Disclaimer: I think it's apparent that I don't own Pokémon right? Because if I did this would be a manga of some sort, not a fanfic. I don't own Snickers Bars, either, but boy if I did...
For some reason, when I stood outside of the Professor's home, I felt a strong sense of Deja vu. I looked at the house before me. Then I craned my neck to look at my own house. I shook my head; if they were only going to build two houses, why on earth would they make them look identical? Does it even count at cookie cutter if there are only two of them? How confusing is this going to be? I don't want to come inside one night and find that I'd walked into our neighbor's house on accident. I'd hate to get a restraining order of some sort when I just moved here. That would be horrible.
I shrugged, and rang the doorbell. Then there was the awkward moment of waiting for someone to answer. I really hate that moment. Because the longer I wait, the more nervous I get that I'm interrupting something important. What if a family member just died, and they just received the phone call, and are all in a teary hug fest, when ding-dong, here I come, insensitive Marcy Maple here, coming to intrude on your already rainy parade? Or what if they were eating or something? Or they just wouldn't answer the door because they thought I was selling magazine subscriptions or cookie dough or coupon books or Bibles or was trying to convert them to some obscure religion, or...
I sighed and shook my head. Just more thoughts to make me nervous and squirm in my tight shoes.
Nonetheless, I probably would have made myself scarce then and there if the doorknob hadn't suddenly turned and the door hadn't opened right at that moment. A second later a black haired woman stood before me, a wide smile on her face. She held a blue dish towel in her hand, signifying that she most likely was in the middle of doing something, but didn't seem mad about it. The smile never leaving her face, she said, "Hi, can I help you?"
"Um...hi!" I said lamely as I gave a little wave. Okay, now what do I say? "Uh, I'm Marcy Maple. Your new neighbor?" To further emphasize my statement I gestured to my home at the right.
The woman's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh right! Norman's family moved in next door...and you're his daughter?"
I nodded.
"Well, come in, come in!" she prodded, opening the door wider for me to pass. "I'm Mrs. Birch...would you be looking for Brendan?"
"Is that the Professor?" I asked as I entered the house. Strangely, as I looked around, I noticed its similar layout to our own home...huh...
My thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Birch laughing and saying, "Oh, no no no, Brendan is our son! Although he knows so much about Pokémon that he probably will be called the professor one day...Max!" She suddenly exclaimed, "What have I told you about trying to catch Timmy in a Pokéball?"
I looked over a couch to see what appeared to be a sticky looking four year-old and an infant sitting on the ground, which would have been a normal sight to see had the four year-old not been holding a Pokéball in such an aggressive manner, held back and ready to be thrown. At the baby.
Mrs. Birch went over and scooped up the infant. "Well, anyway, Brendan has been looking forward to making a new friend...finally, someone he can spend time with that doesn't live in a Pokéball!"
The look on my face must have been priceless, because she began to laugh and amended, "Oh, he has other friends, but they all live in other towns, all too far for him to go to just to visit a friend. Now, Brendan's room is upstairs, and he might be up there...go on up!" She waved encouragingly.
"Um...okay..." I said, cautiously making my way to the stairs.
"His room is the last room on the left!" Mrs. Birch called as I headed up.
Okay, well, this was just great. Simply peachy. I had to meet my dad's friend's sniveling little kid who is probably half my age and a quarter my height. And according to his mom, he has Pokémon of his own already! And the first thing he's going to ask is to see what sort of Pokémon I have, and what am I going to have to say to that? That I don't have Pokémon of my own. Life sucks.
For a moment, just a moment, I had a glimmer of hope. Maybe he had a Pokémon, but wasn't so obsessed with it that he would ask me about my nonexistent one! Maybe he really doesn't care that much about Pokémon too much! Yes, humiliation spared!
But then, alas, harsh, cruel reality struck me. The way his mom talked about him, this Brendan kid seemed like he ate, slept, and breathed Pokémon. Plus, he was the son of a Pokémon professor, which made it inevitable that he would love Pokémon. He probably had tidy-whites with Mudkips on them.
