"May I borrow that pen, dearie?" I hide the fact that I've forgotten her name—again—with a charming smile, the kind she likes. I know because every time I smile like that, she goes all melty-eyed and knock-kneed. Quite funny, actually.

"So," I ask, pen in hand, "what event do you have this round?"

"Uh…." She looks at her ballot, then at me. "Student Congress. That's like regular Congress, right?"

I nod. "They debate issues set forth by the committee—issues similar or identical to the ones in Congress right now. Looks like you've got novices."

She nods and studies her ballot again, and I wonder if she's racking her brain for the definition of 'novice.' When she looks at me again, her brown eyes are blank. "What're you doing, Edward?"

"Me?" I smile and show her my ballot. "Open Improv."

She turns her blank gaze into a blank stare. And you wonder why my private nickname for her is Brain Trust. "Improvisation. They're given a choice of topics and they come up with speeches in under—"

"I know what it is," she snaps.

"Then why'd you ask?"

She's trapped. I enjoy the feeling of having trapped her before she waves an end to it. "Never mind. I've got to get to my event." She storms off in a huff, and I stroll upstairs. Several students are waiting outside, obeying the "Do not enter until a judge is present" sign. I smile and hold it open for them, then take a seat in a desk facing the whiteboard.

"Jordan Clark." A tall blond boy stands and faces me. "Your topics are 'Who's the Boss?' 'How 'bout this recession, huh?' and 'The gosh dang Batman.'" It would've been more fun if they'd used the politically incorrect term for Batman, but I hope he'll choose that one all the same. I start the timer, Jordan puts a finger to his chin in thought, and the speech begins.

"Order. Chaos. Two sides of the same coin."

Oh, I like Jordan Clark. I like him very much. I give him an encouraging smile, and the speech only improves from then on.

Brain Trust finds me in the empty room, filling out the last few ballots. She sits in the chair next to mine and reads over my shoulder.

"'Delightfully mediocre?' Was it that bad?"

"Oh, no, dear. I said it was delightful, didn't I?"

"You also said it was mediocre."

"And it was. Delightfully mediocre." Judging improv is fun, messing with the novices' minds even more so. I sign the ballot Edward Cullen, careful to mask my handwriting enough to thwart any pesky analysis. Not that Brain Trust has made hiding out difficult for me; if I like one thing about her, it's that she hasn't a detective's bone in her admittedly shapely body.

Giving up, she stands to her feet. "I'm going to the…what's that place called? Where you take your ballots when you're done judging 'em?"

"The tab room?" Honestly, Brain Trust, it's the second day of the tournament. 'Tab room' isn't a difficult name to remember.

"Yeah, the tab room." She smiles self-consciously. I dash off the last few words of my critique and thrust the ballot at her.

"You mind taking this down for me?"

"Okay." She leaves, both ballots in hand. I lean back, smiling as I remember Jordan Clark's speech. Brilliant. Well-delivered, too. Completely deserving of the first-place award and perfect score I gave him.

The next event will begin shortly, so I leave the room just as students begin to cluster around the door. I stroll down the hallway, hands in pockets, relishing the sideways glances and open stares I get from all the high school girls. I toss a few smiles and winks their way—just to confuse them. Most fun I've ever had in high school.

I take the long way to the judge's lounge, past students practicing in the hallways, past a tiny freshman kicking a soda machine, past a blonde I'd recognize anywhere. I nod and toss her a knowing smile, then pass several rooms before it dawns on her.

"Mistah J?"

"Good to see you too, Harley."

She squeals and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I pull her into an open stairwell, away from prying eyes and curious ears. Harley lowers her voice to a near-frantic whisper. "What're you doing here?"

"Hiding. Same as you." I give her the once-over. "You an aide or something?"

"Cafeteria worker. Came with one a' the other schools. What's with the contacts?"

I laugh. "You'd be amazed how easy it is to convince a stupid high schooler you're a vampire."

"So that's how you got away with the makeup!" She laughs at my brilliance. "Fancy that—you and me at the same tourney, same school, same day!" She squeals and jumps a little, clapping her hands. I put a finger to her lips.

"We need to get out of here. There aren't any cops nearby, are there?"

She shakes her head, then giggles. "Not a one. For a school modeled after a prison, security sure is lousy."

I frown at the unwelcome reminder. "Just today. I didn't see any coming in, so if we leave now…."

Harley squeals again. I missed that sound—the only girls at this godforsaken school who squealed like that were Too Dumb to Live. They're still alive, unfortunately. "Then let's get outta here!"

"You read my mind." I take her by the hand and stroll across the hallway, out the door, across the parking lot and the vacant highway. Once we reach the field of weeds that borders the school, we run for it, laughing like two escapees from an insane asylum. Which, oddly enough, is what we are. We're still laughing when, breathless, we reach a cluster of fast-food restaurants some distance away.

"I'm so glad I found you, Puddin!" Harley puckers her lips, but again I put a finger to them.

"Not yet. I need to borrow your lipstick first."

She giggles. "Sure thing." She digs around in her purse, and I see the hilt of a knife before it vanishes into the abyss. Just another thing to love about Harley.

"Here ya go." I put it on, then kiss her the way she likes, lipstick and all.

"And you just let him go."

Bella sniffled into the hankie. "He left me!"

"You never suspected that he might be a desperate criminal in hiding?"

She gave Commissioner Gordon a dirty look. "No. He was my boyfriend. You don't suspect your boyfriend of being….of being…." She burst into tears again.

"That's why you check 'em out," Batman growled. "School records. Birth certificates. Drivers' licenses. It's not hard to spot a fake."

Gordon gave Batman a chagrined look. "Now what kind of high school girl has access to that sort of thing?"

Bella sniffled again. "I did. Edward…or whatever his name is….showed me his school records and stuff like that. He said he was a vampire!"

Blank stares from Batman and Gordon.

"It's true. He said he had to fake his records so nobody'd suspect he wasn't….human…." She dissolved into tears again, but neither man moved to comfort her.

"What kind of alibi is that?" Gordon wondered aloud.

"One given to someone so clueless they wouldn't know the difference. Bella." Her head snapped up. "You didn't hear in the news, about the Joker and Harley escaping from Arkham?"

"No. Well, yeah….but it was so far away I didn't think they'd get here."

Gordon looked at her suspiciously. "Gotham's twenty minutes away."

"Well, yeah, but…but…"

Gordon glanced at Batman, who nodded. With an enormous sigh, he took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. "Bella Swan, you're under arrest."

The tears stopped. "What? Why? What for?"

"Aiding and abetting," Batman growled.

Gordon gave him a clear I'll-handle-this look, snapped on the handcuffs and helped Bella to her feet. "Come on. Let's go down to the station."

Batman followed Gordon and a still-crying Bella to the door and stopped there, his cape fluttering in the late-autumn breeze. Gordon helped Bella into the squad car, then joined him in gazing out at the peaceful countryside.

"Two months. Two months they hid here, and nobody ever knew."

"Bella knew."

"She didn't suspect." Gordon lit a cigarette. "How he fooled her that long I'll never know."

"She was stupid. That's how."

Gordon didn't argue. He stood there puffing on his cigarette, and Batman knew he agreed all the same. "We'd better get down to the station." He shook his head again. "Kids these days. They just keep getting dumber and dumber."