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Chapter 4

Play Ball

1

By age-long tradition, a Monday morning arrival to campus was met with cold reluctance and tired loathing, but the grounds welcomed a few extra students this week, the air filled with bubbling conversation layered with _excitement _of all things, as the monotony of the learning weeks finally took a thrilling turn.

Jim almost wouldn't have noticed the hanging eagerness had he not been riding high ever since his successful date. With some effort, he'd held back on sending a text, worried he might send her a typo, worried he might come off as a tad _hasty, _worried... in general, like he was playing the ultimate game of Jenga, and any _rushed _movements could cause ultimate calamity.

His finger brushed by the spot Cassidy had licked him that night. The pace he'd set was good enough, it seemed - the advice from his friends had helped, though he liked to imagine he deserved more credit for the execution.

Morning lectures came and went like blurry dreams, and Jim found a spot outside the cafeteria for a quick morning tea. Quick glances through the crowds brought him no results, not a single draconic woman in sight.

"Hey Jim-dog!" Isaac planted his caboose across from him. The metal table slapped loudly as a food tray came down, startling Jim.

"Sup," Jim said. "How's your weekend?"

"Finally got around to watching that Coraline movie. I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks, man." Isaac looked up from his yogurt and blinked at him. "Hey, I almost forgot! You and the 'ness! How did you do? Did you do her, eh?"

"It was the first date, dude. Dating's a delicate dance, you'd know if you ever had one."

"That's just a fancy way of saying you chickened out."

Jim's expression dipped a little, his friend seemed to see right through his mask without even trying.

"At least tell me you kissed her goodnight." Isaac returned to his yogurt.

"I don't want to get into details."

"Dude, I LIVE for details! So was there any contact? A little show of the leg, maybe? Rubbing of the knee? I'll take a goddamn hand-holding if I have to."

"I did lead her by the arm. You know, like this." He demonstrated.

Isaac couldn't be more stunned even if he'd been struck by lightning. "Oh my god, that's so old fashioned, dude! What are you going to do next, invite her to the grand ball?"

"It worked, what else can I say?"

"Yeah yeah, arm holding is good. What then?"

"Then nothing. I got her gifts, stuff she liked."

"Looking good. Go on."

"We had some dinner. Sushi."

"What place?"

"The train at the valley square?"

"What did she have? Tuna?"

"Mostly pork. We talked, walked around for a bit after that. Then I took her home."

Isaac slapped the table, eliciting a few looks from nearby students. "Slap my ass with a spoon, you what? _What happened to that shit about _delicacy?"

"Sorry _her _home, I meant."

"And she didn't invite you in? Dayum, man, I feel for you. All that money spent and not even a quickie?"

Jim thought it best not to mention she lived in the fairly poor part of town. He felt guilty enough on the inside, and if anyone could interpret something incorrectly, make things worse, it was the man before him.

"We traded numbers, though," Jim continued. Isaac swallowed a spoonful of his yogurt.

"Guess not all is lost, then. You didn't call her or anything did you?" Isaac stared. "Jimmy?"

He shook his head no. "Thank Christ for that. Take my advice, wait for _her _to text first. Feign some disinterest, girls dig that shit."

Jimmy humored his friend and said that he would - at least on the texting part. For a time they talked about school and other things, the subject of Friday's training he'd skipped out on eventually coming up. "How did coach react?" Jim asked.

Isaac took a bite of his sandwich and chewed as he answered. "Not sho' bad. He ashked abou' chew and I shed you were shick. Got thish weird look about him, then... tha' wash it!"

"Yeah? No questions? No search parties?"

"No shir!"

Jim didn't like it. Well, he _did _like it, the response by his coach the perfect outcome, but on the other hand... It was a little _too _good to be true. According to his friend he didn't miss out on much besides more drills and formation training. Jim knew it all like the back of his hand, but he doubted Mr. Bahril would see it that way.

His friend inhaled the rest of his meal. "You'll find out if you got away with it soon enough, Jimmy-my-man. Today's the last sesh' before the game. Who're we up against again?"

"Strikers, I think."

"Those pussies? Should be a fucking cake-walk, huh? You and me Jimbo, we'll be rolling in sponsorships before you can say 'game on'. I got a feeling."

"Here's hoping you're right." Jim downed the rest of his juice and crumpled the plastic box. He got up. "Come on, break time's over."

The rest of his day was taken up by the most mundane lectures to date, the only reason he didn't fall asleep because of the ever-looming risk of failure. He'd meant to get cracking on his assignments over the weekend, but had barely started them, and seeing some of his fellow students already tens of pages into their reports put him in a foul mood.

A mood that only soured when he sneaked a look at his phone, and seeing his message box empty. Sure, it was only an excuse to distract him from his work, but it would have been nice either way.

Now I'm getting the silent treatment from my derg - could this day get any worse?

"Please check your inboxes for the details on our next report due on the first week of June," his next lecturer Professor Hode said.

... I deserved that.

Usually he had training to look forward to after a long day of sitting down and typing, but instead he was anxious of the approaching afternoon. The professors didn't much care for absent students, and Jim never felt bad if he missed out on one or two, but unlike Mathematics or English or any other theoretical study, he held a passion for the freedom he felt in the field. Wind in his hair, the rubber bumps of the ball in his hands, the sound the ball made on a really good punt...

He didn't want to fuck it up. _Couldn't. _It was why on the way down to the oval he promised himself he'd not skip out on another session again, Cassidy or otherwise. Easier said than done, as the saying goes, but he'd try to do his best.

The boy's locker room was alive with chatter when Jim arrived, pulling out his key and fiddling with the lock. Jim grinned as he listened to the usual trash spoken in this place - booze and pussy being prime subjects, probably because neither could be found in a hundred-mile radius from here.

Just as Jim thought he might get through this afternoon without too many questions, Matty sidled up next to him, hip bopping as he leaned on one casual arm. "Jimmy, glad you could join us! So how was your _Friday afternoon, _eh? Eh?"

His friend had pursed his lips and angled his head in a clearly knowing expression, as if daring him to try and lie to his face. Over Matty's shoulder Jim stared daggers at a certain member of the team.

