Chapter 3: What are the odds?

D3X printed the following on her screen: ZIGZAGOON 60%, POOCHYENA 30%, WINGULL 10%. We were just entering Route 103, a bit north of Oldale. I had an empty Pokéball in one hand and Hotwings next to me, ready to catch the first thing that jumped out at us from the grass.

It turned out to be a little brown raccoon creature. A Zigzagoon, D3X informed me. Well, not exactly a rare find, but it would have to do. If I were going to get anywhere in this confusing new world of Pokémon, I'd need more than just one at my side.

"Hotwings, scratch!" I hollered. Hotwings slashed at the creature, and it yelped in pain. I winced. Why did I have to hurt it to catch it? The Zigzagoon fought back fiercely, tackling Hotwings to the ground. I let out a cry and threw the ball. Its beam of light struck the Zigzagoon, and in the next moment, D3X pinged to let me know I'd successfully caught the beast.

I named him Noguri, the word for raccoon in Sinnoh, or so one of my friends from Olivine had said. It seemed appropriate, somehow.

I couldn't advance any further on Route 103 for the time being, so after a quick stop at the Pokémon Center, my team and I made our way to Route 102. D3X pinged and reported: ZIGZAGOON 30%, WURMPLE 30%, LOTAD 20%, POOCHYENA 15%, RALTS 4%, SURSKIT 1%. Pictures of each Pokémon briefly flashed on the screen.

We entered the tall grass. I was determined to find another companion here. Just then, a rustling! Two tiny blue legs peeked out. Then two more. Then a little blue body with a yellow pipe on the top. A Surskit! Unbelievable! I sent out Hotwings. Two scratches later, I was the proud owner of the rarest Pokémon on Route 102. In your face, Brendan!

My competitive side was already beginning to show.

I named my new bug Crystal, and returned to the Pokémon Center to heal her. Then it was back to Route 102 to start my long hike west to Petalburg City. From there I could continue north through Petalburg Woods, then up to Rustboro, where I'd find the first gym. The journey would take at least a day—the forest was wide.

I didn't get far before some little punk in shorts came trotting over. "Trainers must battle when they meet!" he informed me.

"Whoa, what?"

"If two trainers meet on the road, they have a Pokémon battle. It's the rules!" he said proudly, as if he'd just recited three hundred digits of pi.

"I dunno," I said, feeling for the Pokéballs on my belt. "Can't we just ignore each other?"

"Sorry, that's not how it works!" He unleashed a Zigzagoon. "Fight!" His little face was contorted in a passionate grimace.

"Fine," I said, hoping my Pokémon were strong enough. I decided to play it safe and send out Hotwings. "Hotwings, scratch!"

"Zigzagoon, tackle!"

This was pretty much how it went. Soon, the Zigzagoon collapsed, exhausted and covered in tiny cuts. Hotwings was breathing hard, but looked steady. "Return!" the boy called, and his Pokémon was withdrawn. "You win," he said to me, passing me a few yen. "But I'll beat you next time!"

"Sure thing," I said, not really listening.

"I will! Really!" the boy hollered as I walked out of earshot.

Route 102 continued through several more high grass patches, and on the way I encountered a bug catcher and a lass, both of whom I defeated soundly using only Hotwings. Was this what being a trainer was like? I hadn't experienced even a moment's doubt that I'd win every battle so far. Did I really just have a stronger creature than everyone else? Why didn't others have a special Pokémon like mine?

Well, whatever. Mom was counting on me. I kept hiking, wondering when I'd start to feel like a real trainer. As it turned out, I wouldn't have to wait long.

After camping two nights on the trail, my arrival in Petalburg was less than climactic. No one even seemed to notice as I entered the town. There was the familiar red roof of the PC and its blue twin, the Pokémart. I spied something else, too. A towering brown structure with three familiar letters emblazoned on the front: GYM. Dad's Gym.

