A/N Welcome to the world of pokemon! (Okay, maybe I can't pull off the pokemon professor talk, so I'll just jump right in.) This is a fic that trails directly behind the protagonist from the B/W games- everything Miya friends do is almost right behind the player character, although they'll never meet.

I guess this is sort of an AU-type deal, but honestly I'm not sure what the right word is. This is mostly game-based, but draws from anime as well. One thing is slightly different: trainers must have a license to catch and battle with pokemon, and this works similar to a drivers' license in our world (like how you get it at age 16 and up after you've passed the training programs etc). The catch is that you apply for the trainer program through your high school, and each high school gets a cap on the number of applicants. The trainer program is important for a number of reasons... but I'll shut up about that.

Government is never implied in the games, but I've always imagined that each region's pokemon league serves as its primary governing body. The Pokemon universe is filled with lots of incredible technology that our world can't explain/replicate, so that world is re-imagined here as far in the future. (Look out for Miya's essays.)

Well, enough of my blabbering. Constructive criticism is always welcome... invited, actually. Thanks for stopping by and I hope you enjoy the ride:)

White and Black

1

Cocktail Party

Milo loved everything about the sea. He loved the way the water rushed around his flippers as he dove through the surf. He loved the way the soft, warm sand brushed up his belly when he rode a wave to shore. He loved the salty smell of the early summer breezes. Naturally, he was upset when he was told it was time to go. He pretended to not hear the girl on the shore calling to him.

"Come on, Milo, we've gotta go!" she pleaded. "Mom's gonna be so pissed! We're having guests tonight! Remember?" Milo hated adult parties. They're so boring. "Ugh. Milo!" She waded out into the crashing surf. Milo the tirtouga dove beneath the waves playfully. Miya can't catch him!

When he surfaced, a pair of thin, freckled arms grabbed him. Milo struggled, flapping his scaly flippers in protest. Five more minutes! "Milo, you're crazy," said the girl, Miya, rolling her hazel eyes. "We're totally late."

Hugging Milo to her chest, Miya dashed up the cliff to her house high above the waves. She opened the back gate with her elbow and pushed onto the patio. On the picnic table outside was Milo's poké ball. She picked it up and held it out. "Sorry, Milo. I don't think you'll want to be at this party," she muttered. No, Milo certainly didn't, but ha ha ha, Miya had to go. Poor Miya. He Returned into his poké ball in a flash of red light happily.

Miya pocketed the poké ball and wrung out her damp butterscotch-blond hair. Leaving her sandy shoes on a mat outside the door, she stepped into the house, bracing herself for her mother's guests. That day was her mother's turn for her sewing club's obligatory Sunday cocktail party, and all of the shallow, petty women Miya's mother, Anna, learned she couldn't stand were all strutting around the living room, sipping martinis and swapping stories about whose kids were better.

"Miya! Thank goodness you're here," sighed Anna, who was hiding in the kitchen, pretending to dice vegetables. Her face fell as she saw Miya covered in sand. "Oh... Mi-ya, couldn't you have cleaned yourself up a bit?" Her mother frowned at her worn flowery sarong, sandy legs, and salt-caked wet hair./

"Uhh-" Miya began.

"-It doesn't matter; here, take this." Anna waved Miya's excuses aside as she slid a tray of cheeses across the counter. "Go serve these around, would you?"

Miya grimaced as she took the tray and made to leave the kitchen. She stopped and turned around. "Um, mom, these are your guests..." she said as gently as she could. "Be brave. They're bitchy but they won't eat you."

"Miya!" her mother pretended to scold, trying not to laugh.

Miya smiled as she shook her head. Shouldn't it be her mother who reassured Miya that moving isn't such a bad thing? Tidewater Harbor is so much better than Nuvema Town for her. Sure, it's further away from my internship with Professor Juniper, but it's a chance to start over, which is exactly what Mom needs, Miya mused as she scanned the room full of Tidewater Harbor's sewing club.

Miya endured social torture for the next hour. She nodded and provided a fake, tinkling laugh in all the right places for every bragging story she was pulled aside to hear. She catered to every need with a convincing smile, and put on an air of false politeness she didn't know she had.

At last, the sun set, and one by one, guests started funneling out of the house. By 9:00, every last rambling old woman was gone. Miya and Anna collapsed into matching yellow armchairs and kicked their feet up onto the pale coffee table.

"Okay, okay, so I was wrong, hosting a cocktail party was not a good idea," Anna lamented. "You were such a big help, Miya. Thanks."

"God, Mom, I don't know how you stand those terrible women. If I have to hear one more story about talented little Billy and his frickin' magikarp..."

Anna laughed. "Come on, Miya, you get used to them; they're not so bad."

"Magikarp? Of course not. Old women who have nothing better to do than sew and argue? Gahh. They exhausted me and I'm going to bed," Miya declared. She stood and thumped up the creaky stairs to her attic bedroom.

She returned her mother's farewells and goodnights and flopped onto her springy bed. "Yuck. Never again, Milo," she said, pressing the center button on the poké ball to let him out. Milo nuzzled Miya with his cool nose. Well, Miya was much braver than Milo to endure the sewing club.

"Thanks, Milo," she said. "You always know how to make me feel better. Now let's go to bed, huh?" She placed him in a tub of water she kept in the corner of her room. Miya took a quick shower and lay awake on top of her covers in the stifling nighttime heat, studying for her last exam fretfully.