Warnings: None


Between the Stars and the Sea

Chapter 12:

"Youngster Joey's House"


Putting down my fork, I took a deep breath and said, "Uh… thanks for having me, Mrs…?"

She was in the middle of serving Joey a heaping ladle of potato soup. He'd plowed through one bowl and hadn't even had to ask for a second helping before she stood and started to serve one up. Mid-pour she peered at me over the top of her glasses, lenses shaped like thin crescent moons of glimmering glass.

"It's Ms. Grey," she said with a kindly smile. When she finished spooning up Joey's soup, she straightened and gave a hearty laugh. "And don't worry about it, Hoshiko. Joey loves giving new trainers lessons, though you are the first he's brought home for dinner." She patted his shoulder, though he didn't appear to notice as he wolfed down his meal. "He'll make a great teacher one day, that's for sure."

That got his attention. Joey let his spoon fall to the rim of his bowl with a clatter, and he twisted in his seat to face her with a scowl. "Hey! Don't fence me in, you old lady." A thumb jerked toward his chest as he face split in a raucous grin. "I'm going to be a Pokémon master, no doubt about it!"

Ms. Grey rumpled his hair with a scowl that didn't touch the warmth in her eyes. "Old lady?" she repeated as Joey groused and tried to dodge her grip. "Is that any way to talk to your grandmother, I ask you?"

He fired back something about her going senile and she laughed, grey hair in its long braid gleaming silver in the light above their kitchen table. Joey lived in a modest two-story home near the edge of Cherrygrove City, a few streets away from the harbor judging by the salty sea scent carried to us on the wind as we trekked to his front door. His grandmother in her apron and fuzzy house slippers had hardly even given me a second glance when Joey declared I was to be his esteemed guest for dinner, setting an extra place at the table with little more than a good-natured chuckle and a merry grin.

She reminded me of my own grandmother—my old one, from my past life. I hadn't had a grandparent in this life. Apparently they were caught up in the War effort and met their deaths, but I didn't have many details about that. My mother didn't like to talk about it.

Soon I finished my bowl of delicious potato soup and plate of crusty bread, and Joey finished wolfing his portion down soon after. His grandmother waved and told us to have a good time as he led me upstairs to his bedroom, Hotaru trotting at our heels until we hit the stairs (I had to carry her up those; she wasn't good at stairs just yet). The door to it bore the letters J. M. painted on a wooden plaque; I eyed them, noting that his final initial didn't match his grandmother's. She maybe she was his maternal grandmother, and his last name (whatever it was; I hadn't bothered to ask) he'd inherited from his fath—

"She's not really my grandmother, y'know."

I jolted and turned. Joey stood in the middle of his bedroom with hands on hips, staring at me through wide, dark eyes unobscured by his usual ball cap. He'd left it on a peg by the door downstairs, automatically taking it off as soon as we crossed the threshold.

"The old lady," he said, to clarify. "My mom was married to her son, but he died in the War. And then my mom's parents died in the War, and they were both alone, so they just decided to stick together." He heaved a shrug. "And them Mom got married again and had me, and here I am." A beat. "Mom and Dad are on a trip for their anniversary, by the way. So it's just me and my Nana right now."

Turns out Joey was a bit of an overshare-er; I hadn't been expecting that little explanation at all, but there it was, blatant and personal and plain as the nose on my face. Putting down Hotaru, I tried not to look as awkward as I felt. "I see," was all I said, and then I gestured. "Your room's cool, by the way."

Well. It was 'cool' if you really liked Pokémon, and specifically Rattata, at that. The walls were royal purple, the color of Rattata fur, and his bedspread and curtains both sported a garish pattern of Poké Balls in the regular, Great, and Ultra varieties. The lamp on his desk had a ring of prancing Rattata silhouettes on the shade, which cast odd shadows about the room when he flipped the switch on its power cord.

"Thanks," Joey said with a proud grin at the official Pokémon League and Rattata posters on the walls. "I know."

