Slumber Party

Chapter One—Daring Do-Do


            How did he get talked into this?

            Ash stared weakly at the mirror in front of him.  The looking glass also showed Brock and Tracey standing behind him, nearly dying of laughter at the expression on his face, but he was more concerned about his appearance at the moment.  This was insane.  He pursed his lips, and tasted something funny—lip gloss.  He was wearing lip gloss—strawberry kiwi, to be exact.  He shook his head and reached up to his wig off.  "No way am I going to do this..."

            Brock reached over and caught Ash in a stronghold, completely immobilizing his head.  Ash grimaced as Brock said,  "Oh, no you don't.  I didn't raise you to be a quitter."  He grinned mischievously.

            "You didn't raise me, and you're supposed to be teaching me how to train pokémon—not cross-dress!"  Ash struggled to break free of Brock's grip, but it wasn't until Brock took mercy on him and loosened his hold that Ash was able to lurch away, nearly falling over in the process.  Beside Brock, Tracey twittered suspiciously.  At Ash's glare—

            "You were the one who agreed to do this," Tracey reminded him.  Ash turned around to face him, his dress slightly askew due to his struggles.  He attempted to fix it with some semblance of dignity as he answered. 

            "I never said yes," Ash growled.

            "Don't you always say that you never turn down a challenge?" Brock said.


            "Don't you?"  Brock crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Ash, a smug look on his face.

            "Yes, but..."  Ash's pleas were futile.

             "Well, Tracey and I challenged you.  Are you going to refuse our challenge?"

            "Well..."  Ash began but stopped, stricken, when he caught another glimpse of himself in the mirror.  Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place—he looked over at 'the rock' as it spoke to him again.

            "Are you chicken?" Brock taunted.

            Ash stood helplessly, unable to answer.  He couldn't back down, but he didn't think there was a wooper's chance in a volcano that he would be able to do... this.  He looked back up at Brock, opened his mouth, but waited one second too long before speaking.

            "No, he's a girl!" Tracey snickered, and he and Brock collapsed into spasms of laughter.

            "SHUT UP!"

            Ash's shout did no good, and he looked down at his apparel in despair as his two so-called friends continued to have fun at his expense.  Pink.  He was wearing pink.  That would be bad enough any day, but a pink...dress???  And a ribbon in his hair...err, wig.  At least it was long black hair, instead of that crazy blonde that Team Rocket had once given him.  This color matched his complexion better...wait a minute, what was he thinking?  It was a wig, for crying out loud!

            This was all Misty's fault, he decided.  Everything could be blamed on Misty.  Darn it, who would have imagined that anyone else would ever be patient or crazy or stupid enough to be friends with her—much less best friends?  Or that this patient/crazy/stupid girl moved away from Cerulean City when Misty was younger and then ended up moving back to Pallet Town just a year ago, while he and Misty and Brock were gone on their journey?  Or that they'd run into her as they were grocery shopping that afternoon, Misty nearly bursting his eardrums with her excited squeals...or that the girl would invite Misty to a slumber party that night...or that Brock would get a crush on said girl and, after being rebuffed by both Misty and her friend, con Ash into the most ridiculous plan ever to get some information about her?

            "Misty's going to kill me," Ash muttered.  "You know she is."

            "Only if she finds out," Brock said.  "Besides, I'm willing to take that risk."

            "Gee, thanks," Ash said, rolling his eyes.

            The sarcasm was lost on Brock.  "No problem," he said, right before his eyes focused on a faraway place.  "Anything for...Angie..." he murmured.  "I'd swim the English Channel for her..."

            "Yeah, yeah," Ash interrupted hastily before Brock could start that again.  It was bad enough that he had been tricked into doing Brock's dirty work, he wasn't going to be forced to listen to Brock drool over a British accent as well.  "Are we done yet?"

            "Not yet."  Brock snapped out of it, but suddenly Ash decided he preferred Brock's dreamy expression as opposed to the devilish one that replaced it.  "You're missing something."  Ash could hear the guillotine sealing his fate in the tone of Brock's voice.

            "What?" Ash said, stalling.  "I've got the wig, the hair ribbon, and the dress.  What else is there?"  A thought dawned on him.  "Oh, no. I'm not wearing heels," Ash protested.  "There's no way I can walk in those things."

