In terms of chapters, this is the midpoint of what I have planned for Escape from Thunderhead. This is also the longest chapter so far, clocking in at well over 6,000 words. I'd like to thank everyone who's read this far, whether you have been here from the beginning or you just found the story today.
Current music: Run for Cover - The Killers
LUCAS' POV
From the very start of my punishment, I resolved that I would not, under any circumstances, complain outwardly about being grounded. I could be as upset as I wanted, but ultimately, I had no desire to give my parents any satisfaction that they were breaking me down.
I spent most of the first two days in my room, sweating like a beast. Even though I didn't have the thick fur coat of a Litleo anymore, the heat wave still affected me to no small degree.
I would wake up in the night from the heat. During the day, the sweltering humidity was so intense that I could barely muster the strength to do anything. Even walking down to the kitchen to get food was a chore.
More than once, I wondered if the heat would be more bearable outdoors. Would it be easier to deal with the weather if I got some fresh air?
It's only a week, I kept telling myself. I will only have to stay indoors for a week, and then I can do whatever I want. Except for you-know-what; I'll still have to stop myself from doing that.
Still, a week was a long time. It was seven whole days, each day consisting of twenty-four hours, each hour comprised of sixty minutes. Some of the time I sat in the living room, just staring at the analog clock on the wall. (This one was particularly painful, since the tiny red hand moved along at what felt like a glacial pace.)
Every so often, my gaze would wander to the cell phone on my desk. It was as tempting as a cheeseburger probably is to someone stranded on a desert island. Ten times a day, I pictured myself dialing the number that had been listed on Janelle Wilson's Tinder profile, hitting the call button, and waiting for an answer.
But I wasn't going to do that. I didn't want to be the one to break the no-contact rule, and if that meant being in a proverbial "staring contest" with Janelle, so be it.
I didn't even know what I'd tell her. There was nothing more to say between us that we hadn't already litigated several times over. Calling her now would only bring more pain for both of us.
On the third day of my grounding, I was once more in my room, doing my summer reading assignment for the upcoming 12th grade year. (Yes, my school had those,and it's exactly as irksome as it sounds.) I tried to concentrate on the book, but my attention was liable to drift elsewhere.
Really, can you blame me? After everything that had happened in the Pokemon world, it wasn't exactly easy to think that things could be normal again. My life would once again become boring and predictable, but also safe. (Well, as safe as you can be in the South, at any rate.)
Anyway, when I was jotting down notes from the volume I'd been skimming (since, let's be real, nobody reads the entire book anyway), there was a knock at my door.
"Come in," I muttered, not taking my eyes off of the paper.
My father's booming voice entered the bedroom. "Lucas, you can't just hide away from us right now! We love you, and we want to spend time with you!"
I rolled my eyes; hopefully my dad couldn't see me do that. Aloud, I said, "Sure, Dad. You love me, so you're going to yell at me and call me a drama king. I get it."
"There's no need for sarcasm, Lucas," my father jumped in. "In fact, what we need to talk about is something else entirely."
"Oh?" I asked, daring to get my hopes up at least briefly.
He nodded. "You made the news, boy." My dad looked almost smug at that.
I frowned. "Wasn't I already in the news?"
"I mean, yes. But now they're covering you on CNN, Fox, ABC, MSNBC - all the networks. Oh my goodness, all the networks!"
"I get it, Dad. I'm on the news, so you're going to treat me this way, aren't you?"
"Well, Lucas, it doesn't matter how we decide to treat you here.. The world favors those who stay between the lines, otherwise it will chew you up and spit you out. Please, come on down and watch some Fox & Friends with us."
At the mention of Fox & Friends, my heart sank, as did my stomach. It couldn't mean anything good that my dad wanted to show me my story as told by Fox News. That sounded more like torture to me.
Nonetheless, I staggered down the stairs and into the TV room, where my mother was already seated on the couch, eating with gusto from a bag of hot fries. She kept her mouth open when chewing.
"Look at what you've done, Lucas!" she shrieked, her mouth still full. "You've tarnished our family's name for decades to come! It'll be written in our obituaries!"
"Uh, could we not go into such morbid detail right now?"
