MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10

With the rapid plodding of hooves against the ground, I held on for dear life as my mount picked up speed.

Some people say that as you get more confident on the back of a Rapidash, you won't hold on as tightly. That you'll gain more trust in your Rapidash's ability to not throw you off its saddle, so you don't need to be so careful.

Well, that's a bold-faced lie. Or at least, it was for me that day.

"All right, Orion!" I exclaimed. "Run like the wind, bull's-eye!"

I did not know where that quote had come from, but I loved it. There's just something exhilarating about feeling the wind in your hair, to become one with the breeze associated with the last gasps of summer. That was, after all, one of the many things that had drawn me to the equestrian team at Pastoria High during my freshman year, and it was what kept me there some three years later.

Orion sprinted through the forest, and I found myself panting even though my Rapidash was doing all the work. I kept bouncing up and down on the saddle, but as long as I clasped the reins tightly, I would not fall off. Orion wouldn't let me.

The next few minutes were a combination of heightened awareness and a total blur. That might sound like an oxymoron, but when you're riding, both things can coexist at once. I should know.

Soon, I found myself nearing the end of the course, and my heart sank. Not because I thought my time was lackluster, but rather because it was over so quickly. But that is the nature of the sport - a lot happens in such a short time, and the thrilling moment is over before you know it.

"Orion, when we get out of the woods, pick up speed! Finish strong!"

At that moment, I knew that my mount was indeed quickening his sprint. I was now gripping the reins like iron, because if I didn't hold on with all my strength, I would be bucked, and the results were rarely pretty when that happened.

Seconds later, Orion and I crossed the line of streamers that had been placed on the ground. The finish line for this time trial.

"Congratulations, Hayley!" I heard the head of the equestrian club, Augustine Courtland, exclaim as my mount made a victory leap with me still holding on for dear life.

"Thanks!" I announced breathlessly. "Time?"

"Three minutes and fifty-four seconds" Augustine announced, glancing at her stopwatch. "I believe that's a new personal best for you, isn't it?"

I snorted. "Well, Orion did all the work, really" I said. "I just held on like my life depended on it. And when you're going that fast, it very well might."

"Right," Augustine replied. "Anyway, like I said, good work. If nothing else, you've got command over your mount the way few others do. And that's key to winning a race of any length."

"Yeah" I mouthed. "Anyway, I'll get down now. I don't think Orion should work any longer right now."

"That is correct. They say that Rapidash should get at least as much rest as they have activity, just so that they can recover from the tasks they are assigned to perform."

I dismounted Orion, then motioned for him to follow me. But the Rapidash remained rooted to the spot, much like a statue at one of Pastoria City's many shrines and temples.

"Oh, that's right!" I exclaimed. "You're tired, aren't you?"

In response, Orion whinnied. Rarely did Rapidash use their words, but if you were as accustomed to working with the species as I was, you could usually tell what they meant. And this was definitely an answer in the affirmative.

"Well, you can't rest out here" I said. "You'll have to go back to the stables for that."

Orion whinnied again, probably a statement of disapproval. But I knew better than that.

"They can be pretty stubborn sometimes" Augustine stated matter-of-factly. "Sometimes they won't do what you want them to, not without some degree of force. And it takes work to get a Rapidash to bend to your will - luckily, you've put in that work, so Orion seems to obey you most of the time."

He's got his own volition too, you know, I thought, somewhat bitterly.

But I wouldn't stay mad at Augustine for long about that, just because she was my friend. In fact, we went pretty far back.

I'd met her a few years ago when I was attending an equestrian camp located about two hours outside of the city, in an area that could not be more different from the concrete jungle. In other words, it was where Rapidash (and I, for that matter) felt truly at home - there was the cool, crisp air from the foothills of the mountains, not at all like the sometimes oppressive heat of Pastoria City's summer.

At the time, Augustine was a counselor at said camp (in fact, she'd been one of the councilors assigned to my cabin). It was her first year in that position, one she still held to this day even though she was now twenty-one, three years older than me. She was also still the head of the city's student equestrian club despite now being in college.

In other words, Augustine lived and breathed the riding life. She knew exactly how to take care of a Rapidash; what to feed it, how often to let it drink, how often to clean the stables, and how hard they could work (and for how long.) I considered her the source of my enthusiasm for riding; she was a very stable genius, if you will.

