Notes: Genre-wise, this is a new cast for me so do leave reviews, please.
Notes' notes: The first chapters won't be quite as tension-packed as the summary implies, sorry!
Notes' notes' notes: This is the first "book" of my Les Sacres Coeurs Series.
—Chapter 1—
A Girl's Promise
The Maples were probably the happiest family one could find in Petalburg City and, through and through, content with their normal life.
Mr. Maple was the leader of Petalburg's gym, a tall and very gentle man, with a heart that easily outweighed his slight lack of cerebral matter. Mrs. Maple was a beautiful and responsible person, an excellent cook and regularly liked to misinterpret other people's intentions. They also had two lovely kids: May, the older one, was a sweet teenage girl, who loved pokémon contests and had a tendency evolve into a gluttonous beast whenever food, preferably noodles, was mentioned. Max, her younger brother, had a more rational nature and was currently out on his second pokémon journey, the area of choice being the Sinnoh region—a fascinating place not too far away from Hoenn. In the eyes of their parents there didn't exist one child in the world who was more splendid than them.
Nobody, especially not they themselves, would have believed that something would be able to destroy the Maple's family peace, yet one of them had a secret that was easily able to achieve that (im)possibility. May Maple was, as she had been born first, to inherit her father's position as Petalburg's gym leader on her fifteenth birthday in less than one month—this was an old and treasured tradition in the Maple clan—and it was her greatest worry that someone could find out that she didn't want it. It would tear Mrs. Maple apart, of that May was certain, now that she and her husband could finally go on that vacation that had been nothing more than a simple daydream before. Not to mention her fans. What would they say, should she refuse? Or their neighbours? The list of names was endless and she had sworn on it that she would not ruin her own family's happiness, ever.
When she opened her eyes on that wonderful, sunny Wednesday morning on which this story takes its origin, nothing foreshadowed that soon she would break her promise. Mr. Maple was already eagerly devouring his breakfast as May came down the stairs, still slightly sleepy, while Mrs. Maple busily watered her precious orchids.
None of them paid attention to the bright red letter lying on the middle of the kitchen table, partly hidden by the monthly bills.
It wasn't until two hours later, when Mrs. Maple was finished with most of her daily housework, it was finally being noticed. At first, Mrs. Maple had thought it was some sort of advertisement—those insurance companies were persistent these days—but she hesitated at the person it was addressed to.
Miss M. Maple
Mayor Fink Street 21
Petalburg City
Hoenn
The next thing she perceived as odd was the envelope's weight: it was heavy, incredibly so for mere advertising. Unsure of what she should make of this, she searched for the letter's sender. It was imprinted in the upper left corner, written in a bold, white font: Aquarion Pokémon Training Camps for Battlers, Breeders and Coordinators. A stamp was missing.
Instantly Mrs. Maple was alarmed. For a moment she just sort of stared at the envelope, as though it would reveal its contents and purpose to her if she waited long enough, then she stood and hurried to the greenhouse in the backyard of her husband's gym, where she knew he was currently training his slaking.
"N—Norman!" she choked out, panting, and held out the letter like some deadly device that could kill them all. "Look at this!"
Mr. Maple turned around and curiously took the envelope from his wife. A few seconds of silence passed until he looked up, grinning, "This looks interesting, but why are you showing it to me instead of May?"
Mrs. Maple could have burst into tears. "Because—because—ARE YOU BLIND?" She spluttered, appalled, and violently gestured with her arms in various directions. "This thing doesn't have a stamp on it! It could be from a stalker! Or worse, what if it's some evil plot to make her sign a contract and invest all of her savings into worthless properties? I've heard it's happened before—"
"Caroline," Mr. Maple cut in very seriously. "What are you talking about?"
Mrs. Maple looked like she was about to faint.
"Caroline," Mr. Maple repeated and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Have you even opened it yet?"
At this Mrs. Maple puffed her chest, and snatched the envelope out of her husband's hand. "I don't need to!" She said shrilly. "I know exactly what this is!" With long, jerky strides she began to retreat to the house. From behind she could hear Mr. Maple sniggering. Back in the kitchen, she tore the unruly letter into little shreds and threw it mercilessly into the dustbin. She would allow no-one to mess with her beloved baby daughter.
The next day started off just as beautifully as the previous had. The sun was generously sharing her light and warmth with the world, the pidgey chirped merrily and Mrs. Maple was in a superb mood. She greeted her daughter with an extra large peck on the cheek and scurried away to check the mail. May peered after her with a mix of worry and amusement, which changed quickly when Mrs. Maple began swearing uncontrollably. She followed her voice and stopped at the doorframe.
"Mom, is everything all—"
She was cut off by precisely that mother, who had rather rudely pushed her aside and was now practically shoving something in Mr. Maple's face. Something crimson red and of the size of a folded piece of DIN A 4 paper.
"Look at this," she ordered him. He had to duck in his seat to protect his nose from getting smothered. "Haven't I told you, Norman? Haven't I told you? It's a stalker; he knows I threw the last one away!"