Hotaru had hopped over to his bed to sniff at the edge of the comforter. Joey reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ball, out of which he released the Rattata we'd fought before. I wasn't sure when he'd had time to heal the creature, but it look well enough as it looked around the room and spotted Hotaru. His eyes narrowed and his nose twitched above his buck teeth, but after glancing at Joey and seeing the encouraging smile on his trainer's face, the Rattata bounced over to Hotaru and sniffed gamely at her snout. She sniffed back, gave a little 'peep' of welcome, and soon the two of them were gamboling around the room together in spirited play.

"And your Rattata sure is cute," I said.

But Joey only bristled. "Mickey is not cute; he's majestic and fierce!" he snapped.

Mickey the Rattata stopped playing and stilled, looking over at Joey with a huge, watery eyes and a trembling mouth. Joey's bluster vanished, his hands coming up as he stammered an apology.

"Oh Mickey, I didn't mean to stay you're not adorable. You are," Joey said. "But you're also majestic and fierce and that's important, too!"

Mickey's eyes returned to their normal proportions; he trotted over to Joey and accepted a pat on the head, face screwed up in happiness as he received a good scratch behind the ears. Joey's face softened, a look of obvious love suffusing his disproportionate preteen features from within.

"A lot of people underestimate Rattata as a species," Joey said as he continued scratching, "but my Rattata is special. He's of the top percentage of all Rattatas, even!" Joey flashed a grin. "I don't need any other Pokémon with Mickey at my side. We've beaten Pokémon of evolutionary lines people usually say are better or whatever, too." But then his grin vanished, an expression of odd sadness I didn't understand crossing his face, instead. Tearing his eyes from his Pokémon, Joey addressed me directly. "Don't underestimate any of your Pokémon, is what I'm saying," he said. "You have a rare starter, but as you travel and make friends, never think you've caught a dud. Value them all and treasure them when they're with you. You get me, Hoshiko?"

I wasn't sure why he'd given me that lecture, but his sincerity booked no argument. "Roger that," was all I said, nodding with every word. "I will. I promise."

He seemed satisfied by that. "Good," he said, and he straightened up and gestured for Mickey to go back to playing. "But enough about that! Sit your butt down and let's get started." He waited until I dutifully sat on chair beside his desk to begin. "You caught on that I was calling out codes to my Pokémon, I'll give you that. But do you know why I was calling out codes?"

"I thought about it on the walk over," I said, because I had, and because that had been the biggest thing on my mind ever since our battle on Route 30. "My best guess is that if I just tell Hotaru to tackle, that telegraphs our big plan to the opponent and their Pokémon, which gives them the ability to counter the move. Is that it?"

Joey chuckled and swiped his thumb under his nose, smile satisfied. "You won't be a rookie for long at this rate," he muttered. "That's exactly it. And of course the reason you don't want to telegraph your moves is because if your Pokémon outmatched in terms of type or evolution, you can still preserve a tactical edge by keeping your strategy secret." He spread his hands in a 'what can you do' kind of gesture. "Pretty much everyone these days develops codes with their Pokémon team. It started with Danica Henley, of course, but—"

I frowned. "Danica who?"

"Danica—" Joey did a double take. "Wait. You mean to tell me you don't know who Danica Henley is?!"

"I'm a rookie!" I shot back, defensive under his disbelieving stare. "What can I say?"

"B-but she's famous!" Joey sputtered, still as incredulous as hell. He threw up his hands to say, "She's probably one of the most famous Pokémon trainers who ever—and I figured you of all people—!"

I frowned again, deeper this time. "Me, of all people? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I figured you'd love her, all things considered," he retorted.

"Um. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?!" he said, and this time his voice climbed so high that it cracked like a tree in a gale. He coughed into his fist a few times before rubbing at his forehead with a sigh, like my ignorance had triggered a migraine or something. "Oh, jeez, I guess I have to start from the beginning, don't I?" he muttered. Taking a deep breath he raised a finger into the air and proceeded to rapidly begin a lecture I'm sure he must've learned in grade school (a level of schooling I'd missed, given my unorthodox entry into the world of Pokémon). Joey told me, "The League was established after the War ended as a peace effort. The mission of the Pokémon League is, and was, to send responsible kids around various regions to collect Badges. Thus, young people would travelling, learn to respect other cultures, and promote the healing of the nations after the horrors of war—and all that other crud and whatnot."