My dad pointed at the TV. "In short, we have to, Lucas. You need to understand the gravity of where you've brought our family's reputation."
Our reputation? As far as I'm concerned, we were pretty anonymous before all this happened.
Still, I knew better than to go against my father's wishes here, as painful as it might be to sit in front of the TV set. For better or worse, I was to be Fox's captive audience for however long my parents wanted me to.
The Fox News anchor, a dark-haired man with olive skin whose name I didn't know (or care to know) spoke with a considerable amount of venom. He narrowed his eyes into smaller slits with each word.
Next to his face was a picture of me with fluffy hair and blue eyes - just the way I looked in real life. It was quite jarring to see a photograph of myself on television, especially when I knew the anchors meant nothing good for me.
"Lucas Teller says he's been to the Pokemon world and back" the Fox anchor snapped. "Of course, there's no way to prove it, and are you going to take the word of a hysterical seventeen-year-old over all the scientists who say there's no way this could happen?"
I snorted. "Yeah, like Fox ever cared about science."
My mother frowned. "Lucas, that's enough of that."
"I might have to listen to their drivel, but that doesn't mean I have to agree with it" I shot back.
Anyway, the anchor continued. "During his interview with us, Lucas Teller came across as very self-interested. He would tell us all about his favorite aspects of the Pokemon world, and he acted as though nothing mattered except for what he believed happened to him."
Seconds later, the image of a catlike Pokemon with spiky fur in yellow, blue, and black appeared next to the anchor on the screen, replacing mine. The caption read, LITERALLY MYTHICAL?
"Lucas Teller also claimed that Zeraora exists. Lest any of you forget, Zeraora (yes, that's how it's pronounced) is a Mythical Pokemon who needs saving. Perhaps someone needs to go on a quest in order to do just that."
I could have punched the TV screen. Of course, other than a copious amount of broken glass, and a gargantuan amount of rage from my parents, nothing would be gained from that.
"Needless to say, Lucas Teller belongs in an insane asylum. He makes no sense when he talks about the Pokemon world, and there's no reason to think that'll change when he moves on to a different topic. He's just looking for attention, and it's imperative that he not be given such attention."
"But if you don't want me to get attention", I shot at the anchor, "maybe you could just leave me alone?"
"Lucas! How dare you interrupt our show!" my mother shouted. "Fox & Friends is must-see TV, and you're ruining it for us!"
"Quite frankly, it isn't! All this network does is poison your minds, and it fills your heads with nonsense that has a real effect on you. And not in a good way. Please, for the love of Arceus, shut that TV off!"
My father frowned. "Arceus? Is that another mythical creature of sorts?"
"It doesn't matter" I shot back. "Look at me, please."
My dad grabbed the remote and hit the pause button. I didn't think he'd leave it paused for very long, so I had to be strategic (and quick on my feet) in deciding what to say.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
"I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you care about me. And you can't qualify it by ordering me to stop telling the truth, otherwise it's not sincere."
"I care about you, Lucas," my father replied. "In fact, your mother and I love you deeply. We just wish you'd stop spewing such lies so that our reputation wouldn't be ruined."
I wagged my right index finger at my dad. "Nope. That doesn't cut it. You just told me that I was lying."
"Well, what else are we supposed to say?" my mother responded. "This attention-seeking behavior needs to stop one way or another."
"Don't blame me" I replied. "Blame Fox & Friends for covering me in this manner."
"They just tell it like it is, Lucas," my dad said. "They're calling balls and strikes. That's all."
"Are you sure about that? Or are you trying to make yourself sure? There's a big difference!"
"Look, Lucas," my mother responded. "Your father and I just want to ensure you're living the best life you can. And getting on the bad side of the most popular news show in America isn't the best way to do that."
"Maybe it shouldn't be the most popular, then, if all they do is smear me."
"That's enough!" my father yelled, banging his fist against the side of the couch. "Lucas, return to your room!"
That's not really a punishment, is it? Punishing me would be making me stay here!
But there were still five days to go, and there was every possibility that I'd be summoned back downstairs once more to watch more Fox & Friends. Who even knew what they'd say about me next.
