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The Dragon's Game(s)

Chapter 1

A Name

1

The players hustled up into a clump of bodies after the screeching whistle signalled a foul play. Sweaty palms met mud-riddled jerseys as the teams bent over for a reset. From between the many pairs of stained sports boots, the ball came flying out of the scrum into the hands of the Mythics' fullback. The ball fell to his dirty boot and soared into the sky, its spheroid silhouette blocking out a piece of the sun as it arched up, hit its peak, then descended to left field, where the wingman waited with his arms outstretched like he was the town preacher, the ball his audience as he prayed for good health and fortune. Which he was, secretly.

The cold air nipped at the skin, but the young (wing)man's lungs were on fire, his own breath visible as puffs of steam from his mouth. The ball came down to his waiting hands, and the moment he brushed its bumpy surface, he proceeded to fumble it like it were a hot potato covered in mayonnaise. As he slipped through the other team's defence, there was one horrible second where he thought it was going to fall right through his fingers and he'd be at the fault of yet another foul, but he just about managed to scoop his left hand underneath the ball and throw it back up into his waiting right.

But then his right hand decided that no, it wasn't going to get itself a grip, and there was another dreadful moment where he thought it would drop to the grass. The crowd up in the stands, a good number of spectators for a simple test game, the wingman thought, _ooooh'd _and _ahhhh'd _like they were watching a circus show reaching its climactic event.

The comparison was appropriate, because Jim felt like a clown as he rushed down the field adjacent to the sideline, juggling the football from left hand to right as he sprinted, knees rising higher than his hips in his classic run his friends liked to rib him over. But no one made fun of Jim's speed, no way, that's why he was chosen as left wingman. And a wingman in his spare time, too, but that's a story for another time.

The wind was with him as he dashed down-field towards the try line. Jim checked his right for the other team's defenders, and found that all twenty-five other players in the game were running after him, hair bobbing, faces snarling, arms pumping like sweaty pistons. Upon seeing all those jersey's chasing after Jim and the sacred ball he had in his hands - of which he was still trying to get a good hold on - his mouth dipped into a frightened 'o' shape, and he double-timed for his life.

But Jim had caught (or was in the process of catching) one of the most perfect kicks from Mason, and had slipped through their defence with ease - nothing could stop the massive head start he had from securing the try, even if the rumble of stampeding players behind him was terrifying. It was a tradition dating back thousands of years that one showed off at their highs, and Jim wasn't one to disappoint his ancestors. After a thirty-meter run, at last his fingers came smoothly down on the ball, the little bumps in the leather fitting snug against his fingerprints. He put the ball under an arm, and used his free hand to wave to the crowd. The fans shouted their approval at him as he passed them by.

From below those stands of uniformed colleagues, he discerned a unique face, surrounded by a bright eye-catching pink that drew his gaze. It wasn't exactly a 'face' as one might know one, as there was some _interesting _characteristics one could not ignore about the body it was attached to.

For example, the three-tipped pads that were its feet ended in white triangular talons instead of toes. The thick legs were covered in a layer of scales the colour of the deep ocean, and they danced in synchronicity with the six other cheerleaders on this particular individual's left. These reptilian legs were supported by a pair of meaty thighs that were teasingly hidden behind a fluffy, pink skirt ending just shy above the knees. A bright red stomach was hidden behind a pink tank top, with the word MYTHIC printed across the front, the letters stretching across a curvy breast.

Her thin arms raised up a pair of pom-poms in each hand, the two bat-wings extending from her forearms flapping like small flags in the breeze. She began to roll her hips to the chant she and the other females bellowed, doing one full, slow spin as the tassels of her pom-poms danced about. This gave Jim a view of her thick tail, poking out of a slot in her skirt and swishing around in a gentle jig.

M-Y-T-H-I-C

You're getting your asses kicked, by our team!

Gooo Mythics!

The Garchomp stood out well against the rest of the human troupe, the female beast lean and proud and not one bit conscious that she was the only Pokémon cheerleader. Jim's 'o' of previous terror now fell into a wide oval as his jaw dropped. He slowed down to a measly jog to draw out his gawking without even realising.

He actually felt his heart skip a beat when their eyes met across the sidelines, her golden irises just a shade darker than the yellow, five-pointed star printed on her snout. Jim didn't even notice his coach standing just off to one side of his vision, fist shaking in Jim's direction, eyes bugging out by how many obscenities he was screaming. Jim remembered getting flustered around girls back in high school. This one time he was passing this cute girl and he dropped his textbooks right on top of her foot and-

This recollection was interrupted by the world's biggest body collision, reminiscent of a car crash he'd seen last year. Jim went down like a WWE wrestler, doing a few flips in mid-air before smashing face first to the dirt. Some chunky boy from the other team grounded him with all ninety kilograms of his flesh, and Jim hadn't even seen him coming. The air came out of Jim's lungs in a wheeze, and his dreams of scoring a try were buried under fifteen bodies, players from both sides deciding to join in on the tackle. He thought he heard his team's cheerleader's enthusiasm go from quiet to flummoxed silence, before he ate the mud and all he heard was this painful buzzing noise in his ears.

Somewhere far away a whistle was blown from a pensive referee. Airhorns blared as full time was reached. Jim felt more than one spike from a shoe dig into his calves and back from a frustrated player, some of which was not on accident, but he didn't care, he only had thoughts for that Garchomp. He'd seen a few dragon-types about the campus, but he'd never actually seen a Garchomp in person until this afternoon.

Soon the forest of legs subsided enough to allow Jim to get up off the bottom of the body-pile, the front of his jersey dripping with mud and grass. Around him the players huffed and puffed, some keeled over, some standing tall, some trying to do both at the same time in order to appear tireless. Someone from the other team ripped the ball from Jim's hands, as if possessing the ball would somehow make up for the fact that the Mythics had won, but he was too busy looking out to the sidelines to care.

The cheerleaders apparently had had enough and were hustling off with the departing crowds away from the field. It was easy to pick out the seven cheerleaders due to their stark, pink outfits, and the Garchomp even more so, her big tail swishing from side to side to counteract her heavier weight. Call it cliché, but Jim hoped on hope she would turn around and they'd meet eyes across the field of people, mud, grass, sweat and all those romantic things, and they'd give each other distant, longing looks. It might have happened too, at least the meeting-eyes part, if his coach didn't fill up his vision when the man stepped in front of him.

"Well done there, Jimmy! When it comes to eating dirt, you sure showed them! Now if you would please tell me, what in the HELL were you doing!? The line was OPEN, you had a straight, SHOT, and you stood there like a toilet brush!"

