The Pokémon Academy
Did I have a point in this?
No.
Everyday at around seven in the morning, my mother wakes me up. She turns on the television to the Pokémon News channel, and we watch that while eating our generic cereal with marshmallows shaped like tiny Pokémon. Apparently, we find this immensely cute.
After breakfast, I get ready for school. My dad offers to drive. He loves his minivan, with its bright logo of a giant Pikachu at the side and bubble letters spelling out ‘Gotta catch’em all!’ I find it tacky, but the last time I said anything against it, I was grounded.
“Mind your father’s feelings,” my mom had admonished.
The school has an even brighter logo with bigger bubble letters, perfectly strewn across the entrance, saying, “Welcome to the Pokémon Academy—where all your dreams come true!” Only this time, it’s in rainbow.
When I arrived at school, I saw many other students like me. They all wore the same generic blue backpack. A lot of them wore hats and caps with the Pokéball icon, and for girls, they were shaded in bubblegum pink. I had one too, but decided not to wear it today. It was not mandatory of the school uniform.
The bell rang. I quickly ran into the laboratory, where I was due today. It was observation day, where older students were granted the privilege of observing Pokémon from outside the glass window. We got to wear fancy goggles that reeked of sweat and a rather unpleasant odor.
“The Pikachu, which I am sure many of you are dying to see,” the teacher began with her cheery smile. The girls huddled together and squealed loudly. I tugged on my goggles. There was nothing even remotely interesting about a stinky, underfed yellow rat.
“Be careful not to get shocked,” she teasingly warned, and many students laughed. Shocked? That was impossible.
We were allowed to touch the glass window. It was, I presumed, half a foot thick. I saw the Pikachu and quickly lost interest.
“Pikachu, use thunder-bolt!” a boy shouted mockingly. They all laughed. Honestly, a Pikachu capable of exuding electricity? That was also impossible, but students enjoyed pretending once in a while.
Suddenly, a messenger came rushing into the laboratory. She quickly sent out brief words to our teacher.
“Another one fell in.”
Our teacher groaned.
“Another one? That’s the seventh student who got razor bladed this week…” She sighed. “Very well. Mind the kids while I go get the cleaning crew. All the blood…” She sighed again, and left the place in a hurry.
“How stupid can you get, getting razor bladed?” a girl scorned.
“Remember last week? When three kids got flamed,” another girl giggled uncontrollably. “My gosh, I’d never touch a Charmander like that. Did you know daddy…” And she went on and on.
Thankfully, to my utter relief, the period ended and I put away the goggles, gathered up my Pokémon lead pencils, folders and notebooks, and left the room.
The rest of the day went something like this. During lunch, I opened my Snorlax lunchbox (my mom had bought it on sale) and took out my perfectly wrapped rice balls, which were probably store bought, too…or were they donuts?
When school ended, my dad picked me up in his minivan. I tried to cover my face while I walked. A rich girl smirked at my cowering exterior, flaunting her shiny new black car with glow-in-the-dark Umbreons and Murkrows stickers, life sized. The students crowded over her and exchanged ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s.
When I got home, my mom was watching the Pokémon channel again, chewing on a riceball (donut). She offered me one. I refused.
“You’re watching that again?” I asked.
“It’s the best channel, dear. It tells you everything about Pokémon.” She sighed wistfully, staring at the television screen, lost.
“And what are you going to do, dad?”
“Why, watch the television with your mother, dear. It’s only the best channel. How was Pokémon Academy?”
I shrugged.
“It was okay.”
That was all they needed to know. I figured as much. I stared glumly at my books, containing important information about Pokémon. I stared at my perfect school uniform, emblazoned with the words, “Welcome to the Pokémon Academy—where all your dreams come true!”
Welcome…
Welcome…
Welcome to the Pokémon Academy!
All your dreams come true here!
I felt angry for no relevant reason. I stood up.
“I’m going to go chop down a tree,” I announced, making my way out the door. My mother nodded.
“Just make sure you don’t get arrested,” she said, and returned to the television.