"You told him?" Jim said.

Isaac offered a cocky shrug. "What can I say? When there's Poké-puss involved, I just can't keep my mouth shut."

A couple of guys in the background whooped their support. Jim let the team have their moment ribbing him before giving one back. "At least one of us doesn't have to imagine getting laid."

There were a few retorts at that, excuses, a few your mom jokes thrown into the mix, and then the piercing sound of a whistle interrupted all, Mr. Bahril shouting right outside the door. "Hustle up, boys! Time's a wastin!"

Mr. Bahril had in-game scenarios for the team to practice, interspersed by brutal sprints around the oval, regardless of who performed better or not. It was during one of these not-so relaxing interludes that the dreaded moment came bearing down.

"Two laps, boys! In three minutes or you're dead to me! Except you, Jim, hold a second."

Jim sighed in both exhaustion and apprehension. The rest of the guys kicked mud up behind him as they began their run, a few snarky comments thrown about as they gained distance.

Jim stopped himself from shaking his head and turned to Mr. Bahril, head angling down a bit at the short coach. "Yeah?"

"First game is in a few days," the older man said.

"I know."

"Do you?" The man faked shock. "Because last training day, a certain SOMEONE, failed to show! And as far as my memory serves, this particular _left wing _hadn't ever let man-flu get in the way of his duty!"

Jim shrugged. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't try and weasel you're way out of- Wait, what did you say?" Jim repeated himself, coach answering with a blink. "You're... not even gonna try and excuse yourself? Make something up?"

He answered with a shake of his head. "It was a personal thing, coach. Won't happen again."

Mr. Bahril opened his mouth, closed it, paused, then spoke. "I had a whole reprimand planned for the lies I thought you'd throw at me, but not this." Over his shoulder Jim could see his team running on the other side of the field. "Fine, I trust this 'matter' was important enough to miss out on a critical session. The team needs you, Jim, never forget that. Our whole strategy this season relies on the left side, and you're the anchor."

Jim knew this well enough already, but thought it best to let the man finish.

"But don't _let that make you feel comfortable. There are players out there far worse off than _others, and they can still make easy points."

Jim raised a confused eyebrow. No one had ever gone a day being a Mythic without being threatened by the coach, but something about this one struck a chord with Jim. Jim wasn't blind to the fact he was more... financially stable than average, his dad's business doing consistently well, but Mr. Bahril's knowledge of this was startling to say the least.

There was little time to baffle over it, however, when the Mythics ran by at that moment, starting their second lap. Coach waved him on that he should join them, and Jim fell into a run with the group, not looking back.

"What happened, Jim-dog?" Isaac asked with a quick shoulder-check. "He give ya a good grilling?"

"Sure did," Jim said, brow scrunched in confusion.

"Well look on the bright side, you only have to run one lap!"

Another forty-five minutes of sweat-riddled drills and exercises later, and training drew to a thankful close. As the dejected group of exhausted boys made their way to the change rooms, Mr. Bahril addressed them with a shout. "Listen up everyone! Next time we see each other here we'll be playing for _real. _I want you all inside at eleven-thirty on the DOT. Until then, get some rest boys. You'll need it."

The Mythics rushed inside after being dismissed, quick to find themselves a shower and eager to end the day. With a heavy set of tired limbs, Jim said his farewells to his friends and made off for the library. With a bit of spare time this afternoon he thought he'd try and play catch up with his ever-growing list of reports and assignments.

He picked a quiet spot in the corner and booted up the computer. He opened up a text document, then flipped his bag open to fetch his books. His joints ached and seized up as they always did after a long session of moving, followed by sitting still in a chair. The keys clicked away quietly as he drew up a page of notes.

Even watching the little vertical line blink away was enough to add onto his fatigue. He sat back with a sigh, wondering if going home hadn't been a better option.

Just when he was beginning to die from boredom, his phone buzzed against his thigh. Pulling it from his pocket, he flipped the case open and navigated to the message box, preemptively sighing at what his father might have sent, as there weren't many others these days who bothered messaging him.

Halfway through his sigh, the exhale turned into a gasp when he saw who the text was from, the sound not unlike something off a zombie movie. He read the text twice over just to be sure he wasn't dreaming.

Hey Jim! Sry I missed u I got home early 2day and been supr bz unpacking. How r u?

The contact he'd put in as Cass hovered over the message like a shining beacon of pixeled hope. "_Yes!" _he said, all of today's worries flushed away like bad dreams, earning a few stairs from a couple nearby students.

Okay let's think about this, _he thought, thumbing the numpad to write up a response. _Do I ask her out again? Like this? Nah that's lame. Maybe I could just call her? No, no too soon, plus I'm in a library. Should I ask her how she got a Monday off? Offer to come help unpack, perhaps?

Many minutes passed by as he raked his brain over what to say. He didn't want to send a whole paragraph of an answer, that would just be creepy, not to mention how long it would take, what with hitting the _7 _key four times just to get to the letter _S. _He wished there was some sort of quick-typing thing they'd invent, or a way to print out a word without putting every single letter down.

After many drafts, some of which he typed out on his computer to proof-read, he looked down at his final response with a critical expression, wondering if it was a tad too long. Printed there on the tiny screen was this:

Im good. Hows rehearsals?

Confident, he changed the full-stop to an exclamation point, hoping to match her own text's energy, and hit the send button without thinking about it for too long, otherwise he'd never send anything. He waited patiently for a few minutes until his phone buzzed again.

Gr8! Didnt c u there 2day tho?

Bz with homewrk and training agn. What tim is the play?

11 will u b there?

That didn't exactly give him the biggest time window, considering it was on the same day as the seasons opening game. He'd been foolish to think their times _wouldn't _collide, because life was just a plain old bitch sometimes.

_Wouldnt miss it, _he sent back, though his fingers shook ever so slightly upon hitting _send, _the corner of his lip pulling down, like a child who knows he's done wrong. A little voice asked him if could juggle sport and theatre forever.

His answer was a thunk of wood as his forehead fell onto the desk before him. When he eventually built up the will to look up, he saw he'd partly hit the keyboard with his face and there were long strings of _v's _and _m's _taking up half the page. The sight enraged him the more he stared at it.