Jim was a head taller than his fuming coach, younger, with less spare tire in the buttocks, but his coach had the anger of a cuckholded rhino. Most short, older people had a gift for expressing more emotion than the average Joe, and Mr. Bahril was no exception, hands waving about crazily whenever he spoke, his tone always thick with annoyance even at the best of times.

"Sir," Jim began, as if he'd just seen Mr. Bahril for the first time since kick-off. "the, ah... the sun? It got in my eyes...?"

Whatever insult Mr. Bahril was starting to say tumbled into another language as he looked up at Jim. "Th-The SUN? Got in your EYES?"

"Yes?"

"And once the sun got in your eyes, that made you slow DOWN?"

"Yes!"

"AND, this sudden explosion of photosensitivity, caused you to look like you'd just seen a boob for the first time?"

"... Yes?"

Mr. Bahril had the expression of a teacher who'd just been corrected in the middle of class. His mouth dropped open but he seemed incapable of forming words.

"Coach's right," one of his teammates said, laying one hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jimmy here's got the old 'look but don't touch' rule when it comes to tits. Never touched, never will."

"Actually I have," Jim said. "Your mom can back me up on that, Isaac."

Isaac blinked, and Jim didn't have to push his arm off. It went on its own.

After the teams shook hands for a show of good sportsmanship - the losers careful to keep their bitterness in check - the rest of the Mythics gathered up around the coach. Mr. Bahril coughed into his hand and regained his composure.

"Well, at least we were up on points, so congrats on winning a _test match _you rectal tufts. There were more than a couple of shit plays from a lot of you. Matty, you need to lose that flab, you jiggled around like a beanbag all game, and your lack of speed is costing us. Kyle, my grandma could kick better than you, and she already kicked the bucket ten years ago. And Jim." Mr. Bahril's demeaning finger came down on the wingman. "Jimmy, Jimmy, Jim, if you pull that shit again during the qualifiers I will actually find a way to expel your ass from this campus."

The team laughed, some of them clapping Jim on the back. He took it all with a grin, as he usually did when getting ribbed.

"Oh sure, laugh it up, all of you, but I'm dead serious. How long have we been training for?"

"All year," the Mythic's answered in bored unison.

"That's right. All year. And if any of you screw it up now that's another year we have to wait, and when I say we, I mean 'I', because most of you won't be here, count on that. So! Matty, lose that caboose. Kyle, learn to kick a ball. Jim, bloody focus on the game, or don't bother coming back. 'Sun in my eyes'... Alright, get out of here you lot, you're stinking up my field."

Jim went with the team, but glanced over his shoulder towards the other side of the field, where the pink group of tassels and pom-poms was going. But any ounce of pink was gone, the group absorbed into the distant mass of people. He made sure to not stare just in case Mr. Bahril was watching him.

"Anyone know who we're playing first?" Matty was asking, as they gathered up in the locker room after cleaning down. Steam misted up the tiled room as the showers washed grime from bodies and grit pooled near the drains, the underlying stench of male sweat rank in the tight space.

"Pop says it's the Nova's," Nate replied. He was the other wingman and Mr. Bahril's son. The boys thought he'd be a giant crutch on the field who only got in because his dad gave him the spot, but he'd drilled through the team's combined attempts to 'encourage' him to quit, and eventually he'd proved himself to be quite the asset. "We'll be up against them in the first round."

"Nova's?" Matty asked. "from upstate? They're not the ones who've got that Charizard halfback do they?"

"Nah they can't do that," Isaac said, just coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped over his waist. "The big cheeses won't let a Charizard run your fat ass down out there, Matty. Ain't fair."

"Unless we get one too," the fullback, Gavin, said. He was the team captain. "I know a Mewtwo that could just blink the ball up the field for us."

"Sure, he can replace Jim as left wing," Isaac said. He opened up his locker and took his uniform out. "the fuck happened out there, butter-fingers? What was all this?" He started juggling imaginary balls, making monkey noises as he did. Those noises turned to coughs when Jim threw his dirty towel at his face. "Gah! Germs!"

"I got distracted, okay?" Jim said when the din of laughter died down.

"By the sun?" Matty asked. "That's bullshit. You were looking at something else. Some_one."_

"Well... yeah..." Jim swallowed, an audible click in his throat. "There was a... a girl."

As is the usual response when one admits attraction to the fairer gender, and boy's locker room went wild with cat-calls and whistles and every other stupid noise guys like to make. Isaac, after discarding the wet towel off his face, leaned against the locker beside Jim and asked him who she was.

"I don't know. She's one of the cheerleaders."

"Yeah I expected that from how shallow your pool is, Jim, but which one?" Isaac asked.

"You didn't notice that dragoness on the end?"

The jeering reached a whole other octane after this admission. His friend slash enemy threw up his hands in surprise. "Woah woah hey now! Jimmy likes the derg? Oh I don't believe this."

"Me either," Matty said. "what's wrong with Hannah, the lead girl? She's top of the line, plus she's got much bigger, uhm..." He cupped his hands over his chest, nodding encouragingly.

"It's not all about bra-size, Matt," Nate said. "And give her a break, she's new, and she got Jim's attention, so that's got to count for something."

"Old Jimmy's been looking for pussy since Lara dumped his ass," Isaac said. "don't be naïve, fatty-Matty's right."

"Firstly, fuck you," Jim said, pointing at Isaac, then to Nate. "Secondly, Nate? How do you know she's new?"

"What do you mean? We've never even seen her around before, for one thing. Plus my pop's friend had her do tryouts the other week. He saw over her trials personally. Filled out the forms a couple days ago I think."

Jim practically teleported over to Nate's side, seizing him by the front of his shirt before he could even blink. "You're saying your dad knows her?"

"Uh, yes?" Nate said, looking as if Jim had him admitting his crimes before a rigged courtroom. "He's our team coach? Remember?"

"Do you know her name? Her classes? Date of birth? Anything?"

"I don't know, dude! Let me go, you're freaking me out!"

"O-Oh, right. Sorry." Jim released him and brushed his friend's shirt of any crinkles he'd made.

"I could try finding out some things, if you want dude." Nate shrugged.

"Nah, man," Isaac said. "that's creepy. Just find out where she lives then 'pretend' to bump into her when she's walking home. I tried that once, good results."

"Volunteer to be a bench-warmer," Matty tried. "they sit right next to the girls during half-time. That's a good half hour alone right there!"

"How about," Gavin said. "You go up and say hello?"

The team looked at Gavin as if he'd just suggested he defecate in the town fountain. "'Say hello'?" Jim parroted. "What kind of opening is that? You want me to fail before I even start?"

Gavin shrugged, as if he'd conveyed all the wisdom he could share. As Jim shouldered his backpack he asked Nate: "You seriously don't know anything? Not even the first letter of her name?"

