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Your name is Blue Oak.
(Well, it is now. You decided on it after several months of hemming and hawing over different options. Lots and lots of different options. You’ve settled on Blue, for now.)
You are ten years old.
(Freshly ten - your birthday was only a week ago. Your grandpa forgot. You ate a couple of cupcakes your sister Daisy made for you, dark chocolate with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles and a chocolate kiss baked into the middle. Lots and lots of chocolate – your favorite.)
Your best friend’s name is Red.
(Ex best friend. You are no longer friends.)
Red is also ten years old.
(He’s also the same height as you. He used to be a little taller, but you’re the same height now.)
His birthday is one day after yours.
(Your grandpa remembered his, and then he remembered yours was the day before. He didn’t even say happy birthday to you, only that he was sorry he forgot. You brought over the card he asked you to bring, signed by him and Daisy, and spent most of the afternoon eating your best friend’s birthday cake.)
(…ex best friend. Your ex best friend’s birthday cake.)
Yesterday, your best friend…that is, your ex best friend, punched you in the face.
(You deserved it, probably.)
Today, your ex best friend is hovering around in your grandpa’s lab, nose deep in a book about…Pokémon.
(Red never cared about Pokémon before. If anything, he seemed pretty nonchalant about them.)
This is weird, because Pokémon is your thing. You love Pokémon. You love Pokémon way more than most kids your age.
(Most kids your age think you’re loud and annoying, especially when you talk about Pokémon. But you couldn’t help it, they were so fascinating, so interesting, so cool. Red never minds when you go off on your tirades. Well…he didn’t. He probably does, now.)
You were so excited to get your first Pokémon you thought you were going to throw up when your grandpa said he’d give you one for your eleventh birthday, and told you you would be allowed to go on a trainer’s journey once you finally had one.
(Of course, the same offer was given to Red. At the time, you were a little annoyed. Red doesn't even like Pokémon, and he’s still getting one? It didn't make sense. Can’t he see how great Pokémon are? Can’t he see the potential to be the strongest person in Kanto? Doesn’t he want to go through the gym challenge with you, collect all the badges, and become a top rank trainer? Doesn’t he want to be rivals, to bring out the best in each other through their competition?)
Red doesn’t care about Pokémon, so why was he here, reading one of your favorite books about Pokémon?
You go up to your grandpa’s desk, past Red, right up to his side, hand tugging his sleeve, and look at the document he was typing. Something about…the nesting habits of Pidgey. Maybe you’d get a chance to read it later, you like Pidgey. “Gramps,” you say. “Gramps. Gramps. Gramps. Gramps.”
You continue to say his name until his arm slips out of your grip and his hand settles on your head, fingers ruffling your hair. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the screen. His other hand continues to type. “Yes, John?”
(...oh.)
“No, Gramps,” you say, brow furrowing. “I changed it back. Remember?”
(You like the name John, just not for you. Same with all the other ones you tried.)
“Oh, that’s right. My bad.” He finishes writing the sentence he started. He looks at you, finally. A small smile crosses his face before it falls back to its neutral state. Not happy, not angry. Just neutral. “Blue. Did you need something, my boy?”
“Why’s Red here?”
Your grandpa hums. “Why don’t you ask him, yourself?”
You glance over your shoulder to where Red is glaring at you from the floor across the room. You stick your tongue out at him. He sticks his tongue out at you and then spins around on his butt, turning to face the wall instead. “Why are you here?” You call out. “You don’t like Pokémon.”
“Blue,” your grandpa reprimands.
(He’s always complaining about how you need to learn tact. You don’t see the point, because being overly cautious just makes people misunderstand you. But…being blunt also makes people misunderstand you. There is no middle ground.)
Red completely ignores you.
(This is your number one absolute biggest pet peeve. Sure, Red is pretty quiet, but he never just ignores you.)
“Hey,” you say louder, angrier. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?”
Red ignores you again.
You become furious, but before you can start shouting at him, your grandpa interrupts you with a quiet, but firm, uttering of your name. You turn to look at him. He’s frowning at you, brow heavyset.
(This is his disappointed face, the one you see whenever you do something or say something you shouldn’t. You also get it whenever you bring back poor grades from school, or get into arguments with your sister.)
“...what?” You ask. Why was he disappointed this time? He told you to ask Red why he was here. You were just doing what he asked.
His hand ruffles your hair again, a little rougher. “Be nice, Blue. You can’t talk to your friends like that.”
(You don’t have any friends. Red was your only friend, so by default he was your best friend. But…you aren't best friends anymore. You aren’t even friends anymore.)
“We aren’t friends,” you say. Then, a little quieter, so Red can't hear, you add, “we're rivals.”
You stick your tongue out again in Red’s direction. He isn’t looking at you, so it falls flat. Your grandpa sighs. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you just go to his birthday party?”
(It wasn’t really a party. Red has just as many friends as you do, which is to say, exactly one. You. And now you aren't friends anymore.)
“He punched me in the face,” you say, “because I called him my rival.”
“...what?” Your grandpa looks skeptical.
