one of the Wingulls' broken collar for a new one and had left me to mop our work area clean. As I'd gone back and forth, Cora had asked me to tell her about some of the things I'd learned in biology, and I'd done so, starting at the very beginning with the definition of the word, and then other topics from chapters one and two: the levels of life, levels of biological organization, the scientific method, atoms, subatomic particles, ionic and covalent bonds... I talked about anything and everything I could remember from Ms. Scales's lectures and my own test prep, and I'd been absolutely right: explaining all this to Cora had been better than any review session I would've gotten at school.

What made it even better, though, was Cora's rapt attention: she'd soaked up everything I'd said like she'd been starving for it, and not passively either. Several times she'd turned to a page in the textbook and asked about a curious image: a picture of the animal and plant cell, ball-and-stick models of water molecules, bar charts and graphs, even photographs. Her enthusiasm had actually made me more interested in the material itself, and so I gave Thomas a scornful scowl when we finally reached the classroom.

"Why don't you actually try?" I said pointedly. "It'll be a lot easier if you act like you actually want to understand it."

"I don't Snowman, so what the hell's the point in acting? It's all useless anyway: the Navy sure ain't gonna be interested in whether or not I know one plus one equals two."

I lifted a brow. "I'm pretty sure you have to take a test to get into the Navy."

He looked furious. "Lying asshole."

"Even if they don't, we've got two more years of this — are you still going to be dragging your feet when you're a senior?"

He went past me, muttering something about me being "up his ass". Looked like it was going to take more than me spitting straight facts — or logic — for him to see that this lackadaisical attitude toward his academics was only hurting him.

I made to follow him into the room, but instead thudded against his back; he'd drawn up short just inside the door. "Whoa!" he said, with abrupt brightness. "Ain't this a surprise: Cora, right?"

What? I leaned around his wide shoulders, certain that he was either pulling my leg or mistaken...and my eyes zeroed in on a head of wavy platinum hair sitting in the middle of the room, near the front. My jaw threatened to hit the floor.

What the hell is she doing here?

Her and Grandpa Jon — he sat beside her, legs crossed and with both hands stacked on his knees, and waved at me as Thomas and I stepped into the room.

"Darwin, hello," he said. "I hope you don't mind us coming in and crashing your meeting."

"Even if they do, I don't," Helena said. She and Marjorie were at the front of the classroom, fiddling with a projector pointed toward the whiteboard. "I don't care if you go to RTHS or Petalburg Public, we welcome anyone interested in the health and safety of our waters." She straightened. "Darwin, Thomas, can you guys sign in? Then take a seat anywhere you like."

I think my name was barely legible when I signed in — as soon as I finished, I made a beeline for Grandpa Jon and took a seat beside him, trying to mask a very pointed sense of panic. "Grandpa, what is she doing here?" I hissed.

Grandpa cleared his throat — now that I looked, I saw the barest hint of discomfort in his eyes as well. "Well..."

" 'Twas I, not he," Cora said, leaning over and lowering her voice. Thank Arceus she was wearing a bra today — though I didn't like that that was the first thing I looked for when taking in her outfit, which was a conservative jean skirt, pink blouse, and platform sandals today. "Mr. Briney came to work again this morning, and told me about your club. When I did learn that the next congress was to be today, I bullied him a bit, until he agreed to take me!"

Her optimism refused to soothe me. "Isn't this dangerous?" I said. "What if—"

"At ease, Darwin, I be on Drought," she said. "I'm not to turn to seaside form for..." She cocked her head. "A while, at least. Certainly not within the hour."

"And even if the worst were to happen," Grandpa Jon said, "we have contingencies in place." He nodded behind me, and I turned to see that he'd indicated the window across the classroom, where two Wingulls were perched just outside, glaring in at us. They looked about as okay with this situation as I was.

I shook my head, "How is this even allowed?" I asked Grandpa. "What about what you told me? The Era of Bloody Water?"

