Rotom quickly proved to be a menace not only to machinery but also to my well-being. Leaving it unsupervised was a death wish come true, as I learned the hard way after the basement flooded due to its antics.

But could I blame it? If I was neglected for centuries like that, I too would desperately throw on any spectacle for attention. I felt like I owed it to Rotom to be a decent host, so I tried to bring it wherever I went. Showed it that there was a world outside Eterna Forest, one bathed in sunshine.

One day, I took Rotom to Beach Cave with me to observe its behavior in a more naturalistic setting. I noted its fondness of water and adversity to sand. While outside its robot vessel, its true form resembled a lightning rod with a face capable of expressing human emotions. It was also capable of levitation, indivisibility, electromagnetism… What was most interesting, however, was how alive it was, enough to raise doubt on whether Rotom was merely a lost spirit.

I jotted these observations down with this Zubat napping on my head. It had treated itself to a nutritious feast of my blood and was now out of commission. I didn't mind lending myself as its pillow nor as its primary food source. Along with the Zubat, I've also built tolerance for that ill-tempered Murkrow. I let it loiter around me, minding my own business while it chucked seashells in my direction.

Rotom expressed interest in these two Pokemon, yet they failed to return its sentiment. Perhaps it had something to do with Rotom's electrical properties? I've had the dubious honor of being on the receiving end of Rotom's antics, primarily in situations when it accidentally discharged power. The consequences were as severe as sticking a fork into an active electrical outlet, and I have the burns to prove it.

But trouble didn't define Rotom, and I wholly believed that the three of them could become good friends. The problem was: did I have to play the instigator? I despised confrontation, not to mention I have no experience in this matter…

While I pondered on how to acquaint Rotom to the Pokemon, you barreled into the cave and officially ended that train of thought. You had quite a maniac energy in you, which caused me to assume you were possessed by some spirit.

"Slow down," I said to your indecipherable hollering. "One syllable at a time."

After a glutinous intake of air, you said, "Where'd you go? Darn, I missed not having anyone to play Explorers with! I found sooo many cool things but there was no one around to show them to…What's so funny?"

At first your question confused me. But then I discovered that I was concealing a smirk behind my hand. Instead of telling you the truth, that I was touched by your concern, that I found your childish glee to be very endearing, I showed you my toy robot.

"Did you dig that out of the trash? It looks so… ugly."

I took offense to that. "Looks can be deceiving. What's important is what lies inside."

You shrugged. "You don't look like the type to play with toys. Because you're so mature, get it?"

Really? I envied other children because they owned what I yearned to have. And mature, Cynthia? I still clung to my parents like barnacles to a rock.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" I said.

"I believe in aliens."

"Erm… okay… Well, there's a ghost in this robot. Rotom, come out and meet Cynthia."

You waited with bated breath. I waited with reddening ears. Rotom simply glared back at me from behind the robot, refusing to budge from its vessel. For a sparkly prick, it sure was shy around strangers.

"So," you said. "You named your toy Rotom?"

"No, Rotom is the ghost that inhabits this robot."

You gave me a blank look, one reserved for a pitiful child who ran to their parents' room at dead of night due to the imaginary monsters under the bed.

"I'm not making this up!" I insisted. "Rotom, get out, now!"

Rotom blew a raspberry. How humiliating.

"It's okay," you said. "I know people who name their toys. Personally, I'd rather give nicknames to my Pokemon."

Oh forget it. "So did you need me for something?"

"Oh yeah! I found something really cool! Come on, before it washes away!"

With that devious Rotom tucked in my rucksack, I followed you out to the beach. The sky was a deep orange as it usually was during the peak of dusk. Into the bubbles you ran, the last traces of sunlight rippling around you like a sea of light.

You brought me to a wedge in the sand where seawater collected in a shallow puddle. Nothing noteworthy, yet you proudly presented a large stone with the confidence of an esteemed archaeologist. My confusion must've been evident for you to roll your eyes like that.

Feeling rather silly, I leaned in for closer examination. Well… the stone was smooth, round, and white… like any other pebble on the beach. The thing that set it apart from the rest was that peculiar inscription on the surface: a compass with wings as the cardinal arrows whose ink shimmered an iridescent green.

You pumped a fist in the air and proclaimed, "I, Explorer Cynthia, have unearthed an actual artifact! Behold, Sidekick Murkrow Kid, the White Moonstone!"

"Moonstones are not white."

"Bah, not everything you see is in black and white. You need a lesson in creativity."

Admittedly, I did. Naming Rotom wasn't my most creative achievement. My academic curriculum didn't center around open-ended thinking either. I supposed there's still a lot I could learn from you.

"I'm going to show this thing to my dad so he can assess it," you said. "You should come too! We're grilling squid, and there's more than enough to go around!"

The prospect of hot, fresh food was enough to make my mouth water. After hearing the many wonderful stories about your parents, I truly wanted to find out for myself if what you claimed was true. I wanted to confirm that you and I lived in the same universe, as your life sounded radically different from mine. One aspect that surprised me the most was how your parents emphasized eating together. Everyone's schedules might be busy, but the whole family came together come dinnertime.

I've expressed it before, but I really did envy you, Cynthia. My ideal of a perfect family was constructed from yours.

But alas, I had to refuse your generous invitation. I wasn't your friend, a fact I had to constantly repeat to myself. It won't do my parents well if I inadvertently hurt you. Maybe not now, but certainly in the near future.