03 Problem Child

The trolley station by the Ecruteak pokémon center was also by a little café meant for early morning commuters to buy lattés and pastries, contributing to its interesting and complex scent. Top notes of cheese omelets and animal food unfolded to reveal a full-bodied cocktail of anxiety and generic hotel soap mingling around a rich romantic heart of sweat and rubber.

It was quite a lot to take in, as Delilah sat there blinking and observing what seemed, through a veil of sleep deprivation and oppressive heat, to be the surreal arbitrariness of human existence at nine o'clock in the morning. There was a training seminar or convention of some kind at the Ecruteak Gym that day, and she was curious what it would involve. A wangsta type was walking by when the trolley pulled in. As she stood up he looked at her and made a pleased little "oh" sound.

"How are you?" he asked her, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Fine," she answered, and got on the trolley, realizing how rude she must have come off. And besides, as a white man trying to be black, he probably already deserved her pity. But what else was she supposed to say?

Depending on what part of town she was in, Delilah usually merited either a once-over (sometimes a twice-over), a drive-by come-on such as "hello, beautiful", or people leaning out of cars yelling at her in Spanish. One day she had looked apparently so good that it had driven a white man outside the public library to address her as "damn, girl!"

These last, more conspicuous reactions, of the loud and spectacular variety, were those that most intrigued her, and of which she frequently found herself skeptical after-the-fact—not because she didn't think she deserved them, but because they were so unsubtle, and so clichéd, that she found it difficult to believe that they could be performed without irony. Indeed she had to think that, women's lib regardless, the reason there were so fewer catcalls on street corners than half a century before was simply because they had become a philistine and embarrassing stereotype.

Delilah knew that she was perhaps ostentatiously unreceptive to flirtation, so probably she was intrigued by these because they were trite and obvious enough to penetrate her dense aura of academic obliviousness. If a boy just started talking to her, she never assumed he was flirting with her; and since she never looked at boys, she never saw them looking at her. Delilah just didn't see people through a paranoid lens of dating potential, the way it seemed everybody else did.

When she got off the trolley it seemed to be sunnier and hotter than she remembered it being when she got on, despite the ride only having lasted a few minutes. There were a lot of people milling around outside; she saw Whitney Delwyn talking to Ecruteak's gym leader, Morty Preston, and his boyfriend Eusine. She was going to approach them when she was intercepted by one of the people who frequently wandered gym courtyards dispensing flyers and political propaganda.

"Hi! Do you have a minute?"

Delilah stopped, as if she had walked into a wall.

Delilah really did not want to have a minute.

"Um...I don't know, how long of a minute?"

A little shiver of a laugh escaped her. "Just, like, a minute," she said, which cleared up a lot.

Delilah agreed reluctantly. She had the limpest handshake she had ever felt.

"We're trying to get California to be the first state to ban Styrofoam," she said, and launched into a carefully rehearsed speech about the island of trash and dead dewgongs that was probably longer than a minute and which ended with a rather brazen plea for paying memberships that made Delilah feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Um...well, I am FLAT broke right now. I literally have two dollars on me. I mean, I'm just a pokémon trainer, and my pokémon are my first priority, of course, but, I mean, do you have a website, maybe?" she asked, thinking this was quite shrewd of her because it made it sound like she would look into it further.

"We certainly do have a website," she said, opening her binder to hand Delilah a flyer with sea animals on it, "but the reason we're trying to get memberships right now is really to raise money, so, I mean, even a two dollar donation would be appreciated."

This bluntness stunned Delilah into a state of awkwardness severe enough that she did donate her last two dollars.

"Now, I wonder if you'd like to sign this postcard, which we're going to send to Governor Schwarzenegger to show how many of us support this idea."

"Oh, so it's a petition?" asked Delilah, who signed anything that was put in front of her but who only honored these agreements by accident.

"Um...it's not really a petition," she said, as if it were a bad word. "It's just a way to show your solidarity on this issue."

So it was a petition.

"I just think it's important, to raise awareness, you know?"

"Oh, sure," said Delilah, pausing on the postcard as she struggled to remember her phone number. "I mean, you know, the environment...I live in it, so..."

She laughed her tremulous, pained laugh again. "Right, exactly."

Delilah gave up on her phone number, and just made it up as she went along, realizing that her cavalier behavior was probably very disrespectful.