Did I have a point in this?
No.
thE poKéMon aCademY
Everyday at around seven in the morning, my mother wakes me up. She turns on the television to the Pokémon News channel, and we watch that while eating our generic cereal with marshmallows shaped like tiny Pokémon. Apparently, we find this immensely cute.
After breakfast, I get ready for school. My dad offers to drive. He loves his minivan, with its bright logo of a giant Pikachu at the side and bubble letters spelling out ‘Gotta catch’em all!’ I find it tacky, but the last time I said anything against it, I was grounded.
“Mind your father’s feelings,” my mom had admonished.
The school has an even brighter logo with bigger bubble letters, perfectly strewn across the entrance, saying, “Welcome to the Pokémon Academy—where all your dreams come true!” Only this time, it’s in rainbow.
When I arrived at school, I saw many other students like me. They all wore the same generic blue backpack. A lot of them wore hats and caps with the Pokéball icon, and for girls, they were shaded in bubblegum pink. I had one too, but decided not to wear it today. It was not mandatory of the school uniform.
The bell rang. I quickly ran into the laboratory, where I was due today. It was observation day, where older students were granted the privilege of observing Pokémon from outside the glass window. We got to wear fancy goggles that reeked of sweat and a rather unpleasant odor.
“The Pikachu, which I am sure many of you are dying to see,” the teacher began with her cheery smile. The girls huddled together and squealed loudly. I tugged on my goggles. There was nothing even remotely interesting about a stinky, underfed yellow rat.
“Be careful not to get shocked,” she teasingly warned, and many students laughed. Shocked? That was impossible.
We were allowed to touch the glass window. It was, I presumed, half a foot thick. I saw the Pikachu and quickly lost interest.
“Pikachu, use thunder-bolt!” a boy shouted mockingly. They all laughed. Honestly, a Pikachu capable of exuding electricity? That was also impossible, but students enjoyed pretending once in a while.
Suddenly, a messenger came rushing into the laboratory. She quickly sent out brief words to our teacher.
“Another one fell in.”
Our teacher groaned.
“Another one? That’s the seventh student who got razor bladed this week…” She sighed. “Very well. Mind the kids while I go get the cleaning crew. All the blood…” She sighed again, and left the place in a hurry.
“How stupid can you get, getting razor bladed?” a girl scorned.
“Remember last week? When three kids got flamed,” another girl giggled uncontrollably. “My gosh, I’d never touch a Charmander like that. Did you know daddy…” And she went on and on.
Thankfully, to my utter relief, the period ended and I put away the goggles, gathered up my Pokémon lead pencils, folders and notebooks, and left the room.
The rest of the day went something like this. During lunch, I opened my Snorlax lunchbox (my mom had bought it on sale) and took out my perfectly wrapped rice balls, which were probably store bought, too…or were they donuts?
When school ended, my dad picked me up in his minivan. I tried to cover my face while I walked. A rich girl smirked at my cowering exterior, flaunting her shiny new black car with glow-in-the-dark Umbreons and Murkrows stickers, life sized. The students crowded over her and exchanged ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s.
When I got home, my mom was watching the Pokémon channel again, chewing on a riceball (donut). She offered me one. I refused.
“You’re watching that again?” I asked.
“It’s the best channel, dear. It tells you everything about Pokémon.” She sighed wistfully, staring at the television screen, lost.
“And what are you going to do, dad?”
“Why, watch the television with your mother, dear. It’s only the best channel. How was Pokémon Academy?”
I shrugged.
“It was okay.”
That was all they needed to know. I figured as much. I stared glumly at my books, containing important information about Pokémon. I stared at my perfect school uniform, emblazoned with the words, “Welcome to the Pokémon Academy—where all your dreams come true!”
Welcome…
Welcome…
Welcome to the Pokémon Academy!
All your dreams come true here!
I felt angry for no relevant reason. I stood up.
“I’m going to go chop down a tree,” I announced, making my way out the door. My mother nodded.
“Just make sure you don’t get arrested,” she said, and returned to the television.
