Prologue.

II. Prequisites

"I can't spell," he announced to the teacher with a grin on his face, as if this was something to be extremely proud of. Somewhere, a classmate giggled.

The woman sighed. "Please, Emmett, just try." This exact conversation repeated itself every time the class held a spelling bee.

"But I don't know. Can't I just sit down? I don't mind, like, losing or anything, really. And I'll study tonight." Appeasing this lady never seemed to work for him, but nonetheless she mouthed 'alright' and gave a nod. A bold ten-year-old like this was a nightmare for a teacher right out of college.

Allow me a pause for a short description of Emmett. He was a small boy (and would be a small adult as well) -- his father's genes for height having ignored him entirely—but he was surprisingly broad. Unfortunately he had missed anything athletic floating around his family and, like too many others, would be condemned to loving sports and not being able to play them. His light eyes looked slightly odd against his darker complexion and hair; in fact, his elder sister would often complain that no clothing looked right on her (what matched her skin tone jarred with her eye color, and vice versa). He did not quite crave attention, but he was not at all shy of it. He took a seat, his tiny self disappearing into a sea of standing students.

There should be something said for the boy behind him as well. Ian Jordan hated that his name tended to rhyme, but liked it well enough otherwise. He was a bright boy—destined to be labeled something or another as a teen—and wanted nothing more than to be a famous scientist when he grew up. The gossip would later be that this dream was the only reason he was best friends with Emmett in the first place; Emmett's grandfather worked at a well-to-do laboratory in far-away Mossdeep City. Ian, an only child, was tall and somewhat lanky (had he liked sports, he could have easily been an athlete). He had the kind of eyes that were tough to be angry at: dark and droopy, always sad and melancholy. He stood tall (though it was difficult for him to do anything else) and deftly spelled the word that had left Emmett sitting.

Words were spelled, bells rang, and one or two students smiled when Ian lost to Linda Rowette. Emmett sighed and opened his locker: there would undoubtedly be another word in edgewise to his parents at conferences, and another speech about how the teacher was the teacher and he should know better than to be so rude. He felt guilty about being 'rude', but he really didn't know the answer and saw no reason to embarrass himself with a desperate attempt at the word. And he was just like that in spelling, really.

A note fluttered down out of his locker as he rushed to pack his things and begin trotting home.

Do you remember that first crush, reader? That was Emmett to Jessie Salcito. Unfortunately, the note was not from this shy girl. As she looked on, which was not all that difficult to do-- their lockers were right next to each other (Salcito, Solvati)-- she saw that it was a warning to clean his locker. The vice-principal and eighth-grade teacher had the tendency to dump the entire contents of messy lockers all over the floor to make a student sort it out.

He stuffed the note into his pocket and looked over at her. "You ready? Ian and Jessica are gonna meet us at my house, because she has cheerleading and he has better things to do, so you can come over for a little, my mom said." What had Jessie's mom said once? That she would be friends with all the boys, but never have a boyfriend? What a curse that is, reader, to be in a puppy love with your best friend, to be a hopeless, average-looking tomboy. She would finally make a move too late, many years later, if you find yourself curious. There's no real love story here.

"Alright, hold on one second, I can't remember my locker combo and I forgot my science book… actually, it's probably home. Let's go," she said, mostly to herself.

"I did my stuff in class, just take mine," Emmett offered.

And so began the trek home.

Celadon City was huge, as you most definitely know, but the little neighborhood that housed our friends was tightly knit, as are most similar neighborhoods. It was more suburban than city-like, with no overly tall buildings or apartment complexes. Justine Solvati's stomach would always turn at the thought of her ten-year-old walking home from school by himself. Letting him do that was what bad parents did, the kind whose children were kidnapped. But she found herself without much choice—the school did not offer a bus route, and both she and her husband worked.

Justine did not worry as much about her daughter, Larissa, who was much more introverted and less likely to strike up conversation with whomever happened to walk up to her. But nothing had happened in ten years, and in truth nothing ever would occur on that short, simple walk home from school. Justine would never have to suffer the pain and humiliation of being one of those parents who let their young children do ridiculous things. Do not take that at face value, though. 'Ridiculous' is being used specifically here, and Emmett was allowed to do many insane things as the years went by. But none pertain specifically to kidnappings and murders.

It was, naturally, Larissa who opened the door to Emmett and Jessie. She glanced at them and let them in; she was listening intently to music ('plugged in,' Justine called it), and would break out in song for a few seconds every now and then.

Larissa had never been awfully fond of Emmett's friends—a four-year age difference will do that—but she particularly disliked Jessie and her more feminine counterpart, Jessica. For once, she found it excruciatingly annoying that they had the same name, though truthfully this came from her own experiences more than a personal dislike of the girls; a Lauren-Laura duo had once tormented her. Secondly, well… in truth, you see, she had no real reason. But Emmett never needed a reason to like his friends, so she never needed a reason to dislike them, and he was not exactly the favorite of her friends. Sibling rivalry, eh, reader?

But now Larissa sounds like a cruel person. She will be, one day, in Emmett's eyes, but for now they are truly best friends, playing computer and video games as the deadliest duo there ever was. She'd cared deeply for her little brother during the ten years of their existence together.

When their father arrived home (earlier than Justine—not something that normally happened), there was rejoicing on Emmett's part and a smile from Larissa. The relationships between parent and child here can be summed up easily: Larissa was her father's face and mother's mind, and Emmett his mother's face and father's mind. But that is little but a summary, and a summary usually leaves out several important details. The boldness of Emmett was his mother's, the reclusiveness of Larissa her father's. In truth, I suppose, there is no accurate way to describe who came from where.

Larissa was never daddy's little girl, Emmett never a mama's boy. Larissa would connect and bond primarily with her mother, Emmett with his father. Oh, the heartache that comes of it.

.(:x:).

Emmett's favorite teacher had always been Mr. Lowry, a kind gentleman who taught English as well as foreign language classes. Emmett did not have a particular knack for the English language; he did not see himself as being particularly strong or gifted in any area, and he was content with being average all around. Nonetheless, this man was one Emmett would think of fondly twenty years later, when everything else about Celadon City was a blur of the painful and otherwise unpleasant.

Sitting in class that day, Emmett meditated on the journal question. Do you have any intention of ever going on a pokèmon journey? Why or why not? Why do you think the fervor for this occupation has died over the past decade? This will become a creative writing assignment next week. The topic undoubtedly stemmed from the anticipation surrounding the ten or so children that would leave at the end of the next week on excursions of their own.

Emmett had always gotten the impression that someone left where they lived because they were not content with their lives and the people in it. It didn't much matter to him what they left to do, but if you are truly happy, why abandon it? He jotted this down and then gazed out the window, preparing to daydream for the next few minutes.

He had never had the desire to train pokèmon; something seemed wrong about it. He had taken the classes and such (it was required, something he had always found very strange). Yet, Emmett supposed this lack of desire to leave meant that he was pleased with life, love, and why as it pertained to him.

It was last period, Friday.

What a way to condemn yourself for the weekend, to go home that Saturday to no one, to not go home again for a long time. What blatant foreshadowing.