Dad had always loved Pokémon. Ever since I can remember, that's all he talked about. All he spent his time doing. I knew he was a trainer, but that was it. Because for some reason, he never shared his passion with me. As I said, I was homeschooled: I had only Mom to teach me about the world, because Dad was out during the day, earning his living as—I assumed—a Pokémon battler. When he came home he'd watch battles on TV, and I was allowed to sit with him if I was quiet and didn't ask questions. My only knowledge of Pokémon came from what I saw on the screen, even though my own father had a collection of the creatures right there in his briefcase.

"Your father is under a lot of pressure," Mom used to say when I asked why he hadn't come home that night, or why he didn't have time to play with me, or why he wouldn't show me his Pokémon even though I was dying to know about them. "He's a very busy man." And that's all I could get out of her.

When we came to Hoenn, Mom had said that Dad was getting new responsibilities and that he was going to provide the family with more money. That's how we were able to afford the nice house in Littleroot, she said. That's how he can afford to also rent an apartment in Petalburg, she said.

Looking at the Gym now, I couldn't understand my father in the least. Why would he want to live here, when he could be in Littleroot with us?

I tried the door. Locked. What had Mom said about his apartment? Ah… right. She said it was attached to the Gym. I walked around the whole building, but there was only one door. Strange.

That evening at the local trainer hostel, I called Mom from the communal phone in the lobby. We chatted about this and that—what Pokémon I'd seen and caught, how the house was coming along, how we missed each other. When I broached the subject of Dad, Mom got real quiet. "Do you know where he is here in Petalburg?" I asked. "I tried to find his apartment but…"

"Your father is very busy," Mom said. "You should probably just leave him be for now. You can see him again next time you go to Petalburg." I accepted this and slept the night.

In my dream, I found myself walking into the Gym. Dad was there, just standing alone in a big room. He greeted me and was so happy to see me. And I told him about my Pokémon, and he gave me a hug and said he was proud of me.

It was a stupid dream.

The next day I walked around the town for a while, not really sure what to do with myself. I saw a young guy in a hooded sweatshirt standing near on the bank of a small lake, and wandered over.

"When I gaze into the water," the man said as I stood near him, "I see my reflection. It's a shining smile full of hope… or maybe it's a nervous grimace of fear." He turned to look at me, and I realized with a start that he wasn't young, but old, very old. "What does your reflection show, child?"

I couldn't help but look over the edge at my face in the icy blue. My expression was… unreadable. Was I innocent? Naïve? Afraid? Or really just nothing? A blank slate. A fresh start.

I remember walking away from that lake thinking that I had perhaps bitten off more than I could chew.

It was already the middle of the afternoon when I made my way over to Route 104 on the west side of town. Despite the summer heat, a sea breeze whipped past me and chilled me. I slipped on a sweatshirt.

According to the map they'd given me at the hostel, this beach route was my next destination—after passing along the shoreline, I would turn north toward Petalburg Woods, and then on to Rustboro. I didn't venture far, but I did find some tall grass where Pokémon might hide. Time to see if I could add a fourth member to my team.

D3X informed me of my odds: ZIGZAGOON 50%, WURMPLE 30%, TAILLOW 10%, WINGULL 10%. Hm. I could use another bird on my team. A bug wouldn't be bad either.

A Wurmple crept out in front of me as I was thinking. "Hotwings! Scratch!" I called, releasing the Torchic. He slashed out with his little talons, cutting into the Wurmple. It spat a line of silk at him in reply, slowing his movements. "Scratch again! Not too rough! I want to capture it!" Hotwings lunged out suddenly. I saw a jet of bluish blood fire off into the grass somewhere, and the Wurmple fell over.

And stopped moving.

And bled. And bled. And bled, slowly staining the earth with its black fluid.

Hotwings stared up at me as I gaped in horror. "What… what did you… what did you do?" I said. I felt myself beginning to cry. "What did you do, Hotwings?"

Hotwings said, "Chic?"

I slowly approached the fallen body of the Wurmple. This… this couldn't be happening. Had I really just ordered my Pokémon to kill this creature? This innocent little Wurmple? Maybe I could save it. Maybe it wasn't dead!

