DARWIN

Thursday, March 22, 2018

It was 4:30 PM. I was at the Ya-ya EZ Mart, a grimy shoebox of a gas station twenty minutes from my house. Quincy the Arbok was outside waiting for me, probably impatiently; I'd been inside the EZ Mart for almost twenty minutes now, and ten of those minutes had been spent staring listlessly at the wrinkled blood orange I was holding in my hand. Our kitchenette's empty fruit basket needed to be filled, but at the moment my mind was far from produce.

Not without reason: the past couple of days had left me feeling jaded and depressed and disconcerted.

Thomas had proven my theory of him being a complete asshole correct; he ghosted me and Don at our first two training sessions in the gym. And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd actually left his Kecleon behind, which told me two things. One, the asshole had arrived to both Training Halls early enough to withdraw his pointer from the Depository and dump him in our reserved cubicle; and two, he really was a lying bastard, and expected me to train Brick for him.

Which, infuriatingly, I had, both sessions; it had felt wrong to leave poor Brick just standing there, licking his eyeballs and watching me instruct Don from over in the corner. So I'd incorporated him into our training regimen, just as Thomas had wanted.

There was a silver lining though: Don got a little more confident about attacking the plastic Ursaring dummy when he was doing it with another Pokémon just as weak (or weaker!) than he was. 

Today had fallen totally flat, though; at 2:30, I was called down to Principal Reyes' office for a chat about my Sharpedo problem. Luckily, Mr. Kelley and Sergeant Marshall weren't there, but apparently they'd wanted to be.

"It took some convincing to get them to back off let me talk to you one-on-one, first," Mr. Reyes had told me. "They both had some choice words for you."

More choice words. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"You should be. This is a serious matter, Darwin. When I first heard the news, I thought there was some mistake. It's not like you to break rules like this."

At that, my shoulders had squared. Principal Reyes was generally a nice guy, and had the friendly smile and salt-and-pepper hair of your best friend's dad. But sometimes I thought he used that grin to mask the skillful bite in his words, because when he struck, it hurt. "I'm sorry," I muttered, looking down at my shoes scuffing the thick carpet.

Mr. Reyes drummed his fingers against the desk, atop a stack of papers. "I wish 'sorry' was enough. To be frank, we may be in legal jeopardy."

My strain had mounted as he'd explained: the Water Safari and school board had rules about which Pokémon could be caught for a reason. RTHS was already on thin ice for letting me keep Sharpedo this long; they were facing an impending fine for the violation, maybe more. 

"We could lose our charter, shut down for good," he said grimly. "The faculty responsible for allowing you to train the beast could find themselves in court, facing gratuitous fines or even jail time. Yes, Mr. Blakesley," he said to my gaping mouth, "we're in that sort of trouble."

F*ck me! I had expected horrid news when coming to face the principal, but this... This felt like a punch to the face. It was bad enough that my future looked bleak as hell, but the thought that I would...had gotten other people into trouble for my mistake? Guilt and shame welled up inside and burned as I imagined my sophomore class getting the sudden announcement: the school was closing and it was because of Darwin Frickin' Blakesley. I imagined Ms. Scales receiving a legal summons, appearing in court and then being sentenced to months in jail for condoning the capture of a highly dangerous water-type Pokémon by a minor.

"Are you gonna expel me?" I asked, desolate.

That was the question, the central question; would the school cut their losses with me? Or would they saddle themselves with all of this frustrating baggage? Principal Reyes had appeared torn.

"The school attorney has advised me to do so," he mused. "But I don't want that, and neither do you, I wager. Let's fall back to that as a last resort, for now."

There should've been an explosion of relief at that, yet I only felt an intense anxiety—expulsion was still on the table, after all. "Is there something else we can do?" I asked tentatively.

"That's what I've been trying to find out." He'd gestured to the stacks of paper cluttering his big black desk. "I was doing a bit of reading before you came in, refreshing myself on all the policies and regulations imposed of both the school board and the regional Congress. I discovered that though rare, it's not unprecedented for a student at a Trainer School to have an evolved Pokémon serve on their team."

A memory came to mind: Ms. Scales back on the field trip, talking about a former student catching a Mightyena for his team. "But not a Sharpedo," I said sourly.

"No. But the precedent itself is what is important—the school board actually put some protocols in place for situations like these." He paused, and the look on his face told me to brace myself. "First, there's a fine."

The heat washed out of my face, leaving room for panic to flood in. Shut up, I told it. Later. "How big of a fine?"

"Upwards of seven hundred dollars."

My eyes closed. "Oh god." Seven hundred dollars, when my mom normally had more month at the end of her money? How the hell was this a solution to the problem?

"Hold on," Mr. Reyes said – the distress on my face must have been obvious. " 'Fine' might be the wrong word. Think of it as a tuition surcharge. You would pay it off after you graduate."

I didn't exactly deflate with relief, but the pressure in my chest let up a little. A harsh balance that was not immediately forthcoming; that was something. "Okay."

