Hi everyone! I'm back again! I know, I know, you all missed me. I missed ya'll too, so don't worry. I'm liking how this story is going so far, so I'm excited to see how this chapter turns out. I hope you're all as excited as me! Responses to reviews:

Bluepaw265 ~ Thank you so, so much! Your review was really thoughtful and kind, and it made me smile!

Red the Pokemon Master ~ My first thought reading that was WTF. Then, I laughed for some reason. Then I felt really disturbed. So congratulations, you gave me a mood swing.

JordanMax ~ I feel like, just reading your review, you were really pissed off after reading the ending with Ash and his father lol. Yeah, Ash's father is an asshole. Ash is starting to understand Misty a bit more, which in turn may just lead to some special things ;)

Draco Lightning ~ Hopefully Ash can stand up and fight against his d*ckhead of a father. I'm with you on that one.

SpencerDorman ~ Thank you very much!

SuperSonicBros123 ~ Ah, but that would ruin the story ;)

Alina 122 ~ Thank you!

Deuce141 ~ Thanks!

This story currently has 26 reviews, 29 favorites, and 31 followers.

The featured story for this chapter is The Ripple Effect by The Real Iggy. "For decades Team Rocket has worked tirelessly for the goal of Kanto and Johto. Ash wants to be a Pokemon Master. Misty wants Ash-and respect. Jessie and James want out. Mewtwo just wants to be left alone. The three of Ash, Brock and Misty will each be compelled to protect their home and unite the trainers and Pokemon of Kanto." So this is a brand-new story. Brand new, as in just published yesterday. I've liked it so far, though, plus it's a PokeShipping story. I highly suggest you check it out if you're looking for a new story to read along with.

~ "I've learnt that there's a soul mate somewhere in this world. Till you find that person, the search goes on." ~

- Preity Zinta

Weekends suck.

Most people cherish the weekend. They treat it like it's God's gift to Man. But to me, weekends are hell. It should be obvious why that is; not having to go to school means I have to stay around the house while my father either:

A) Gets drunk.

or

B) Beats me senseless.

So far, all had been decent. The only confrontation we'd had so far was when I'd tripped and spilled some milk on the floor. He shoved me on the ground and told me to clean it up, as expected. I, of course, had expected more, but oddly enough he left it at that. So I'd cleaned up the milk before retreating upstairs, intent on listening to some Nickelback and working on my homework.

I'd left the window partially open, and was enjoying the calm, cool breeze that was meandering in through the open space. I was about halfway through my English paper when my music suddenly cut out. I checked my phone quickly; sometimes the app malfunctioned and crashed. To my chagrin, I saw that the Wi-Fi had cut out. Great.

I could hear my dad downstairs, hollering and throwing things around. He must have been using the Internet himself. I instinctively grabbed harder on my bed sheets, praying that he'd keep his anger out of my zone. I turned my attention back to the paper, trying to block out my father's angry screaming. From the way he was slurring his swears and stumbling around, I had a feeling he'd already been drinking.

After ten minutes of fruitlessly scribbling down meaningless words and streaking eraser shavings across my paper, I gave up. I hated how my English teacher, Mr. Potts, felt the need to slam us with an essay or a creative writing piece every weekend. He hadn't given us a break since the start of the year; every Friday he announced some sort of writing assignment that got the class groaning and him yelling.

It was fun.

This weekend, our assignment was to take something that annoyed us and turn it into something positive. I'd been writing a half-ass response about snow; the only annoying thing in my life that I could write about without Social Services knocking down the door. Of course, getting taken away from my father would be great, but it wouldn't happen. He had an amazing talent for hiding any and every sign of his abuse whenever someone came over. He'd put on this nice persona, convince them all that it was just a misunderstanding, and I'd be back to square one.

I say this from experience, by the way. One time, when I was seven, I tried calling the police after my father had locked me in our basement for two whole days and refused to feed me. Of course, the police had in fact shown up and investigated the house. Despite my pleas, they came to the conclusion that I was simply "overreacting about a small punishment" for what my father called "watching a T.V. program he wasn't supposed to". After they left, I got it twice as bad.

So, of course, I never tried that again.

Throwing the English aside, I pulled my Chemistry book on to my lap. Even though we had no homework, we had a big unit test scheduled for Tuesday. I figured that, since I was stuck in my room and all, I might as well study. I was by no means a Chemistry expert, and I really had to try hard to maintain a high enough average to avoid a beating. Any grade, regardless of its importance, below an 85 got me punished. Ever since I'd gotten a severe beating when I was eleven for getting a twenty on a quiz, I'd taken any schoolwork I knew was going to be graded as seriously as I could.

I was just getting through re-reading a section when I heard a voice call up from outside my window.

"Hey! Ash!"