"Sorry dude. I could try asking pop, but-"

"Nah, don't bother," Jim said. Some of the other guys started offering their own advice, all of which about as helpful as an Ikea instruction manual. He shushed them with a few hand gestures. "I don't remember asking for any suggestions, guys. Besides, I've already got a plan."

Regardless, the rest of the team fired one idea after another at Jim as he retreated from the locker room. _Eat that ass, _was yelled just before he shut the door behind him. Jim adjusted a strap on his bag and made his way across the stands. Dismissing his team's help wasn't just an excuse to call them idiots - if he could hook up with Lara he could hook up with anyone, and besides, he'd heard Pokémon were easier going than human women.

Jim caught up and blended in with the crowd heading back to the campus proper. He saw a few draconic faces as he walked, but the Garchomp was nowhere to be found. Maybe that was because she was creeped out by him staring at her and was avoiding him. It wasn't his fault she was easy on the eyes, was it?

Hope something like that doesn't happen again during finals.

Jim wouldn't admit this sounded arrogant, because it _was _arrogant - the Mythic's were one of the best teams on the coast. Last season they'd gotten all the way to the semi-finals but lost, six to seven, golden point style against the Spartans. Their universities had been rivals since before Jim was born, attracting many middle-aged mothers to the sidelines to scream their hearts out about how their boys were clearly superior to the others.

Even though the Spartan's had taken the cup, the Mythic's nine times out of ten got to the grand finals, so assuming it would happen this season wasn't much of a stretch. If it did come down to another golden point situation, and he missed an opportunity to swipe victory because of the Garchomp again? Coach would literally kill him. Dad too. Hell, the whole team _would want to get a piece of him if he screwed it up when he needed to, as coach said, _focus.

Much like when defending the try-line, he'd tackle the problem head-on, and make it so there wouldn't _be _a need to ogle, if one knew what he was talking about.

It was strange because Jim had never looked at Pokémon like that before. There were human/Pokémon couples, sure, but he'd never thought much about joining those ranks until today. Maybe it was because he was a sportsman and she a cheerleader. Hollywood always pushes those kinds of pairs, don't they? Maybe it was the fact she was so... unique, given that Garchomp's were a rare sight, at least from his perspective.

Or maybe his interest only lay in the fact of his own self-deprecation which had bothered him these past few months. A sign only family and close friends could see, and Jim wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was lacking in both those departments as of late.

Looping around D-block, Jim frowned after failing to see this nameless dragon that had caught his eye. The only thing he did see worth noting was between blocks G and H - two big guys surrounding one small guy just outside an empty classroom. The small guy, Edwardo - yes that's his name - was about as strong as a malnourished sloth, and it showed. His limbs were more like sticks, and it seemed he'd never known what a protein shake was. The big guys around him were at least two, maybe three years older. They were laughing at something Jim hadn't heard, one of them giving Edwardo a not so gentle shove. If prison was a comparable analogy to schools or campus's - and many people agreed so - then Edwardo was the new inmate paying protection money to the big-timers while the guards - the teachers and professors - weren't around to see. Two thirty PM, on the dot, every day, one would always find them here.

And nobody did nor say anything about it, because it was just one of those things you see often enough you take it for granted as being the norm. Edwardo could do something to stop it but just chose not to, at least in Jim's opinion, and if that was his choice, to let it happen? So be it.

Jim passed the stick-up without even turning his head, same as everyone else.

But in otherwise good fortune, training ended half an hour before the official end of the day, so Jim and the team, as well as anyone with free time to watch, got an excuse to relax early without the professors getting suspicious. Even though technically it was free time, the professors hated students slacking about so openly. "Makes us all look bad," one of the teachers said to him once. Usually Jim spent the extra spare time with his teammates at a bar or in the park across the street, but he opted to go straight to the bus stop with everyone else.

The main body of students gathered around the bus shelter, chatting and laughing. Jim sat off to one side, tapping his phone with one hand while his other lay splayed on the grass behind him. He only looked up a while later when someone sat right beside him, and his heart jumped, expecting it to be the Garchomp from before, and that she'd decided to approach _him. _It wasn't completely out of the question, was it?

But it couldn't ever be so easy. Arrogance was just as blinding as the sun, and Jim had been called vain more than once before. Isaac gave him this stupid little grin like he always did, sitting just a little too close than was necessary. "Sup Jimmy?"

"Sup." He looked back at his phone.

"Well don't get so excited to see me! After all, I'm the only reason you even get the opportunity to score when we're playing. No big deal or anything."

"That's the centre's job," Jim said, not looking up. "and you're _right _centre. I am on the LEFT. It's called geometry. Or trigonometry. Or whatever it is."

"What about that mad kick I did the other day? Straight over everyone's head to you, no fuss no sweat. You know how I do crazy shit like that?"

_Because you're like a machine, _Jim thought.

"Because I'm like a machine! Honed in, in the now, observant! Just like you _weren't _today with that dragon!"

"Shh!" Jim hissed. "Everyone can hear you! Shut your hole."

Isaac ran a hand through his long hair. "Credit goes to you anyway, Jimmy. At least you're looking at chicks, not like that faggot Gavin."

Jim scoffed. "_At least _Gavin's getting action, unlike someone I know."

Isaac rolled his eyes, shrugging off any attempt at being grilled. "Whatever dude. So listen, a bunch of us are getting together to go clubbing tonight. You in?"

"Eh. Not in the mood."

"You said that last time, dude. By the way, did you talk to that Garchomp yet?"

"I haven't seen her since training."

Isaac's eyes gleamed with ill-intent. "Well you, sir, are just about to. Turn around."

Jim's expression was of annoyed confusion as he turned his head, fully expecting Isaac to rant on and on about how he fell for it, and that he was totally into a dragon. But one of the few times Isaac wasn't being a douchebag occurred when Jim's eyes fell on the Garchomp's body, standing maybe ten meters down the path, a little leather handbag over one scaly shoulder. She was completely alone, sighing as she tapped a foot on the grass.

Now, this would usually be the prime time one introduces himself. He walks up to her with swagger-filled strides, leans on a nearby railing, brimming with self-confidence yet holding an eased posture as if he cared not for how anyone saw him, winks and asks her how she's doing.

Of course, this scenario was played out in Jim's mind alone, and for all his prior confidence, as soon as the chance presented itself... he clammed up.

"Shit," Jim said, the word coming out in a hushed exhale as he turned away and covered one side of his face with a hand in some vain attempt at concealment. "Is she looking?" he hissed at Isaac.

His fellow teammate looked at him the same way one looks at an idiot. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

Jim peeked around the side of his palm, and noticed the Garchomp had not reacted. She watched the cars roll past from right to left, fiddling every now and then with her bag or one of her horns. Way down the road came the tell-tale bright and wide shape of an incoming bus. Her tail seemed to wag when she laid her eyes on it.