Gr. I can't get a break.
When I reached the last door on the left, I stopped outside it, sighing.
Well. Here goes.
I knocked on the wood, then listened for permission to enter. As I heard nothing, I shrugged and decided to open the door anyway and peek inside.
Empty. No one was there.
I sighed, and stepped into the room. For a boy's room, it was actually pretty clean. It almost seemed unused. But the theme was most definitely Pokémon. About five Pokémon posters plastered the walls, and there were half a dozen Pokémon plushies on his bed.
Aw. How cute. I wondered if he really did wear Mudkip tidy-whities.
I caught sight of a white poster near the PC in the corner. I looked closer and saw the names and stats of hundreds and hundreds of Pokémon, with bold black checkmarks next to several of them.
Sheesh. This kid had way too much time on his hands.
I leaned up against the wall and sighed once more. I'd wait five minutes for this kid to show up, then I'd make like a banana and split. I didn't have time for this, I needed to find a-
A Pokéball.
I caught sight of the small red and white ball in the middle of the floor and froze where I stood.
A Pokéball. A real Pokéball. Not one of those stupid fake ones everyone had when they were three. A real one. Real.
What's more, it had a Pokémon inside it-I could tell by the gentle humming exerting from it.
I looked back at the poster on the wall behind me-the one of all the Pokémon he had caught. He had so many...I was sure he wouldn't miss just one...After all, he had just left it out in the middle of the floor. Obviously, it wasn't his most important one...
(Yeah, I know. Stealing is wrong, blah blah blah. What I was going to do was wrong, but really, what would you have done in my place? Besides, now that I look back, I don't think I would have gone through with it, anyway.)
I edged closer and closer to the Pokéball. Soon I was right in arm's reach of it, but right as I was about to take it, I heard a voice behind me.
"Hey!"
I stood up and spun around to see a boy with black hair wearing a strange looking hat in the doorway. His clothing consisted of black pants and a red and black long-sleeved, sort of athletic shirt. His backpack seemed halfway off his shoulder and he was looking at me with surprise and alertness in his face.
Brendan. Of course.
This entire time I'd been expecting a short little kid around the age of seven or eight. But no, I wasn't even close. Brendan was four inches taller than me and seemed to be my age exactly.
Which made everything about me not having a Pokémon even worse. Because at least little kids can forgive you, or at least forget about it (my three year old cousin Leslie has the attention span of a goldfish) but teenagers are completely different. They judge. And they don't forget about anything. Usually, I wouldn't care what Brendan thought. I usually don't care too much what people in general think. But since this guy was going to be my next door neighbor for the rest of my life...well, I figured that I might as well make good impression.
But by the looks of things, that didn't seem to be happening.
I glanced over Brendan again.
Hm. Tidy-whites with Mudkips doesn't suit him. Briefs, maybe? Or boxers.
"Yeah, you look like a boxers kind of guy," I said absentmindedly aloud.
"What?" He asked, puzzled.
I quickly checked myself. "Nothing, nothing..."
"You..." He came closer to me, "Who are you?"
I said something real intelligent: "Um..."
Then be suddenly smacked his forehead. "Oh, you're our new neighbor, right? You moved in next door?"
I nodded. "Yeah, your mom sent me up here when I my mom sent me over...she didn't tell you I was up here?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"Well, I hope it's all right..." I said, just realizing how awkward it must be for him to find a girl in his bedroom (snooping, no less! Though he doesn't need to know that...).
He shook his head, "Yeah, it's fine...Huh." he suddenly said, looking me over, a finger touched to his chin. "I didn't know you were a girl..." Then his face turned a light shade of red for some reason, and he hastily added, "I mean, not that it matters! It's just that my dad told me a Gym Leader's family would be moving in next door, and that they had a kid my age, and I kinda...sorta...assumed it was a guy." He finished the sentence with a squirm. "Not that there's anything wrong with being a girl! I know lots of great girl trainers, I'm sure you're going to be one of them..."