That last bit was clearly his addition to school curriculum and not part of any teacher's lesson plan, I was sure, but even so I managed to nod in affirmation. I knew about most of what he said already, mostly from books I'd read when I initially arrived in this world and tried to familiarize myself with my new reality. I'd had trouble finding some basic information everyone was assumed to know, hover. Asking for really low-level and basic books at my age looked suspicious. Still, I'd learned a lot of details through observing and listening and through absorbing context clues, but this was the single most completed explanation I'd ever heard in one place. Thus, Joey's rant was actually sort of fascinating, even if he looked bored to tears whilst delivering it himself.

"All right, at least you know something," he said. His lecturing tone dropped as he began to use his own wording, and not what he'd been taught rote in school. "Well, the concept was going fine at first, but the Elite Four and the chosen League Champion were all super tough—because they were all veterans of the Great War, right? Way tougher than a bunch of roving kids, that's for sure." That alone sounded absolutely fascinating, but Joey gave me no time to press for details. He said, "Not many people were able to even reach them, let alone beat them, and after a year or two, people started to get mad. They started saying the League was rigged, that nobody could win it and actually honor the country they came from, that Johto was hogging all the glory—" His expression changed, excitement making his eyes appear to glow. "—and then she showed up."

He opened his mouth to rant again.

My hand shot into the air before he could start. "Question!"

Joey's jaw dropped. "But I'm not done!"

"You can pause, can't you?" I said, and I didn't wait for him to answer than rhetorical question before forging on ahead. "Was there just one League at first? One for every region You said bringing glory to their country and that Johto was hogging it, so—"

Joey did another of his impressive double takes. "Are you an idiot?! Of course there was just one League at first!" he said, squeaking like the Rattata he loved. "It began over in Johto since they came up with the idea, and then eventually the concept spread to other regions once they proved it could kick-start immigration. How do you not know all this already?!"

I ignored the insult in order to rub my chin, staring at the floor in thought. "Interesting," I murmured to myself. "So the Johto League was like the pilot program."

"Kinda? But back to Danica Henley!" Joey said. Once more than excited glint returned to his expression, the kid's expression gleaming with pride and eagerness. "The nations had all been sending their kids to Johto, vying for the top spot and whatnot, and nobody was able to beat the Champ or even the Elite Four. They were about to cancel the whole experiment entirely when she appeared, and she managed to take down the Four and the Champ like it was nothing."

The feat certainly sounded impressive. "How old was she?"

"Seventeen. Originally the official age to start a Journey was fifteen, but they lowered it when the League got popular and people got used to watching out for young trainers." Suddenly he looked wistful, staring at his poster with the League logo on it with what appeared to be longing. "Back then, Pokémon battles weren't as popular as they are today. The War hadn't been over for very long and people didn't like the reminder of the violence, but Danica? She made battling an art. She never maimed anyone's Pokémon, her own Pokémon were tough and smart and never vicious, and I'm not kidding when I say she changed the way people look at battling today." He sighed, dreamy and yearning and pining all at once. "Yeah, Danica Henley was amazing. No one saw her coming at all. She sure showed everyone what she could do, no apologies, and her fights today are the stuff of legend."

"I mean… great for her, I guess." Joey seemed utterly in awe of this Danica chick, and sure, her accomplishment of being the first League Champion was cool and whatnot, but something about Joey's final sentence struck me as odd. I asked, "But why didn't they see it coming?"

Joey told me, "Cuz she's deaf."

He didn't say it like an "ah-ha" or a "gotcha" or anything. He didn't look sad or pitying when he said it, either. He just… said it. Like he'd mentioned nothing more important than her hair color or height, utterance as casual as a remark about the weather or the price of leeks at the grocery store.

He kept speaking without pause, barely giving me time at all to make the above observations. "She didn't need to hear to kick the asses—" here he actually did pause, glancing at the door with a wince before lowering his voice to a whisper "—I mean, to kick the butts of everybody who tried to challenge her. Apparently her parents didn't think she should go on a Journey, since the concept was still new and they thought she couldn't handle it, but she made it all the way to the League and then she tore it to pieces with her codes and secret strategies." He held up his hands and formed a few symbols I could only assume were the Pokémon world's version of ASL. "She used sign language and all kinds of stuff to communicate in secret with her Pokémon—and to this day, we still don't have translations for a lot of her codes. She changed the entire landscape of the Pokémon battle world with her victory and now everybody makes codes, just like she did, because no one could keep up with her!"