            "I know I'm supposed to be aggravating you to the fullest extent—" Ash made a face at Tracey for that remark, and Tracey smirked, then continued.  "But I have to agree with you on that one, you trip on your own feet enough without heels.  Brock's talking about accessories, I think."

            Brock snickered.  "That's one way to put it," he said.  Ash felt nervous at the gleam in the other trainer's eyes.  Brock was enjoying this way too much—he was almost as happy as when he saw a Nurse Joy.

            "I don't have pierced ears," Ash pointed out in an attempt to dissuade him.  "What else is there?"

            Brock sauntered over to their shared dresser.  "Well, you see, Ash," he said, placing one hand on the top drawer—wait, that was the drawer Ash had lent to Misty.  What was Brock doing in Misty's drawer?  "You're supposed to be portraying an adolescent girl..."

            Tracey understood first.  "Oh, no..." was what he said, but somehow Ash didn't think he really felt that way, as Tracey started laughing so hard that Ash wouldn't be surprised if he fell over and died of amusement.  Ash proceeded to ignore Tracey and looked at Brock impatiently.

            "So?" he said.

            "You're a growing adolescent girl..." Brock prompted.

            Ash got a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he still didn't get it.  "So?" he said, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice.  But it was a losing battle as Brock then reached into the drawer and pulled out...

            "NO!" Ash shrieked, any pretense of bravado gone as he gaped at Brock in horror.  He scrambled to the other side of the room, flattening himself against the wall in a desperate effort to get away.  Brock kept advancing on him.  "No, Brock, no way!  That's too much...I am not wearing that!"

            "Tracey, could you go get the cotton balls?" Brock said mildly.  "Three per side should do it."

            "You don't think that's too flat?" Tracey asked.

            "I am flat!"  Ash yelled, giving Brock a pleading look as the other boy closed in.  It had no effect, and he gave a despairing sigh.  He was going to be traumatized for life, he was sure of it.  "I'm a guy!"

            "No, you're supposed to be a girl," Brock said, tugging on of the wig's curls.  Ash shook his head in annoyance, and Brock chuckled.  "And girls your age are just starting to develop a chest."

            "Misty hasn't."

            "I'd advise you not to say that to her," Brock said.  "Besides, obviously she is, if she has this."  He wiggled the garment in front of Ash, and Ash buried his face in his hands.

            "But Brock..." Ash said weakly, knowing he was as good as gone, "It's...a....bra...!"

            "Yes, and it's even got a cute little rosebud in the center, see?" Brock said in admiration.

            "Misty would kill you for touching it," Ash said, averting his eyes from the incriminating item.  He hated for his mom to even mention the word underwear in front of him—much less for him to wear girl's underwear!  He almost died of embarrassment at the thought alone. 
            Brock snorted.  "If that's the case, just imagine what she's going to do to you when she finds out you're wearing it!" 

            Ash moaned.  He could imagine it.  He just couldn't imagine surviving it...

            "Come on, raise your arms to the side, I can't get this on you if they're clenched together," Brock said holding the bra by the straps as if on display.

            "That's the point," Ash mumbled.


            Ash reluctantly moved his arms, and Brock turned him around so that he was facing the wall and then unzipped his dress.  "I feel like I'm being strip searched!" he complained, just as Tracey came back. 

            "If you were Brock you wouldn't mind, as long as it was Officer Jenny doing it," Tracey said with a laugh.  Brock smirked, probably because since he was still adjusting Ash's bra, he could feel when Ash shuddered.

            "I did not need that mental picture..." Ash said, then yelped as Brock turned him back around, took the cotton balls from Tracey, and proceeded to manhandle his bra.  "Brock," Ash said through clenched teeth, "tell me again why you couldn't do this yourself?"

            "Because I'm too old," was Brock's ready reply.  He pulled Ash towards the mirror and stood next to him so that Ash could see the reflection and make the comparison himself.  "I'm too tall, and I wouldn't have the curves."

            "I don't have curves!" Ash said, closing his eyes so that he didn't have to deal with the mental shock of seeing himself in a bra.

            "You're not supposed to," Brock said.  "Or at least not many, that's why we gave you the cotton balls.  Now turn back around, I still have to zip you up."