_Jesus Mary wept, as some would say. _He sighed, flipping open his book to reread some of today's notes.

2

"Jesus Mary wept."

They say art cannot be rushed, but what exactly did 'they' say when one is given seven days (six, technically), to come up with a script that all your hopes and dreams rested upon? Did they _cut you some slack? How come _they _were always _there to point out your flaws but never once agreed to compromise?

Of course, it was not lost on her that she considered herself a considerable part of _they, _for she was the biggest hater of works written by her own hand. Thank God there was no shortage of others to direct her resentment to, else it would turn inward, to herself, then Jesus and Mary really would have reason to weep.

Blending the chosen themes into a story was as simple as pie, her work desk a mess of discarded paper sheets, both folded and scrunched, some related to the play, some not. She'd always fancied herself a creator, an excuse to liven up an otherwise dreary existence, bring some colour to a grey world. She fancied herself an accomplished individual in that regard, but it seemed her creative hand had tensed up for this particular moment of import, the one that actually mattered beyond stupid love stories and snippets of poems, most involving her favourite original character - a young Quilava (not herself, her name was Ardnek).

It appeared that she was a hack when faced with a task that went beyond simple, selfish recognition. She'd not slept in days, her natural strength as a fire Type the only thing keeping her stamina afloat. Hours upon hours of handwriting resulted in a cramped wrist, a bin overflowing with failed drafts, a hole in the wall as the result of her balled fist, and a handful of rehearsals that clearly reflected the lack of time allotted.

"I thought it was quite decent."

This little voice of positivity had come from Bernard, who had himself been involved in the opening act with a performance she deemed average, if only because he hadn't stuttered a single time, unlike the others on stage, though being his size one could hardly believe otherwise.

She answered his sheepish grin with a scowl. "Fuck off, Bernard."

Even though twice her size, the big Pokémon voiced a disappointed _"Aww," -_before making himself scarce. Nobody else tried to take a light spin on their current situation, and for good reason (aside from angering an already fuming Tyhplosion).

The principal had arrived fifteen minutes early to the performance, Kendra having her club sweep the hall clean of dust and dead insects to make it at least a _little _presentable. Hastily had she chucked her infested dustpan to a squeamish Jasmine, who had been complaining about her dirty ribbons for ten minutes straight, before going to unlock the hall doors.

"Principal, sir!" Kendra greeted, smiling as foreign to her as telling truths was to a politician. Her keen vision even picked up on a very slight recoil from Mr. Clarke. "It's a little early yet."

"Thought we might save ourselves the best seats." Even though his grin was honest, she couldn't help but take it as an insult - as with most things.

"'We', sir?"

"You didn't think I'd spectate all on my own, did you? I've brought along some of my staff."

He gestured behind him, and Kendra looked on with eyes bulging from their sockets, four, five, _six _professors walking down the path, a certain Professor Felix bringing up the rear of the group, the one who played a key part of her cover story she and Jim had made up.

"Jesus Mary..." Kendra mumbled.

"What was that, Miss Ayers?"

"Um, merry. _It makes me _merry to see so many interested."

"Yes, well, most of the students are down on the oval for the season's first game, so some of us have got time to spare."

Again she picked up on that tone, that her club was very much an afterthought, or a background prop in a set piece of the male world. It was tricky to tell if he was being condescending or not, but then again despite her inner loathing of the situation, the principal had encouraged this whole idea in the first place.

"Ah... then please, come in! Come in! Cassidy get some more chairs out please!" she called out as she held the door open, greeting each professor as they entered. When it came to Miss Felix's turn, the older woman came to a halt, regarding her with an impatient tapping of the foot. Like most staff involved in the arts, she was clad in a long black gown adorned with an obscene number of necklaces and jewelry studs, her arms clad in half a dozen bangles on each limb, her face flanked with earrings with loops big enough to fit a fist through each one.

"Well well well, Kendra, you've certainly been busy." She wagged a finger, keyrings and chains tinkling like she was one giant wind chime. "When Mr. Clarke told me you were leading a club I was more than surprised, given I'm the head of this whole department."

The Typhlosion cleared her throat after an awkward silence. "Ahem, forgive me Miss. It's... complicated."

Miss Felix's mouth curled at the corners. "I played along as best I could, though you could have sent me a heads-up beforehand." She moved inside, Kendra closing the door behind her. "We'll speak afterward about this little... development. I'm as curious as the rest of the staff as to what you've come up with."

Kendra thanked the heavens Miss Felix was one of those rare, easy-going professors and hadn't spilled the beans to the principal. She doubted these lucky miracles would save her bacon forever, given that _forever _was now over, and the time for action had come.

The reaction from the other club members was about what one would expect. It was like the staff were aliens landing on earth and the club were the first fortunate ones to greet them. It was bad enough they were to perform in front of the principal, but from _several _staff members as well?

After organizing the seating arrangements, she rallied the club backstage, doing her best to calm the nerves of her friends. "Everyone, listen to me... Hello?" The club was like a gathering of chickens on route to the slaughterhouse. "Everyone SHUT UP!" she cried, and that got their attention. "Thank you! I know this wasn't what we were expecting, but now is not the time to panic."

"Half our lecturers are out there!" a hyperventilating Tira complained. "We're doooomed!"

"We are _not _doomed," Kendra growled. "Get yourselves together, all of you! If you put this much emotion onto the stage we can walk out of here with our heads held high. I've seen you all perfect your lines, I've seen you perform live, just because you're to act before teachers doesn't make a difference."

"Sure it does!" Louis, an Absol countered, flicking his long white hair from his face. "Jim and his friends were friendly faces. Speaking of, where is he?"

Damn near everyone else joined in the query, making Kendra drag a palm across her cheek. This was exactly what she hoped to avoid - most of their number had come to over rely on the human, and what exactly would they do should he be indisposed, like today?

"He's busy today with that... that game." Kendra snarled the last word out. "But listen to me. Remember how you all first reacted when you performed before Jim? Why, Tira, you were literally shocking everyone in a ten-foot radius around you! You sent Bernard flying across the room as soon as you heard the news."