Jim squinted, then his features went slack as he noticed what exactly he was doing. God, what was he, back in fifth grade? Where one could be infected with cooties if eye-contact was made, and you were ridiculed for even daring to think about girls, and rumours were spread about you and you had to take a few days off school to collect yourself before shame destroyed you from the inside?

Damn... was that me? _Jim thought. _Am I still a...? No, no that's not true. I've just never spoke to a dragon before. That's it. Isaacs's just putting me on the spot. I would have seen her if he hadn't shown up.

And yet, did he not see a sliver of a purple tailfin on his way up here? And just before he sat down, didn't two tubular horns stick out above the crowd of human heads, and he'd willingly looked away and flipped open his phone to distract himself from said Pokémon?

"Now's your chance Jimmy," Isaac said. "before the bus gets here and she's gone forever."

"She's not going to be gone forever," Jim said.

"How do you know that?"

Jim opened his mouth to speak, when a momentary pause caused him to fall flat, and the more Isaac's words sank in, the more they started to gain sense. Isaac, the stoner, idiotic, block-headed brat who'd taken prevocational English classes, had actually had a coherent thought that Jim was unable to counter.

"W-Well, she..."

The light honk of a horn drew Jim's eyes just up the hill, and he saw the familiar metallic blue of his father's range rover pull up to the curb.

Jim praised the ex machina appearance of an excuse to get out of there. "Oh hey there's my ride, I'm off. Later."

Isaac frowned up at Jim as the young man dashed for the car, taking cover behind the other students and weaving between them when possible, so his sightline of the Garchomp was broken as often as it could be.

The older man in the driver's seat, with grey beginning to advance on the perimeter of his beard and hairline, watched his son throw himself into the car like a soldier diving into a trench for cover, Jim's bag arching into the backseat as it always did when he had spare time to pick him up.

"Afternoon," father said. Jim's feet faced the ceiling of the car for a moment before he righted himself in the seat. The indicator flicked on after his seatbelt clicked in. "How's it going?"

"Same old, same old," Jim said, secretly breathing a sigh of relief when his father pulled out onto the road. Jim watched the Garchomp until she was a distant, red and blue shape in the side-view mirror.

"One day you'll say something different when I ask you how school's going," father said. He'd said the exact same thing for several years now, ever since Jim could remember, though the young man wasn't sure if the irony was lost or not.

"Coach threatened to kick me off the team," Jim offered.

"That's not different. Bahril always threatens his pupils, you should know that." He gave Jim a long side-eye. "Was he justified?"

"No! Well... yes. But no. It was just a stupid thing."

"Yes I'm sure it's stupid, so just tell me." The eyebrow on this side went up. "Was it a girl?"

"No."

"A guy?"

"No!" Jim decided further denial was pointless. Parents always have a way of knowing when something's up. "Fine, yes, it was a girl. New cheerleader distracted me and I dropped the ball, or I would've if I hadn't slowed down and got smashed."

"Must have been quite the dame." Father rested one hand on the wheel and leaned his elbow on the window. He glanced from the road to his son. "Who is she?"

"Don't know," Jim said, looking at his phone to try and telepathically ask his dad to drop the subject. "never seen her around before. She's a... a ah... Pokémon. Garchomp."

"A dragon dame?" Father bobbed his eyebrows and smirked in a mildly impressed fashion. "Noice."

Jim felt heat in his face and shrunk himself deeper into the leather seat. "Could we talk about this some other time? Like NEVER, maybe?"

This was usually the part where the dad teases the son, for all parents hold a measure of power they like to flaunt, as his dad loved to demonstrate. But Jim's father simply gave this self-satisfied grin and looked back at the road, slowing down for a red light.

"Take my advice," father said just when Jim was starting to hope he'd stay silent. "new girl comes into town you must pounce." Father gestured at something in front of him with his free hand, as if he was grabbing the metaphorical chance. "No messing about, uh-uh, opportunities don't linger, and neither should you."

"Feels like everyone today's got their own bit of advice," Jim grumbled. "Going to get them all mixed up. Say something stupid."

"Better than not saying anything at all to her, right? I'm assuming you avoided all contact with her by the way you barged into the car just then."

"Yeah alright, dad," Jim said. "I get it." His father didn't break the silence. Jim felt it was his job to change the subject, so he asked, "So how was _your _day?"

Father coughed into his hand. "Called buyers, called sellers, got hung up on more than once, filed a stack of paperwork bigger than the next Game of Thrones book, all that jazz."

"So same as yesterday then?" Jim asked. "I always thought life got less boring around your age."

"Only to the lucky ones." His father looked at him. "And most of us aren't."

"Not the answer I was hoping for."

"But one you needed to hear." Father raised an authoritative finger.

Home was a thirty-minute drive from campus grounds, just on the outskirts of the neighbouring ghetto. Jim's father always scolded him every time he called it that out loud, but they both knew it was true. The houses were run down, there were rips in the screen doors, and one knew the smell of cooking dope when they smelt it, and that stench was rank in the suburbs. Jim was lucky they lived a couple blocks away, rich enough to get away from the ever-rising poverty line.

Father sold houses for a living and the one they lived in was big enough for four, though it had just been the two of them for the last few years. There was enough money to spare to get Jim an in for a sports degree in hopes of making it to the big leagues, but kicking a football all day wasn't going to cut it for his father. "I didn't raise you to be a big dumb fullback. If I did I would have named you Cronk."

So Jim had a few more compulsory subjects on top of his game sessions, societal studies and mathematics just to name a few. He'd heard they really weren't that bad, but it wasn't too long before he was completely swamped with overdue essays and reports. He was usually a proud individual, but not proud enough to deny he was a total airhead, and the thought of dropping out had passed his mind by more than once.

But thanks to the forces that control the country's education, that wasn't an option. His father had made that clear with the many subtle implications he made whenever they conversed over dinner. Jim spent the hours before and after dark with his face desperately buried in a mountain of textbooks, but felt fatigued embarrassingly too quickly. Maybe I should go clubbing with Isaac and the boys.

Then he imagined them all teasing him over that Garchomp, and reconsidered. This is my friend Jim; he's got a thing for dragons. He was just distracting himself from his work anyway.

After hours of useless studying he flopped onto his bed and stared holes into the ceiling. Laying there in the dark, Jim began to feel lonely, and he hated the feeling more than sweet-potato chips. Couple the fact that tomorrow would be a day of lectures and no training, and he didn't feel like getting up or doing anything.

So he sat there feeling sorry for himself while his dad snored loudly down the hall. He thought about the Garchomp for a while but any idea he had of approaching her seemed stupid. Today he could have done something, but instead he had run off. Why had he done that? Because...

