My tailbone ached as I slammed to the hard earth again. My breath temporarily left my body, and I coughed in surprise. My surroundings spun, and the only clear thing seemed to be the hand that extended itself at my face. I took it and was lurched upward with the generosity of my mom; even while beating the snot out of me, she was simply trying to help.

"You let your guard down again. Do you want to return to something more basic? We can refresh punches and kicks again," she suggested. She began flipping through the book that Emanuel had let me borrow.

"No, I can handle it," I said half-heartedly. I wiped away the sweat on my brow, grimacing at the feeling of pounding drums in my head.

"Sophia, don't push yourself. You've only been practicing this for three tenths," my mother insisted. She flipped back a few pages, letting her eyes move left and right in concentration. "Here, this might help.

"We've been working on punching and kicking, which works great if you have the strength to power your way through a confrontation. That doesn't work yet since you aren't that strong—"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered.

"You will get there," my mom countered. "As I was saying, you aren't that strong yet, so fighting head-on won't work for you. You should be focusing on a more defensive style. Punch me."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, now do it."

I tilted my head to pop my aching neck, then threw a hard punch with my right fist. I gasped as my mother caught it mid-swing by blocking and then trapping my wrist with her right hand. She reached out with her other arm, weaving it under my captured shoulder and slung me onto her back. The world flipped past my eyes, finally showing itself to me again in the form of the sky.

My lungs exhaled forcefully as my body landed with a heavy thud. I blinked in surprise at the sudden change in orientation and the force of the rocks beneath me. My back ached where it had hit; my throat burned with my repeated coughing.

"Are you okay?" my mom asked from above with a tinge of concern. She still had my arm trapped with her hands somehow after all of that.

"Yeah." I sucked in a much-needed deep breath. She helped me to my feet again. "What was that?"

"That was a shoulder throw. It was 'based on a fighting style that was inspired by Throh—a fighting-type Pokémon that people used to compete alongside with in martial arts tournaments,'" my mother explained word for word out of the book.

"Can you teach me?"

"That's what I'm here for." She smiled.

I was clumsy at first. Multiple times I fell off balance or was pulled backward by the weight of my mother's pull. She would set me upright again and demonstrate what I did wrong. The bumps and bruises swelled on my arms and legs, some even forming into painful welts. I didn't mind it though, as it showed me that I was trying. Slowly, my arms began to understand the motions and my hands naturally adjusted to where they needed to be; they flowed like a water-type's attack around a stubborn rock. I didn't execute the throw until I had mimed the motions at least fifty, maybe a hundred times. When I did, it felt good.

"That was good, Sophia," my mother said below me after I performed a particularly well-executed throw. I had come a long way since the first few I had done.

I reached down and pulled her to her feet, almost falling over in the process. With a weak laugh, my mother helped stabilize me as she rose from the ground by herself.

"How about some breakfast?" she suggested.

"Food has never sounded better," I laughed.

Upon arrival to the house, however, I realized another family member had different plans. A disapproving glare met me as I looked into my father's eyes. He stood taller than my mom by almost half a foot; he stood taller than me by a few inches. His stern demeanor stood taller than either of us. I shrunk a bit when I saw him blocking the doorway.

A few tenths ago, when I had promised to talk to him, I ended up using my made-up illness as an excuse to worm my way out of it. My mother and I had been practicing in hiding—she knew I had dodged the conversation with the sick excuse multiple times now. We had quite a good routine going, but I felt dread for that plan as I looked at my father.

"So, are you finally ready to talk?" he inquired. "Or, are you still 'too sick.'" He hacked out a fake cough before returning to his deadpan.

Without an excuse left, I bowed my head. "I'm sorry, Father."

I didn't dare meet his brown eyes as he stepped dangerously close to me. I could feel the intensity with which he studied me even with my head bowed. I hated the feeling. My cheeks felt hot. I would never be allowed outside of the house, never be allowed at school, never be allowed at the library. Certainly, I was doomed to a life of farm work.

"And you went along with this, Makena?" He directed his anger away from me momentarily.

"I always do, Marvin. I don't know why you still question it," she answered defiantly.

I peeked up to see Father's nostrils flare as he sucked in a deep breath. His eyes flashed wildly like an uncontrolled fire. I had nothing left I could do except await my punishment.

I am never going to be let out of the house again, I feared.

"Sophia, change into something less sweaty. We're going out to do some errands," he stated as he harshly ran his fingers through his short curly hair.