And then I remembered that I still needed to respond to her. I couldn't talk back, and I wouldn't talk back, just because we were so close.

"Yeah. I guess I've gotten pretty good at it."

"No shit, Hayley," Augustine replied. "Hell, I'm sure you could be on the Sinnoh National Team if you wanted. They'd probably love to have you!"

I put my free hand in the air. "Whoa, girl, slow down!"

"True, that's probably a long way off. But if you played on the team, you'd make so much money - you'd punch your ticket out of college, pretty much. And let me tell you, Hayley, college isn't fun at all."

"Uh, why is that?" I enquired.

"Simply put, it takes me away from what I love more than anything in the world. Namely, Rapidash. Instead of riding and taking care of the mounts, I'm freaking writing essays and practicing for exams. That's what my life has become."

"Well, nothing lasts forever."

"True" Augustine snorted as we reached the stables. "Just like Orion's energy. I bet he'll sleep for a long time after this - he's not used to running so fast. You shaved a good thirty seconds or so off your last record."

"Wow" I mouthed, recalling that, indeed, my last record had been about 4:25.

"Yes, and trust me, Hayley: There's a world of difference each thirty seconds. It's an exponential scale, like the one they use to measure earthquakes. Orion had to work so much harder for the new record."

"I believe it" I muttered as I watched my Rapidash all but collapse onto the floor of the stables.

"We should give him some water," Augustine suggested. "Or else he'll just get dehydrated and not want to run tomorrow."

But it was to no avail. Within seconds, I heard the even breathing, practically snoring, that indicated Orion had fallen into a deep slumber. He wouldn't be waking up for some time.

"Well," I chuckled, "I guess it can wait until morning. Should I help clean the stables today?"

"I'll take care of it," Augustine promised. "You've done enough today. Besides, I bet Billy freaking Talonflame could play a show right outside the stable, and Orion would sleep right through it."

"You're probably right about that."

"Quite," Augustine told me. "Anyway, it's going to get dark soon. We're nearing the equinox, and after that the days will just keep getting shorter."

I snorted. "Thanks for the science lesson, Professor Courtland."

"Hey, I'm just stating facts. I bet you'll have some homework too - lots of it, probably."

"You're not wrong."

"Are they still assigning lots of work for the first week? Throwing you right in the deep end, as they'd say, and hoping you can stay afloat?"

"Yep, that's still what they do" I confirmed.

"It's kind of like that at college, too," Augustine said. "They start with a heavy, yet manageable amount of work, and then they just keep piling it on you each week. I don't have nearly as much free time as I'd like."

"Then shouldn't I be the one to clean the stables, Augustine?" I asked. "After all, you're busier than me, aren't you?"

"Don't worry about it," she told me. "I insist. You don't have to do it."

"But if I can help you, I want to do it. You've helped me so much in life -".

"Thanks, but no thanks," Augustine insisted. "You need to get home and get ready for tomorrow."

I'd lost the argument; it would take an absolute fool to deny that. So I bade Augustine farewell for the evening, then called an Uber.

I guess I could have been more frugal and taken the train, but after two accidents in a week, I'm not sure I trust it anymore.

As I waited for my ride to arrive, I glanced at the trees around me. When you're speeding on the back of a Rapidash, it's easy to forget that you're still on the ground. It's easy to forget to "smell the roses", as it were. Now I had what seemed like all the time in the world to focus.

Of course, after about ten minutes, the vehicle rolled up to the parking lot, and I confirmed the license plate number.

"I'm supposed to pick Hayley up here?" the driver, a dark-skinned man wearing shades, enquired.

"That's me," I said.

I climbed into the Uber and prepared myself for the ride ahead. To my surprise, however, my limbs already felt leaden, but not in a painful way. Rather, it was the type of leaden that comes with having put in a good day's work practicing for a sporting event.

I yawned. It wouldn't be long before I joined Orion in dreamland. But before I did, I thought about something.

Makoto. Makoto Mutsamudu.

It wasn't often that anyone approached me seeking anything that resembled friendship. Quite frankly, I was the one who had to put in the work the other way. Supposedly, that's how it was for everyone.

That heavily awkward boy, with the mop of blonde hair and those eyes whose color defied clean categorization…he would stay in my mind for a while, even if I tried to block him out.