Because... it wasn't the right time, of course! What, was he going to keep his dad waiting in the car as he chatted with her? Would he have gone as far as getting on the bus just to spend more time with her? The situation wasn't right. Yeah, that was it.

... Oh, who was he kidding? He'd chickened out. And he'd chicken out again next time and he would be alone forever. As always.

Technically not true. Lara counted. She was a bitch of the highest order who'd worded the prior mentioned loneliness, but she still counted.

The thought of her made him frown, and soon he settled into a rough night's sleep.

2

He didn't see the Garchomp the next day since there was no practice. Jim had his cheek buried into a hand as he paid half a mind to the day's lectures, getting plenty of notes down but not quite understanding most of them.

He spent a bit of time at lunch searching for the Garchomp, but she wasn't anywhere to be found, none of the cheerleaders were. Perhaps Isaac had been right, and that he'd missed his opportunity - maybe she'd moved away or decided cheerleading wasn't for her (he'd disagree with that with all his heart, of course).

As is the strange nature of the human mind, once an idea gets into one's head, a simple, perhaps implausible scenario develops into full-blown paranoia and/or dementia. It wasn't impossible that she'd been creeped out by his staring at her yesterday. G_ood move, dude, new girls are totally into being stared at_. Who could blame her for avoiding him?

Call him contradicted, but his inner balance of confidence and depression was subject to sudden shifts in power when it came to the mental madhouse that was life when graduating from school life to adult life. On top of all his educational worries, the Garchomp apparently held priority. To him her absence felt like he'd just missed something very important, and that he'd irreversibly failed.

But then tomorrow came, and he saw her. His worries were stupid, he realised with a thin grin. Of course she hadn't just up and left because of two seconds of eye-contact, though it did certainly feel like she had.

No one could mistake the identity of the dragon dressed in pink and white. Her thorned kneecaps and elbows threatened to cut the fabric of her tank top and skirt with each one of her pom-pom waves and complex foot maneuvers. How she changed into that thing without going through a few sewing kits Jim did not know. Her and her troupe were bringing their voices together in a typical team shout- 'Let's go Mythics let's go!' -and Jim was watching her just as often as he was charging through the mock defence line.

Which was to say, all the time.

He was on the other side of the field most of the time they trained that afternoon, but there were a few moments he thought she was looking at him over the distance, and each time this happened he tried something new to try and mask his innocence of the fact he was being a complete creep. Like coughing into his hand, examining the clouds, or throwing himself into a big tackle-pile even though he didn't need to, just to name a few examples.

And of course, each of these resulted in distraction from the practice drills, and it wasn't long before Jim's cover was blown, though not by the Garchomp.

"Are you on drugs Jimmy?" Mr. Bahril asked him on their five-minute active recovery, jogging laps around the edge of the field. Mr. Bahril was old but very much in shape, and kept pace with the team even as he shouted out instructions. The whistle around his neck bounced off his bulky chest with each stride.

"No sir," Jim panted.

"You sneaking in a few whiffs before your daddy dropped you off today?"

"No sir."

"Well where did your dose of incompetency come from if not from a sniff of methamphetamines?"

Jim didn't answer. Speaking now would only make it worse.

"Our first game is two weeks away! You want to be around to see it?"

"Yes sir!"

"Then I suggest you stuff that crack in a safe place and get your shit in the game! You keep this up, your days on my team are numbered, Jimmy. Less days than there are fingers on your hands! Now get it together!"

Coach had said that right as their jog brought them directly in front of the cheerleaders, and Jim felt like dropping dead when he heard an unmistakable snicker from at least half of the females. He'd rather the humiliation come from one of his teammates - at least he knew how to take a roasting from them.

Mr. Bahril drove them to hell and back, as he always did when the season was approaching. Training soon came to a close, and the rancid odour of sweat was foul in the locker room. The general murmur of chat was broken by Isaac's daily gripe. "So! Jimmy! Saw your scaly wife out there today. You gonna teach her how to catch balls or what?"

Jim closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. There was a little laughter from the rest of the team. "Maybe. I'm going to make a play even if it means forcing myself in." He frowned. "That... sounded better in my head."

During his short panic yesterday, what his father had said the day before had repeated itself through his thoughts_. Opportunities don't linger, and neither should you. _And that scare yesterday when he didn't see her put things into a perspective he couldn't ignore. He'd have to time it just right so that he'd walk out of the locker room just as the cheerleaders had finished changing out of their uniforms. Take a page out of Isaac's book and 'accidently' bump into her. Oh yes. The plan was flawless.

Say by some miracle that works, a voice told him._ then what do you say to her?_

It was a tad of an oversight to think of that just now, as he left his whooping and snickering team behind and strode out into the cool afternoon air. He followed the path up the side of the field, and spotted just beside the stands, one of the cheerleaders moving out of the girls change room.

Just say, 'hey'. Like the song. And she'll say 'Hi, how are you?' Then say you're okay, you got that? O-kay. Then ask her how she is. It can't fail.

_Yes it can, _he thought right back to this mentor-ish voice, stopping near the opening leading to the changerooms, and saw a familiar blue horn of a Garchomp coming out from behind the interior wall. Jim suddenly fell into an elbow-thrusting power walk, internally screaming that he should abort mission. Live to fight another day. Fall back and regroup. Anything but standing there outside the female changerooms like a total pervert.

Ten meters later he chanced a look back and his eyes went wide as moons when the Garchomp was practically right behind him, and this time there can be no doubt she could tell he was looking out for her in particular. Jim feigned ignorance anyway, casting his gaze up to the sky and rubbing his chin like a contemplating astronomer. No good. She seemed to be coming right for him, probably to ask why the fuck he was looking at her all afternoon and that, what, had he never seen a dragon before? He tried to flee into the crowds but his legs were off having lunch and wouldn't listen to his commands, and he froze up like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming, draconic truck. People walked by him without paying any mind, and when he expected (_hoped, _a part of him corrected), the Garchomp to walk by as well, instead she stopped right in front of him!

Having not been this close to her before, he hadn't realised she stood a few inches taller than him, a little more if one counted the two stubby horns above her ear-holes. She literally looked down on him with her big, golden eyes, both ringed by deep reptilian sockets that made her look like she was wearing ebony eyeliner.

His eyes drifted from the yellow star on her snout to her mouth, which moved, but he didn't hear her speak. He was paying too much attention to her perfume. It reminded him of gently sizzling marshmallows, with an underlying spicy smell mixed into the scent.

"H-Hi, I'm okay," he blurted out.

She didn't exactly raise an eyebrow given her lack of eyebrows, but one side of her face did lift up in a similar gesture. "What?" she asked, and her voice was a lot less gruff than he'd imagined a dragon might sound like. Soft, with just the right amount of a feminine flintiness.