Ferguson: Do you think it's accurate to say that being holed up at home, forced to watch Fox News segments regarding your extraordinary claims, pushed you over the edge, so to speak?
Defendant: What do you mean?
Ferguson: You know exactly what I mean, Mr. Teller. Do you believe that you were moved to take drastic action after all that happened in Forrest County?
Defendant: You can phrase that question as many ways as you'd like, Darren. I might be impulsive sometimes, but not impulsive enough for that.
Ferguson: Well then. How did you react to the punishment?
Defendant: To use one analogy, I felt like a caged lion. I would pace back and forth, nothing to do. And it was terrible.
Ferguson: Well, once you're inside a prison cell, you'll be wishing you had your bedroom back. I'll say that much.
Defendant: Yeah, we'll see about that.
Being back on Earth meant facing many modern inconveniences all over again. Beyond the indignity of being grounded, I had other problems to deal with.
The first place I needed to go upon no longer being grounded was to the DMV in order to regain my license. I would need it eventually, after all, if I planned to stay on Earth in the long term. So my mother drove me there the afternoon after my punishment ended.
The line, as usual, went out the door, and moved incredibly slowly to boot. There were dozens of other people waiting in line, many of them coughing and/or sneezing thanks to the summer cold going around, and I had to sit among them in order to wait for my name to be called.
While I sat with the other dozens of people in the Forrest County DMV, I couldn't help but be acutely aware of the numerous glares focused on me. I didn't know any of these people, but they sure as hell seemed to know me. Or at least, who I was; none of them cared about my life or any of my personality traits, they only cared about all the media attention surrounding Lucas Teller.
They might not know it's me. How many other people around here look the way I do?
Any fantasy that I might escape this DMV appointment without recognition was shattered into a million pieces when my name was called.
As I sheepishly staggered into a standing position, there were numerous gasps from all over the room. While I walked up to the desk, there were even more oohs and awws. I felt not unlike an animal in a cage at the zoo.
My day got even worse when I learned that I'd have to retake my road test. I wasn't worried about my ability to pass it or anything, I just hated the idea of being here any longer. There's a reason nobody likes visiting the DMV, even if you're not famous.
From the moment I entered the car for the road test, I noticed that the examiner was scoffing at me as if to say: Great, it's him. And that's when I knew that he'd be looking for any reason to fail me.
Well, I focused harder than I would have otherwise and passed the test. The examiner evidently couldn't find anything to criticize. And once the man handed me the certificate saying I had passed, it was a very proud moment to glance at him smugly. There was nothing he could do to ruin my day anymore.
…but then I had to wait in line again. By this time, literally every other person at the DMV had to know who I was, because they were gawking at me now with the force of ten thousand suns.
Once my new license had finally been printed, I was finally able to leave. I'd put one of my problems behind me, but that didn't mean everything was fine. Not by a long shot.
For one, I still didn't have a car. While I could still drive my mother's vehicle around, I highly doubted she'd let me do so very often. She'd probably suspect that I wanted to give another interview to Fox News or something equally ridiculous, just to get more attention and sell a book.
I had an automatic reply prepared for when she said that. I'd just say, "And look where that brought us!" That would shut her up quickly.
But that was hardly the biggest problem I had; indeed, getting my license back might have only exacerbated another issue, which was my temptation to visit Janelle.
I did not know where she lived, nor would I ever come over unannounced. But on some level, I wanted to know how she was doing, if she ever wanted to meet up again and discuss how we would save Zeraora now.
Of course, it wasn't nearly that simple.
On the way back to my house, my mother drove past a familiar ditch. It was the same one in which I'd hidden on that fateful night when our story started.
I must have visibly flinched when we passed it, because my mother took her eyes off the road briefly and flat-out asked me, "Did something happen in that ditch, Lucas?"
"Uh, no" I replied blankly.
"What if I said I didn't believe you?"
"What?"
"I think that ditch holds some significance to you, Lucas. The way you reacted when we passed it has to mean something."
"What if it doesn't?" I replied. "What if I'm just telling you the truth, and you're denying it because you don't want to trust your own son?"
My mother gasped, nearly crashing the car. "If you truly love me, how could you ever say that?"
"Trust me, Mom, I love you. I'm just trying to deal with everything, okay? It's quite a lot."