If I were one of those feminist Psychopaths, at this point I would have grabbed this boy by the ear and gave him an hour long lecture about how sexist it was to assume that I was a male, and blah blah blah, but since I'm NOT one of those kind of girls, I just answered nervously, "Uh, yeah. Trainer. Riiiight."
He held out his hand, "I'm Brendan."
Well, I knew his name what his name was, but it would be kinda creepy for me to let him know that, so I took the hand and replied, "Marcy."
"Marcy? I like that name." He grinned.
Well, so far Brendan seemed nice enough. He hadn't gotten weirded out by me being in his room, and more importantly, he hadn't even mentioned Pokémon yet! At this rate, maybe I could get out of here without the subject even coming up!
"So, Marcy, my dad tells me you don't have a Pokémon yet."
I did a double-take at him. Damn! I was hoping I'd get a break! "How did you...how did he...know that?" I managed to choke out. Honestly, how did he possibly find out? Him knowing that is way more creepy than me being in his room!
He grinned and shrugged, "Your dad told my dad. And my dad told me. Don't worry, lots of kids don't have Pokémon...but, out of curiosity...why don't you?" He asked. "If you don't mind me asking."
Ho, boy. Here came the explanation. "Well...when I was younger, my dad said I could get a Pokémon. You know, he's a really dedicated trainer and thought that any kid could handle a Pokémon, especially me, being his daughter. But my mom didn't want to rush into it, and decided to give me a test before I could get my own Pokémon..."
Brendan paled. "Oh, no..."
I nodded, "Oh, yes. The goldfish test. If I could keep a goldfish alive for two months, then I could get a Pokémon."
"But you passed it, right? I mean, you can get a Pokémon now, that must mean you passed it..."
"Oh, I can get a Pokémon now, all right. That doesn't mean I passed the test on the first try."
"You didn't? How about the second try?"
I shook my head.
"What? How many times did you fail?"
I did the calculations in my head. "Roughly fourteen times."
"Fourteen times?"
"Hey, there was something wrong with those goldfish!" I said in my defense. "They all died after one night! Every single one of them!"
"Well, if they all died after one night, how did you pass?"
I shrugged. "The pet store was down the street. All I had to do was run down and buy a new goldfish every night-they were only like twenty-five cents each-and even when two months rolled by, my mom knew none the better! So she told me after our next move I could get a Pokémon. And that's that." I said, nodding.
"Well to tell truth, Pokémon are much easier to take care of. So whether you can keep a goldfish alive doesn't really matter." Brendan put his hands in his pockets. "So...do you want me to go out and catch you one?"
My heart seemed to stop. "Wh-really? You'd do that?"
He grinned. "Sure! Love thy neighbor, right?" He chuckled. Then his face fell. "Aw, I forgot. I'm supposed to go help my dad catch some wild Pokémon for research. And right now I've got to upload in the data on my Pokédex to my computer...it could take a while. Some other time, okay?" He said, truly looking sorry.
I waved at the air dismissively. "Oh, pft, it's fine. I've waited years, I can wait a little longer, right?"
"Yeah, I guess. I still feel bad, though..."
"It's fine, believe me. I've gotta go, anyway." I said as I headed for the door.
"Okay. See ya, Marcy." Brendan waved.
"Bye, Brendan." And with that, I headed downstairs.
Mrs. Birch was sitting at the kitchen table, with the baby in a high chair and the sticky four year old in her lap, obviously trying to feed them both.
"Marcy!" She exclaimed when she saw me, "Did you talk to Brendan?"
"Yeah, but then he had to do some research stuff..." What was that thing he had called? A Poké-what?
She laughed. "That Brendan! Always so busy, I wasn't sure if he'd even notice you were there...well, like father like son, right?"
Then the small sticky child on her lap opened its small sticky mouth. "Hi, neighbor! Do you have your own Pokémon?"
