VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL | Just a Little Longer

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It was... a lot easier to be around you back then.

February 14—Valentine's Day, is arguably Marnie's least favorite holiday for multiple reasons. Starting back in middle school, she remembered being surrounded by her girl-friends as they egged her on—chocolate hearts in her quaking hands as she approached the guy she liked.

He was one of those "popular" types, with the natural-blond hair and emerald green eyes, one of the best Pokémon trainer/athletes in the entire building. She liked him solely for his looks of course—she was more naïve back then. She wanted to believe that despite his swarming harem of ladies, she, the emo kid, had some kind of chance.

He held up his hand with that pristine smile of his that he always flashed to his fans, and slowly Marnie lowered the chocolates.

"Sorry, but I'm just not interested in your type."

Those girl-friends of hers stopped hanging around her after that. She's certain now, that it's because they were just waiting to watch her heart crumble before their sickening eyes—hungry to watch the black-painted lips of a 12 year-old stereotype tremble in self-loathing as her final act of confidence fell to its resting place.

I have never forgotten those words. They changed me forever.

She remembered dropping the emo shtick when she entered the tenth grade. It's because she realized something along the way—something about the school's caste system that she'd never realized. If you stuck out in any way that wasn't "society approved", you were branded and outcasted at the bottom. Marnie always wanted to express herself differently—she liked deeper, more mature things, and she experimented a lot with music and her appearance, but nothing she did was ever accepted.

In the end, she realized that "interests" were things to keep private. However, she still admired her brother Piers' style, so she never dropped it entirely. But the pixie cuts, the black lipstick, the heavy eyeshadow—she discarded all of that so she could finally rest in peace.

And of course, Marnie was never rejected again—but only because she faded away entirely. By not sticking out in any way, she was able to develop a true sense of individualism at the cost of being constantly alone.

Skip a few years later, and now she's the gym leader of Spikemuth.

There's cheering and whooping from everyone on the court—Marnie's fans, Team Yell.

"That's our Marnie!"

"You should've accepted defeat before you came, kid!"

Marnie extended her arm to shake the trainer's hand. He was leering at her heavily, his eyes squinted in teary frustration as he collected his Baltoy into his arms.

"Sorry kid," Marnie sighed, "It wasn't exactly wise ta' bring a Psychic Pokémon, I hope ya realize that..."

He reluctantly shook her hand, still glaring sourly at his shoes, "I didn't have a bloody choice," he spat rudely, "You took out my others—I had to resort to this one, and I still lost.

Letting go as if she were poisonous, the kid took an enraged step away and flipped his fingers at her, "I'll beat the crap out of you next time, you stupid goth girl! Dark types are pathetic, and they always will be!"

Without another word, the challenger stormed out of the stadium and wasn't heard from again.

A member of Team Yell whistled in disturbed surprise, "Geez—what a bad sport... the challengers these days are getting more and more entitled every year."

"Yeah—usually they don't make it this far before getting beaten, but still..."

Marnie shrugged, used to the occasional rough treatment by now, "Y'all get over it. This ain't the first kid like that, and it won't be the last."

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