"And the fine has a purpose. Part of it is indeed restitution on behalf of the school, board, and Safari. But it also serves as a means to fund a venture to replace your Sharpedo."

I recalled something else Ms. Scales had said in Slateport City. "Because of the budget."

"Correct. With the fine, we have the means to help you catch another Pokémon."

"Okay." I was grinding my teeth, making the roots ache. I hated how complicated this was becoming. I was also hating my past self, the one who'd convinced himself that catching the f*cking Sharpedo had been his best option. Now, my altruism was due to put me seven hundred in the hole.

Then came an even more terrible thought: How am I gonna tell Mom?

"Darwin?"

I jerked, struggled to refocus. "Sorry."

Principal Reyes's face was sympathetic, but he spoke sternly. "I am going to inform Mr. Kelley that you are, as of now, on academic probation. Temporarily," he said when I straightened like shot. "Just until arrangements can be made for you to acquire another water-type. I will send notice for the fine to be charged to your student account, and I will print a letter for you to take home to your parents."

That letter, printed with a crisp RTHF letterhead, was now burning a hole in my back pocket. The thought of giving it to Mom literally made my stomach quake. But the knowledge that I was on academic probation – me, straight-A student, looking for no trouble – hurt worse. Before I'd woodenly left his office, Principal Reyes had explained all of what that meant; I would no longer be allowed to come into contact with the Sharpedo. Instead of training her, I would spend the time acting as the Rose Building's unpaid janitor, wiping windows and sweeping floors. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I would have a one-hour detention with Mr. Kelley, presumably where he would take all the time he needed to dress me down and air his grievances about my Sharpedo situation.

Also, my scholarship was on hold, not eligible for renewal.

Not eligible for renewal.

In other words, my plans for the future – graduation from RTHS, Battle College, a military career — were dead as of now. Temporarily, maybe, but dead all the same; I certainly felt like I'd just been murdered.

My fingers dug into the orange; I wanted to scream and hurl it at the EZ Mart's checkered north wall. What did you expect, genius? That they would let this go? They told you. They warned you before the Water Safari. Now you know why.

I left the EZ Mart, trying to see through my blinding anxiety. Stop. It's temporary. They're helping you. When you have your new water-type, this'll clear up. At least you're not gonna drop out now.

But I couldn't help but furiously kick a telephone pole as we left the gas station behind; Quincy's wrinkled head lifted in surprise. Bitch, I seethed, thinking of Sharpedo. If she hadn't tried to kill me three times... If she hadn't been down there, caught in that net, needing help... I stopped for a minute, shoulders slumping. Quincy slithered around my legs, peering up at me with concern.

"Just tired," I muttered. And I definitely was now— I never could stay angry for long. I beckoned to the Arbok, and we continued home. All I wanted was for this hellish day to be over.

***

After a sweltering fifteen-minute walk, Quincy and I arrived home to discover an unfamiliar car sitting in the drive. Unfamiliar at first — I seized when I realized that the sparkling silver sedan belonged to Ms. Jenkins, the landlady. The landlady.

Oh god. I spun around — yes, the For Rent sign was still there — and raced up the porch, fumbling with my key in the lock, groceries banging against my leg. Through the door, I could hear the shouting. Mom sounded close to stroking out, and Ms. Jenkins, normally highly tolerant of Mom's combative nature, was spitting curses.

Sweet mercy. I stopped, the house key warm in one burning hand, my other shaking on the doorknob. Did I dare go in? Someone needed to break up this escalating screaming match before someone (Mom) threw a punch... On the other hand, mediating fights was not one of my strengths, and I was liable to make things worse. I tried to decide, but couldn't—all I could hear was the two women screaming at each other, and Ms. Jenkins saying something that sounded like Get out, and, on the streets. My shaking worsened.

I wound up sitting on the porch, legs crossed, trying to stifle the urge to plug my ears as the screeching wore on. Quincy prodded me with his nose and hissed several times, clearly demanding entry into the house, but when I ignored him, he slithered down the steps and around the corner, probably to go through the back window. I should've called him back — enduring the verbal storm going on inside alone was torture.

After an age, the shouting wore down. There were a few more curses, what sounded like an exchange of threats, and the door suddenly flew open. Ms. Jenkins stormed out, her middle-aged face red beneath her glasses. Without looking at me, she slammed the front door closed and taped something on the screen. Then she marched down to her car, started it up, and backed out of the drive. In moments, she was gone.

I stood and examined what she'd left behind. EVICTION NOTICE. Long after I'd wrangled the door open and stumbled inside, I saw those two words imprinted over my vision like dark spots in rainbow colors.

"Mom?" My voice was weak, and drowned out by the floor fans whirring in the den; they fluttered the tassels of the beat-up couch cushions and flipped open the magazines on the kitchenette counter to random pages. I looked around for Mom and didn't find her.