I left after that. I didn't want to be in trouble for mauling my neighbor's toddler.
xXx
Outside, I inhaled the warm air. Oh, well, so I didn't have a Pokémon just yet. Big whoop. And, sure, I still hadn't talked to Professor Birch, but I seriously doubted I was missing anything. And besides, if he was anything like Professor Palm...well, let's just say I could hold off on the meeting for now. So j was ready to head home, take these god forsaken shoes off, hop in the shower, eat a cup of noodles, then sit down and-
I suddenly became aware of a little girl jumping up and down anxiously at the beginning of the travel route north of Littleroot. Sensing something was wrong, I headed over.
I kneeled down to meet her at eye level. "Is something the matter?" I asked.
She looked at me with huge brown eyes. "Um, hi!" Now why did that sound familiar..."There are scary Pokémon outside! I can bear their cries!"
"Scary Pokémon?"
She nodded. "Uh-huh! I want to go out and see what is going on, but I don't have any Pokémon!"
Feh. Join the club, sis.
"Can you go see what is happening for me?"
"Huh?" I said. Whoa, now! I don't have a Pokémon, either!
She pointed down the path. "Go on, you can do it!"
Eh. I guess I could take a peek...
I walked a little ways down the path, then stopped abruptly when I heard a vicious growl.
Yikes. Whatever was out there, it sounded dangerous, even downright deadly. Maybe I shouldn't...
Then I heard a voice. "H-help me!"
I jolted, alert. Someone was crying for help! There was no way I could walk away from this now. No way. Now without a guilty conscience, anyway.
However, I couldn't just jump into action with just my bare hands, that could be suicide! People get killed every day from domestic pigs, imagine what a wild Pokémon could do to me.
I looked around for something I could use as a weapon. I then noticed a thick branch sticking out of the bushes, and immediately grabbed it, then edged around the corner.
Before me I saw a clearing of soft green grass, with emerald bushes in the surrounding area, and a tall tree producing shade all over the ground. A tranquil scenery, no doubt. Just the sort of place you'd expect a princess to be frolicking in with her cute and fuzzy animal friends, singing some ridiculous song about how wonderful everything was.
That, however, was not what I saw—unless, of course, the man in the white lab coat was really an enchanted princess and that yelling of his was supposed to be singing, and that Pokémon chasing him was one of the cute and fuzzy animal friends gone bad.
"H-help me!" he shouted again as he was chased around by a tan and brown Pokémon-a Zigzagoon, I think it was.
Now at this point I would love to say that I kept my composure, took my stick in hand like a sword, and charged forth, saving the man before he got injured. But, no. This is Marcy you're talking to, remember? A fourteen year-old with zero Pokémon, zero experience, and a stick. Yup, that's hero material, all right. Evil-doers beware. All I need is a triangle on my hand and an annoying faerie and I'd be good to go!
I stood there for about half a minute, unsure of what to do, frozen where I stood. Yep, just staring at the man as he was being attacked. I'm such a great hero, aren't I? I deserve a citizenship award for my exploits.
As I stood there stupidly holding my stick, the man finally noticed me. "Hey! Hey! You! Knock the Zigzagoon out!" He shouted.
I snapped out of my confusion. "O-okay! Right!" And after a second of going over my resources, I began to advance with the stick raised.
"No!" The man yelled, "Don't beat it with a stick! Use something else to knock it out! Or just drive it away! Use another Pokémon! Don't you have one?"
"No!" I yelled back pathetically, the stick hanging limply in my hands.
"Fine! In my bag! Grab a Pokéball and use it! Hurry!"
I looked around and saw a tan bag that had obviously been tossed on the ground. Throwing down the stick, I rushed over and unzipped it. Inside were two Pokéballs, nestled and cozy among the other items in the backpack.
I hastily grabbed one of the balls and immediately took aim and threw it. It went sailing through the air, then it hit the Zigzagoon square on the head, stunning it for just a moment.
"Ha-ha!" I exclaimed, fist pumping. "Yea! I hit it!"
The man paused for half a second in his running to yell over to me, "You're supposed to press the button to release the Pokémon!"
I suddenly felt like picking up the stick again and beating myself over the head with it.
GODDAMMIT.
I reached back in the bag and pulled out the second Pokéball.