Both Tira and Bernard shared a glance, before small smiles crept over their faces at the memory. "Now, let's consider this our next challenge!" Kendra said, raising a fist and slapping it into her palm. "This is merely a hurdle on our road to glory. I'd rather see us go out in one last great performance than exit stage left whimpering, don't you? When we made this club, was this what we had in mind? Shunning the idea of performing?"

"Of course not! So let's get out there and show them that we're not just a waste of space, show them what talent _really _is!"

Her pep talk did encourage a good flip in the club's general mood, so Kendra whisked them onto stage before anyone could start second guessing. She positioned Bernard on the left-hand curtains, Cassidy the right. Since the pull ropes had long been eaten away by moths, they had to pry apart the stage curtains manually.

The Typhlosion slipped through the drapes after a few hushed words to her cohorts, flipping her hard expression to one of merriment when the crowd of campus staff watched her expectantly.

"Ladies and Gentleman," she began. "It's my pleasure to present to you our very first performance: Mia."

Kendra's expression desperately conveyed the message _please clap, _which was thankfully heeded by Miss Felix, who began the polite applause. With a fancy bow Kendra gestured, and after a quick slap to where she knew Bernard to be, the curtains parted noisily.

The main character, Mia - played by Amelia - was to get involved in a love-triangle with an old friend and new friend, and the play would begin with her meeting the new love interest, a soldier played by Caius. Nothing special about a triangle, of course, but it did suit the theme of how she would juggle to keep the two males unaware of the other.

They delivered their lines in earnest, each sentence rhyming with its pair. Plays with more culture were spoken in rhyme, but as the act went on, and the audience remained impassive, she started to think if that was a good idea at all.

Caius, the rogue soldier, opened with some light flirtation, but the presence of the staff deterred him, such talk normally reserved many miles away from teachers. His recital fluttered a little towards the end - the beginning of a long, long descent, as Amelia started fumbling over her lines soon after.

She did deliver one good joke Kendra had written, one that involved Margaret Thatcher, and that actually got one of the staff to snort. She didn't know _which _it was, only that it wasn't the principal, the one she _had _to please, but at least it was something.

Amelia, however, took the snort the wrong way, and her next couple lines were layered with her slowly surfacing nerves. It was infectious. Caius started to deliver his lines incorrectly, and by the time the third member of the love triangle was introduced - along with a few side-character introductions like Bernard and Louis - many of the jokes were falling flat under blatantly poor deliveries.

This was the reason why she'd so rudely dismissed Bernard's attempt at optimism after the act finished. She watched the club set the next scene with a nail firmly chewed between her teeth.

"I need you to pull through in the second act, Cass," Kendra told her friend, eye twitching when she looked down and saw her nail angled weirdly down the middle.

"I'll try my best," the Garchomp replied. She was much more easier going than Kendra, but even she looked doubtful.

"_Try _isn't good enough, and I'm starting to think _best _won't be either. We'll need a goddamn _miracle _if we want a chance of pulling this off."

Just then she heard a door open, and her neck-flames stood on end. If that was more professors then this whole thing was done. _The club could handle performing before friends and other students, but _staff was a whole other matter.

She peaked her head through the breach in the curtains, eyes first drawing over the principal and his entourage, talking amongst themselves through the interluding silence, then towards the entrance. Initially she grew alarmed, seeing maybe _ten _more people coming inside. Were there even _that _many professors at the campus? Maybe it was the groundskeeper team or the other faculties brushed off to the sidelines, come to see what the ruckus was about.

But then she recognised the one at the front, and her demeaner had a hard time deciding whether to heat up or cool down. "Ah, here's Sir _Knobin _and his band of merry men."

Cassidy's head appeared above her own between the drapes, her expression a little warmer towards the approaching boys. Jim and his companions were all dressed identically in purple jerseys and black shorts, each one sporting a different number printed on the left breast. Jim's spiked shoes rolled noisily over the wood as he gave the principal a wave, blinking when he saw the number of lecturers present.

"Mr. Beam?" Principal Clarke said, looking from Jim to his friends. "Shouldn't you all be down on the oval?"

"Oval schmoval, we got loads of time," Jim said, much in the same way one would excuse working on an assignment until the due date. "I see we're not the only theatre fans."

"My staff had some free time available."

Jim made a disgusted sound, like he'd just seen a fly land in a bowl of hot soup he was about to eat. He turned to his team waiting behind him. "Alrighty boys sit tight, I'll go check up on the guys and gals."

"This is gay," one of the Mythics Kendra didn't know said. The one she knew as Isaac hit the man on the shoulder.

"So are you, but you don't hear us complaining!"

The Typhlosion gave the Mythics the _evil-eye, _throwing herself behind the curtains with an angry flurry. The stage shook slightly as bootheels approached, everyone else gone still upon hearing the voices beyond.

"Sup guys?" Jim greeted, a few small _hello's _made as he passed some of the club members. He smiled when he came to Kendra and Cassidy. "Hey Kendra, Cass." He smiled shyly when he met the dragoness' eyes.

Kendra made a face at the adolescent, sexual tension that no doubt brewed between the two. "And just where have you been?" the Typhlosion asked. "We started a half hour ago!"

"Hey! Convincing half the team to come down here wasn't easy," Jim defended. "Getting the other half to come up with a decent cover story was even harder. So how's the play going?"

"Terribly!" Kendra replied, earning a few looks from the others. Her father was right, she really could be as blunt as a hammer sometimes. "The deliverance is poor, our stage presence is nonexistent, and principal hasn't so much as given us a tee-fucking-hee!"

Jim flinched with each point made, opening his hands in a shrug. "At least he hasn't walked out," he tried.

Steam started wisping from the top of Kendra's head, Cassidy politely stepping between the two as if things were about to escalate. "I think," Cassidy said. "what Kendra's trying to say, is that she appreciates you coming, Jim. Even with the game right around the corner, you still took some time to help us, and we respect that, right?"

The Typhlosion matched the dragoness' eyes and took the hint, taking a deep breath. "... Yes," was all she could manage.