            Ash obeyed but didn't stop his protests as he asked, "Well, if you're too old to go to the slumber party, then why aren't you too old for Angie?"

            "That's different," Brock said, nodding sagely, as if others should be so lucky as Ash to get the romantic words of wisdom Brock was about to tell him.  "Girls like older men.  They're drawn to us like flies."

            "Flies are also drawn to pokémon crap," Ash muttered.  "Oww!"  Ash rubbed his arm where Brock had hit him and decided that it probably wasn't smart to harass someone only two inches away from you.

            But that didn't mean Brock hadn't deserved it...

            "Watch your mouth, or I'll wash it out with soap.  Young ladies don't say things like that," Brock said primly.  Ash glared at the wall in front of him but kept his mouth shut—knowing Brock, he would have no qualms about carrying out his threat. 

            "There, done!" Brock said after a moment, tying the bow on the back of Ash's dress with a flourish.  "What do you think?"

            Ash didn't even have to look in the mirror to know his feelings.  "I think I'm going to die before the night is over!" he wailed.  "How do girls wear these things?  It feels like a restraining device!"

            "It enhances," Brock scolded. 

            "It enhances my pain," Ash said, wiggling in distaste.  He was never going to be able to make it through the night with this torture instrument on.  Maybe he could excuse himself once he got there and take it off.  Brock would never know the difference...

            "It's not that bad," Brock said.

            "How would you know?" Ash said, then made a face.  "Never mind, don't answer that."

            Brock swatted him again.  "Just look in the mirror!"

            Ash reluctantly turned around and bit his lip and—what was that?  Oh right, he was tasting lip gloss again.  He wanted to keep his eyes closed, but he was going to have to face this thing at one time or another.  He looked in the mirror and...

            Thank goodness for small mercies.  The cotton balls weren't even visible from the front.  The side view wasn't particularly appealing, but maybe he could just keep his back to the wall all night.  Now, if he could just ignore the fact that he was wearing a dress...

            "Doesn't he make the cutest little girl?" Brock said in a sing-song voice.

            "You know, Ash, you do make an adorable girl," Tracey said thoughtfully, and pulled out that blasted notebook.  "Maybe I could make some sketches..."

            "Don't even think about it, Tracey," Ash growled, taking the notebook away from Tracey and hiding it behind his back. Tracey just smirked and pulled out another one.

            "I have a back-up," he said smugly.  Ash sighed and turned his attention to Brock. 

            "Tell me again how I'm supposed to pull this off?" he said, putting his hands on his hips and tapping his patent-leather feet in exasperation.

            "Here's the plan," Brock said.  "You go to the party.  If Angie's mom answers the door, you just pretend like you're one of Angie's friends that she's never met.  Then when you see Angie, you tell her that her mom invited you."

            "What if Angie answers the door?" Ash asked.

            "Then you still tell her that her mom invited you."

            "What if they both answer the door?"

            "Then you pretend you're selling girl scout cookies," Brock advised.  Ash groaned. 

            "This is never going to work..."

            "Sure it is," Brock said, then crossed over to the window, looked out at the driveway, and glanced at his watch.  "Assuming we get you out the door before your mom gets home, that is, and actually, I think you're going to want to be gone by then.  Unless you want to deal with the aftermath of Pikachu after a cut & curl grooming session at the PokéSalon."

            Ash blanched.  Pikachu had grown to love his mom enough that he wouldn't intentionally shock her anymore, even if she was cluelessly forcing a perm on him.  Of course, there was a possibility that Pikachu would have mercy on his trainer, considering they were in the same predicament—but more than likely Pikachu would take his frustrations out on Ash in the form of a highly charged vent.

            "Okay, okay," Ash said, making one last-ditch effort to persuade Brock.  "You never explained what I'm supposed to be doing.  What if I can't pull it off?"

            "It'll be easy," Brock said.  "Just find out what kind of guy Angie likes—drop some subtle hints about me, if you need to.  She was probably just playing hard to get when I met her."

            "I'm sure she was," Ash said, exchanging a sarcastic look with Tracey.  "But Brock, how am I supposed to do that without looking suspicious?"