I looked up, immediately recognizing the voice. That recognition brought with it a rush of intense annoyance. Of all the times, of course it had to be now. Throwing my book aside, I crawled across my bed to the window.

"What?" I snarled, resting my chin on the windowsill.

Misty looked up at me from just outside the backyard gate, her innocent viridian oculi blinking up at me. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the blazing afternoon sun. She looked confused at first, then excited.

"Hey!" she called happily. "How are you?"

I stared at her incredulously. "Seriously?"

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"You came all the way over here just to ask me how I am!? You could've called!"

"You wouldn't have picked up."

"Then what made you think I'd show up for you here!?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Only because you'd just keep yelling."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

I sighed, throwing my hands in the air. "I don't know!" I snapped. "I guess I'm fine! Why do you care?"

"Are you busy?"

"Does it matter?"

"What do you think?"

"Naw," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've got an English paper to write, a Chem test to study for, forty problems in math, and ten vocabulary words in History. I'm not busy at all."

She put her hands on her hips. "No need to get sassy."

I tapped my fingers impatiently on my windowsill. "If you're just here to chat, that's nice, but I've got a lot of work to do. Can't you just stop by later or whatever?"

"You'll just come up with some other excuse."

How does she have me so figured out already!? "Whatever! Just tell me why you're here already, would you please? I have half a mind to shut this window just so I can work in peace!"

She shook her head, clearly exasperated. "You're such an ass sometimes, Ash Ketchum. My mother sent me over here to ask you if you wanted to come over for some lemonade and cookies."

I was surprised by this, and I was sure said surprise was showing on my face. No one in the neighborhood had ever invited me over for such things. If ever I did get invited over to someone else's house, it was to do some sort of job for a dollar or two. I gawked at her, not sure what to say.

She smirked. "Has Mr. Smartass lost his tongue?"

"I'm not a smartass!" I snapped. "Look, I'll be right over, okay? Just... get lost."

That made her laugh, for whatever reason. "Alright, then." Spinning on her heel in that way perky girls did, she pranced on back to her own property.

I changed out of my sweatpants into a nicer pair of jeans and daringly tiptoed out of my room. I swallowed hard as I made my way down the stairs and saw my father sprawled on our living room couch. I felt a cold sweat break on the back of my neck, and chills ran up and down my spine.

My dad, despite his obvious drunkenness, noticed me instantly. "Where ya goin', son?" he slurred.

"Mrs. Waterflower invited me over to do some chores for her," I lied. My teeth gnashed against my inner cheek as I prayed that he would accept the lie.

He contemplated that for several moments. At last, he asked, "Yer homework done?"

I shook my head. "No, sir, but I'll get it done."

"You better. Now get outta here. Pop wants to rest." He let out a groan and threw his head back against the armrest. For the first time, I noticed the half-empty bottle in his hand.

I nodded. "Yes, sir." As quickly as I could, I darted out the door.

As I crossed the short distance from my house to the Waterflower residence, I wondered why exactly I was going over there in the first place. After all, I couldn't stand Misty. Her parents were super nice and fun, but their daughter was anything but. I guess the chance to get away from my father and that stupid room of mine was what drove me to say yes.

I stepped up on to their porch and knocked. Almost instantly, Misty herself answered the door. A big grin plastered itself on her face as she took me in. I gave her a weird look, wondering just why the hell she was so happy.

"I didn't think you'd come."

"What?" I huffed. "You think I'm a liar or something?"

She shook her head. "No, no. I just thought you'd said yes to get me to leave, and you weren't actually going to show up."

"Yeah, well, I'm here. Make way."

She stepped aside, and I entered the house.

The inside was extremely cool, a nice relief from the hotness of my own home. I saw Misty's mother sitting at the dining table, while her father was in the living room reading Popular Mechanics.

Mrs. Waterflower noticed me instantly. She sprung up from her chair, a great big smile on her face that mirrored that of her daughter's. I tensed as she rushed toward me, not sure what to expect.

I most certainly wasn't expecting a hug.

It was a quick one; one that didn't give me the chance to react. I was pretty surprised; never before had I been greeted in that way. I tried to push back said shock, however, for the sake of not making things awkward. I gave her as strong of a "hello" as I could muster, maintaining eye contact as was the confident thing to do.

"Come on in, Ash!" Mrs. Waterflower invited. She gestured toward the table, which proudly displayed a tray of assorted cookies and a pitcher of lemonade. I felt my mouth beginning to water, recalling just how good the matron of the household's cooking was. I was about to do as she told when I felt a strong hand clap me on the back. I reflexively flinched, only to remember that this wasn't home.

Dan Waterflower greeted me enthusiastically. "There's my man! Glad you could make it, son."