"Excuse me, but,"—May eyed her parents suspiciously—"what are you doing there?"
Mrs. Maple looked at her with wet, concerned eyes, let the letter fall on the table and promptly pulled her into a firm hug. "It's OK, dear, everything is fine," she said, chanting the words to herself like a mantra.
But nothing was OK. May untangled herself from her mother and grabbed the envelope. It took her five seconds to understand what was going on. "Mom," she said, "This is post for me."
Mrs. Maple exchanged a look with her husband, who shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "May, you need to listen. This—this thing has no stamp glued on it. Do you know what this means?"
May stared at her in a manner Mrs. Maple did not approve of.
"Aren't you even remotely worried?" she asked her daughter disbelievingly. "It could be—"
"Nothing," Mr. Maple chimed in. He sounded uncharacteristically resolute. "Come on, May, open it."
She more than happily complied and read:
AQUARION POKÉMON TRAINING CAMPS FOR BATTLERS, BREEDERS AND CORDINATORS
President: Darius L. Burton
(Educated pokémon trainer, breeder and coordinator with experience in tournaments,
and qualified educationalist)
May 9th 20XX
Dear Ms. Maple,
we are pleased to inform you that you are one of the selected few to have been invited to our training camp for coordinators. This annual event takes place on the Soloux Islands and lasts for two weeks. A ferry, the MS Aquarion, will take you both on your way there and back; it will set sail at the harbour of Slateport City on May 17th at 10 o'clock.
A list of required equipment is enclosed.
Sincerely,
Barbara McAllister
Leading Management
One after the other questions popped up in May's mind and she couldn't quite decide whether she should ask them or not—what if Mrs. Maple threw another tantrum and her blood vessels exploded in the process?
After a few minutes had passed, she said, kind of helplessly, "It's an invitation for a training camp. It starts in—in a week. "
Mr. Maple looked satisfied with himself and enjoyed another gulp of his coffee, whereas his wife seemed very much affronted. "I hope," she sniffed disdainfully, "you know what this means."
"Does she really have to turn the offer down?" Mr. Maple asked, as if he had been the one addressed, and frowned. May was occupied with studying the list of the required equipment.
Mrs. Maple shot him a funny look. "Well, of course. Even if we would like her to go, it's too late now. Our tickets are booked, and they were pretty expensive, too. You can go another time," she said, now directed at May, and smiled apologetically.
May experienced great difficulties falling asleep that night. She was tossing and turning and couldn't prevent her mind from flickering back to the invitation she'd received. It was indeed strange that no stamped had been put on the envelope, but the very imagination of a training camp for coordinators was so tempting, it was ridiculous. Especially since she knew she would never be performing on a stage again unless she bore a child that turned out to be miraculously fifteen or Max, her little brother, came back home before May 17th and her parents agreed to the idea of a thirteen-year-old managing a gym and a household on his own.
The next days she spent torturing herself with all sorts of what ifs and could have beens that would probably make Mrs. Maple lose consciousness if she ever were to hear them. Her pokémon were trying to cheer her up, (they had noticed her bad mood instantly when she had called them out for their daily work-out) but that only made it worse. In her worst moments she had even wished for them to disappear, so she wouldn't be reminded of what she was going to miss out, and had regretted it instantly.
On Sunday May decided that her life officially sucked. Her parents behaved more lovey-dovey than usually, a postcard from Max had arrived on Saturday, telling them how wonderful Hearthome City was during this season, and she had just spilt grape juice all over her new white shirt. It had now a big pale pink dot on its front and clung coldly to her body. She felt horrible.
Carefully, she peeled the dripping cloth off her and threw it into the kitchen sink. She was too frustrated with herself to care whether attire that was soaked in sticky, red liquid even belonged in such a place.
Approximately forty minutes later Mr. Maple entered the room. At first he was mildly surprised to see his daughter sitting drearily at the kitchen table, dressed only in a pair of shorts and—well, a bra, but then he took a seat opposite of her and, having understood what was clouding her spirit, said, "It's OK if you want to go; I won't mind. Your mother is gonna cry bloody murder about it, but … she'll get over it."
May chose to respond to this by glaring daggers at the marble floor under her feet.
Mr. Maple sighed. "Look," he said and yet again his voice seemed so sensible in her ears, it was unsettling. "I know you don't really want—," he paused, "—all this, so go and do what you think is right for you."
May glanced at him as though he had grown several additional eyes; four at least. A bitter smile was tugging at her lips.
"We're your parents," Mr. Maple said and shook his head in a disapproving manner. "Not some wild mightyena, out to get you."
The rest of the day slipped by without any memorable events—the gym was closed on Sundays as were the shops downtown, so it remained all in all very peaceful around the Maples' home. The same did not apply for May's thoughts. In her head she was scheming. Her father's words had encouraged her—enough to make her believe that she could do this despite the bad conscience that would inevitably haunt her every night.
Before going to bed, she once again checked her bag, and set her alarm clock on 6 AM. Then she excitedly waited for sleep to lull her into its numb embrace.