Now I finally understood why Joey so revered this person, besides the obvious reason of being the first ever Champion. "She sounds like a badass," I said, and when Joey nodded like a rambunctious bobblehead in agreement, what he'd said earlier repeated in my head. I stared at him with a frown and asked, "Wait. Did you think I'd be her fangirl because of my leg?"

"Well, yeah!" he said. "Of course I did!"

Yup. Everything was clicking now—his disbelief at my lack of knowledge, his assumption that he thought I'd love her, all that jazz. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed, unable to keep from giving Joey a lecture of my own; a big chunk of my family in my past life had been Deaf or Hard of Hearing, and if I didn't stand up for them right now, they'd be sorely disappointed.

"Being Deaf and missing a leg are really, really not the same thing, I feel I gotta say," I told him. "The Deaf community has this culture and history that I'm not part of, and even though disability has some crossover in the way able-bodied society treats us, you can't totally compare a deaf or Deaf person to somebody with a—"

But Joey just rolled his eyes. "Well of course they're not the same thing, ya dingus! I know that already; duh! But Danica is still the one who proved you should never underestimate any wannabe trainers no matter who they are or what they look like, so there's at least a little bit of similarity, right?" He paused, gathering his thoughts before saying, "I mean, after the War there were a lot of people with physical disabilities trying to be professional trainers, so she wasn't exactly unique even if she was deaf instead of an amputee, and not too many people made a fuss over her hearing aside from some real jerks—jerks she put in their places in a snap, mind ya—but that's not the point! She's just…!"

Joey stopped talking. He searched for words. I waited patiently as his agitated demeanor calmed, his eyes growing wistful and dreamy again before he sighed.

"Cool," he at last decided (with yet another sigh of admiration). "Yeah.. She's just really, really cool. And mysterious, which makes her even cooler."

"Mysterious?" My brow lifted. "Mysterious how?"

He looked crestfallen at the question, though he tried to hide it. He walked to his bed and smoothed the comforter—an action I couldn't imagine a rough-and-tumble preteen boy like Joey doing unless he was trying to buy time. Eventually he looked back at me and said, "Danika disappeared from the public eye a little while after her big win. No one's really sure why." He grinned, sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "But even now, fifteen years later, she's my hero. I figured maybe she inspired you, too…" He paused. Thought about it, eyes screwed up in concentration. "But wait. If you didn't know about codes, then you wouldn't know about her, and that means she couldn't have been your inspiration…"

So he wasn't a total savant, after all, to miss that trail of logic. Made me feel a little better, oddly. I gave him a kind smile, suppressing a chuckle at his puzzled frown. "I'm a rookie in all senses, basically. But Danica sounds awesome." My face screwed up, then, in my own moment of centration. "Is that why you were sure to say you wouldn't go easy on me before we battled? Because of her?"

"Yup!" he said, beaming. "She's Deaf and you've got a prosthetic, and those aren't the same thing, but the both of you should get the same respect any trainer gets no matter what, right?" He answered his own question with a determined nod. "Yeah. It's what Danica would've wanted."

I couldn't help but grin. He was a sweet kid, Joey. Full of good intentions, even if he didn't quite have the vocabulary to voice them just yet. "I can get behind that," I said, because it felt like the best thing to say, and because my throat had gotten a little thick at the joyful glitter in his eyes.

"Thought you might," he said. He slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, different enthusiasm lighting his expression. "Now, about codes. You should start by determining how you want to communicate with your Pokémon. Speech, hand signals—heck, I've even seen people wave colored flags…"

To see Joey go on a tear is an impressive sight, because he talks a mile a minute without slowing down for anything—and yet he somehow found time to answer my questions, or predict which question I entertained based on the looks on my face, and he managed to cut my confusion off at the pass many times while we discussed battle etiquette, Gym rules, trainer interaction, and the all-important battle codes created by his hero and idol, the mysterious and powerful Danica Henley. I listened with attention so rapt I didn't notice as darkness completely fell on the other side of the crystalline window, only glancing at my PokéGear's clock when I heard Hotaru start snoring like a crackling fire in the corner. She and Mickey lay in a little dog-pile, snoozing and cuddled up tight.