"I'm not in trouble?" The disbelief was painfully obvious in my voice.

"I didn't say that. Do as I said and go change. I'll help your mother prepare some lunch for us. We'll be out for a while."

With nothing more, he turned toward the kitchen. I looked to my mother for an answer to questions I didn't want to ask in range of my father, but she simply shrugged at me. She walked into the kitchen as she motioned for me to run upstairs.

I did so swiftly, not trying to disobey Father's orders. I stepped into my room and pulled the door shut before closing the curtains. The lighting dimmed immensely despite there not being much to block; the sun wasn't a threat with the constant cloud cover. The heavier sleeping curtains still hung ajar.

My fingers felt for the wooden dresser, getting pricked by each rough splinter. The sorry excuses for trees outside made for poor wood, but it was what we had. Finally, I found the required drawer and opened it to peer inside. My eyes adjusted enough that I could make out a lighter colored shirt and a darker colored one. I guessed and ended up putting on a nice purple colored three-quarter sleeve shirt. Quickly, I changed into a different pair of pants before tossing my soiled clothes into the chute that led to the small laundry room behind the house.

I pulled on my favorite gray jacket as I reopened the window. Noisy chatter filled my ears as I did so. Peering outside revealed that Malik and Abdul were arriving on the scene in muddied clothes. My best guess was that they got an early start on their chores in the Miltank or Grumping pens. I didn't envy either idea.

Behind them, Helga busied herself with a multitude of brown packages. Her white apron was stained red and her hair was neatly tied back into a tight bun. I quickly averted my eyes from the sight. Meat was tasty, but I didn't enjoy relating it to Helga's job.

My eyes floated up from the farm to the tree line in the distance. Still no sign of Treecko. I watched for him every morning. Although, I wasn't sure if I was eager to see him return. Maybe it was because I didn't believe he would or maybe I was worried this would lead somewhere dangerous. The situation made my heart flutter, but I wanted to know more about, well, everything he had promised that book was about. My curiosity led me to throw caution to the wind, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach painfully reminded me to be careful. This was a complex situation.

Slowly, I glanced down to see my backpack discarded near the window. My studies before bed made me realize I wanted another book, but I also couldn't bring myself to take off again. I was in a deep enough hole without dodging the conversation by running away.

"I belong here, not there," I reaffirmed. I muttered the phrase to myself a few more times. Repetition led to belief.

After a few deep breaths, I moved to the hallway and closed my door behind me. As I descended the stairs, I announced my presence to the house. "I'm ready,"

A hushed conversation came to a sudden halt after I spoke. Odd, I noted.

My father rounded the corner from the kitchen to the living room with two bags in hand. Mother poked her head around the corner too to wave goodbye to us.

"Be good, no running off!" Mother shouted behind us.

A packed lunch was thrust into my unprepared hands, and I almost dropped the food. My dad didn't wait to see if I caught it or not before turning to the front door and opening it with unnecessary force. He caught it mid-swing with his hand, then turned to nod curtly to my mother. Then, he looked at me. I strolled through the open doorway obediently.

Once outside, he marched past me to collect his cart. He began to roll away with it, and I quickly followed his example with the leftover cart. My soft hold broke quickly under the weight of whatever was packed into the device, so I gripped the handles harder.

This is going to be a long trip, I realized since my arms were already burning after only rolling out of the yard and across the hoof printed road.

"Where are we going?" I tested the waters of conversation as we rounded the corner to the main market square of town.

"Helga's shop to drop the meat off with her son, then to the market after we've collected stamps for it. We did good work recently, so this should net us a hefty sum," he responded.

An awkward silence fell again as we continued our trip.

"So..." I tried again, not knowing where I was heading with it. "How is Abdul and Malik's mother doing?"

"Mrs. Kassab is doing well."

Silence indicated another dead end.

"We're here," Father stated as we walked up to the butcher's shop. He began to roll the carts around back.

I started to follow, but he put his hand up for me to stop. "Wait here."

"Yes, sir," I said.

He walked away without saying anything else. I sighed deeply. The conversation was coming, and the anticipation was beginning to rattle me. My hands were shaking already; I hated that feeling so much. It was easy for me to ignore it while we were walking here as I had the handle of the cart to take my fears out on, but now, I was left empty handed. It allowed too much space for my nerves to fill. To put my mind at ease, I began twirling a strand of hair in between my pointer finger and thumb. It did little to help.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my best friend, Sophia," said an ever-irritating voice.