            "Girls hold slumber parties to talk about guys, right?  So just ask Angie what qualities she likes in a man.  Maybe you could pretend to have a crush on me yourself," Brock said.

            "Maybe not," Ash said.

            "Or if you want," Brock continued, "start a game of truth or dare.  You may even get a few things out of Misty to hold against her, if you do that," he said, winking slyly at Ash.

            "Wouldn't do any good.  I wouldn't dare use them against her in case she guessed how I got them," Ash said.  He supposed Misty had trained him well—the prospect of her catching him was actually worse than having to go through with this whole dare in the first place.

            "Enough talking.  Let's get you to a slumber party," Brock said.  "Do we have your overnight case?"

            "Check," Tracey said, holding up a small suitcase.  Ash wondered what in the world they had packed for him—fresh cotton balls?

            "Hospitality gift?" Brock asked.
            "Double check," Tracey said.

            "What is it?" Ash asked, looking at the gift in Tracey's hands.  If he had to give away something that he'd prefer to keep himself, he was going to have to kill somebody.  For that matter, Brock and Tracey had better watch their backs for a while, even if he did make it back alive.  Revenge would be sweet...

            "A perfume sampler.  Girls love it," Tracey said in response to the face Ash was making to the first statement.

            "Then we're ready," Brock said.  He suddenly sniffled and pretended to wipe tears away from his eyes, batting his eyelashes girlishly.  "Look, Tracey.  Our little girl is going off to her first slumber party.  Can you believe it?"

            "They grow up so fast," Tracey agreed, and Brock and Tracey leaned against each other and gazed at Ash as falsely adoring parents.

            "Oh, shut up," Ash said, and attempted to stomp away, but ended up skidding on the slick soles of his Mary Janes and landed flat on his rear instead.  As Brock and Tracey laughed, Ash narrowed his strawberry kiwi lips into a frown and wondered crossly how he was going to walk an entire evening if he couldn't even make it out the door of his house.


            Ash looked at his watch and prayed he wouldn't lose it—since Brock wouldn't let him wear his Pikachu one, he had needed to take one from his mom's jewelry box without her knowledge.  He only hoped that he had chosen the cheapest one.  It was six o'clock; the party actually started at five, but they had needed time to turn Ash into a female without Misty or his mom around.  Brock was really something, asking him to be both an uninvited and late house guest.  Well, here goes nothing...

            He knocked on the door.  In the bushes beside the doorstep he heard a rustling.  His two partners in stupidity were doing surveillance to see if he was actually able to make it inside.

            "Just a moment..." he heard a woman's voice call from inside.  Maybe that was Angie's mother.  That would make things long as Angie and her mom weren't together...

            "Mom, who is it?" another voice asked.


            The door opened, and a dark-haired woman his mom's age looked out curiously.  A girl Misty's age appeared beside her and stared at Ash.  There was a squeak in the bushes, but Ash wasn't sure if it was because Brock saw Angie and was swooning or because they had given him no protocol to follow if he had to fake it past both Angie and her mother.

            Brock was going to pay for this.  He was going to pay...but Angie and her mom were still looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

            He forced a smile to his face, held his gift up, and in a high-pitched voice he said, "I'm here for Angie's birthday party.  May I come in?"


Angelstars, I never gave you a birthday fic, so maybe this is the next best thing?  ^_~  And thank yous go out to Sharon M. and Spruceton Spook for being my sounding board and having to answer really weird questions like, "If you were a thirteen year old girl, what would be the worst lie you ever told?"  Stay tuned for the answer in coming chapters...

I know a lot of people don't like the new review system, but please review!  Tell me your favorite color or great-great-aunt's last name, it doesn't matter.  Just let me know you're out there.  Who knows, it might even give me the impetus to revise the next chapter.  And thanks to everyone who has been wonderful enough to review my previous fics—especially the several people who have reviewed almost all (if not all) of them.  You're a jewel.  ^_~

Disclaimer:  I don't own pokémon.  But if I tried to list the people who did, I'd inevitably leave someone out and make them feel bad, and I'm too courteous to do that...okay, so I'm just lazy.  Besides, if I ever wrote a normal disclaimer, I think Sharon would die of shock.  And we can't have that happen...well, at least not until the end of the fic...   ^_~