"Oh, shoot," I said with a forlorn glance at the window. "I was hoping to make it to Azalea today."

"Yeah, not happening," came Joey's blunt reply. "Definitely not a good idea to walk there at night. Nocturnal Pokémon are scrappier than the ones who come out during the day." He glanced at the door, thought a minute, then padded over and opened it. "I have an idea. Nana?"

His call echoed down the staircase, but before it faded completely, his grandmother called her answer. "Yes, dear?"

"Can Hoshiko sleep on the couch tonight? She can't really go anywhere this late."

I stood up on reflex, holding up my hands in protest. "Oh, Joey, it's OK—I can go stay at the Pokémon Center, it's—"

Feet sounded on the stairs; Ms. Grey appeared with hands on her thin hips. "Oh, don't be silly, dear!" she said with a scolding tut. "You can't go anywhere this late, that's for certain, and they might have even closed the city gates. They do that sometimes, y'know." She gestured for me to follow her into the hall, smile broad and welcoming. "Come get ready for bed, dear, we insist. It's my generation's duty to help young trainers, after all."

"Yeah!" Joey said. "Let the old lady have her fun!"

She shot him a sharp look, though one without any real bite, and Joey laughed. Before I could try to protest again, Ms. Grey shook her head and walked into the room, slipping her hand around mine to tug me gently into the hall and down the stairs.


When I woke, I wasn't sure where I was.

Moonlight, thin as a sickle and just as silver, trickled through the window above the couch like a leaking faucet. I sat up with a gasp and looked around, heart beating a wild rhythm inside my chest at the feel of the unfamiliar bed, the odd photos on the walls—because this was not the first time I had woken up in an unfamiliar bed, in another place entirely, with odd photos on the walls and my friends and family nowhere in sight and where was I oh god oh god had it happened again, had it happened—?

I lurched upright. Ran my hands from the tops of my thighs and downward, clutching at them through the covers.

My right hand travelled down to an ankle, whole and hale.

My right hand dropped off into nothing just below the knee.

Panic and confusion bubbled in my neck—but then the little ball of fluff at my side peeped sleepily and stirred, her warmth burning against my hip like a living heater.

I remembered where I was, then.

Where, and also who.

Hotaru and I had sunk deep into Ms. Grey's plush couch, embedded in its softness like stickerburs in fur. My prosthetic gleamed where it leaned against the end of the couch, the flowers and flame on its socket obscured by the shadows. I lay there for a minute in the dim, looking at it and remembering who I was, my hand wandering over Hotaru's soft back as I tried to get my breathing under control, bit by bit calming until my heart ceased to race and my pores stopped leaking the cold sweat of utter panic. My throat felt dry, cracked. Like I hadn't had anything to drink in years and had crossed a vast desert in the dark of my dreams.

Water. I needed water.

Carefully, trying not to disturb Hotaru, I swung my legs over the side of the couch and grabbed the crutches on the floor. They weren't comfortable to use since they were the collapsible travel kind, made of lightweight metal with not much padding on the stirrups, function favored over all else, but they got the job done as I hauled my body atop them and swung my way into the kitchen off the living room. Took me a bit to find a glass (and took me no small effort not to simply drink out of the faucet directly) but soon I found one, and I filled it, and I drank. My throat came to life again, soothed and cool.

I couldn't help but wonder, as I stood there with the glass held against my fevered neck, how often I'd wind up sleeping at a stranger's house. How often I'd wake in a panic, unsure of where (or who) I was. How often I'd have to endure that horrible moment of unknowing, frantically grasping at details to piece together the truth of my existence.