After that, my mom abandoned this line of questioning, and she didn't speak again until we reached the house.
While my mother swiftly entered the house through the back door, I stayed outside for a few minutes, looking out at the horizon. It was nowhere close to sunset, and there wasn't much horizon here, but this gaze helped me come to a new realization.
I kind of miss the ocean.
Back in Fula City, I'd stared out at the sunset from the Wind Festival. Yes, the festival had ended up as a disaster, just as Sionne had warned us, but if I could have stopped time during the event, I absolutely would have.
Speaking of Sionne, I kept thinking about her. Not as persistently as I did Janelle, mind you, but there had to be more to her story than she was letting on.
After all, predicting a random act of terrorism at a festival isn't an easy thing to do. It's called random for a reason. So then the question became: Did she know anything I didn't?
OTTO'S POV
"They expect us to be jacks of all trades, don't they?" Otto grunted, moaning as I held a massive cardboard box above the ground.
Kai snorted. "Probably more like kings of all trades, haha. But I'm sure you can do it, you just have to apply yourself."
"I'm already applying myself," the Oshawott responded bluntly. The bones in his arms felt as though they were melting. And the steep stairs didn't exactly make the task any easier.
The job was almost done. One more computer had to be carried up the stairs and placed at its position on the table, and then Otto and Kai could return to their dormitory. They'd have more grunt work tomorrow, but any reprieve was better than none at all.
"Don't complain any more than you have to" Kai panted as he grabbed the front of the box. "It might be cathartic, but it won't get the job done, and it won't help you keep your job."
Otto didn't waste any effort in replying. He simply put his head down and helped Kai schlep the box over to the table. Unlike the machine they'd been working on, this time they'd been told exactly what the computer's purpose was: To grant the Seablast Corporation one more portal to the Internet, just like any other such device did.
"Just let it down easy," the Raichu said softly. "And then we'll be good to go."
The Oshawott's arms still burned ten minutes later, when he and Kai were once more in their dorm. They'd be called for dinner a little later, but for now they could relax and talk about whatever they wanted.
Well, almost whatever they wanted.
"Should we get out a piece of paper again?" Kai asked as the pair sat down on their beds.
Otto's heart skipped a beat. The Raichu might have already sealed both of their fates just by saying the P-word out loud. It didn't matter what else was said; Jim Bob or some other superior would likely have heard them and grown suspicious.
In response, the Oshawott did the Shut up gesture in front of his mouth, then nodded. He grabbed a sheet of loose-leaf, lined paper from his desk drawer.
Kai wrote first. Do you think this room is bugged too?
Of course, Otto replied. Why would they bug the work room and not our personal room? It seems like the obvious thing to do to just give all the walls ears.
The Raichu waited a while to answer. It seemed that he didn't have a good rebuttal to that question. And then, after a while, Kai started writing.
You said a while back that if we didn't have to work, we'd find a way to figure this whole thing out. Do you stand by that?
Otto grimaced. Truth be told, he'd only said that as an easy way out. But the easiest way isn't always the best way, and he wasn't sure if he'd chosen the right route after all.
I don't know, Kai. I just don't know.
It broke the Oshawott's heart to see just how crestfallen Kai appeared now. The Raichu's face fell rapidly, but he wasted no time in grabbing the pen from Otto and jotting down another sentence.
Dude…you told me we could piece together the purpose of that machine. And I don't like being lied to.
Otto frowned. I wasn't lying. I said something I believed to be true, but wasn't. There's a difference.
Kai took a while to respond, for which Otto didn't blame the Raichu. It was only natural for him to feel betrayed after the Oshawott had made that promise.
I forgive you, the Raichu wrote eventually. I just wish it didn't have to come to this. Can we keep working here if we don't have a clue what they're doing?
Otto shrugged. Of course we can. The question is whether or not we should.
They did not immediately have another chance to write to one another. This was due to an audible rapping on the door, which was followed by a gruff, familiar voice asking: "Can I come in?"
"Uh…sure" Kai said sheepishly.
The Oshawott knew that if he tried to stop Jim Bob from entering their room, that would only make the scene look more suspect. If they had nothing to hide, they had nothing to fear from a search…right?