I smiled sheepishly. "It was a pleasure to be invited, sir."

He placed a hand against my back and steered me into the kitchen. "I've been waiting for you to come over again. We had such a lively conversation last time; everything was so much fun!"

"Yes, sir, it was," I admitted, being honest for once.

I took a seat in between Misty and Dan. I was told that I could help myself to the cookies and lemonade, so I did. I poured a full glass of the tart drink and grabbed several cookies of varying types. Chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, ginger snaps, frosted... they were all there. I wondered what had inspired Mrs. Waterflower to do such a thing. I didn't really care, however, as a cookie was a cookie.

As we ate, we talked. As my father wasn't around, I felt free enough to tell them more about myself. I talked about everything from my earliest memories to my "future career choice" to, of course, sports. For the first time in years, I actually felt... happy. Truly, one hundred percent happy.

It was an amazing feeling.

After we finished with the snacks, we moved into the living room. Despite Misty's protests, the Waterflower couple pulled out an old scrapbook. Contained within its pages were pictures of all four Waterflower children. I got my first glimpse at the triplets, who were in fact just as pretty as I'd imagined them.

Mrs. Waterflower pointed at a picture of a baby in a blue onesie laying in a crib. She chuckled a bit, then explained, "That's Misty when she was two weeks old. Cute, wasn't she?"

I shot an amused look Misty's way. Her cheeks were tinted a slight hue of pink as she tried to hide behind her fingers. Deciding to have a bit of fun, I said, "Yes, she was. Got any more pictures of her as a baby? I'd love to see them."

She shot me a death glare. I smiled innocently.

"Of course!" Mrs. Waterflower cried, jumping out of her seat. "In fact, I have an entire album of her first six months!"

"Great!" I couldn't help but laugh at the mixture of anger and embarrassment that had worked its way into Misty's features.

Karma's brutal!

As Misty's mother sifted through her scrapbook collection, I caught a glimpse of Dan poking his daughter in the side, smirking. When she looked at him, I just barely heard him whisper, "He's already askin' for more pictures! I think he's interested."

I think we both wanted to throw up at that point.

After a few minutes of searching, Mrs. Waterflower produced a small scrapbook marked with the words "Baby's First Months". Plopping herself down next to me on the couch, she opened it up.

For the next half hour, we looked through pictures of Misty from her birth all the way up to her half birthday celebration. Some of the pictures were downright hilarious, such as the one of her mother trying to take a nice picture with the wailing Misty. Others were cute, like one of her sitting in a car seat with a big grin plastered on her tiny little face. I laughed and smiled as I heard stories of her early life antics, including one time when she'd stuck her finger up the faucet during a bath and showered her mother with a spray of water.

The topic at hand then shifted to my early life. I shared the stories I could recall hearing about from others and my father at social events. I purposefully left my mother out of my stories, and no one bothered to ask about her. I figured they knew enough not to. I told them of my favorite story, in which I was running down the sidewalk with someone, and they spun me around again and again in the rain. I explained how getting spun around was, for some reason, my favorite thing when I was little. When I was asked why, I explained that my reasoning for it was that I felt wild and free while I was in the air. I had no other logical reason for it, other than the possibility of me just being plain weird.

Eventually, I excused myself to go use the bathroom. The downstairs one was being painted and thus was off-limits, so I found myself using the upstairs one instead. Despite the short time they'd been in the house, the Waterflowers had already done a nice job fixing some things up. They'd repainted the upstairs bathroom a calming shade of purple, and Mr. Waterflower had mentioned their plans to have the floor replaced and the plumbing upgraded. They truly cared about their home; something one doesn't see much of these days. I found myself appreciating that.

As I finished using the bathroom and started washing my hands, someone burst into the bathroom. I was immediately on guard, alarmed by the sudden intrusion.

Much to my confusion and anger, it was Misty. I threw my hands up in the air, sending little droplets of water flying everywhere. "What the hell?" I demanded. "Ever heard of knocking?'

She stared at me. "I waited until I heard the toilet flush."

"What if- You know what? Never mind. Why are you in here?"

She suddenly got closer, backing me up against the still-running sink. "What was that downstairs? With the albums and everything?"

I found myself grinning like a madman. "Just havin' some fun."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't fun! It embarrassed me to no end! Those baby pictures are for me, and only me!" Her face was completely red; whether from anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure.

"You've been a pain in my ass ever since we met, so I decided to be a pain in yours."

"You're ridiculous."

"Thank you."

She groaned. "My parents love you, which I don't understand. You're more annoying than my Chemistry homework!"

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Yes!"

"Well, it sucked."

She pushed me then. I stumbled a little, but didn't fall. It wasn't much of a push to being with; just a little touch. I laughed. "That all you got? I thought you were supposed to be tough."