(Of course he does, he was never going to believe you. He never does.)
“N-no I d-didn’t,” Red finally says, interjecting. For a moment, you think he’s going to leave it at that.
But he keeps talking. “I punched you in the face, ‘cause you called me a…a l-loser, and, and a freak.”
Oh, no.
Your eyes go wide. Your grandpa whirls around to look at you. “You what?!”
Oh, no.
(That was his angry voice, the one you heard whenever you were in trouble. You don’t hear it very often, but when you do, you know you are in serious trouble.)
“Blue - ” Your grandpa starts to say.
“No! No, I didn't!” You lie. You try to come up with an excuse, an explanation. “He - ”
“Yes you d-did,” Red interrupts.
(This is your second biggest pet peeve. You hate when people interrupt you.)
You let out an enraged growl and lunge across the room at Red, your ex best friend who doesn’t like Pokémon but now suddenly does for some reason after you called him a freak because he didn’t like Pokémon as much as you do and didn’t want to be rivals because he thought being rivals is stupid so you called him a loser and a freak because he was afraid of losing to you because of course you’d be number one and then he punched you in the face.
But your grandpa grabs you by the collar before you can move too far. Your shirt digs into your neck and you cough a little.
Red stares at you from his spot on the floor, book forgotten. He looks a little scared.
(Good. Because you're going to beat him up the second an opportunity presents itself.)
Your grandpa's hand is firm on the back of your neck. His grip lessens, and you try to lunge again. Again, his hand grips your shirt hard, this time giving you mild whiplash. “That’s enough,” your grandpa snaps. “Blue, sit. Now.”
You sit down obediently, so incredibly angry you're visibly shaking.
“Red, come over here.”
Red gives your grandpa a wary look.
“You two are going to talk and apologize to one another. Come now.”
After another moment of hesitation, Red slowly stands and makes his way over to where you and your grandpa are.
(Your opportunity has arrived.)
As soon as Red is close enough, you pounce. Your grandpa isn't fast enough to stop you this time, and you dodge his hand to tackle Red to the floor, fists flying. “Boys!” He shouts over the sound of you and Red yelling.
You don't hear him. As you both tussle on the floor, rolling around, yanking hair, Red sinks his teeth into the fleshy underside of your arm, hard. You shriek and try to shake him off, but his jaw is locked on you, and it only makes him bite harder to stay attached. You scream again, and try to pull away. He does not let go. You punch the side of his head. He does not let go. You kick him in the shin. He does not let go. You claw at his face. He does not let go.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes. You let out another mangled, furious scream.
A loud boom resounds through the room and Red's teeth finally release your arm in surprise.
(Your grandfather isn't a violent person, but he has a bad temper. The sound you heard was a textbook slamming down on his desk.)
You roll to the side, clutching your wound, and fail to hold back a sob. Your arm is throbbing with pain. “Red, get over there. Now.” Red scrambles away from you. “Blue, sit up. Calm down.”
(Big boys aren't supposed to cry, Daisy told you. It's a part of growing up. But you weren't big, not yet, and Red's teeth were sharp.)
You cry harder. Your best friend hates you. Your best friend bit you hard enough to draw blood.
“Blue, that's enough.” Your grandpa sounds tired. “Take a breath, calm down.”
He hates you. Red hates you. Your best friend hates you.
(Ex best friend.)
(You are no longer friends.)
You can't stop crying.
The amount of pure rage inside your small, barely ten years old body, is enough to fill the largest recorded Snorlax in the world.
(Which is very large. She’s almost eight feet tall and weighs over two thousand pounds. You're just shy of five feet even.)
Your grandpa takes hold of your uninjured arm and forces you upright and to your feet to look him in the face. “Blue,” he repeats, “take a breath. Calm down.”
(He has his disappointed face on.)
You try. You inhale, and can't stop inhaling. You choke on the air. You can’t breathe. You gag.
Your grandpa has approximately two seconds to react before you're doubling over and throwing up on the tile floor.
(He makes a startled, strangled noise that sounds a lot like a bad word.)
Red gasps, and runs to your side. His hand barely touches your shoulder. “Blue, are you - ”
You reel back, and punch him as hard as you possibly can right in the nose. It crunches under your fist with a wet snap. When you look at him, there is blood running down his face, over his mouth, down his chin. He’s bleeding a lot.
You're pretty sure you just broke his nose.
Red looks startled for a moment, confused, surprised. When his brain catches up and fully registers what just happened, his hands fly up to cover his mouth and nose, and tears spill out from his eyes.
You take in the sight of Red bleeding and crying for half a second before your grandpa grabs your injured arm and yanks you away from Red, through your vomit, and throws you down into his swivel chair. He gives you a hard look that says if you move, you’ll be in even more trouble than you already are.
He then goes to fuss over Red, tilting his head back and wiping his face off and stuffing tissue up his nostrils.
(He doesn’t notice that your arm is bleeding from Red’s vicious bite attack. Or, if he notices, he doesn’t care.)
You are ten, and you have just won your first fight against your rival.
(It will be the only fight you ever win against him.)