He patted my hand, a bid for calm. "I know, son," he murmured. "It's a difficult situation... But remember, we don't restrict the...fins we care for. We don't own them, and we don't control them. If they wish to do something bold...or reckless, we try to dissuade them from doing so, but if they go anyway, we always send protection with them, to mitigate any unfortunate turn of events." He gestured. "Me. You. The Wingulls. We're here to make sure that Cora is safe while she's on land, and is that not what we're doing?"

I glanced down at Cora — her face was flushed with excitement as she watched Helena and Marjorie prepare their setup, and when Thomas eased down in the seat beside her and offered her a bag of chips from the snack box, she gave him a pretty smile and accepted. A mermaid, surrounded by humans and — sh*t — cameras too. How could she be so laid-back? How could Grandpa? Was I the only one worried about what might happen if she did that weird ear-bleeding screech thing — Pitch — like Nero had done?

Please Arceus, things just settled down — don't make my life hell again.

Three o'clock rolled around, but Quentin (and Ms. Scales, coming back from a bathroom break) was the only other person who showed up — no what's-his-face or what's-her-name, the freshmen. As a result, it was a pretty thin crowd, but if that bothered Helena, she didn't show it — when it was time to start, she stepped before us and smiled widely.

"Hello, everyone! Thanks for coming. First, I want to remind everyone about dues — seventy-five dollars each for fund our little operation here. Do I have any takers today?"

I did, and so did Thomas and Quentin — Marjorie came around and collected our tithes in a big white envelope, and once that was done, Helena said, "Nice! You bunch are surprisingly punctual — I had to pull teeth with our last cohort to get them to keep with the deadline! So thanks — now I don't have to waste time scolding you, and we can get right to the meat of our meeting.

"But before we start..." Her face tightened in an expression of scornful sternness, eerily similar to Ms. Scales when she was pissed-off. "You might notice that we're missing our freshman colleagues. Hopefully they'll join us soon... But in the meantime, we have two special guests with us today, and I hope we can all make them feel welcome." She clapped. "Do you guys want to introduce yourselves?"

"Yes, and again, we apologize for appearing so suddenly," Grandpa Jon said. "Jon Briney. I'm Darwin's grandfather, and I happen to work for the Hoenn Society for Marine Conservationists. I hope that'll justify my presence here today."

Cora clapped. "Cora Angler," she said happily. "The granddaughter. 'Tis a pleasure to be here — there be not such a club at Petalburg Public. What a shame that I should have to find my niche elsewhere!"

"We're happy to have you." Abruptly, Helena looked to me. "Darwin, why did you tell me your grandfather worked for a conservation agency? If you've got connections in this field, you have to let us know!"

Thomas snickered, and I reddened. "Sorry," I muttered.

She waved me off and said, "Mr. Briney, you and I should talk after this meeting. Our club may be small, but we're ambitious, and if you can connect us with volunteer opportunities within your organization, that'd be fantastic."

"It'd be a pleasure to help any way I can," Grandpa Jon said.

"Thank you. And Cora, welcome." Helena scrutinized the mermaid intensely. "If you don't mind me asking... Where are you from? Your accent is really exotic, and really strong."

I stiffened, but Cora said smoothly, "The Evergrande Isle, Miss Helena. My little branch of the family tree do hail from a long line of islanders, ye see, and we tend to sound like pirates, even in this day and age."

"Ah. I see. Interesting." The club president glanced at me again, and then back to Cora and chuckled. "What a diverse family! You and Darwin look nothing alike and sound nothing alike, but you're cousins. The family reunions must be quite a party."

That observation earned her an awkward silence, where Cora just smiled and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Eventually, Marjorie said, "Fifty minutes."

"Oops. Thanks, Veep. Guess we'd better get started." Helena went to the projector at the front of the class. "I want to use today's meeting to watch a documentary. It's called Eyes Open: the Ocean, and it discusses the importance of water and Earth's waterways to the health and well-being of us humans, Pokémon, and the world at large. I think it'll be a good way to underscore the purpose of our club, and help us understand the problems we'll be tackling when we begin our volunteer work in the local community. It's about thirty minutes, so if you haven't already, go ahead and use the bathroom and get some snacks. After we finish watching it, we'll have a short discussion, and then talk about our next steps. Sound good?"