Jim Bob entered. His salt-and-pepper hair stood on end, as though he'd just received a mild electric shock. Additionally, there was a wild look in his eyes, one that defied clear categorization.
"What's going on, guys?" their supervisor snapped, kicking a bit of dust off the floor.
"Uh…what are you talking about?" Otto asked, his heart threatening to beat itself right out of his mouth. That was a horrifying image, but not quite as horrifying as the idea of what Jim Bob might do to them if he figured out what they'd been discussing.
"Don't be cute with me," Jim Bob replied breathlessly. "Don't be funny with me. The ice is thinner than you think."
"We know, dude," Kai muttered. "That's why we've been obedient to whatever you want us to do. We've fallen in line whenever you've told us to."
Jim Bob narrowed his eyes. "If that were true, there would be no need to announce that. Show, don't tell, that's what they say."
Our Zangoose is cooked, Otto thought to himself. He tried not to let that implication show on his face, but it would probably be obvious within seconds; his poker face left much to be desired.
"Look", Kai said eventually, "we were just talking. We're allowed to have a conversation about something that isn't work-related. It's not all about the nine-to-five, or the eight-to-six, or whatever you want to call it."
"That may be true", their supervisor shot back, "but I heard Kai ask for a piece of paper. The question is whether or not that piece of paper is still there."
We are dead meat. Dead. Meat. There's just no way he doesn't ask for the paper next, and if he asks for it, how are we going to say no?
"Please produce the sheet of paper you were writing on. If you can, that is."
I freaking knew it! Sometimes being right sucks!
As smart as Otto liked to think he was, he couldn't come up with a valid excuse to deny Jim Bob's request; at least, none that his supervisor would consider acceptable. So, with his entire body trembling, the Oshawott picked up the sheet of paper and handed it to Jim Bob.
Jim Bob began moving his eyes across the paper, and with each second that passed, Otto found it harder to breathe. The man seemed to find some sick satisfaction out of analyzing what they'd written.
"Let's see…" their supervisor began, trailing off. "First of all, the answer is yes. Your room is fitted with audio recording devices, as are several others at the Seablast headquarters. That's because you two can't be trusted with your own secrets. And based on what you wrote here, you sure have a lot of secrets."
Otto could have kicked him. He could have used one of his Water attacks to fill the room with enough liquid to drown Jim Bob (though that would also drown Kai, so it wouldn't be worth it.) But he felt powerless to do anything but sit there and watch Jim Bob torment them with their own words.
"And you wanted to learn the purpose of the machine you were building. While the curiosity is certainly admirable in the abstract, there are some places where your noses just don't belong. And you simply have to realize that. You must get that idea through your heads, and those skulls are thicker than I'd thought."
"So what happens now?" Kai blurted out. Otto wanted to tell him once more to shut up, but there was no putting the Meowth back in the bag.
"Well", Jim Bob responded, "there's the minor matter of your punishment. For now, I'll just give you another warning."
Otto let loose a gigantic sigh that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It could have been so much worse, after all.
"But make no mistake about it", their supervisor continued, "this is your last warning. Any further such behavior from you two is going to result in severe consequences. There will be fire and fury the likes of which you've never seen before."
I don't want to see it, then.
As though reading the Oshawott's mind, Jim Bob said the following: "If you do not want to find out what these consequences are, I suggest you follow the rules. Toe the line, because the nail that sticks out gets hammered in."
On that note, Jim Bob tore the paper in half and threw it in the trash. "I don't need this anymore," he muttered. "And you two certainly don't. Like I said: Thin ice, both of you."
And with that, their supervisor left the room. As soon as Jim Bob was out of earshot, Kai gave Otto a smile.
"Why are you smiling?" the Oshawott asked. "That makes no sense!"
"Well, we're not going to be punished this time," Kai replied. "We got through another one."
Otto snorted. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this. Why wouldn't this room still be bugged?"
"Fair point." Kai responded. Mercifully, the Raichu didn't say anything else, which gave Otto a brief grace period to think about what his next move would be.
