"Give it hell, Quinzel!"
Harleen casted a sideways glance at her coach as a determined look formed on her delicate features. She clenched and released her hand, allowing her body to relax. Leaping onto the spring, she firmly placed her hands on the balance beam as her legs propelled into the air until she was straddling the bar. For stylistic flair she flicked her fingers up and wrapped one leg tightly around the beam, giggling as she bowed to the imaginary audience and judges surrounding her.
"Always quite the performer, huh?" her coach muttered from behind. The only voice that echoed throughout the empty gym.
At this Harleen impulsively stuck her tongue out at her middle-aged coach and decided to adjust her blonde pigtails instead of further indulging his teasing.
The choreography began to play out in her head as she let her muscle memory guide her through the routine. Positioning her hands above her head and pointing one toe before her, she began to swing her arms, creating enough momentum towards her double backhand spring. As she flipped through the air and landed on both feet, she held in a smirk while she once again pointed one toe before her and flex her arms behind her body.
"One helluva execution, eh coach?" Harleen chided as she continued to practice her other stunts that followed her routine. This earned her a scoff from the unimpressed man as he watched her continue.
By the time she realized that she had to leave, Harleen twisted her body from the edge of the beam as she flipped back down onto the ground, stumbling a bit from exhaustion.
"Alright alright Harls, head on off now I reckon you not be late on your first day of school."
Harleen smiled at her coach. He was an old grumpy looking man with a sour attitude that most kids in her gymnastic class blamed as the reason as to why they no longer wanted to tumble at Gotham Gymnastics. But to her he was much more than what those kids saw in him
. When her mother could no longer pay the fees for her lessons, Coach Ed made an agreement with her mother that he'd let the fees slide and that he'd cover the cost of new costumes so long as Harleen devoted her time to practice for competitions. He was almost like the father that she never had, or the grandpa that she wished she had. Either way he looked out for her and she didn't have much people doing that in her life.
"Meh, it's just high school. I could think of a zillion better things to do than-"
Harleen's eyes darted to the clock on the wall as she realized that she was later than she expected. "Oh no I'm screwed!"
The old man rolled his eyes at the forgetful blonde. "Perhaps you'd like me to drive you to school?" he offered.
"No no it was already too much to ask of you to open so early. I got it, thanks Coach Ed" she said as she headed towards the locker room to grab her duffel bag.
"Well see ya later then kiddo!" she heard him respond as she slipped on her converse along with a pair of jean shorts.
Running several blocks down the Gotham Gymnastics and snaking her way through town, she was suddenly aware as she was approaching the school yard of Gotham High that she was still wearing her red leotard from practice. She patted the top of her head and inwardly groaned as she felt how her pigtails were still intact. The school's warning bell broke her revelation as she decided that she didn't want to further humiliate herself by showing up even later to class.
When Harleen finally fished out her schedule from her duffle bag, she hastily slipped into the class that she was assigned to, Room 261 American Satire.
The class seemed to ignore her late arrival but despite their swift dismissal, her mind began to wander as to what other people might've thought of her.
Did she stink? Would anybody make fun of her pigtails? Was it noticeable that she ran here? Does she even care what other people think? As soon as her mind started to concoct even more queries, she noticed a syllabus of sorts being placed on her desk from the desk in front of her.
She broke out of her thought bubble and looked down at the paper, immediately squinting. She realized she needed her glasses to decipher the blurry words on the paper. While she tried to dig for her case in her bag her arm connected with her paper as it flew off from her desk and landed beside the seat to her left.
Once she stuck the familiar rim onto the bridge of her nose, she mumbled a quick apology towards the person who picked it up. Her eyes raked over the floor, refusing to face the student so quickly. In slow motion her eyes caught a glimpse of a pale hand reaching down for the paper, and followed the hand as it was presented back towards her with the syllabus within it . Harleen forced herself to look up at the owner of the hand and saw that the pale hand connected to a pale face, one that offered her a smile showing off all thirty-two great whites of his.
"You dropped this, sweetheart."
The voice that belonged to the boy before her was admittedly quite unnerving. It wasn't one that belonged to a teenager, let alone a Freshman. That is until she remembered that she was one of the few Freshman who were capable enough to take advanced courses that other underclassmen couldn't take.
"Oh, thanks a million." she carried her gaze away, back down to her desk.
The way that the boy's black orbs stared back at her made her feel as if he were scrutinizing her down to the size of an ant. Nobody looks at a person like that unless they wanted something from them, she bitterly thought. Then again she also couldn't help but feel that tinge of excitement from making a new friend.
"I'd like to introduce myself. My name's Jack, by the way. And you are?" he asked, eyes still glued on the timid creature that avoided his gaze.
"I'm Harleen, Harleen Quinzel."
Harleen was taken aback when the boy then extended a hand towards her as if he expected her to shake it. It was even more surprising when she found her own traitorous hand accept his hand onto hers. Her eyes lit with excitement at the prospect of befriending an upperclassmen on the first day of high school, causing her to enthusiastically shake Jack's hand back with her ever tight grip.
The boy Jack merely laughed at her quick change of personality as he withdrew his hand from her clasp.
In the back of her mind she thought about the rosin that might still be left on her hands from practicing on the balance beams and wondered if he'd noticed since his skin was nearly as ivory as the powder thought itself. The very thought made her break out into a fit of giggles.