I spun around to face my least favorite person, Patrick. I was not in the mood to entertain. "Don't you have anything better to do?" I spat.

"Ouch, that hurt, best friend." He put his hand on his chest above his heart. "Come on, I saw you with your old man. Your mother never lets you two leave without lending out some goodies."

I was not backing down, but my words ended up coming out in a stutter. "Seriously, I'm not in the mood to deal with you."

What I imagined as brave caused the red-haired prick to laugh.

"I mean it. Leave me alone!" I stammered.

"Just give me the food you have, Sophia."

"No."

My shoe scraped the ground as I widened my stance. I let myself fall comfortably into riding stance—what the fighting book described as a tall back, feet that stood shoulder width apart, and bent knees. It was designed to make fighters feel strong and balanced, but I was still trembling.

"You can't fight me. What do you think you're doing?" Patrick snickered.

"I think I'm doing my best to not back down." I could feel tears forming. Quickly, I brushed them away with a sweep of my hand. I returned it to my side, awaiting further input from my opponent.

"This is stupid. Let's get this over with." Patrick grinned.

As always, he opened with a quick left jab. The world around me didn't slow down like books always described it would. In fact, the opposite felt uniquely true; everything seemed to speed up as adrenaline-soaked blood rushed through my body. It was an exhilarating and terrifying feeling.

My forearm throbbed where it had blocked his punch—a hearty bruise was probably forming under my jacket. I quickly retreated a few steps to regain my footing. My body bounced back into riding stance as the wild Tauros of a boy rushed at me again. I squeaked as I blocked the next oncoming punch with my right arm. I tried to counter with a weak kick, but he easily stopped with an open palm to the side of my leg. I spun a little bit, and his next punch connected easily with my side.

Pain ran up my ribs where he had hit me. The sensation sent a wave of panic through me as I hurriedly stumbled to my feet from my kneeling position. Again, Patrick was beginning to run at me with fists curled up close to his sides. Then, I saw it, the opportunity I needed; he was pulling back with a right punch toward my face.

My arms moved almost on their own as I went to direct his fist's path. I let the attack connect with my forearm again, causing my newly formed bruises to scream. While he continued his motion forward, I slipped my arm in under his shoulder then quickly spun around so my back was to his torso. My hands closed on his shirt, causing him to shriek and flinch away. It was too late.

I let my knees bend, and it felt like everything else stitched together naturally. Patrick came tumbling over my back as I executed the shoulder throw on someone who had probably never seen the dead art. He fell gracelessly to the ground as I stood over him. I released his arm, letting it flop to his battered form.

"Don't bother me again," I threatened down at the wide-eyed boy. It came out without a single stutter.

After he stopped coughing, Patrick tried stumbling to his feet, but he fell on his face unceremoniously. Again, he rose to his knees and tried getting up. I blocked his retreat with outstretched arms.

"Got it?" I asked after he refused to respond the first time.

"Yeah, I got it. Just don't expect any help from my family if you ever come in hurt," he hissed like an angered Skitty.

He batted my arm out of the way as he moved to the main street again. He risked a glance back at me, to which I wrinkled my nose and narrowed my eyes at him. I stamped my right foot forward, which he took as his leave from the situation. I was no longer something to mess with.

A sharp pop sound from behind me made me whip my attention around. I spun widely to face the next attacker, but I was met with a sight I had rarely seen: my father was moving toward me while clapping. His eyes shone and his normally static mouth was pulled into a smile.

"Your mother told me about what she was teaching you. I'm glad I got to see it in action," he praised.

The shivers and tears came over me like a cold splash of water in the morning. It was sudden and disgusting; I hated it so much. My nose ran and my eyes mourned. Without thinking, I ran to him for it to stop.

"Come here," he said as he embraced me. His warm arms helped ease the unnerved feeling inside of me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do."

"We know you've been struggling with people like him a lot lately since you're the daughter of one of the only food suppliers in town. It's part of why we didn't want you to go to school. However, I think you've finally grown enough to be independent."

I looked up at him with teary eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I watched you fight that boy. At first, I thought you needed my help. I've seen the bruises you come home with."

I looked down in shame. My arms throbbed in response to him calling them out.

"But, after only a few tenths of practice, you were able to fight off that brat. I want you to still stay home for a majority of each cycle, but I'm willing to let you do what you want to do with the remaining days."