Moments like that had come often when I initially came to this world. They'd come nightly, in fact, only tapering off to the occasional moment of panic as I grew accustomed to the sight of Hoshiko's bedroom. But now I had to sleep somewhere unfamiliar, and do it every night, never in a room of my own…

What had Ms. Grey said? That it was her duty to help young trainers?

She was just like that Apricorn farmer. That farmer who had given me a gift for no reason other than I was a young trainer on a Journey.

This was a strange world. A strange, odd world full of strange, odd people. How many of my elders would give me gifts, freely granted, and greet me with warmth and care? How many would give me food and supplies for no reason at all, simply because they could? How many grandmothers with War-slain children would offer me an unfamiliar place to sleep in the days and weeks to come, unwittingly prompting with their kindness a panic attack in the middle of the night—?

Something scuttled beyond the doorway. I turned around, crutches clacking, but it was Ms. Grey and not Hotaru, as I had expected, who came through the kitchen door. She jumped when she saw me, hand over her heart, but then she relaxed with a smile.

"I thought I heard someone in here," she said. "Can't sleep?"

I lifted my glass. "Needed a drink."

"Of course." Her eyes traveled the length of my crutches, politely skirting my leg; she didn't ask the question I saw brewing in her gaze, the one about whether or not I slept in my prosthetic. Instead she just shook her head. "Well, I won't keep you. Just let me know if you need anything, won't you dear?"

"I will. Thank you."

But my thanks brought her trouble, if her frown was any indication. "No. Thank you," she said. She shot a furtive look over her shoulder, voice dropping to a hush as she shuffled toward me. "I was going to tell you tomorrow, but now is probably better. Thank you for what you did for Joey tonight."

I swallowed. "But I didn't do anything, ma'am. In fact, he's the one who—"

She had already begun shaking her head. "No. You did more than you know." A bitter look crossed her face, pain obvious in the taut lines of her wrinkled mouth. "Yesterday was a hard day for my grandson. One of his friends lost their beloved Pokémon in a battle gone wrong."

"That Rattata."

The words slipped out unbidden; I resisted the urge to clap a hand over my mouth. However, Ms. Grey wasn't perturbed. Instead she shuffled closer, house slippers whispering over the linoleum floor, and clutched the neck of her fluffy robe with one bony hand.

"Did he tell you about…?" she murmured.

I shook my head. "No." And then I had to swallow again, a lump gathering in my neck. "I was there."

Pain flashed across her face once more. "I am sorry you saw something so horrible." She gave a shudder, robe in a death grip. "I'm only glad Joey wasn't present. He'd gotten lost in the woods, training, but…"

Here she paused. Took a deep, shaking breath.

Said: "He helped his friend bury that Pokémon."

"Oh my god," was all I could think to say.

Good thing it was enough. "Yes," said Ms. Grey, with a solemn nod and a weary sigh. "And since his own companion is a Rattata, as well…" Her implication was obvious, and she did not elaborate. Instead she told me, voice low and trembling, "I said before that he often gives lessons to young newbies, but you are indeed the first he brought home for dinner. I thought, perhaps, the incident would make him less outgoing, more cautious. I think instead it has given him purpose."

"Purpose?" I asked.

She nodded, the barest hint of hope creeping into her gaze. "I think he might try to educate other trainers so that their Pokémon will be safe. But I might be overthinking it. Such is the habit of the grandmother, you know." She sighed again, this time with a laugh that held little humor. "At any rate, enough of this old woman's rambling. Thank you for giving him a distraction tonight." A long pause. "He puts on a brave face, but—well. I think he needed that distraction, if I'm being honest."

"Well." I had no idea what to say, obviously, but I did the best I could. With all the sincerity I could muster, I told her: "He's a nice young man, and a great teacher. I was happy to spend time with him."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she squeezed my arm with the specific and gentle affection of a grandmother before shuffling out of the kitchen again.

I tried to pretend I hadn't seen the liquid gleam in her eyes, tears caught on a shaft of moonlight streaming in the kitchen window—but at that, I failed. The memory of those unshed tears I carried with me as I curled myself around Hotaru and tried, in vain, to sleep.


They fed Hotaru and me a king's breakfast the next morning. Joey looked half asleep, eyes squeezed nearly shut as his fork blundered blearily around his plate (barely spearing any food, I might add)—but he perked up when I set my plate in the sink and announced it was time I moved on.