Pretty soon, I'd slumped over on my seat, though I wouldn't be aware of this until the Uber pulled up to my house and the driver called my name to make sure I was awake.

In the meantime, I dreamed about that boy.

---

It was the first day again, and I found myself back in Mr. Barnes' history class.

Oh, great.

Many of the teachers had begun their first lesson with some "icebreaker" activity meant to acquaint us with one another, electing to hold off on any technical lessons until the second lesson. But Mr. Barnes wasn't one of them. Instead, he seemed intent to lecture for hours upon hours - if, Arceus forbid, the school's clock system ever broke down, he might well lecture until he was a ghost.

Before the lecture began, he laid out his "note policy", which would later bear the brunt of many complaints from the student body.

"I would like you all to know that I start each lesson with a randomized list of your names. It's not in alphabetical order, it's not based on where in the room you sit - it's random. Do you all understand that?"

"Yes" the class replied in unison, just like bricks in a wall.

"Periodically, I will call on one of you to answer a question about what I have just said. I don't mean to put any of you on the spot; it's just to make sure none of you are browsing PokéTube when you're supposed to be paying attention to me. In fact, it's likely wise to put your computers away, as research has shown that you absorb more information when physically writing it than typing. But that's another rant entirely.

"If you are unable to answer the question you're asked, I will be writing a note to your parents. This will likely lead to…ah, a rather awkward conversation at the dinner table. Again, do you understand me?"

"Yes" the class repeated in near-perfect unison, a singsong voice that you'd be more likely to see in a church choir than at a lecture hall.

"Very well," Mr. Barnes continued. "Though that answer felt a little too automatic to me. Never forget the importance of passion in your studies. The way you just said yes, it's just like the video games you students are probably playing right this moment. And I'm not much of a gamer, but we all know that answers like that are similar to just pressing X to continue."

"Sorry, Mr. Barnes" rang the voices of about half the room. I wasn't among them this time.

"Don't be sorry. Do better. In any case, this question is directed at Hayley Hawkeye: What was the region of Sinnoh once known as prior to its colonization?"

I stiffened up. Not because I doubted my ability to answer this question, but rather because I hadn't expected to be first.

"It was Hisui, right?" I asked.

"Correct" Mr. Barnes said curtly. "Now, if a train leaves Jubilife Station at…".

I sighed with relief. I'd been given an easy question early; in a way, I'd been spared the embarrassment that might befall other students later. I could tell that Mr. Barnes was trying to trip us up, and I very much would have loved to be on the back of a Rapidash right now.

Zoning out for a few minutes, I then heard another barking question from our history teacher - little did I know that the Wall of Shame was about to fall on one of my classmates. I didn't know his name, but that was about to change.

"Makoto Mutsamudu!"

A boy from somewhere behind me could be heard instantly sitting up. "Yes, Mr. Barnes?"

"Please tell me what caused the First Pokémon War" our history teacher boomed, not missing a beat.

Neither did Makoto, evidently. "Uh…there were tensions between the human settlers in Hisui and the existing residents, wild Pokémon whose existence had not been recorded yet. The war was fought over resources like land and water."

And then Mr. Barnes pulled one of the oldest tricks in the book: The bait-and-switch.

"Correct. And what year did it start in?"

I thought he'd only have to answer one question. That's not fair to Makoto!

"Uh…was it 469 BC?" Makoto replied, not sounding confident at all in this answer.

There were a couple of laughs, though I'll state for the record that I didn't join in. Right away, the wanton cruelty of it sank in: How utterly rude is it to mock a student for getting a question wrong? Quite frankly, the letter Makoto would receive as a consequence should have been punishment enough.

"When did wrong answers become funny?" Mr. Barnes asked the class in a booming tone. "Everybody, please stop laughing!"

His words had the opposite effect from their stated goal. The chorus of guffaws only escalated from there, and I could picture Makoto's face turning the color of a Cheri berry. This had to be positively brutal for him.

"Whatever" the teacher said eventually with a shrug, seemingly having decided that he could ignore the laughter. (Which was probably the best move, in all honesty.)

He continued. "Makoto Mutsamudu, I will be sending a letter to your parents tonight. I presume your parents will be very pleased that you have failed to save your grade."

Now he's just rubbing it in. I'm sure Makoto's embarrassed enough as is - you don't need to make it worse!

