In Progress Untitled Fanfiction

CHAPTER ONE: The Evaluation of Alfie Valour
“Alfie.” Alfie swung his head up, slamming it on the back of his wooden chair. The entire class erupted into laughter at his mortifying blunder.

He felt color rush to his cheeks like the water of a geyser rushing upward, sinking his head into his shoulders. “I asked you a question,” Mrs. Grimshaw explained, saving him from further embarrassment. That didn’t really redeem her, however, as she was the one who caused the event in the first place.

Alfie shifted a bit, but said nothing. He really hated being put on the spot like this, whether it was under such a dire situation or not. He preferred to do his work and sit in the back silently, letting others answer the questions for him. Under normal circumstances, he would probably utter the question very quietly (for he did always know it) and return to doodling idly on his paper. However, these weren’t really normal circumstances; he didn’t even know the question, and was thus in no situation to answer it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, uncomfortable. Every eye in the classroom was on him, except for Hayley’s lazy eye, which was never really on anything in particular.

“For what?” Mrs. Grimshaw asked. She had a sly grin on her face, but otherwise seemed genuinely curious. The wicked woman had a knack, a terrible knack, for making herself the innocent in virtually any situation. Alfie was relatively sure that she could probably commit murder of the highest degree and still get off the hook without charge. Charge, an Electric-type move. The user boosts the power of the Electric move it uses on the next turn. This also raises the user's defenses against non-physical moves.

“I didn’t hear your question,” Alfie replied, even fainter than before. He let his head hang limp in defeat: she had won this battle.

“I shall repeat it, but I will also ask you to see me after class,” she said sternly. Her eyes were digging into his like needles. “Which Water-type Pokémon is known for its unsurmountable pride?”

Alfie didn’t even look up, avoiding Mrs. Grimshaw’s evil glare. Glare, a Normal-type move. The user intimidates the target with the pattern on its belly to cause paralysis… “It’s Piplup, or any of its evolutions.”

“Very good, Mister Verity. Don’t think this frees you from your appointment with me after class,” she said, quickly reminding him of his place. Alfie tried to brush off the comment, but failed to prevent it from entering his head. How stupid it was of him to think that he could thwart the all-powerful Kimberly Grimshaw-

“Next question,” she said, leaving her campaign with Alfie for another time. Which Pokémon clings to other, larger Pokémon to collect static electricity, since it cannot generate its own?” Joltik, the Attaching Pokémon. Since it can’t generate its own-

“Yes, Lindsey.”

“That’s Joltik.”

“Good! Next question…”

This dragged on quite a while longer, with Mrs. Grimshaw leaving clues about a specific Pokémon and waiting for her students to answer it; Alfie got all of them except Arcanine, since Mrs. Grimshaw decided to use an archaic and nonsensical clue to describe it.

The bell rang just as Alfie began to suspect it wouldn’t. He hadn’t been sitting in this class all day, but it felt like he hadn’t left his chair for several years. He jerked upward a moment, fixing to leave, but Mrs. Grimshaw budged and Alfie was quickly reminded that he wasn’t leaving quite yet. She waited after all of the students left, not leaving the “Have a good day!” comments typical of teachers, but just ushering them out like livestock to the slaughter. Her words were indeed colder than any prod.

At last, the Mrs. Grimshaw closed the door. She did this as slow as she possibly could, then walked to her desk like molasses, in an attempt to build suspense and fear in Alfie. He tried not to let it work, but he found himself growing increasingly uneasy.

“I’m concerned about your wellbeing, Alfie,” Mrs. Grimshaw said gravely. Her face bore the nonchalant expression borne on a member of the dead. She expressed no emotion, but a tinge of “legitimate” concern was peppered onto her face, leaving its mark as a knot in her forehead. Other than this, she seemed lifeless. “Do you know why, Alfie?” Alfie did not respond; the question seemed rhetorical. “Well, do you?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yes.” He didn’t really, but the situation would quickly heat if he had refused the offer. The water he waded in was warm enough already, to the point where he was confident he would develop blisters and scalds.

Mrs. Grimshaw rose from her desk, then strode sternly around the classroom, never making eye contact with Alfie. “You are an exceedingly intelligent boy, Alfie,” she said.

You must be a fool to think I don’t know that about myself.

“And yet… You seem to be struggling. Let me tell you why: it’s not all about what you know, Alfie.” That seemed like a completely outrageous theory to Alfie, and he rejected it immediately. Of course it was completely about what he knew; he was absolutely sure that he could win any battle, given any Pokémon, and not because he was a loud or enthusiastic person. Alfie had skill, not physically, but mentally—his strategy could overcome any force, of that he was certain.
“You see, people like you… They remain cool and collected in even the densest of situations, don’t they? Many will see this as admirable, perhaps, but let me clear that misconception up for you. In the heat of battle, it’s the one who makes a decision inspired by adrenaline that takes the victory. Wouldn’t you say?”

No, is what Alfie wanted to say. No, I wouldn’t. It’s those who keep their heads level and formulate strategies who win, instead of those who act on impulse. It’s true that sometimes those pumped to the rim with adrenaline win, but barely by the skin of their neck. I’d like to have a battle, you and I, and see who the victor is. It’ll be me, I guarantee you. You can take your twisted logic and shove it up your—

“Yes, I suppose it is true,” he said without tone. He didn’t like lying, but he liked prolonging his uncomfortable one-on-one with his least favourite person even more.

Mrs. Grimshaw looked at Alfie, clearly unimpressed. She suspected he was lying, but she couldn’t accuse him of that unless she was absolutely sure of it. He could see the anger in her eye, how badly she wanted to explode onto him. “You may go, Alfie. I’d like you to think about what I’ve said, and—”

The door slammed behind Alfie. He was gone. This time, he had won.