"Oh, I, ahem. I mean, ah..." He lowered a hand and pinched his leg with two fingers to try and knock some sense into himself. "I meant to say, how are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm okay!"

"I know."

Her chops drew upwards into a draconic version of a grin, and then her hand came up to her lips. There was this strange little sound that slipped through her fingers, accompanied by the bucking of her shoulders. The cogs in Jim's brain moved until he realised something.

She was _giggling _at him.

Normally being laughed at by a woman was a man's worst fear, but she wasn't moving off to go gossip to her friends, not preaching to the surrounding choir that he was in fact, a bumbling doofus. Even if he was wrong and she was about to do either of those things, he was too distracted by her laugh to care. It was just the right pitch to be innocently lilting, with just a hint of femininity to make anyone's day brighten should one be near enough to hear it.

"So, ah, are you new here?" he asked her, slowly, taking care that he didn't stutter this time. "I haven't notice you around before."

"My first week," the Garchomp said. "and my second time rehearsing with the other girls."

"Oh right? Well, ah, welcome to the Mythics! Meetings are at three o'clock every Tuesday."

Oh, nice one dude. Was that supposed to be funny or something? He stood there wandering if the next thing he said wouldn't be grounds for her immediate departure from his vicinity.

The dragoness's grin was small but there. "I might not be able to make them. What are these meetings about?"

"Just, ah, finances, and stuff. Sometimes we do cultural debates, discuss the state of the political climate, things like that."

"Sounds awfully droll. You can count me out."

There was a small moment where neither of them said anything, but any ounce of self-consciousness Jim had was already on the bus home when the dragoness smiled again. His eyes fell down her smooth, crimson neck-scales, each one getting more red the lower they went, towards her white tank top, and the obvious prominence of her breasts (purely by accident of course). They were just the right size - not showing off, not lagging behind. If only that could be an apt description of his life.

He covered this short peek by angling his head down to wipe sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. A few of the other Mythics cheerleaders passed by, waving and saying farewell to the Garchomp. She waved back, but didn't look like she was making to join them. Maybe that was because he was verbally keeping her there by gawking and saying stupid things to her.

"I'll, ah, I'll let you go now," he said, gesturing at the departing girls. "was nice meeting you."

Today's training started and ended much earlier, and most people were heading down the path east from the oval, so they could loop around the campus and avoid running into any wandering staff, but Jim liked to just head straight to the bus stop, right down the main avenue. A teacher might see him walk out early, but Jim had never gotten much worse than a few stern words from Mrs. Green, who was usually out and about around this time.

He offered a farewell grin and turned away. Just in case he didn't appear any more like a creep - if that was possible at this point - he did not look back to see the Garchomp depart with her friends. He took their little chat as a massive victory, and as Sun Tzu would agree, you got out of there once you'd done your part.

At least, that was the excuse he was to use this day.

But the old war general didn't explain what you did when the Garchomp's heavy footfalls caught up with you, and then she was beside him again, her half blue, half red face watching him past the two triangular thorns on her left bicep.

"Heya," she said. "You're going this way too?"

"Oh, hey, uhm, yep. Quickest way out of this dump."

"Good to know." She appeared to be shortening her strides so he could keep up with her. He wondered if those wings on her arms were just for show or she could actually fly around. They didn't seem big enough for flight. "You boys looked like you were all about to drop dead back there."

"Back where?"

"When you were training? Does that man always run you guys so hard?"

"What, Mr. Bahril? Sometimes, yeah. You should see him on his bad days."

Her reptilian eyes narrowed to slits. "You're implying today was a 'good day'?"

"Better than average. This one time, last year, the government cut his and all the other teachers pay. Coach took his anger out on all of us. They had to send one of the guys to the hospital." He realised he was rambling on and stopped himself.

"The hospital? Was it bad?"

"Yeah, they demolished it last month, thank God, but Francis is fine. He's that big dude, number nine, the one who looks like he can lift a truck."

They passed the intersection where Edwardo usually has his daily hold-ups. Jim spottedhim a little further down towards the science blocks. Maybe the bullies wanted to be away from any prying eyes today, and Jim counted it as a blessing. Less distractions now the better.

"He seems pretty scary," the Garchomp said. "I heard what he said to you when you were running laps."

"Oh... heard that, did you?" he asked, even though she just said she did. He decided to press on with what small amount of dignity he had left and changed the subject, asking her if she had recently moved here or transferred or something.

"Yes, my family moved down from upstate just recently. Got some time off, but daddy wanted me back in class as soon as possible. Haven't even unpacked half my things yet."

"You came down here just like that?" he asked, hand gesturing. The Garchomp nodded. "Mustn't have been easy."

She shrugged. "We've been moving around a lot lately, so I'm used to being the new girl on the block anyway. But so far you've all been very nice to me."

"Let me know if I start changing that, okay?"

That giggle again, so natural and yet somehow lighting up her face as if someone were shining a spotlight down on her. "Will do," she said.

It was a total one-eighty from the day before. The walk to the end of campus grounds was too _short, _and without a doubt the bus would come early today, and probably make all the green lights to boot, just so their time could be cut as short as possible. He was about to ask her something else when she suddenly stopped before the staircase leading out of the grounds.

"Well, this is where we part," the Garchomp said. Jim turned and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You're staying here? Day's pretty much over."

"I told you, I can't make the Tuesday meetings. A lot of my afternoons are booked. Theatre club."

Theatre? That's right, Jim had seen a few news fliers for that group around, most of them located on the top of rubbish bin piles, but that had been ages ago, he'd assumed they'd disbanded. Maybe that was why he hadn't seen her much during the day. "Suppose I'll see you next practice day then? Monday, right?" she asked.

Jim bit his tongue. It was the easiest thing in the world to give up. He could nod and shake her hand and part ways now, then maybe he'd see her on Monday and they'd walk once again to this spot, where she would go one way and he the other, the walks just short enough so that nothing could bloom between them, and they'd end up simply as two acquaintances. She had said she was moving a lot, and maybe one day she wouldn't be there for good anymore.

He could do and let all that happen. Or maybe... maybe he could try something new. Dad had to be wrong about life being mundane. He had to, especially if one made unpredictable choices. Right?

She turned away, went five steps before he spoke up, an octane or two higher in pitch than he wanted. "Maybe I can come with?" he asked.

A strange light casted over her draconic face as she turned around, something between amusement and suspicion dancing on her features. "I thought you wanted to get home as quick as you can."

"Bah, home schmome." He waved a dismissive hand. "Been meaning to check that club out for a while now."