No one had any protests, so after Quentin grabbed a couple of bags of chips and I got a bottle of water, Helena cut the lights and started the film.

The film hit the same beats as the water unit from biology class, going into detail about our oceans' vastness, their diverse ecosystems, and their infinite mystery. While some of the lesser-known details about the ocean drew me in — like the fact that we humans had mapped out less than thirty percent of it — when it came to the oceanic conversation part, I was a little turned off: the film featured a line-up of scientists and doctorates preaching about oceanic health that was a little too tree-huggy for me. Or maybe it was the fact that they brought up man-made climate change — I'd already had my fill and then some of politicians giving interviews on TV screaming about that BS.

So when this part came up, I turned my attention to the rest of them for a moment. Quentin was crunching on his third bag of chips, eyes on the screen. Thomas's eyes were not on the screen — they were down at his side, where I was pretty sure he was glancing at his phone half-in, half-out of his pocket. Marjorie was watching the film with a dour, bored expression, and Helena was scribbling something on a notepad. Grandpa Jon was slowly consuming a bottle of water.

Unsurprisingly, Cora was completely engrossed, one-hundred percent of her concentration on what was playing across the whiteboard. Hell, she was sitting at the edge of her seat, her fingers wringing with barely-contained excitement. I watched her a moment, trying to imagine being in her shoes... Sandals. Was she excited because of what was being said? Or was this her first time watching a film? They had TVs at the Sea House, didn't they? And hadn't the Seawatchers taught her some of this in her educational classes? Maybe it was the setting, being at a school, an actual official place of learning, enmeshed in a club meeting with other actual students. Were there any other merfolk her age at the Sea House that she spent time with? Or wherever she lived underwater?

Abruptly, a bead of sweat rolled down her face, skimming her brow. She wiped it away, only for it to quickly be replaced by another, then a third. That seemed odd... Was she hot? It was pretty close to ice cold in the classroom.

She cleared her throat. "Ms. Helena?" she said, interrupting a dialogue about ocean acidification. "Apologies, but may I use the restroom?"

Helena looked up from her notebook and shrugged. "Of course. The closest one is down the hall, up the stairs, and to the left. Want me to show you?"

"Aye, thank you."

Helena stood, and then said, "Actually, Marj, would you mind?"

Marjorie shot her a hard-browed look, but silently rose and beckoned to Cora, who followed her across the shadowy classroom and through the doorway. I watched them go, and then leaned into Grandpa Jon. "Grandpa—"

"Darwin," Helena said, cutting me off. "Can you step outside for a second? I want to talk to you."

I frowned, puzzled, but got up and went after her as she led me out the classroom, just managing to ignore the "ruh-roh" Thomas muttered as I went by. Outside, the hall was glowing orange and was checkered in shadows as the day rapidly approached four o'clock. Voices came from the far end, and I turned just in time to see Marjorie and Cora disappear around the bend at the top of the stairs. It sounded like Cora was trying to strike up a conversation with Thomas's ex. She's a brave one. I wondered if she was having any luck.

We went in the opposite direction a ways, until the sounds of the documentary faded a bit. There was a giant window here, overlooking the acres of flat field that made up the eastern segment Rustboro Trainer High's campus — about five hundred yards away, I could make out the track, the fence around the pool, and the face of the Rose Building, but the rest was lost in the growing gloom.

"Easy does it," Helena said. She was frowning. "Why are you so tense? I'm not going to yell at you or anything."

I hadn't realized that my shoulders had squared — that sun-glare stare of hers made it hard not to feel defensive. "Sorry."

She rolled her eyes. "I actually brought you out here because I need your help."

"Oh." I relaxed. "With the club?"

"None other. Notice how we're missing our freshman comrades?"

"Yeah... Did they tell you why?"

"No, but the front office did — club transfer. Apparently, we're not worth their time."