The Oshawott swiftly grabbed another sheet of paper, wondering how much noise the scraping of a pen against it would make. Even if it was deafening, though, at least it wouldn't tell their superiors what they were discussing, not unless they found the paper. And they didn't intend to let that happen again.
If they're going to such great lengths to hide the truth from us, then they don't respect us, Otto wrote swiftly.
Well, sometimes that's the way it is, scribbled Kai. They're the bosses and we're employees. It's not supposed to be an equal partnership.
I know, Otto replied non-verbally. But why do we put up with it? We have to get out of here.
Kai gasped audibly. The Raichu clearly had trouble holding the pen as he wrote down his response.
Where would we go? And how would we even escape? None of this makes any sense.
I don't know, Otto responded. But did you hear about Zeraora being gone?
No, Kai replied.
Otto hated to play this card; it was just something he'd heard over lunch earlier that day. It very well might have been nothing but deluded rambling on that coworker's part.
But if there was something to it, he wanted to explore that possibility. He did care about the truth, after all.
One of the other employees here said that this mountain might suffer a landslide as a result of Zeraora's absence. Apparently that Pokemon is vital to keeping the world the way it should be.
The Raichu gasped yet again as he scrawled out his reply. The haunted, horrified look in his eyes was torture just to look at.
If that's true, we might get crushed beneath all that rock. Or worse, we might suffocate. What a horrible way to go.
That's why we have to get out before that happens, Otto "said", IF that happens. It very well might not. But if it DOES happen, we need to be as far away from the mountain as possible.
But, Kai wrote, even if Zeraora is gone, how do you know we're in a position to do anything about that?
I don't know that we are, Otto admitted. But it's better to be safe than sorry.
This exchange went on a decent bit longer, during which time the pair gasped and grimaced a great deal. Otto and Kai were extremely cautious about what sounds they allowed to exit their mouths, but a written record of their conversation could be just as damaging.
One thing was certain: After that rumor, Otto felt increasingly trapped whenever he pictured the multitude of stone and other heavy materials all around and above him. He kept imagining what would happen if it all gave way and trapped them underneath.
Despite what he'd told Kai, Otto reminded himself that he shouldn't be so concerned about it. Perhaps he was engaging in self-deception; but then, everyone tells themselves some lies in order to feel better.
Could the above two paragraphs both be true at once? Yes, they absolutely could. Otto felt increasingly jumbled the more he tried to contemplate what he and Kai should do next.
LUCAS' POV
After the first few days of freedom passed, which didn't feel much better than the week I'd spent confined to my home, the days began to blend together.
Of course, that's how it usually goes in someone's life. A select few days in a lifetime are notable, whereas the rest of them only serve as transitions between the more "exciting" 24-hour periods. Whether those memorable days are good or bad, however, can vary.
One afternoon in early August came on a day that can't be firmly placed into either category. If I had to go with one, though, I'd say that it had been a bad day, but just barely.
Here's what happened: I'd been lazing around the house all day, either doing my summer work or playing video games. Both of these activities lost their appeal after only a short time, however, and I knew that eventually I would need to find something different with which to occupy my time.
Maybe I should go for a walk, I thought at one point. I could really use the fresh air, couldn't I?
Despite the intense summer sun streaming through the windows during the daylight hours, I could practically feel my skin growing paler as I became less and less accustomed to UV rays. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to get a little tan.
So I grabbed my phone and earbuds, and then started walking down the road. I didn't have a destination in mind; on some level, I simply wanted to escape it all however I could.
As "Time Of Our Lives" by Happy Republic blasted itself through my earbuds, I strolled down the road beneath a baking ball of fire, warming my skin up gradually.
In the midst of this semi-euphoria, I lost track not only of time, but also of distance. After what felt like a fairly short time, I realized that I was back in town.
There was an ice cream parlor near me, one that had been my favorite since I was a kid. Although my parents had always taught me that it was unwise to eat between mealtimes, I needed something to cheer me up that day. Because right now, my mood was in a figurative ditch (even if it wasn't a literal one.)
While I was placing my order for a medium cherry vanilla waffle cone, the unexpected happened.
A brown-haired teenage girl of rather average height entered the building, and my heart stopped for a good three seconds. And that might not sound like that long, but I gained a new appreciation for the amount of work one's heart must do.