"It was nothing," Jim said. "actually that's a lie. It wasn't free, they asked for some phone numbers in return. A couple for Jasmine, and Tira, and even one for you, Kendra."

Kendra threw up a little in her mouth, her cheeks bulging comically. "I wouldn't date any one of those Kumquat-heads if they were the last males on the planet! Bleugh!"

Jim went to say something, when a gentle, but assertive voice called out: "How long exactly does this interlude go for?" Kendra thanked the stars that it wasn't a professor but just one of the sports jocks who'd spoken.

"Positions, everyone!" Kendra called, kindly putting a hand on Jim's shoulder and ushering him away. "Backstage is for performers only, Jim."

"Good luck Cass!" Jim called, the dragon returning his wave with a grin. "Good luck everyone, you'll need it if you don't want the principal to bulldoze the whole buil- mmf!"

His speech was cut off when Kendra squeezed her claws over his lips, eyes bugging at the sudden lack of oxygen. Amelia, who was the closest, gestured at him. "What was that about bulldozers?"

"Oh, haha, nothing, he was just fooling around!" Kendra answered for him, escorting him away. Once safely out of earshot, she released him. "You idiot, I haven't told them about that yet! Things are bad enough without you blurting out crap like that."

"I forgot," he answered, the Pokémon clearly not believing him.

"Look, I... admire, you and your friends support, let me just make that clear. But we need to concentrate, so no interruptions, alright? This is serious."

"We'll behave, relax."

Even though the real reason why his friends (and by extent himself) were here, was because they wanted Jim to get laid, and would do anything they could to help achieve that goal, the young man took it upon himself to play the humble hero, bask in the slight praise the Typhlosion clearly showed to very few.

He let the Pokémon return to her club, finding a spot to plant his rump along with the professors and the Mythics. Jim didn't need to be told the number of teachers here had been a rather unwelcome surprise to Kendra and the other actors.

Miss Felix quickly explained to the boys what had happened in Act I, bringing them up to speed before the curtains parted, revealing Mia and her council of friends played by a couple of members who'd been sidelined into extra roles.

Jim grinned as he watched, feeling almost proud by how much some of them had improved, especially Amelia to be put in the spotlight for so long. The tall Lapras returned his grin when she met his eyes, before bringing her attention back to the play and reciting her lines.

Jim couldn't understand the problem beyond a little stage fright. Even his team seemed to enjoy it, likely because aside from the constant rhyming, there was no amount of poetry to be heard. The Mythics particularly enjoyed this one part where Mia was out having dinner with _both _her love interests, in the same restaurant, on the same night, having to constantly make up new excuses to see to the other, while keeping them ignorant of each other. He even saw a few of the professors join in on the moments of laughter.

Then it hit him. He wasn't a psychological expert by any means, but even he knew humans were very subconsciously influenced by things around them. Like how yawning was contagious even from across a room, or how a laugh track could make even the worst sitcom somewhat entertaining.

Not to say the play was bad, but the more Jim and his friends enjoyed the theatrics, the professors seemed too as well. It was like the Mythics were hired crowd warmers. It made Jim feel a little guilty, like he was pampering the club into undeserved praise, but a club this desperate couldn't be choosy, right?

Jim checked the time when the scene closed. The game was barely a quarter of an hour away, and he had yet to see Cassidy on stage. He'd been hoping a quick stay would allow him to finally see her in action even just for a minute, but the clock was ticking. _I hate time, _he thought.

The next scene rolled on, and Mia was caught in a moment of self-reflection, wishing she had someone to approach and ask for advice on how to choose her true love. Thankfully in a show of true convenience, she'd been in a bar at the time, and the establishment's owner, one of the few humans of the club, a girl called Madeline, announced to the patrons the plot device for the act:

"Attention everyone! Please welcome tonight's shining star, the beloved Lady Caterina!"

"Check it, dude." Isaac gave Jim a nudge.

Caterina's hammer-head-like face tilted in a bow as she entered from stage right. Jim's eyes lit up like moons when his wish was granted, Cassidy - or Caterina if one wanted to roleplay - giving him a very quick, sly look as she took a seat near the center of the stage, pulling something out from behind her. It was a long, wooden thing with a thin neck and strings running from the head to the bulbous end, the cords tapered by little screws which Cassidy gave a few experimental plucks with her long nails.

It wasn't a guitar; it was too small. A lute maybe? It could have been a banjo for all Jim knew about instruments. One scaly leg flexed over the other as she got comfortable, an eager silence falling over the hall, interrupted only by small shuffles of fabric as the crowd gained a sudden boost in interest.

Cassidy's small grin went in Jim's direction, but he was too enamored to offer nothing more than a surprised blink. She eased a single, soft note as she plucked at her instrument, her voice piercing the room like a silken wish as it formed into words.

Light upon the ocean

Casts away the dark

Where impurity and wickedness

Hides within us all

A cloudy veil, these thoughts have brought

The haze through which I weep

Temper your heart and look

Your answer lies beneath

Our souls, born from gentle stars

Will never go astray

Listen then, take heed and call

For love is as blinding as

Light upon the ocean

She repeated the verse once more, and then fell silent with one last note from her instrument, the hall filled with placid silence for a time.

Then Jim rose to his feet, and brought his hands together, an unbelieving expression on his face. The applause spread to the Mythics, who were transfixed throughout, even the ones like Matty who were sat towards the back, uninterested so far in the performance, raised their hands to their lips and whistled.

The teachers soon joined in, even Principal Clarke, who looked especially moved. Amelia, after waiting patiently for an ounce of silence, stood up from her seat nearby. "Listen to my soul, of course, how foolish I've been! How obvious it is, how I truly feel within!"

With the revelation announced, the act came to a close, the drapes obscuring Cassidy as she gave a farewell bow. Jim wanted to go up there and find her, but before he could a hand fell upon his shoulder.

"Jim." It was Gavin, his polite concern a contrast to the general excitement surrounding them. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but unless we want to skip the start of the season, we have to go now."

"Shit," Jim said, seeing the time on Gavin's presented phone. "Alright alright, you go ahead, I've got to do something."