He had no idea if her superior dragon-eyes could root out lies easier than humans could, but it did seem like she was scrutinizing him for any sign of deceit, but came up wanting. "Well, sure, alright. It'll be a nice surprise for the others. We meet up at the hall."

She led Jim down past the avenue to the other side of the campus. On the way he was suddenly hit by a thought. "Wait up, didn't you say you just moved here?" She nodded. "But... you're a part of the cheerleaders _and _a poet, and this is your first week?"

She grinned at him, a few of her thick teeth showing. "Mhm. Daddy wouldn't let me laze about. Says I had enough time off already, if you can call sitting on planes for whole days and sleeping on a folding couch 'time off'. And theatre doesn't just mean poetry. We also do plays."

So she joined two groups within seven days? This right after moving? _On top _of whatever she was studying? She put him to shame without even realising it.

As their walk continued on Jim noticed he hadn't thought this far ahead. Was he just going to sit around watching her rehearse for an hour or however long this club lasted? Oh yes, that would be a big turn-on, seeing him, this random guy smiling in the back row of the stands while she recited Shakespeare. Maybe it wouldn't be better to make up some bullshit excuse to get out of this before it was too late.

But before he knew it, they were at the hall's double doors, and the Garchomp was already moving inside. She saw Jim hesitate and offered him a toothy smile, one hand holding the door open.

"Don't worry, the others are really nice. We've actually been looking to get an audience for a rehearsal or two."

Embarrassed by his obvious tentativeness, Jim held his shoulders proud and followed her inside.

The hall had that dusty smell that all carpet-blanketed, barely used buildings have. Two large ceiling fans way up in the vaulted ceiling cast an orange glow over a curtained stage and a wide stand that could accommodate a few hundred students. Jim remembered coming here once years ago for that introduction lecture, everyone new to the campus in attendance. Now barely a handful of seats were occupied, and those only by schoolbags and discarded jackets.

There were a few people about, a few humans, but they were well within the minority of Pokémon gathered inside. There was a Lapras holding hands with a Blastoise, the two attempting to do a pirouette of some kind. Near them was a Typhlosion barking orders at a few other fire-types, though she was a little hard to hear over the racket going on behind the far wall. That side of the hall was entirely glass, but someone had drawn the curtains to either keep the inside dark and dingy, or to muffle the noisy group out there, who just now erupted into a chorus of cheers from some unseen play of the century.

"And I thought the ghetto looked bad..." Jim murmured. He kicked away a tumbleweed of dust that had gathered by his heel.

"Say something?" the Garchomp asked.

"No nothing," he replied quickly, dumping his bag by the door. He didn't imagine staying very long.

Their timely arrival just happened to save the group of humans and Pokémon from a heavy roasting from the aforementioned Typhlosion. Her lean muscles were barely hidden behind a simple black t-shirt and long jeans stopping just above her stubby ankles. Her thin, small eyes swept over the dancing water-types like they were a pair of the biggest stooges in town.

"No no! No, _clockwise _spin! Always clockwise! Did you both come out of the egg head-first? Jesus Mary wept!" A little bit of flame spurted out the back of her neck at that last bit.

The rest of the idling crowd was busy deciding whether to look at the exploding Typhlosion, the dancing duo (who themselves looked totally out of their depth, pun intended), or somewhere between the two. But the approach of Jim and the Garchomp provided a better alternative, and all eyes fell on him in particular.

The Typhlosion's ramble sputtered into silence when she noticed no one was paying her any attention, and she spun around on the two newcomers. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at the Garchomp, not even so much as glancing in Jim's direction.

"There you are! I told you practice starts at three from now on. Where have you been?"

"Relax, Kendra, I'm five minutes late. I didn't miss anything."

"Don't just assume! You may be right but don't ever _assume _anything, especially about my schedules, okay? We could have got permission to move into a class instead of this place and you'd never have known!"

"That would be the day, wouldn't it?" The dragoness rolled her eyes at Jim.

The Typhlosion eyeballed Jim, and he felt uneasy at how red her irises were when she looked at him head-on. She addressed him without seeming to actually acknowledge his presence. "And who is this, the groundskeeper? Sorry not sorry, we've still got a few hours before we're done."

"No no, I'm, ah, I'm Jim. How's it going?" He held out his hand but the Typhlosion simply stared at him. Jim's initial grin turned into a frown. Oh man, he hadn't even introduced himself to the Garchomp yet! And she was the reason he was here in the first place!

Stomach lurching, he turned his offered hand to the dragon's direction. "O-Oh, I'm Jim, by the way."

The Garchomp looked at his hand, out there on its own with nothing to shake, then smiled as she took it into her own, larger claw-hand, rescuing him from the awkwardness that follows the gesture everywhere. The little bumpy scales on her pads were hard and warm under his palm. "Nice to meet you. Jim," she said.

Jim felt the eyes of all others present bore into his skin, and he turned to them and smiled with a few too many teeth. "I'm Jim everyone!" he said, thinking he might as well say so and let everyone know that he was a totally awkward reject.

"This is a hell of a club you guys have here," he added when he heard a cricket chirp outside. Just at that moment a picture hanging on the wall nearby fell off its hook and thwacked to the ground, the noise echoing. Jim felt his cheeks burn when he noticed he was still holding onto the Garchomp's hand. He let go, wishing he could just die right about now.

"Never heard of you," Kendra the Typhlosion said. "Handball's on the other side of the hall. You can get there by going back the way you came in. Those curtains aren't coming down."

As if on a cue, a roar of mixed cheers and boos went up from behind said curtains, right after something, presumably the handball, smacked hard enough into the window over there to send a rattle through the building. A few of the group shook their heads, but that was the peak of their collective reaction.

"Actually, I heard you guys were looking for an audience," Jim replied. "thought I'd pop by and see what's up."

Kendra rolled her eyes at that, pointed a claw at the Garchomp. "I suppose you 'heard' that from her, and that she failed to mention we were looking for a critic to provide feedback to several poetical recitals, someone with prior background knowledge on the world's greatest artists and actors, not some sport jockey who decides to just 'pop by'."

"Don't listen to her," the Garchomp said to Jim, cupping a hand over her mouth and whispering like a conspiring child, even though everyone could clearly hear her. "She's a little lacking in the manners department."

"That's not the only thing lacking in this place." Jim thought he saw the cobwebs in the back corner move. The Garchomp snorted, and even a few of the other club members snickered.

They were soon drowned away by a fiery explosion, as a ball of flames birthed from the back of Kendra's neck. "Oh, wise-guy is it? Well, if you think you're so smart? JASMINE!"

A short Sylveon hiding behind a human girl jumped, the bows and ties around her pink ears flying about her like silky strands of hair not affected by gravity. She looked up at Kendra with huge eyes.