"I don't want to make you cry."

"Oh, okay," I chuckled. "Look, I won't ask to see any more pictures. Is that enough?"

She huffed. "I guess so."

I gave her a cheeky grin. "Good. But regardless of what you say, you were a cute baby."

I was lucky she didn't kill me for that one.

The two of us managed to get ourselves back to normal by the time we got back downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Waterflower were still in the living room, albeit this time with cups of tea. Dan wiggled his eyebrows at us as we approached.

"Man, you two took a while. What were you doin' up there?" He looked at us both suggestively. I blinked in confusion, while Misty just rolled her eyes.

"Daniel!" Misty's mother scolded. "Don't say those things! They're just friends."

Not even that.

Dan nodded, not looking convinced. "Yeah, right. Because friends of the opposite gender always go in the bathroom together."

"We were just talking!" Misty insisted. "Honest!"

He laughed. "Okay, darling. Whatever you say."

At that moment, I found myself glancing at the clock. It read 5:09. I was a bit startled by that, not having realized it was getting so late. I quickly excused myself, making my way toward the door. I almost made it out when Mrs. Waterflower stopped me.

"Will you stay for dinner?"

I swallowed. As much as I wanted to stay, I knew that I couldn't. I was already pushing the boundaries as it was. If I got home any later, I'd be in for some serious punishment. My dad made it a serious point that I was to be home by sundown every day. No exceptions. I wasn't about to dare breaking that rule, regardless of whether or not he was drunk and thus oblivious to everything but his liquor.

"I can't ma'am," I said, genuinely sorry. "I have to get home. My dad's expecting me."

She nodded, looking disappointed. "That's too bad. It's been a nice visit, Ash. Come by again!"

I found my gaze sliding over to Misty. Her face was expressionless; I had no way of figuring out whether or not she actually enjoyed my visit. "Thank you, all of you. I had a great time. I'll stop by again... eventually."

And with that, I was gone.

I padded back over to my own house, feeling worry gnaw at my stomach. What would my dad be like? If he had quit the liquor after that one bottle, there was a chance he was sobering up. If not, he might have passed out drunk. I really hoped it was the latter, since if he was sober it meant he'd likely be primed for a beating. I felt that same cold sweat break out again as I opened the door.

The inside of the house was dark, save for a small table lamp that was on. Fortunately, my father was passed out on the couch. His mouth hung open, and his liquor bottle had slid out of his grip and spilled its remaining contents on the floor. I groaned inwardly, knowing which of the two of us would end up cleaning that up.

As quietly as I could, I made my way upstairs. As soon as I made it into my room and got the door shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. No fights. No confrontations. Just peace.

It was nice.

The first thing I caught sight of was my English notebook, sitting crooked on my floor. I felt a sudden, strong urge to write as an idea came to me. I found myself grabbing a pen and said notebook and plopping myself down on my mattress.

I ripped out the original piece and started anew on the blank page beneath it. I felt a small smile curl the corners of my lips as I started scribbling down words in my messy, half-cursive style of writing. I watched, almost as if in a trance, as the words flowed across the page in perfect black ink.

Ash Ketchum, English, Mr. Potts.

The thing that annoys me the most would have to be this girl that lives next door to me. Every time I see her, I get real angry. I don't know why; somehow I always manage to come up with five thousand excuses why. Her voice, her appearance, her habits... They all annoy me. And yet today, I went over to her house willingly. Sat around and chatted with her and her parents for hours. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up feeling really good afterwards.

This assignment told me to take something annoying and make it positive. So... here goes. I guess she's nice. A little. Not much, but a little. After all, she has tried to help me a few times, for whatever reason. I, of course, never wanted nor needed her help, but she insisted upon it anyways. I like that about her, but I also hate it. I'm quite confused...

And on and on it went, until the entirety of a page was covered in little black lines. When I was finally done, I held it up in the light like it was some prized trophy. I smiled at it, pleased for the first time in ages with something I'd done for that class. I carefully put my notebook away, eager to find out just how Mr. Potts would react to what he might call a "budding love story". Of course, it wasn't, but all English teachers were soppy like that.

I was just about to return to my Chemistry when a loud yet groggy shout came from downstairs. I nearly jumped ten feet; prior to that shout, it had been completely silent throughout the entire house.

"Ash! Get down here and clean this up, now!"

Like I said, weekends suck.

By the way, I want to wish Pokemon a very happy 20th birthday. I'm very excited about the recent announcement of Sun & Moon, if any of you reading this are interested in the games. Can't wait to see what Gen VII brings. Of course, my #1 hope is for Misty to come back for some 20th Anniversary special, but that'll never happen. At least we've got fanfiction, guys.

Until next time,

- Anonymous1O1