While the captain calmed the team down and brought them back to reality, Jim pushed his way backstage, seeing Kendra standing right where she'd unceremoniously excused him earlier. Even _she _was beaming with enthusiasm, whether at Cassidy or the audience's reaction, it was hard to tell. Maybe both.

"Hey, Kendra, talk about saving the best for last. Dayum," he said, watching with her as Cassidy moved onto the other side of the stage.

"Indeed. We might yet have a chance after all." She turned and frowned, seeing his team shuffling out the exit. "Where are they going?"

"We've gotta go if we wanna make it to the game on time."

"Very well then." He expected her to argue but she didn't add anything more. Jim fidgeted on the spot as he saw Cassidy slowly disappear behind the other actors, looking back over his shoulder at his departing friends. It looked like he was trying to go both directions at once.

Kendra noticed his apprehension and grinned. "She'll be here, Jim. Go do your thing, we'll do ours."

"You'll be okay with just the teachers?"

"Yes, yes, _go. _And good luck, Jim."

He cast one look at his draconic friend, before turning away. "You too," he said, shaking his head as he chased after the Mythics. So much he wanted to say to her, so little time.

He snapped out of it and tried to focus. He fell in behind the speed-walking team, and they marched like soldiers down to the playing field.

3

To say Mr. Bahril was upset would be an understatement, though the punishment would have been a lot worse had Jim been alone in his poetic endeavor. As the Mythic's marched into the training room, the coach stood off to one side and screamed into each boy's ear respectively as they passed.

Once the threats were over with, a whiteboard was pulled out of the corner, Mr. Bahril addressing the 'pack of degenerates' as he called them, with a blue marker. He went over a few pre-game strategies, making sure everyone knew their roles in this season's new strategy.

Jim wasn't expecting much resistance today. Last year, the Strikers had come second-last overall, though he guessed they'd try their hearts out what with these government sponsors lurking around. Unless said sponsors dressed in flashy suits and wore nametags, it would be hard to tell if any were here today, watching.

An air horn sounded off in the distance, and the coach threw the marker over his shoulder. "That's our cue boys - get out there and fry their bacon!"

In single file did they jog out towards the field-exit, leaving the dim interior fluorescents to bask in the bright, overhanging sunshine. Paired with this abrupt brightness came the roar of a crowd - students, staff and family alike gathered in and around the stands - many having been forced to sit among the outlying fields underneath umbrellas jammed into the grass. The campus welcomed the public on big events like today, and the crowd was more than modest for the season opening.

The Mythics waved and jogged as they moved onto the field, two sets of goal posts on the left and right marking the field's try lines. A couple of teachers held aloft a banner with the campus' name stretched across the linen, which Gavin - at the front of the team - promptly ripped a hole into with a quick headbutt, the rest of the Mythics following in his example.

Flanking the banner in two small groups, the cheerleaders danced away, pompoms flashing and skirts rippling like storms of pink cloth. Jim noted the lack of a certain Garchomp member, the group on the left consisting of an odd number.

The rest of the Mythics passed beneath the banner to center field, where a referee, and another equally large group of boys waited. They were dressed in gold and black; the Strikers having jogged on minutes earlier.

Gavin and the Striker's own captain chose their side of the coin toss, which the referee, a rather pudgy man with light blond hair, threw up high. The Strikers won the toss, making the Mythics the one's to kick-off first.

"It's settled gentlemen," Gavin said, the team hustling up around him. Each boy clumsily put their hand on top of his own to form a hand-stack. "You boys ready? One, two, three..."

"MYTHICS!" the team shouted in unison, splitting off and heading to their positions. Jim segregating himself from the pack to head to the left sideline. He cricked his neck and rolled his shoulders, seeing his Striker counterpart about forty meters across from him.

Isaac gave himself a run up to the ball, which sat upon a tee. He waited for the air horn, and when it came, loud and blaring, he punted the ball with a solid _thwack~! _and the game began, the crowd hollering and cheering when the ball came to rest in a Striker's hands.

Jim moved up with the line, as Matty speared the ball-carrier along with another Mythic. With each tackle the Strikers gained about half a dozen or so meters, until it was time for them to kick. The pass was predictable, however, and Isaac rushed the designated punter and speared him to the dirt, scoring an easy change over near the halfway line. Jim admitted that on-field, Isaac wasn't one to mess about.

The centers kept up the aggression, crashing into the Striker defence like waves against a bank. They got about fifteen meters away from the try line, with no tackles left. Somewhere in the background noise an angry Mr. Bahril screamed that they remember their training.

Gavin took the lead, passing the ball left to Matty, who passed it on to his left, to Francis, the big guy going half-down in a tackle before releasing the ball. Closer and closer the ball came to the left side, until it came to rest in the palms of Joshua, the partner of the left-wing. The man feigned passing it to Jim, fooling his attackers into shuffling towards the wingman. They left a clear opening, and the first try of the game was scored.

The crowd roared with approval, for the visiting team was clearly lacking in support on the campus. High fives and ass-slaps were exchanged as the Mythics got back into position for a reset.

The two teams battled it out over possession, neither one scoring an advantage over the other apart from a few close calls. One such time happened right before Jim, who found himself defending alone against two attackers, the defence having been dummied away. The one with the ball dived valiantly to Jim's left, who just manage to reach out and seize his foot, sending both boys flailing over the sideline.

"No try!" the referee called, blowing through his whistle. Jim hadn't noticed the ball had come down to the ground at the last moment.

The teams collided in rough, sweat-riddled scrums, halftime only a few minutes away. Someone on the right-wing must have started slacking, as Jim watched on helplessly from across the field as their defence slowly backpedaled. His hands flew up to his face when a Striker came down over the try line, ball in hand.

Many a frustrated fan cursed and groaned, the stands filled with audible disappointment as the scores evened out. And yet, as the horn sounding half-time rang out, the hundreds of fans didn't even come close to comparing with the coach.

"You stupid wankstain Kevin!" Bahril chucked a water bottle at the culprit, who Jim presumed had let the enemy score. Kevin barely managed to stop the deadly container's journey to his face. "Talk about clutching defeat from the jaws of victory! I've been coaching for ninety-five years and I've never seen such a terrible play!"