Ouch. Unlike sophomores, freshmen didn't have to commit to a club this semester, so the fact that Daisy and Anthony had chosen to transfer out told me all I needed to know about their enthusiasm for oceanic conservation. "Sorry," I said, unsure of what else to say.

She waved off my apology. "Without them, we're toeing the line in fulfilling the requirements for being an official club — school rules say we've got to have five active members at a minimum, and if Marjorie and I hadn't counted, we'd be forced to shut down. So I want to put some bulkheads in place to make sure that we don't lose anyone else."

"I thought we can't, though," I pointed out. "It's a sophomore requirement, and aren't all the other clubs closed to new members?"

"True, but I'm not taking any chances — I heard the Contest Branch's Movie Maker Club is putting in a request for more slots to accommodate all their new members this semester, and I wouldn't put it past Thomas to try and sneak out the second an empty seat becomes available."

I wouldn't either. "So what do you want me to do?" I asked, feeling slightly anxious. Hopefully it wouldn't involve extra work or public speaking.

She studied me in that very disarming way of hers; I suspected she was taking my measure. "You don't stand out a lot," she told me, "but you're really smart, Darwin — yeah, that's right, I've been keeping track. Can't have you stealing my valedictorian crown. You're more than welcome to the salutatorian's sash, though — you know all the teachers are pretty sure it's going to be you? And I think they're right. That's why we're talking — I need some intelligence. More specifically, I need interesting ideas for club activities, ones that will engage the rest of the members, ideas that'll make them grateful for choosing us instead of the Movie Makers Club, the Running Club, the Pie Club, the Chess Club, any other club on campus."

I relaxed further. Coming up with ideas? That didn't seem so bad.  But... "What about Marjorie?" I asked. "Doesn't she... You know..."

"Help? Yeah, sure, she and I have come up with a list of things we might want to do. But just because we have ideas doesn't mean they're good, and it doesn't mean they'll work. Especially mine. I mean..." Her face fell for a moment, clouding over with self-doubt. "I can organize and I can talk your ear off, but I'm not really... Creative. You know? That's why I need an outside ear. Your outside ear."

"I'm not really creative either," I said honestly.

"Then give me your insight."

Insight? "Like advice?" I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "I don't think I'd really be good at that either..."

"No? You know Quentin and Thomas better than I do. Tell me: what do you think would make them excited? Something that would keep them invested and engaged?"

I felt a flash of doubt. She was putting more stock in my...friendship?...with Thomas than I did. We were kind of just stuck together because of the Seawatcher thing. And Quentin? I liked him because he was nice, and he wasn't an asshole... What exactly would make them super excited to be in the OC Club?

I recalled the tale Quentin had told me about his Skitty, and said, "Something with our Pokémon, maybe?"

Helena's eyes went wide. "Wait a second," she said, and flashed into the classroom. When she returned a moment later, she was holding her notepad. "Explain," she demanded.

"Uh... I don't really know what we would do... But maybe some kind of activity with them? Maybe a..." I thought of Don and his tail, and said, "A mural...? No, posters, maybe. For...?" I groped mentally for something, and abruptly got it: "Recycling. You know, telling people to put their cans in the recycling bins..." I trailed off, growing mortified at how stupid that sounded. "Or you know, it doesn't have to be that. Maybe we could do something else with the Pokémon. Maybe pick up trash or something?"

"Yes, a beautification project." Helena's voice was hoarse, and she was scribbling furiously on her notepad. "Cut the janitorial staff a break one day, and pick up trash and empty the bins for them. Or we could use some of our dues to buy flowers and plant them around the school. And that mural was a good idea too. An ocean-themed mural... Maybe we could partner with the Art Club. Students and Pokémon, painting together. Wouldn't that be awesome? Yes it would!" She was practically cackling now, and when she finished writing her notes, she seized my shoulder. "Darwin! What did I tell you? I knew asking for your advice was the right move. A project with our Pokémon? Genius!"

"Thanks." Her nails hurt. Luckily, she let go before I had to inform her of that.