Of course, I wasn't going to voice this righteous indignation aloud. Doing so would be akin to social suicide.

I tried to pay attention for the rest of class, just because we would surely be tested on all this material later. Besides, even if I was pretty sure there was no "double jeopardy" here, I didn't want to risk it just in case I was wrong. The last thing I wanted would be to end up in the same boat as Makoto.

"In any case," Mr. Barnes continued, "we will continue. Let Makoto Mutsamudu serve as an example. You must pay close attention to my every sentence, or risk suffering my…displeasure."

At the word displeasure, not only did Mr. Barnes use heavy emphasis, but I saw a deadly glint emerge in his eyes. Something about his tone told me that he wouldn't be displeased at all if he "had to" humiliate his students.

I couldn't dwell on Makoto too long, though. He wouldn't be the last student to suffer Mr. Barnes' "displeasure", so it just wouldn't be productive to exhaust all my emotion on him. Our history teacher was on a warpath, and when the year was finished, it would be a bloodbath.

---

My Uber kept driving along the country roads. (And no, I'm not going to reference that song from your world. It's so overplayed that I hate it with a burning passion.)

Occasionally, the tires would hit a pothole, but the jostling failed to rouse me. Instead, I was still in the world of dreams, reliving yet another encounter with Makoto.

For some context: I was a member of the Gardening Club at Pastoria High. This club, as the name implies, was tasked with planting and maintaining the plants on the school's rooftop balcony. As it turns out, this is quite a job, especially when the club's membership was just one.

That's right: I was the only member of the Gardening Club. Precisely why this was, I couldn't have told you, but it was clear that nobody else seemed to be interested. At a minimum, their schedules conflicted with the club's meetings; that was the charitable interpretation.

Of course, since it was just me, there were no meetings. Instead, I stole away from the cafeteria upon getting my tray of food and made my way to the garden, where I would water the plants, rip out weeds, and plant new bulbs, which would flourish into blossoms that came in a veritable rainbow of colors.

In any case, I wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty. With a trusty bottle of hand sanitizer in my backpack, I would alternate between ripping out a weed and taking a bite. Rip, wash, bite. Rip, wash, bite. I would likely hear that pattern in my dreams!

On Wednesday, September 6, I found myself doing exactly that. At some point, I became vaguely aware of the nearby door swinging open, causing my heart to skip a beat.

It's nothing, I told myself. But it didn't sound as though it were nothing.

And then I realized: Maybe someone else had decided to relieve me from my loneliness. Maybe the Gardening Club was about to become an actual club for once, and I could share my love of plants with another student. At least one person didn't find the prospect of approaching me too intimidating to attempt.

"Uh…hey" I heard a male voice say.

The voice was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place exactly whom it belonged to. All I knew was that I had indeed heard it before, somewhere.

"Hey, just so you know", the boy told me, "you should at least bring hand sanitizer with you if you're eating while gardening. It's not healthy to eat with unwashed, grimy hands - you don't want to get sick this early in the semester."

What if I told you that I have hand sanitizer with me? You just can't see it!

But I did not utter those words. Indeed, I remained as focused as possible on my project. Those berry bushes wouldn't plant themselves, after all.

Seconds later, I felt the impulse to swivel in the boy's direction, and then I saw him.

He was a slightly pudgy boy, though by no means obese. His mop of blonde hair was sticking straight up, and his face blushed as he stepped closer to me.

"Good afternoon" I told him. Who are you, and what brings you here?, is what I wanted to say, but that would probably have been rude.

"Uh…" the boy replied, wobbling a bit.

I gave him a small, sad laugh. "Did you not expect to find me here? Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine," the boy insisted. "I -".

Butterfree rose within me as I remembered the potential of having another person here. It wasn't guaranteed to come true, but Arceus damn me if it wasn't highly tempting to pursue!

"What brings you here?" I asked pensively. "I've never seen you at the Gardening Club. Didn't think you had much interest in gardening."

The boy shrugged. "I, ah…just wanted some peace and quiet" he mumbled. "Thought the garden…would be peaceful."

Well, you're certainly right about that! It's just a bit too peaceful when you're alone.

"It is," I told the boy. "That's one reason I like to come here every day during the lunch period. Helps me cope with the academic pressure."