Not many other teachers had the guts (or reason) to actively insult a student, Jim and a few others having to bite their fists to stifle their giggles. "And where was Jim's support at the twenty-meter mark? Francis big boy you've GOT to shuffle over when they're moving left! Jim can't handle two guys at once!"

"Maybe not _on _the field, but otherwise..." Isaac snickered. Mr. Bahril told him to shut the hell up and he did.

The verbal slap on the wrist went on throughout the break, Jim biting into a slice of orange offered to him by the waterboy. The sour taste of citrus painted the roof of his mouth as he chewed, listening to coach ramble on about a new tactic he wanted them to try, in hopes of winning the game back.

When the break was over, Jim tossed the fruit away, the team heading back into position, the Strikers switching sides with the Mythics. Even in the breathable jersey Jim felt his skin slick with sweat as the Strikers gave it all they had, putting to rest Jim's earlier hopes the game would be a push-over.

The Mythics were put on the back-foot more than was comfortable, the defence barely keeping the Strikers thirty meters out. The ball was kicked high into the left center, and by the way Isaac oriented to catch it, Jim knew now was the time to put all that training to the test. The centers barreled into the line, gaining precious meters at a time.

Usually teams waited until the last tackle before a kick, but the Mythics pulled a cheeky fast one, Isaac punting the ball off to the left on the third tackle, well behind the defence, forcing them to crane their heads back and turn tail. Francis, adjacent to where it would land, gave it all he had, knocking aside a defender with the shove of a big, muscled arm.

He caught the ball, but was quickly set upon by three Strikers, and just before he could be brought down, he flicked the ball back and away with barely any finesse, where it soared directly on course to the Striker wingman. The man stood and raised his hands, waiting for the ball to come to him.

But it never did. Like an Olympian gymnast, Jim came flying in from the side, airborne as he caught the ball and clung it to his chest. People in the stands stood and roared as Jim slipped right through the defence.

The try line looked so impossibly far away, Jim's sore legs pumping as hard as he could make them to try and close that great distance. The thumping of boots right on his heels made him feel like he was in one of his nightmares where he was chased by some dark monster.

The way was not entirely unimpeded, however - a Striker from the backline rapidly closing in from mid-field. Jim drew a simple pair of lines with his mind, one marking his course and one for the defender, and knew that he'd be intercepted before he could reach the goals.

"Come on Jim! Come on!"

Even through the ecstatic shouts of the crowd, one voice split off from the mass like a stray frequency. He turned his head, and saw just off to the left, standing back from the sidelines, a certain Garchomp that had a way of always drawing his eye. She had a clawed hand cupped to her mouth, her shouts of encouragement sparking a strange feeling in his heart.

He noticed right before he passed by, that she wasn't alone. The whole theatre club was there, cheering him on, even Kendra seemed a tad excited, and that feeling inside him got stronger. He didn't know if it was humbleness, pride, or just a hormonal reaction at seeing his desired dragoness flipping the tables, inspiring _him _on, but whatever it was, it gave him a much-needed boost of a little something he'd been lacking these past couple months.

Jim grinned, slowing just a tad to line himself up with the encroaching defender. He didn't have the momentum to change course, but Jim did. The young man turned into the Striker's path at the last second, looping around the last defence completely unmolested. Jim fell to his belly as he crossed the line, ball tucked under his chest as he skid along the ground, dirt and grass rising up in his wake.

The blow of a whistle had never sounded so sweet. He got to his feet, but was almost brought down again by his friends, rubbing his head and congratulating him. He pumped his fist and reveled in the following attention, the crowd going wilder than a firecracker.

The Strikers were given possession of the ball, but the game had minutes left on the clock, and both sides knew it was over. One final time the airhorns boomed across the oval, whoever was in charge of the siren joining the excitement by adding a few extra, quick bursts of the horn in celebration.

The Mythics, after celebrating amongst themselves, formed a rough line that ran parallel to the Striker's own. Although sour, they wouldn't let a defeat get in the way of being bad sports. One by one they all shook hands; Jim feeling is ego expand like a microwaved bag of popcorn when his try was complimented a couple times.

Mr. Bahril had his fair share of 'notes' he presented in the training room, but one could tell he was pleased to see they'd started the season off strongly. Soon they were dismissed, and the change rooms were soon misted in steam as the showers were turned on full-blast.

Eventually Jim got his turn, drying himself off and politely declining an invite to a towel-fight, quickly pulling on his pants before too many red welts could paint his rump.

Most of the spectators had departed during the cooldown, but Jim felt a smile creep over his face when he saw the whole theater club sitting nearby outside, waiting. For him? He liked to think so. Jasmine was the first to spot Jim, running up and giving him a high-five with her paw. "You were wicked out there!"

"I know," he laughed, grinning as she and a couple other girls congratulated him, then moved on to the others of his team, filing out of the locker room behind him. Most of them were surprised, never having an entourage greet them after changing.

Cassidy waited until he was alone, stepping between him and the others for a spot of privacy. "That was quite the play, Jim," she said, lidding her eyes for a second as she looked him over. "I had no idea you were so... dexterous."

"Oh, well... you know- I... There was a bit of outside influence..." He grinned at her, and she returned it with a teasing look. "I'm surprised you guys made it, thought your play would go on for... Oh fuck!" He blinked in remembrance. "Yeah, the play! How'd it go? How'd it end?"

"It went well, and Mia found happiness after all, choosing her _first _love. They began together, so they ended together." He was probably mistaken, but he thought he picked up on something in her tone.

"And the principal? What did he have to say?"

"He took Kendra aside for a moment after the closing act. She told me that he was pleasantly surprised. Poor girl hasn't got a wink of sleep just to hear those two words. Still, I haven't seen her happier since seventh grade."

Past her shoulder thorn, Jim watched the Typhlosion grinning at her compatriots as they mingled with the Mythics. As if sensing his eyes upon her, she turned and met his gaze. It was obvious that Kendra had only come down here to repay the favour to Jim - it might be different for Cassidy and the others - but he admired her respect that underlined her generally foul demeanor. Jim blinked when he realised he'd been staring, Kendra folding her arms over her plump breast and looking away, but not before he spied the tiniest hint of a grin.