"Are you serious?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"Yes."

I wept, not from the pain in my side or the adrenaline that was beginning to fade, but from the happiness that I now felt.

"Thank you, I don't know what else to say," I sobbed.

He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me away slightly so he could look into my eyes. "You don't need to say anything. Let's finish our errands, then you can go to the last period of school."

"Alright, I like that plan." I smiled before hugging my father one more time.

-----

I walked through the doors of school happy for once in who knows how long. It didn't bother me that the few people left milling in front of the building didn't share my enthusiasm. After all, I wouldn't have to see them until next cycle—there were still four tenths left in this cycle, but children were required to stay home and help for the seventh through tenth fractions of our messed-up week. For now, I would attend the final class before the end of the school's cycle. No one was in the hallway since classes had just started, but it still delighted me to be in the atmosphere again.

I was elated when I heard a male's voice coming through the door as opposed to a female's monotone one. Abusive Cindy was absent, and sweet old Mr. Park was here to enlighten us about the stories of the past. His class focused more on the geography of the current society. It wasn't quite what I was always searching for in the information I consumed, but it was certainly a fun topic.

I slipped into the room through the cracked door. Heads swiveled to look in my direction before returning to the notebooks before them. Mr. Park paused in the middle of his chalk stroke to face me. An elaborate map of the area was sketched on the board.

"Ah, Sophia, how pleasant of you to join us! There's a seat next to the window over there." He motioned to the row of desks nearest to the view of the forest. His face that was framed by thick, square glasses smiled as he turned to face the board again. The backside of his black hair was peppered with white flecks.

I smiled and dipped my head slightly as I slinked over to the empty desk. Mr. Park continued his lesson on geography. Another kid slipped in behind me, and Mr. Park paused to greet him as well.

"So, according to our history, our ancestors settled in this area based on a few facts..."

I began jotting down the bullet points in my notebook as the teacher continued on in his energizing tone. I recognized the sketch of town on the blackboard and little else. The area to the right of the school indicated scraped out masses of trees. Slightly to the left of that was a clearing full of rocks that which was followed by trees and an ellipsis to signify the continuing geography. The rocks brought back frightening memories of my adventure with Treecko. I couldn't help but look down at my bag where I was keeping the books stowed away until I could return them. Just north of that was the bed of a lake. It was drained long ago and now served as the base for lumber mill operations.

"Many water-types populated the area, specifically in this region." He drew a dotted line around the lake I had just been studying. "Friendly species such as Squirtle and Mudkip assisted early settlers. They helped plant farms and provide clean water. In the Before, water-types could not provide drinkable water, but something in their DNA evolved to accommodate for that. It was what began our codependency.

"Miltank and Tauros also joined the ranks of Pokémon that seemed to become dependent on humans, but we didn't need them. Instead, our diets shifted to become more vegetarian with little to no meat needed. However, we still require dairy which Miltank provide easily.

"The other necessity was covered by grass-types that also stuck around. Out in the world, they are typically the targets of overly violent ghost-types and their fire attacks. So, these docile grass-types assist farmers here with their crops by providing fertilizer and using what used to be offensive moves to nourish crops so they grow faster. Now, moving on to ghost-types. These creatures are violent and were difficult to tame. Torches provide the main source of light in town since the Chandelure—"

"Is that one of the grass-types you were talking about, Mr. Park?" asked a student to my right. I looked at him to see that he was pointing out the window. Chairs shifted as everyone turned to follow his direction.

"Yes! Good observation, Kyle," Mr. Park said. "Everyone take a moment to look out the window while I identify the species. This is certainly a treat." He hurriedly began to flip through a book.

Kids around me stared in awe of the Pokémon. Most of them didn't interact with the creatures like I did on a regular basis, so this was a treat to them. They all probably had Skitty or Lillipup to chase off the odd Rattata and other pests, and that was about all the contact they had with Pokémon. The Chandelure that floated through the town didn't count since they were usually asleep or catatonic.

To me, however, this specific creature meant more deception and fearful adventures. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that quite yet, despite being torn on the issue only before shopping with my dad. After all, I had just escaped from one major problem, and I didn't want to run straight into the arms of another. Our neighbor Mr. Chapman's saying ran through my head. "Out of the frying pan, into the fire."

"I do believe that this is a Treecko," Mr. Park finally deduced.

Treecko hung on the tree outside of the building with a book perched on the branch below him. He was staring directly at me.