"Okay, let's try this again." I muttered to myself as I actually pressed the button this time, then threw the red and white ball.
As soon as it touched the ground, it opened, releasing a small red and orange bird.
"Oh! A Torchic! Okay, uh..." I recognized the Pokémon from books I'd read, and I racked my brain for some sort of attack it might know. I looked over the Pokémon. "Oh!" I suddenly exclaimed, "You have claws! Scratch, Torchic! Scratch!" I ordered.
The Torchic looked up at me with its beady little eyes and cocked its head.
"Come on!" I exclaimed, "Scratch! Please!"
It continued to stare at me.
I finally lost my temper. "Scratch, dammit!"
It looked at me for another moment. Then it promptly sat itself down and began pecking the ground.
I was absolutely seething with anger. Then, brimming with fury and frustration, I picked up the little bastard and chucked it at the other Pokémon.
To my surprise, the little twerp miraculously happened to land perfectly on the Zigzagoon's snout, leaving a deep scratch as it hopped off.
"Ha! Yes!" I exclaimed, punching the air.
The Zigzagoon, however, did not share my joy. It growled, then swiped at the Torchic, who dodged the attack neatly.
"Good, Torchic!" I shouted, "You're doing great! Now, scratch again!"
The Torchic glared back at me, but, to my surprise, it carried out the command obediently.
As the Zigzagoon attacked and I gave orders to the Torchic to avoid them and attack back, I realized how easy it was all coming to me. In fact...it was rather...fun, actually. More fun than I thought it would be, at any rate. Enough fun that when in a matter of minutes the Zigzagoon had fled, I was almost sorry the battle was over.
"Yeah!" I called after it. "You'd better run!"
I knelt beside the Torchic. "We did a good job, huh?" I asked at I gave it a little pat on the head.
Unfortunately, this was not the wisest move, as it jumped up and scratched the back of my hand.
"Yow!" I exclaimed, putting my hand up to my mouth. "What the Hell was that for?"
Out of breath, the man, about whom I'd almost forgotten, jogged up to me. "Thank you...thank you so much...I was studying wild Pokémon in the grass when I was jumped..."
"No problem, sir." I said, trying to nurse my hand, which thankfully wasn't bleeding, but still hurt Billy-oh.
Now that he wasn't running around, I was able to look the guy over. He was middle-aged, with messy brown hair and blue eyes, and stubble on his chin. His white lab coat was crooked, and many buttons were in the wrong holes. Stains decorated his coat and sleeves. Worst of all, he wore shorts, which by itself isn't too bad, but he also wore black socks and flip-flops.
Yup, there was no mistaking it. There was no doubt in my mind who this was.
"You're a friend of my dad's, aren't you?"
"What?"
"I mean, you're Professor Birch, aren't you? Am I right?"
"Why, yes I am. But how could you figure that, I've never met you before..."
I shrugged. "Lucky guess." I held out my hand. "My name is Marcy Maple. Norman Maple's daughter?"
His eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh! So you're Marcy! Pleased to meet you...yes, this explains a lot. I should have guessed you were a relation of Norman's before."
"Uh...why?" I asked.
He laughed, "Because the two of you have the same exact look in your eyes when battling! Norman Maple's daughter...no one will deny that once they've seen you battle!" He touched his hand to his chin the way Brendan had earlier. "Yet according to your father, you have never owned a Pokémon. Or used one."
I shook my head. "Nope, never."
"Hm..." He looked thoughtful for a moment. He then picked up the Pokéball and tossed it to the Torchic. "Torchic, return!" The Torchic obeyed, and he picked up the small red and white ball, and put it with the other recovered ball in the bag. "Well, this isn't exactly the best place to chat, so why don't you come with me to my Pokémon lab?"
Author's note: I actually think that this chapter is longer than the others...Sucky writing, but whatever. Hm. Yes, Marcy's starter will be the Torchic, if you haven't already figured it out. It doesn't like her much does it? Anyway, if you caught the Zelda reference, you're awesome! Also, credit for the chapter title goes to MarlinMarlen!