I took off my sweatshirt and used it to carefully pick up the creature. It was already beginning to grow stiff and cold, but I didn't care. I ran as fast as I could go back to the Pokémon Center, pulling my breath in ragged gasps as I struggled with the wet body in my arms.

"Please!" I shouted as I burst through the doors. "Please, help me with this!"

A nurse with long red hair and shining green eyes hurried up to meet me, worry on her face. "Oh! Poor thing! Here." She took the blood-soaked sweatshirt from my arms and rushed it away to the back somewhere.

I sat on a bench in the front lobby, staring at nothing. I waited fifteen minutes. Over and over, the image of Hotwings's talon gliding upward and severing the Wurmple's flesh played in my head.

After what felt like an eternity, the nurse came out again. There was black blood on her once-pristine white uniform. She sat down beside me on the bench. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Lidya."

"Well Lidya… your Wurmple has died. It seems it was dead when you brought it here." She put a hand on my knee. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

I stared at the floor. "It wasn't mine."

This produced a look of shock. "It wasn't?"

"No. It was just a wild one. I was out on Route 104, and my Torchic hit it really hard, and it just started bleeding, so I…" I couldn't finish my words. There was a sob waiting my throat. I let it out. "I… I just want—I wanted t-to help it…"

"Shhh," she said, patting my back. Her hands were warm. "Shh. It's okay." She paused a moment. "How old are you, Lidya?"

"Th-th…thirteen."

"Are you a new trainer?"

"Yes."

The nurse seemed to sigh. "Listen, Lidya. Sometimes Pokémon die. That's the truth of the world. Pokémon fight each other in the wild all the time, but wild Pokémon aren't as strong as those raised by trainers like you. And sometimes our Pokémon are too strong, and they can't help it. But that's natural, Lidya. That happens with or without us, out in the grasses and forests."

I sat silently. I didn't want to think about this, but I had no choice. I knew she was right.

"C'mon kid. Let's get you something to drink." She helped me stand and walked me to her office, where I was served hot chocolate. As the nurse—her name was Taylor, I learned—measured the boiling water for my drink, I poured out my heart to her. I told her how I didn't even know what I was supposed to be doing as a trainer. How I was so scared of being on my own, of hurting Pokémon. How I thought my Dad was crazy for wanting to live away from us sometimes, how I'd never understood why he didn't teach me about Pokémon, how I didn't even know anything about Pokémon. Taylor responded with kindness and sympathy.

"You should go to the Trainer's School in Rustboro," Taylor said. We were on our second cups of cocoa. "They can teach you a lot more than I can." She gave a little bow. "I'm just a nurse. I don't battle."

"Did you ever?" I asked.

"Well… when I was young, I tried it. But I was like you: the violence was too much. I couldn't even stand to watch Pokémon play-fighting. That's why I took an internship at the Pokémon Center and became a nurse."

"Could I be a nurse too?" I asked.

Taylor smiled kindly. "Oh, I misspoke. I took the internship… when I was sixteen. I'm afraid you're too young yet." After a beat, she added, "Oh, and if you were wondering, I'm twenty-three now."

"Oh," I answered dully.

Taylor said, "When you're a bit older, you can try for it and see what happens." She stood, and I could sense that it was time to go. "I'd better get back to work. And you'd better scoot back to the hostel, kid."

I felt shy. "Thank you," I murmured as I stood up. Taylor ushered me out of the Pokémon Center. On the doorstep, she handed me a business card.

"Here's my number. Call anytime." She turned to leave, then back again. "Good luck Lidya." Her arms wrapped around me, and we hugged.

I didn't want to ever stop hugging her. We stood there beneath the glowing red letters, and I let the heat of her body sink into my skin, feeling truly safe for one flickering instant in this new and seemingly hostile province of Hoenn. But like all good things, the hug came to an end, and she left me standing there on the step.

I don't have a phone, I thought as I turned to go. But I guess now I have a friend.