:.: Pick Up Lines (How To Get The Girl) :.:
A Pokemon Fanfic By Kayley Laskitt
Summary: He's smooth. He's cool. He's practically turned picking up girls into an art form. And for the first time in his life, Gary Oak has met a girl whose only response to his lines is laughter. Egoshippy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon. I don't own the concept of disclaimers. I do not own the term 'egoshippy', nor do I own any of the words used in this entire fic. Now that we've established I own nothing, I think I'm going to sit in a corner and mope.
Author's Notes: You know the drill. This is egoshippy, GAMR, whatever you want to call it, it is a romance fic about Gary and Misty. Okay? You clear? No flaming from anti-egoshippers, please. I'm just going to respond with nasty words.
Title Credits: This song is named for, and inspired by, the very cool song 'Pick Up Lines' by Ugly Duckling which has received a lot of play on Triple J lately.
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Chapter 3: Stand still so I can pick you up . . .
"Gary, can you hand me that folder?"
I barely heard Tracey. It's hard to hear when you're up to your ears in self pity.
Tracey gave up on me and rolled across the laminated floor on his wheely chair. He grabbed the folder he was after and rolled back to the computer. Tracey, Brock and my grandfather had been working on research into bug types lately, and Tracey had somehow suckered me into wasting my Saturday in my grandfather's lab, helping him out.
How had he suckered me exactly?
Oh, that's right. With promises on giving me the dirt on Misty.
Misty. You know, for a second I almost forgot about her.
"What am I doing wrong?" I demanded of no one in particular, slumping in my own wheely chair. "Why doesn't she like me?"
Tracey continued tapping at the keyboard at warp speed. "Okay, I'll take the bait," he said wearily. "What happened? And none of that 'I don't want to talk about it' crap. I don't have time."
"I ran into her at Heat last night," I muttered, partly out of reluctance to relive it, partly out of a nasty hangover.
"So you were at Heat," Tracey mused. "Explains why you're wearing your Oakleys inside."
I glared at Tracey through the dark lenses of my Oakleys and continued. "Anyway, to cut a long story short, it was another failed attempt." Tracey heaved an exasperated sigh, prodding me to elaborate. "I met her at the bar. I asked if I could buy her a drink."
"And what did she say?"
I groaned, rubbing my throbbing temples. "That she'd rather have the money."
Tracey slowly turned in his chair to face me and held up his pen like a microphone. "Gary Oak realises he's not an irresistible sex god. Tonight, on a very special Oprah," he intoned.
"Oh, shut up," I muttered, rolling my chair back and forth. "I know I can get her. I'm just going about it the wrong way."
Tracey snorted and tossed his pen aside. "Right. By trying at all."
I glowered at him and propped my feet up on the desk, eliciting a weary sigh from Tracey. "I just need to get inside her head," I mused, drumming my fingertips on my thigh. "Find out what makes her tick." A concept dawned on me. "Maybe if I followed her around for awhile, find out what she does . . ."
As I mulled over this idea, Tracey sat so upright so abruptly it looked like someone had taped a broom to his spine. "Ookay," Tracey began, eyeing me warily. "You want to think about what you just said, Oak, because you're about to take a step onto a road that leads to becoming a stalker."
The realisation that Tracey was right and that yes, I had officially lost my mind was too much and I pounded the heel of my palm on my forehead. "God, what's wrong with me?" I groaned, still pounding at my forehead. "I just can't get her out of my head. I can't do anything without thinking about her."
Tracey leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with the cockiness of someone who possesses worthwhile information. "You know why, don't you?"
I froze mid-pound. "Enlighten me."
Tracey chuckled, irritatingly amused by the whole thing. "She's not like other girls you've known," he explained to me, bracing his foot against the leg of the desk. "Most girls you just walk up to and say, 'Hey baby, how about it?' and they're all, 'Oh, take me you big hunk of manly man'."
I felt my lips twitching into a smile despite myself.
"But Misty," Tracey continued. "She's different. Because you go up to her and say, 'Hey girl, looking fine' and she's just 'Okay, I have to stand over there right now'." Tracey laughed, obviously amused by himself. "She presents you with a challenge, and you like that."
I rolled my eyes at Tracey's hypothesis. "FYI, Misty's resistance is not something I enjoy."
Tracey smirked sagely. "Oh, but you do," he replied calmly. "It drives you crazy, but you love it at the same time." His smirk grew. "Confusing, isn't it?"
I wanted to break Tracey's jaw. Probably because he was so damn right.
"Yeah, well," I said after a silence in which Tracey looked annoyingly smug. "Regardless of that, it still doesn't help me any."
He smiled enigmatically and turned back to the computer. "Oh, it will," he assured me vaguely. "Of that I am sure."
"You have plans for tonight?"
I shaded my eyes and looked down at my grandfather from my position on the roof. "Depends on why you're asking," I responded dryly, making a face as I scooped a handful of leaves from the gutter and let them fall to the ground. I grinned as my grandfather dodged the falling leaves and glared up at me.
"We've been invited to the Ketchum's for dinner," he informed me.
I rolled my eyes behind my Oakleys as I dumped another handful of leaves towards the ground and started climbing down the ladder.
"Again?" I demanded, brushing dirt off my shirt. It was one of those cool retro work shirts, with Cahill Electric embroidered on the back, and the name John on the front left hand side. May bought it for me last year. "Why don't we all just go Brady Bunch and move in together?"
My grandfather folded his arms. "For your information, Gary," he said crisply, in that authoritative way he does. "Misty was the one who invited us."
I froze in the middle of raking up the leaves spread across the lawn and turned to look at my grandfather. "Excuse me?"
I hate it when he smirks like that.
"She's driving back to Cerulean City tomorrow morning," he explained, patting his pockets in search of something. He found a dark purple piece of paper with silver writing splashed across it. I plucked it from his hand and studied it.
'Dear Professor Oak, May and Gary,
I'd like to thank you all for the hospitality you've shown
towards me this last week while I've been in town for Ash's
birthday.
I'm headed back to Cerulean City tomorrow morning (my sisters
have a huge new water show planned) and to say both thank you
and goodbye, I'd like to invite all three of you to dinner at the
Ketchum's tonight at seven.
Hope you can make it!
Misty
-XO-'
"I might be able to make a cameo," I said casually, handing my grandfather the note, sounding breezy despite the fact that my mind was racing with possibilities, as well as theories as to why the hell Misty had even bothered to invite me.
My grandfather tucked the note back into his back pocket and rolled his eyes at me. "Right," he muttered. "Like that was an issue."
I considered coming up with a response, but I let it slide. After all, given all the times I've harassed him about Delia, I probably deserved it.
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Author's Notes: There's more to come. Constructive criticism and comments welcomed - savetheempire@optusnet.com.au