"Maybe it does" the boy replied in a tone with no passion whatsoever.

And then I realized that I knew who this boy was. Yes, his physical appearance was far from unique, but I'd heard other people talk so much about what he looked like, as well as his personality, that I recalled his name. (Besides, the events of yesterday's history lecture had only solidified his identity in my mind.)

He's Makoto Mutsamudu!

"Well, you don't know me as well as I do," I told Makoto. "But I've heard some things about you."

The instant that second sentence left my lips, I wanted to take it back. Of course, this was impossible - in the absence of any disruptive noises, Makoto had surely gotten the message.

There was no "taking back" what had just been said. Indeed, that wasn't strong enough language - I'd said it. If this conversation devolved into a shouting match, I would bear the blame for that.

Makoto raised his eyebrows, evidence that he'd found himself in a land of confusion. "Well, what do they…say about me?"

I considered not telling him, but again, there was no way to go back now. Even if I refused to admit the truth, something had changed between us. It hung in the air like a heat haze.

"They say you're really weird," I admitted. "That you might be a bit…different from the others. Maybe your brain works differently?"

I wanted to clamp a hand over my mouth, but of course, that wouldn't do any good.

Makoto gave off a quick, uncomfortable laugh. "There's, ah…doesn't everyone's brain work a bit differently from everyone else's? That's what makes us unique, you know?"

There were of course rumors about Makoto. Some people claimed that he was on the spectrum, words used in a derogatory manner even if there shouldn't have been anything wrong with it. Whenever I sat with my few friends, I felt the urge to correct them, but was never brave enough to do so.

You see, there is more than one type of courage. There's the kind required to ride on the back of a sprinting Rapidash, hoping that it won't buck you, and then compete against other schools that offer the same program for the best time, or highest score, or whatever. I possessed this courage in abundance.

But the courage that it takes to stand up for someone you don't know? Well, it was lacking, to put it mildly.

Then I remembered that Makoto would be expecting a response, so I cobbled something together quickly.

"Oh, Makoto," I said with a shrug.

"So how is gardening going?" he asked me, clearly in an effort to extricate himself from having to acknowledge the awkwardness.

I felt taken aback by this question, and I involuntarily flinched, simply because I hadn't been expecting it. My response came out more harshly than I intended:

"I mean, why do you care? It's just a hobby of mine. And you just met me."

"Uh…" Makoto replied. For a moment, I wondered if he was about to lash out at me in return. And I'd probably deserve it, truth be told.

When this did not happen, I smiled and said this: "Figured it's the best question to ask first in a social situation, didn't you?"

"I guess…I guess so," Makoto sighed.

"Well, it gets lonely here sometimes. City life's rough for those who like gardening, you know? There's just not a lot of space to do something like this."

As each word left the tip of my tongue, I grew increasingly impressed with my ability to make that answer up on the fly. Yes, it was an obvious point to make, but it was just intellectual enough that Makoto would find it a satisfying answer.

Speaking of Makoto, the boy visibly squirmed as I looked at him. Either he had to use a restroom very badly, or there was something he hadn't yet told me on which he was considering spilling the beans.

I would spare him.

"These marigolds aren't going to plant themselves," I muttered. "I'd better get back to work."

I wouldn't forget the look on Makoto's face here for some time. He held a finger up (no, it wasn't his middle finger.)

"Wait…" he said.

That confirms it. There's something he isn't telling me. The only question is, what secret is he keeping, and why is he keeping it?

I wouldn't let Makoto embarrass himself in front of me. I may not have been able (read: willing) to protect him from the gossiping of my equestrian teammates, but I could protect him now. He'd probably thank me later.

"You should probably get ready for class, Makoto," I insisted. "The bell's going to ring any minute now, and you'd better not be late."

We exchanged a few words about gardening after that, but it was clear that this conversation would die out within a minute. This wasn't because I didn't want to talk to Makoto, mind you - something about the way his mind worked interested me. Not as a charity case, but as a genuinely fascinating figure.

Rather, it would end out of necessity. We'd both head out to our respective classes, and our paths might not cross again until Mr. Barnes' next history lecture. But in the meantime, the memory of this encounter would not leave me. It would keep bubbling beneath the surface, much like one of the smaller geysers at Sinnoh's numerous national parks.

But why? Why do I care?