"Good for her, then." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of the play - hello Cinderella! That song of yours was wicked, and that banjo! Did you make it up yourself?"

"Ukulele." She corrected. "And no, I can play to a degree but I can't craft them myself. Bought it years ago."

"I meant the song."

"Oh! Yes, I did, not quite the right length for a proper stanza, but with the time we had it was the best I could come up with." She paused, arms bobbing as she shrugged. "There you have it, after all that teasing you finally saw my performance. Surprised?"

He had picked up on a certain _vocal _clue on their date the other day, but he'd not thought much of it at the time. "Hell yeah I am. It was worth the wait," he said.

A little puff of air escaped through her snout, tugging at her horn in vain to hide the blush forming on her face. "Oh, it's been some time since I picked up an instrument. I'm a tad rusty."

"Downplay it all you like, I'll still want to hear more."

"Hm. I'm sure we can come up with something." He liked that she was the one blushing, but her golden eyes made him freeze up when he met them.

"Y-Yeah?" His gaze trailed down one of her lithe shoulders, following the hard line where her blue scale plates met her red ones lining her front. His rudeness was only interrupted when he caught movement behind Cassidy, blinking when he saw someone approaching. "Hey, check it out."

The Garchomp turned, following his eyes as she saw the principal calling Kendra's name. The Pokémon blinked, standing and following when Mr. Clarke gestured for her to come over. Jim and Cassidy hung just within earshot, sharing an awkward glance a couple times. The heat radiating off the dragoness' presence almost made Jim sway.

"I've discussed at length with my cohorts about your performance, Miss Ayers." Kendra nodded for him to go on. "Miss Felix finds it was rather rushed, especially towards the end. I concurred, as did the others. I would have liked to have seen more of your club involved, Miss Harper didn't even say a word aside from when she zapped Mr. Lloyd, though it was more like a grunt of effort than an actual _word. _I also found some of the jokes inappropriate, but only because they were not timed well at all."

The Tyhplosion's prior smile flipped the more the principal hampered the play. Jim could sense Cassidy tensing up beside him.

"... However." Mr. Clarke cleared his throat. "At the mention of _time, _I could see how one's potential could be limited. If I could consider today's performance as a first draft, I see no reason not to wish for more."

"More?" Kendra asked.

"I'd very much like to keep our theatre club alive and well - despite not knowing it was alive _in the first place. You should consider adding another member or two, and give everyone at least a minor role in something more... _grand."

"Grand?" Kendra started to sound like a parrot. "I... Yes, okay. We'll start preparing something right away."

"Splendid. Though you might have to hold off for on-campus practice for a little while, I'd not have my students rehearsing in that wreck of a building any longer - Health and Safety would have my head otherwise. I still don't know why you were all there in the first place. A bit of renovation might be in order. Does that suit you, Miss Ayers?"

Kendra was too startled to speak, nodding an affirmative with a truly startled look on her face.

"Good. I'm sure Miss Felix would be eager to discuss further details with you later. I'll come visit after the refurbishments. Until then, Miss Ayers."

The principal gave the Pokémon a nod, and left. Kendra stared at his back for a time, eventually spinning on her heel, her senses returning after a moment of blank confusion. Her club and even a few of the Mythics were gathered around, participating in one big eavesdrop.

Kendra eyed them all one by one, then, as if she'd been holding her breath for an hour, let out a loud exhale, sputtering some nonsense that sounded a little like '_HaHA-MmFruitcakes!' _-before her face and neck lit up, the latter of which quite literally.

"We did it..." she murmured, then louder: "We did it! Mother Mary's dubious virginity, we're not getting the arse!"

The Pokémon and humans of the club roared like the crowds did for the Mythics, some jumping for joy, literally. Jim gave Kendra a thumbs-up when she looked, but his gesture was interrupted when Cassidy squeed and threw her arms around him.

He tensed up at first, then gently laid his arms over her scaly back, careful not to pinch on her thorns. He grinned when he saw a few of the Mythics celebrate as well, as they'd come to at least _partially _admire the theatre club's work.

Cassidy was like a warm blanket of safety encroaching him from all sides, her spicy scent stronger than ever before as he rested his chin on her shoulder. He wondered if it was shampoo or just her natural fragrance.

His heart was racing as he gently edged her away, fingers locking around her taut biceps. For a second her expression dipped. Just a second, but still he chided himself. "The club will live on," she said. "Thanks to you, Jim."

"Oh, come on," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "I wasn't _that _important... well, maybe I was."

They shared smiles again, until Kendra spoke up behind them. "Careful your ego doesn't get too big, it'll explode." She sighed. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"Yes we are," Cassidy said. "the play was a success, wasn't it?"

"Okay, we're out of the woods, but now we're in some phantom forest crap. The principal's not going to throw all that money at refurbishments for nothing. He said he wanted a bigger _performance. That means _bigger _stakes, bigger risks, bigger _crowds. I'll have to find more members, maybe get a screenwriting assistant."

"How about putting some ads out?" Jim suggested. "something like, I don't know: _'Local theatre club wishing to enroll and recruit new actors for the new super play', _put it up on the notice boards around campus, or Facebook, Myspace, wherever."

"Crudely worded, but a sound idea." Kendra rolled her wrist with a thoughtful look. "Of course I'll have to organize auditions, speak to Miss Felix about that. Then there's the waiting period for the refurbishments. A month at least... need to find a substitute place for practicing... hopefully not some other run-down facility..."

"Worrying too much, Kendra." Cassidy rubbed her friend on the shoulder. "We should take some time off while the hall gets over-_hall-_ed. Hmhmm... Get it?"

The Typhlosion gave her a look. "Another comedy gold. Even Jim could have done something better."

"Hey, don't bring me down to _that _level." Jim shrugged at the Garchomp. "No offence, Cass. Anyway, that sounds good. Maybe we could colab with the Mythics, celebrate two wins in one day."

"What did I say? Good one, Jim." Kendra's laugh was forced, but she wouldn't be laughing, fake or not, when Jim's jest would become quite real.