"It might be a bit difficult, getting Mr. Reyes to authorize an activity with school Pokémon outside of school hours, but if I flesh out our idea and agree to heavy oversight from the instructors, I think he'll give us the go-ahead. Oh, this'll be so fun!" She pointed at me. "I'm so happy right now I could kiss you, Darwin. Or pay you. I can't do either, though, so I'll offer you a position in the club instead. Do you want to be an officer?"

I thought about trying to juggle whatever duties came with being a club officer, and the hellish incoming nightmare of Midterms at the same time. "Can I...think about it?"

"Sure. Let me know next meeting." Her eyes turned back to her notepad, still shining with amazement. "A project with our Pokémon... Brilliant!"

I was glad she was no longer looking at me, because all the praise was beginning to make me go red in the face. Brilliant? I wouldn't call me or my idea that — just something short and simple I'd thought of off the top of my head. But I suppose any idea could be seen as brilliant if you hadn't thought of it.

Trying to cool my cheeks with the back of my hand, I took a look out the window... And the blood drained from my face as though driven by a pump. The setting sun was casting a glare out over the black trees in the distance, and through it I could just barely make out two figures making their way to the Battle Branch's Rose Building — one with pale, almost colorless hair, and the other with locks the color of hell's refining fires. Flying hell. Is that—

"Marj?" Helena had followed my gaze, and was now squinting through the blinding orange glare. "What are they doing out there? I thought Cora was just going to the bathroom."

I didn't answer — the cords in my neck were pulling tight, because I'd noticed two things. One, it looked like Cora was stumbling — she was leaning heavily against Marjorie's shoulder, her sandals scuffling the grass, as if struggling to find purchase.

Two, the Wingulls — they were there, two black, winged silhouettes circling high above the girls. Marjorie kept looking up at them. Were they making noise? What did it mean, that they were circling? I remembered the technology that Grandpa Jon had told me were in their collars. Was someone at the Sea House telling them to follow the girls? Was Cora—

Very suddenly, one of the Wingulls swooped down from the sky and swept over Marjorie, so close that its talons could've raked her cheek. I heard no sound, but she cried out — I could see her wide mouth from here.

"Yikes," Helena said from beside me — she looked unsettled. "What is going on out there? I wonder if she has her phone — I can text her."

As she dug into her pocket, my heartbeat ratcheted up and took a seat right in the middle of my skull, filling my ears with a dreadful pounding. I didn't know what was going on, but I was beginning to put some things together that made me very worried. Cora sweating earlier. Her flushed face. Her stumbling now, and the girls heading away from Armstrong, over to the Rose Building, where there was a pool. And the Wingull attacking Marjorie, the Wingull that had been trained to respond to commands coming from its collar, one of which included attack. All in the interest of protecting the merfolk.

"Hey, Marj?" Helena said — she sounded far away. "Yeah, I just looked out the window and saw you guys going into the field. What's wrong? ... ... ...What? But we've got water here, if she's thirsty. ...A fever?" She frowned and looked up at me. "She says Cora's sick or something."

It took a moment to tear my eyes away from the window. The Wingulls were still circling, and the girls were still heading for the pool. Only now Marjorie had a phone in her hand, its casing flashing in the light. That phone gave me a bad feeling, a very bad feeling. A phone with a camera function, that could very easily snap a dozen pictures of things she wasn't supposed to see if given the opportunity. Was that why the Wingull had attacked?

Grandpa Jon's words about the Era of Bloody Water flashed through my mind again, and now panic dug its way into my chest. Part of me wanted to run to him and tell him what was happening. The other part of me sweated bullets with every step the girls took closer to the pool. This part of me said that I had to get out there as fast as my feet would carry me, else all hell was going to break loose.

"Helena, could you go get my grandpa?" I asked hoarsely, pushing away from the window.

She watched me a moment with clear eyes, and I had no doubt that she knew that something bad was happening, because she asked no questions, save for one: "Sure. Is it an emergency?"

"Yes," I said, and I headed in the opposite direction. I should've run, but I didn't, and by the time I got to the pool, it was too late.

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