She was now dead broke; she just had to find someone with the same number of badges as she had so they could battle...but who would even want to battle for money, at a training seminar...?

She sighed. Well, she didn't really need money today; she had pokémon food back at her room in the pokémon center, and she could make a quesadilla or something...and anyway she didn't even really have to eat, after all she did it every day.

Having lost sight of Morty and the others, she scanned the crowd for Whitney's pink hair; she found them, talking to Keanna Sherman and a guy named Tom Joyner.

"I went to New York over the weekend," Tom was saying.

"Hi, you guys, hope you don't mind my interruption..."

"Hey, Delilah!" said Whitney, hugging her. "Nice to see you!"

Keanna and Tom hugged her too. "You were saying, New York...?"

"Right," he said. "We had tickets to see Agatha Keen battle Felix Andronikos—you know, the US Champion last year?"

"Yeah? Lucky!" said Whitney. "How was it?"

"It was sooo bad," he laughed, shaking his head. "It was such a boring match, ohmygod."

"Aww! I know him," said Keanna. "He is the nicest guy."

"Well, that doesn't mean it wasn't a horrible match!" he said, and laughed.

The festival officially began with Morty giving a battle demonstration. Delilah watched for a while before Whitney took her to look at the vendors set up around the gym's courtyard, selling things like ethnic jewelry and other souvenirs.

"Oh, I like that," said Whitney, pointing to a beaded tribal necklace.

"Yeah, that's pretty."

She looked at the price tag. "Yeesh," she said, making a face. "No thanks..."

"The earrings are not so expensive..."

"Oh, look, there's Adam Harlow," said Whitney.

Delilah looked. She had not seen Adam Harlow since he had abandoned her in the middle of the National Park Friendship Garden, which was a funny story now that it wasn't happening anymore. He was sexily charring his lungs, aloof and supercilious while a girl attempted conversation with him.

"He thinks he is sooo cool," said Whitney, laughing. "Well, he is, but he thinks he is, too."

Delilah laughed. "What a douche..."

Adam smirked a little, and for a minute Delilah thought she could see the girl's knees tremble. It was like watching prey being played with on a nature documentary. Any minute, it seemed, the camera would pan out and reveal that David Attenborough had been standing there all along, narrating in real-time.

She looked back at the earring rack and spun it halfheartedly, not really paying attention since she couldn't buy any of them anyway. Oh well, maybe she had saved a dewgong's life. Apparently money could do that.

"Do you like this ring?" asked Whitney, slipping on a ring shaped like a snake.

"Yeah, that's really cool."

Whitney looked at her hand carefully. "Do you like the gold, or the silver?"

"I like both. What would you wear more?"

"Hi, girls," said someone. They looked up and saw Art Christiansen standing on the other side of the jewelry table.

"Hi, Art!" Whitney effused, replacing the ring. "I didn't know you were in Ecruteak; how long have you been here?"

"A while," he said. "Maybe a month."

"Have you registered for a badge—ohmygod! What time is it? I'm supposed to help Morty with a demo at eleven..."

"It's after 10:30," said Art, holding up his wrist to show his watch.

"Yikes! I better go. I'll see you guys later—come watch me when I'm on!"

She bounded away. Before Delilah had ever spoken to Art Christiansen, she had thought he might be cool or funny, based on an Invader Zim tattoo he had on his leg, but somehow he really was not. Delilah was rarely right about people. Whenever she made up her mind she always ended up being wrong, so usually she avoided decisions, and somehow even her opinions were always wrong. She was still trying to work that one out.

"She's a trip," said Art.

"Yep," said Delilah. A second passed and she realized he wasn't going to say anything else so she asked, "So, have you registered for a badge match?"

"Nope, not yet. So, we're all going to go to Mulligan's after the gym closes," he said. "Are you coming? You and Alejandra can have milk and cookies."

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed, even though she was genuinely sick of this joke, which he had made last week, and the week before, when somebody mentioned going to Mulligan's after the gym closed on Thursdays, because she and Alejandra Cardona were not twenty-one. What kind of people got drunk on Thursday nights? Alcoholics, maybe, and people who thought Fridays were too dangerous, and apparently pokémon trainers. "Let's go watch the demo," she suggested, so they wouldn't have to keep talking to each other.

"I guess you're not really into the karaoke bar thing, are you?"

"Yeah...no."

"It's fun, though," he said as they walked to the outdoor battle court. "It's fun just to see everybody outside of work."