Well, "perk" isn't the word. More like he sharpened, eyes snapping wide as his mouth turned down in a pouting scowl.

If he was upset to see me go, however, he didn't lash out at me. Kid had some emotional awareness, which was nice. He accompanied me, Hotaru, and Ms. Grey to the door, where he stood with hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and watched as his grandmother told me how to find the city's north gate from their home. As she drilled me about the route, he lifted a foot and traced the pattern of the grain in the wood floor with his toe, staring at it with expression glum.

"I can't wait till I'm older, like you, and I get to go on a Journey of my own with Mickey," he muttered when his grandmother fell quiet (and ah-ha! So that was why he looked glum—he had an Ethan-like attitude about a delayed journey, it seemed). Before I could tell him that his day would come and to just be patient, a speech I'd given Ethan a thousand times, he looked at me from under his brows. A hectic flush spread across his freckled face. "Say," he said, voice cracking just a little. "Do you think you might—?"

I grinned, because I was already pulling out my PokéGear. "For sure." His blush deepened; my grin did, too. "Something tells me I'll need your advice sooner rather than later, anyway. Right, Joey?"

He mumbled something about how yeah, I was a rookie and would need all the help I could get from him, that was for sure, and we exchanged numbers as his face took on the color of a ripe apple. Ms. Grey watched the exchange with a giggle; Joey shot her a dirty look, and then he bid me an abrupt goodbye before stomping back indoors with a mutter of, "Oh shut up, ya old biddy!"

"Boys," Ms. Grey and I said as one, and then we shared a good giggle together. When our laughter died, she kissed my cheek and pressed a packet of sandwiches into my hands. "You be sure to keep up your strength, Hoshiko. And please come back and visit when you can."

"I will," I promised—and with that, it was off to Azalea Town, Hotaru hopping gamely at my side.

Part of me wondered if exchanging numbers with Joey had been a good idea, of course. I vaguely remembered that the version of Joey who populated the games was kind of annoying, calling all the time to talk about his top percentage Rattata—but like so many things about this world, the games seemed to have gotten Joey wrong, too.

There was more to Joey (and to the vast, intricate world he called his home) than met the eye—and in spite of the trauma, the warnings, the dark parts lurking just out of sight, I was on my way to explore it for myself.


NOTES:

Fleshing out Joey and making him a useful touchstone was so much fun. Also, a lot of what they talked about in Joey's Poké-Lessons I left off-screen. I'll likely flash back to the conversation or just have her call him later to get details about the world he revealed during that conversation. I dumped a lot of details in this chapter and felt that dumping even more would be overwhelming. Joey, therefore, will be a great tool I can use to dispense relevant info when it becomes necessary, and I'm excited that he and Hoshiko are going to remain in touch and friends.

I created Danica Henley, the first ever League Champion; she is an OC and not a character from any Pokémon property that I know of. She's not going to be a huge player in the story (though I am planning for her to appear at some point and for her presence to be felt a lot). I wanted her to have left her mark on the entire world of Pokémon in a cool way. She can battle better than you BECAUSE of her Deafness, not in spite of it. Many of my family members are Deaf/deaf and this is basically an homage to them. One of my Deaf cousins taught his football team how to sign, and thanks to that the QB could communicate from across the field with receivers and linemen. They kicked ass and took names in no small part because of his influence. He inspired Danica in a big way, as you might imagine—so here's my tribute to him, I guess!

Also. "Deaf" with a capital D refers to a person who is culturally Deaf (someone who signs, who lives in a Deaf community, etc.). Little-d "deaf" refers to someone whose ears do not hear, AKA the physical condition of deafness. Wanted to clear that up since the various capital contrivances were used above and will be used again in future. They differences in capitalization aren't just inconsistencies or typos, is what I'm saying, but rather specific ways to refer to specific things.

Many thanks to everyone who chimed in with a review last week. You each made my day. Hope you liked this chapter! Frankieu, Teacup Galaxy, 431101134, C S Stars, Goldey, Gelasia Kidd, birdyful yellow, and Ravyn Moon 1313!