Lyra's Big Win

Only one Pokémon now stood between me and the Championship title: Lance's Dragonite, his numero uno. I had two Pokémon left: My Houndoom, Chiaro, and my Slowking, Larkspur. Only one Pokémon to defeat, and I'd be the undisputed Champ.

Lance watched me. "Well?" he asked, after a moment. "It's your turn. Are you going to forfeit?" He smirked at me.

I broke out of my contemplation and sent out Slowking, shouting, "Larkspur! Ice Beam!" The pink Pokémon materialized from a flash of white light, and instantly let loose a beam of icy frost at the Dragonite. The Dragonite tried to dodge, but the attack hit its wing, rendering it useless.

Lance gritted his teeth. "Dragonite, Hyper Beam!" he shouted. The Dragon-type Pokémon's head reared back, and I saw a bright white light growing.

"Larkspur, dodge!" I called, hoping to avoid the powerful attack. No such luck-the attack hit it straight on, and its HP dropped to under half.

I knew that Dragonite would be unable to move the next turn, so I continued with my strategy. Another Ice Beam shot out of Larkspur's mouth, this time hitting the powerful Dragonite directly in its chest, pushing its HP far down, into the red zone. "Ice Beam, again!" I shouted.

My opponent's final Pokémon fell to the ground, exhausted, and I grinned. "We did it!" I shouted, running over and wrapping my arms around my Pokémon. "You were terrific, Larkspur; thank you. Now, have a good, long rest." I returned my Slowking to its Poke Ball, then turned to face the ex-Champion.

Lance was just returning his Dragonite, and he smiled at me. "You did well, Lyra," he said, approaching. "It's been a while since I've had a battle like that." He stuck out his hand.

I took it, gripping it firmly, then released. But he didn't; he simply stood there, my hand in his, staring into my eyes.

"Um, Lance?" I said, trying to break him out of his reverie. Suddenly, his lips were crushed against mine, one hand under my chin, the other still clutching my hand. I was so startled, I couldn't even react.

When he pulled away, the older man's face was red. "I-I-I'm sorry," he stammered, dropping my hand. "I, I, don't know what came over me."

He started to back away, but I grabbed his hand, pulling him back and stretching up to grip his face. I pressed my lips to his, and he leaned in, kissing me back. I felt one of his hands creeping to my waist, pulling me closer, and another one on the back of my neck, tilting my face up. I parted my lips, and he deepened our kiss, flicking my tongue with his.

This time I broke away, gasping, and he smiled down at me. I cleared my throat. "So," I said. "Is this how you congratulate all your opponents?"

"Only the ones I like," he said, bending down and kissing me again.