"Yeah, well, maybe for you," she said, not meaning it in a bitchy way, but she realized immediately how condescending it sounded.

He didn't. "You know, though, if we all get a table, they won't card you. You don't have to buy your own drinks."

"That's okay. I don't really drink anyway."

"Well, still, though," he said. "It's fun to see everybody, when you don't have to work."

Just how much effort, she wondered, did these people really put into pokémon training such that they felt so strong a need to "relax" afterward? Delilah barely considered pokémon her "job", because it required so little "work".

"What about the karaoke?" He continued doggedly pursuing the subject, because apparently he lived for Thursday nights at Mulligan's. "Don't you like karaoke?"

"Not especially," she said.

"Gosh!" he said, and laughed. "You're no fun!"

"I'm plenty of fun!" she insisted. "I can't help if you're boring!"

He laughed, even though only her tone had been joking.

He was one of the least interesting people Delilah had ever met. She got the feeling he was sort of intimidated by her, probably because she wasn't very nice.

She happily ended up next to Tom Joyner, whom she liked quite a lot. "So, what would you think," he said, clapping his hands together gay-ly, "of a question about sexual preferences."

Delilah shrugged. "It wouldn't bother me," she said. "I wouldn't mind."

"Okay," he said, nodding.

So apparently the question wasn't for her.

No, it was for Adam Harlow, in his John Galliano jeans, his hair tumbling lusciously around his sunglasses like a Prince Matchabelli commercial or something.

Art got a look on his face that men seemed to get when confronted with Adam, as if he were beginning to suspect that he had forgotten his pants and hoped that the reason nobody told him was because they hadn't noticed.

"So, Adam," said Tom, "this is a random question, but if you don't mind my asking, what is your sexual orientation?"

Adam looked surprised. "Oh," he said. "I'm straight."

"Okay, thank you."

"That's quite flattering, though, thank you."

"No, thank you, I'm glad you're flattered. I was worried you might be offended."

"No, it means I look nice, doesn't it?"

The demo ended, replaced with a man allegedly talking about pokémon, but he really seemed to be talking about how much he hated the government while flyers were passed out to the crowd.

"This is quite boring, isn't it," Adam "asked" her.

"Yeah, the battle demos are more interesting, I think."

"Do you find them helpful?" he asked. "Do you think your battling has matured beyond the skills of a common Rocket?"

"What?" She laughed. "Pretty tough talk from someone who's lost to me twice, don't you think?"

He turned and looked at her.

She raised an eyebrow.

"How's four-on-four?" he said. "Twenty dollars."

"Okay," she agreed right away.

They went inside the gym, which was quite empty, and found a battle court to use.

She didn't think it was very likely that she would lose, especially a match as long as a four-on-four, but she wasn't sure what she would do in the event that she did. She didn't have twenty dollars to give him; was that against the law, or something?

She won anyway.

She wondered if perhaps her pokémon skills were making her irresponsible, betting money that did not, strictly speaking, exist. She would never do this on a one-on-one match, or against a gym leader, but she often found it shocking how much better she was at battling than other trainers, even if they had the same number of badges.

"Oh, whatever," was all Adam said before he left in a huff.

Delilah could have barely cared less, although this somewhat petty display left enough of an impression on her that she mentioned it that evening, eating dinner with a group of people from the gathering. She had only meant to bring it up in a quick "what a weirdo" comment, but Eusine's eyes lit up and he seized the subject with gusto.

"Well, you know," he said, "he's famous back where we come from. Sort of."

"What do you mean?" asked Delilah.

"His dad," said Whitney. "You might have heard about it. You know Team Rocket, that broke up a few years ago?"

"Yeah."

"Adam Harlow's dad is Giovanni Harlow. He used to be a gym leader, in the UK."

"Do you remember all of that," asked Eusine, "with Red Ketchum, right as he was becoming Champion?"

"Yeah, I do," said Delilah. "I was in high school."

"Oh, so I guess you weren't training yet then?" asked Whitney. "That was an exciting time to be into pokémon."

"But back to Adam Harlow," said Eusine eagerly. "For what reasons would you expect somebody like him to be famous?"

"I don't know," said Delilah. "I guess he is good at pokémon..."

"Well, that's a valid skill," he said dismissively. "Adam Harlow is only famous really for being Adam Harlow."

"Oh?"