"Go ahead and recite to us all that poem you've been practicing on. See if our friend here can tell us who wrote it." Kendra folded her arms with a very satisfied grin.

"Th-The whole thing or...?" Jasmine squeaked.

"Just the one verse, I think. Can't overload our new 'audience' now can we?"

"A-Alright..." Jim was glad that the spotlight had at least gone over to someone else, small and positively sheepish the small Sylveon may be. The Pokémon glanced at some of her companions, who nodded their collective encouragement, before clearing her throat and lifting her chin high. She said in a small voice trying but sadly failing to be confident, thus:

My little horse must think it queer

to stop without a farmhouse near

between the woods and frozen lake

the darkest evening of the year.

She'd barely spoken the second line before flat-out refusing to make eye-contact with Jim, and clamped her eyes shut to block out the world. Her tone of voice and pacing was about what you'd expect for a timid poet performing for the first time with a severe diagnosis of stage-fright, and Jim had never before tried so hard to keep a straight face.

"There, Jim, why don't you enlighten us and tell me who wrote that poem?" Kendra's grin was laced with smugness. "Well done Jasmine, by the way."

Even though the praise sounded like an afterthought, the Sylveon beamed like she was a tiny little sun, her friends murmuring their own approval. Soon the collective scrutiny was turned back on Jim, and the club went quiet. He scratched his chin in thought.

"That's a, ah, Frost, right?" he said after a pause. He looked to the Garchomp, the only familiar thing in this place of strangers. "Robert Frost...? Right? Yes?"

The Typhlosion gave him a look. Then her mane of fire erupted like someone had poured a can of gasoline over her head. "That was an easy one!" Her talon came up and pointed at him. "Who doesn't know Robert Frost's most famous settings? That was just a fluke. It means nothing. JASMINE! Tell him the other one, see if he knows-"

"You know what, I think it's time for me to go," Jim interrupted. He offered the group an apologetic shrug. "thanks for having me, everyone. Oh and uhm, Jasmine, right? That was... okay, but... maybe try and open your eyes next time? If you can't look at me, then... I don't think an actual audience would want to look at you, you know?"

By the way the Sylveon deflated like a popped balloon he thought he might have gone a tad too far and insulted her. The big Blastoise's throat rumbled with a growl, and several other Pokémon stood protectively in front of the Sylveon, glaring at Jim as if he were a bully.

"You watch your mouth, human Jim," the Blastoise growled.

He thought he was about to be in big trouble when Jasmine's paw came down surprisingly hard on the carpet, ordering silence.

"Wait!" she said. "He's right. You're right, Jim. I... I'll work on that." She nodded in gratitude, making only a second of eye-contact.

Jim made a gesture that said, well there you go, _and the angry Pokémon calmed a little. _He wondered if he was the first person to actually criticise Jasmine, and her friends had been too tentative to say the truth before. Art was, after all, delicate in more ways than one.

"Anyway," he said, slowly backing up as the club watched him go. He'd overstayed his welcome long enough. "Ah, keep it real. And my name's Jim by the way." He was already scooping up his bag and halfway out the door before he was done speaking.

"That's right," Kendra said from behind him. "go on and skat. We don't need any more males coming in here and explaining to us what we have to do."

"Ah, it's like that, is it?" Jim grumbled. He wasn't planning on going there right now. He let the barking Typhlosion get back to what she was doing and got out of there.

He was pushing the door open when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was the Garchomp. In his haste he'd completely forgotten about her. Way to go there, girls just love it when you just dismiss them after asking them to show you around. "Going already?"

"I know when I'm not welcome." He glanced at the flames spurting from Kendra's back.

"Don't listen to her," she said, nothing about her seeming to say she was offended by him leaving. "Kendra's just scared to death of being judged."

Her claw fell from his shoulder and settled down to her wide hip. He'd never seen a dragon with such an hourglass figure before, generous in all the right places. Usually the Charizards and Salamances were all brutish and bulky, but this one was a prime example of when sleekness meets with femininity. Jim had to will himself to keep his eyes on her own.

"Didn't know Typhlosion's could be such bi... ah, tempered," he said.

"You should see her on her bad days," she said, echoing his own words about Mr. Bahril. The two of them shared a laugh at the inside joke, and Jim applauded himself for how natural he sounded. "Oh, what was your name again?" she then asked.

His face went from bright to dark, and something in his chest twisted into a knot. Hadn't he said so, like, a million times just now? He babbled out something as he struggled to find some reasoning as to how she forgot his name, when she was standing right _there _and-

She saw the look on his face and laughed. "I'm just teasing. I always do when I've embarrassed myself. Shifts the tension away, I suppose."

He asked her what she meant.

"Well, we've been talking all this time and I haven't even told you my name! So silly of me. I'm Cassidy."

"J-Jim," he said as if she totally did not know that already and he stood there like an idiot wondering what the hell you say when you make yourself look like a retard. He'd shove his hand into his mouth right now if it was socially acceptable. "I-It's a nice name," he added.

Cassidy smiled at him. "Most three-letter names are."

"N-No I didn't mean mine, obviously." Her grin was infectious no matter how draconic it looked. "Who'd think 'Jim' is anything to rave about?"

"A lot of people I imagine. It's easy to remember. Simple."

"Just like me," Jim said. Cassidy giggled, and he counted that as a big win.

"I don't think someone simple would know Robert Frost's works right off the top of his head. You know, because... not to insult you or anything, but since you're... hmm..."

This time it was she who was stumbling over her words, and him the one laughing her off. "Because I'm a dumb jock, like Kendra said?" He shrugged. "She might be right, but you wouldn't know it at first, but I'm a real sucker for drama."

"That so?" she asked. One side of her chops dipped into a frown. "I'm sorry if that sounded rude, Jim. Kendra's right, I do like to presume sometimes. Well, all of the time."

"I think everyone's guilty of doing that," Jim said. "so all's forgiven."

A pause. And by some miracle it wasn't an awkward one. Her smile, with just the right amount of shyness tweaking at the corners of her chops, probably had something to do with that.

"You should come by again," she said. "Same time, Tuesday, if you can skip that meeting you mentioned. I'll have Kendra's flames fanned by then. Promise."

He grinned at the pun and shrugged. "Maybe I will." They stood silent for a few moments, the afternoon sun warming Jim's back. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Anywho I better get going. I'll see you later?"

"Sure," she said. "Bye Jim!"

"Bye."

Cassidy disappeared back inside, the door swinging shut after her tail ducked into the frame. His heart racing, Jim turned up the path and back-tracked the way he and Cassidy had taken, pumping his fist in victory when he was safely on the other side of the campus. His father would have a few colourful things to say for keeping him waiting out there for half an hour, but Jim didn't care. He had a _name, _now.

And that was more than a start.