A hiss came from the hallway. Quincy was jammed into the narrow space, looking worriedly into Mom's room. I fought my way over — "Move, Quincy!" — and peered inside. "Mom?"

The door was ajar. With effort, I pushed it open — it was blocked by a heap of dirty clothes. I waded through a sea of clutter on the other side – piles of laundry, old take-out boxes, mismatched shoes, books, charging cords, vomit from her work bag – until I stood before her. She was sitting in a sun-bleached folding chair – a placeholder for a nice armchair, she'd told me once – and breathing down a cigarette like her life depended on it. In the poor lighting, the stress lines on her face made her look a thousand years old.

She'd looked up when I came in, but said nothing – neither did I. I was afraid to speak; despite the sign, some stupid part of me thought that asking about it would make it real. That same part longed to run back to my room and continue to pretend I hadn't seen the sign or heard the shouting. So we both just stared without seeing each other.

Mom's cigarette ran out. She dropped it in a glass of water on the vanity before lighting up another. She took two breaths, then croaked, "Locks change on Monday."

My shoulders squared, as though guarding against a sucker punch. Be upset later. Right now, I had to think. Ms. Jenkins could be a hardass, just like Mom and especially about rent, but surely there was some mistake.

"Was it the rent?" I asked.

For a second, it looked like Mom wasn't going to answer. But then, mouth pulled tight, she said, "The AC. No AC, no rent. I told her a hundred times."

I swallowed a breath. Ok. "But we have the rent money?"

Now, a full-blown scowl. "It's done. She's not caring for us, and I'm not bending over for her." Another drag, another stream of smoke — a massive cloud was gathering beneath the ceiling like a coming storm. "We're moving out Sunday, come hell or high water — her words and mine."

No, no, no, no. I could feel the situation rapidly slipping out of my control, what little I'd had in the first place. "Where are we going to live?" I rasped.

"Who knows? I'll figure it out."

"Will it be in Rustboro City?"

"Maybe. Depends."

"What about school?" Oh Arceus. How could I have possibly forgotten? The fine, the Sharpedo, the scholarship on pause. So? Maybe if you leave RTHS, these things will go away. But I didn't want them to go away, because I didn't want to leave RTHS — my place at the Trainer School meant more to me than the problems that were saddled with it. That could not have been clearer in this poignant moment where my Mom and I were simultaneously sheltered and homeless – an unstable limbo that underscored just how important it was to graduate, work through Battle College, and land a high-paying position in the Hoenn Military. Being at the whim of someone who could kick you out of house and home on a dime... Today was proving my need for financial security right in more ways than one.

Mom looked away. Even with all the smoke, I could see her eyes, and there was guilty there. Nausea turned my stomach upside down. Was I going to have to give up my place at RTHS because of a dumb spat between landlady and tenant?

Sick, I retreated back to my room.

When I stepped into the small eight-by-eight square of off-white walls and beige carpeting, it felt like a different place. It was like I was seeing it for the first time: cold in the winter and stuffy in the summer, with patches in the carpeting and a creaky window that wouldn't open all the way, but...mine. An oasis, a safe space to lay my head every night, to do my homework, to read books, to listen to music, and to separate myself from the world.

We're moving out on Sunday, come hell or high water.

Just like that. Nausea swirled in my belly as I sank to the ground, staring at the worn paneling, that small crack in the wood that had never seemed as important as it did now. This can't be happening. It's a mistake. A mistake. My eyes stung, and not just from the smoke creeping under the door. Please, Arceus — let this be a sh*tty nightmare.

If it was, it went on and on, and kept going even when I tried to lay down and sleep. The next day, I decided, I would call in sick.

(Ver. 3.0)

--

Editing Trivia

Wow! I cut, cut, cut this chapter!! Originally, it was 8 pages. I got it down to 6.

Some very major changes have also taken place in this chapter.

1) Darwin is not responsible for the eviction from their apartment (originally, he bought a Great Ball with the rent money, planning to get a new water-type himself).

2) Originally, Darwin did not receive a $700 fine and was not placed on academic probation. In fact, Principal Reyes told him to train Mag into obedience by Midterm, or be put out of the school. When I revisited this, I realized that a school who makes the students' safety its priority would not do such a foolish thing.

3) The fight between Mom and Ms. Jenkins was different -- Darwin entered the house to find Ms. Jenkins sitting calmly on the sofa, waiting for Mom to find the rent money. The shouting match started after Mom discovered Darwin had spent the money.

Overall, the result is the same -- Darwin and Mom have been kicked the f*ck out of house and home. However, the emotional logistics are different. Darwin hasn't given Mom the letter yet, after all -- how will Mom react to that will all of this other junk already on her plate? Also, Darwin's academic probation will affect school scenes in later chapters.

Still, I think it's a worthy sacrifice for logic in the storyline. We'll have to see how these changes hold up in later edits.

FLOOD Artwork:

2018 artwork of Darwin + Don and Thomas + Brick. Why did Thomas, the prick, ghost Darwin, I wonder...?