He nodded enthusiastically, apparently enjoying telling a story, knowing something that she didn't. "It started out, when his father was being tried, or whatever, he would sometimes say something obnoxious, and they'd print it. But then...!"

Delilah waited for him to continue; when he didn't, she said, "Yes?"

"First of all," said Eusine, "I think you should try to imagine being his father."

"What a nightmare."

They laughed. "But think," said Eusine. "You're accused of being involved with organised crime. Maybe it's true, maybe it's not—it doesn't matter. You're a gym leader billionaire and now that's all at risk, and your child spills a drink on the Astounding Mandi and creates a scene at some posh soirée. But, eventually, your team of well-paid lawyers sorts everything out, and your name is cleared, and it seems like a good time to just fade into comfortable obscurity. Right? Are you immersed?"

"Yeah, I got it," said Delilah.

"Remember," said Eusine, "you've gone through months of horrible stress when you thought you'd go to prison or something, not to mention you've been in the news with people probably calling you bad names even if there's no proof. It's very bad, okay? But it's over. It's finally over."

"Yeah, I get it," she said. "What is this leading up to?"

"Well, then your son enters the picture again," he said. "Do you know what he did, right as everything was beginning to blow over?"

"No, I don't," she said. "Please, tell me."

"A sex scandal," he revealed conspiratorially. "He slept with a Member of the British Parliament. He was nineteen, and she was more than twice that, and married."

"Wow," said Delilah. "How...typical."

"So, he's not famous over here, because why would Americans care about British politicians?" he said rhetorically. "And it's not like he's an A-lister or anything, he's more like an M-lister, but you do see him in the rags now and then, over there. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if his family's holidaying here to try to get away from that for a while."

"How embarrassing," said Delilah.

"His parents must be saints to put up with him," said Whitney.

"He's probably spoilt to hell and back," said Eusine. "You can tell."

They were eating with an older couple named Bobby and Charity Horn; Bobby was on a creepy, serious, annoying, margarita-fueled political rant about nothing in particular. "I mean, Morty, look at you," he said. "You're a very respectable guy, you're a goddamn gym leader, you're a fucking sweetheart of a guy. You should be allowed to get married, you know?"

"Yeah, sure," said Morty, who looked uncomfortable.

"I mean, do you want to get married?"

"Well, I don't know, I mean..."

"Well, anyway, it doesn't matter," Bobby continued. "The point is, fuck them! What do they know anyway, fucking idiots. Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em."

"Oh, would you shut up, Bobby," said Charity. "Who's going to listen to you anyway, you need a goddamn haircut..."

"That guy is totally staring at me."

"Whitney, ugh!" exclaimed Eusine. "Would you stop that! All the time, you think everybody is looking at you!"

"He is!" she hissed.

"He's not necessarily looking at you," said Delilah. "He might be looking at something near you or behind you."

"But he is, though," Whitney insisted. "Like, he's not even checking me out, he's just totally staring at me..."

Delilah glanced surreptitiously at the man in question. He was a creepy kind of biker-y guy; she couldn't tell if he was looking at Whitney, but he was looking at something, with a very dark, impassive glare.

Whitney humphed. "Fucker."

Delilah burst out laughing.

They left the restaurant and what followed might have made more sense to Delilah if she had been drinking as well. Before taking the Horns back to their "shithole" they decided to go up Ecruteak Boulevard to see if they could find their sons, who were having some kind of party; on the way they passed the Gym. "Awww, it's closed," said Charity.

"It's nine o'clock at night," Eusine muttered to nobody, but Delilah laughed, and he looked like he appreciated it.

They drove into a parking lot and the Horns looked up at a random building.

"Hey!" said Charity. "That's Jacob! In the window, with the guitar, see! God, he needs a haircut!"

Bobby strained to look. "What, up there? There?"

"What the fuck," Eusine muttered.

Instead of just rolling down the window, Charity opened the whole door to shout up to Jacob; she and Whitney got out of the car to smoke a cigarette and yell things up at the sons while the rest of them sat inside making awkward conversation.

Finally Bobby yelled "FUCK 'EM!" and said he wanted to go home. The entire drive back he chanted "fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em, fuck 'em" much to Eusine's unimpressed annoyance.

Morty took the Horns home and then dropped Delilah at the pokémon center. "Sorry about all the distractions," he said.

Delilah laughed. "That's okay," she said.

"Fuck 'em," mumbled Eusine.