Is that…Janelle?
If so, she'd put on a new look. Her hair was slightly shorter than it had been the last time we'd spoken. It might have just been me, but she also appeared more refined somehow, perhaps through the use of makeup.
Shit! I did not expect my resolve to be tested so soon!
I gulped as I grabbed my cone out of the scooper's hand. As anxiety-inducing as this place was, there was no way I'd leave without the little piece of heaven now in my hands. (Really, they make the best ice cream this side of the Mason-Dixon line.)
"Why are you…" the girl began, and that's when I realized that it wasn't Janelle. I'd gotten all worked up and given myself heart palpitations for no good reason.
"Uh, no reason!" I exclaimed, holding up my left hand like a traffic cop. "I just thought you were someone else, my bad!"
I didn't even have to lie. That's a relief.
The scooper, a blonde girl a year or two younger than me, narrowed her eyes. "We can't have a disturbance in my shop, young man. I hope you understand - order must be maintained."
"I get it," I replied. "I'll be on my way, thanks."
What I wanted to point out, but didn't, was that the girl scooping the ice cream didn't own the shop, not that it was particularly relevant. At the end of the day, I'd gotten what I'd come for, and it was glorious.
As I sat on the curb eating my cherry vanilla ice cream, I admonished myself for that rash reaction.
There are well over seven billion people in this world. Surely there are plenty of people who look like Janelle. Girls with her appearance - not her personality, just her appearance - are like sand at a beach.
On that uplifting note, I stood up and started walking back down the road. I didn't want the cops to be called on me - not that this was likely, but it was too big a risk to take.
It was a few weeks until school started. In just a couple of weeks, I'd have something else to do besides sit around, vegetate, and take long walks under the blazing sun. I hadn't enjoyed school much before, but it sounded almost heavenly now. Once it started, I would no longer need to worry about Janelle. Moreover, everything happening in the Pokemon world would be someone else's problem, not mine.
Speaking of the Pokemon world, I had no idea if the ditch would even work as a portal there. I didn't know if we'd end up in the middle of the ocean if it did. Perhaps that would be a prohibitive risk as well.
Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a trace amount of guilt whenever I considered that. The reality is that the fight to save Zeraora would be won or lost without me, and as much as I'd have liked to play a role, that window of opportunity had closed.
Some nights, I would awaken bolt upright in bed, emerging from a recurring nightmare about Zeraora being held captive atop that mountain. I'd never forget just how choppy the ocean far below looked, nor how the very air around the mountain seemed to suck the energy right out of the Mythical Pokemon.
When you keep seeing such an injustice as that, it's only natural to want to do something about it. It's not just a human instinct, and I can say that firsthand, having been a Pokemon for two weeks on Nexus. But sometimes you have to accept that you don't have a part to play, as painful as it may be.
Along the road, I saw another girl who looked familiar. From this distance, and amidst the sun's glare, I couldn't quite tell if it was the girl I'd spent nearly two weeks living with after meeting on Tinder. You know which girl I'm talking about.
As I turned to glance at her, she turned her head away from me and continued walking. This probably meant she either hated my guts, or maybe just thought I was weird for looking at someone I didn't know. Either way, she probably thought that the random teenage boy eating ice cream by the road wasn't her problem.
Not more than a few minutes after that, I turned around to head home. I'd had enough "excitement" for one day.
Ferguson: Did the encounters with females "rattle" you at all, Mr. Teller?
Defendant: I want to say no. But since I'm under oath, I can't.
Ferguson: So you were startled at the sight. Did you think either of those girls were Janelle Wilson?
Defendant: I don't know what I believed. Even now, I don't know what to think. The first girl definitely wasn't Janelle, and the second girl…
Ferguson: Well? Was the second girl your ex-girlfriend?
Defendant: First of all, Janelle and I never dated. But as to your question, I'm not sure. She turned her face away from me immediately. And what you have to remember is that I was more accustomed to her Litleo form than her human one.
Ferguson: So you were used to seeing her as a Pokemon?
Defendant: Yes. That's why I don't know whether or not the second girl was Janelle. She might have been, or maybe she wasn't. I guess I'll never know now.