Bruce slapped him. Right across the face.
"Do not speak ill of my mother." He spat in the face of Timmy.
"Oh really?" Tim pushed Bruce to the ground. He was about to kick him but someone stepped in front of Bruce. Between Bruce and Tim.
"Back off Timothy." The figure said. It was a girl. Bruce couldn't see her very well, but he saw that she was African-American, with a caramel complexion, with bouncy brown curly hair with a silver lock.
"Get out of the way Anne." Tim tried to push past her but she stood her ground.
"No. You know Tim, you are such a bully. Can't you see this boy has been traumatized enough?" she was poking a white finger nail at Tim's chest angrily with one hand on her hip.
Tim opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the girl.
"You know what? I don't care about what you have to say. Get out of my sight before I do something I necessarily won't regret." She hissed.
Tim looked down at Bruce, who was still on the ground then back at the girl.
"We'll settle this later, pint-size." He glared at Bruce and he and his posse walked away.
The girl turned toward Bruce and kneeled to extend her arm. "Hey, you alright?" she asked as he took her hand and she pulled him off the ground.
He let go of her hand and dusted himself off.
"Just perfect." He said sarcastically, which was unusual for him.
The girl let out a soft chuckle and she put her hand out again, and Bruce shook it.
"Heh, I'm Antoinette, but everyone calls me Anne or Annie." She said.
"Bruce. Bruce Wayne." He smiled a little and she smiled back.
"Uh… thanks for sticking up for me back there."
"Of course. Just helping a friend." She winked and looked down at her watch.
"Crap. I can't be late for chem again." She said and started walking away.
"Hey, wait!" Bruce called before she could get far.
"Hm?" she asked.
"Uh… would you… would you like to have lunch with me today?" he asked kind of shyly.
She gave him a soft but vibrant smile. "Sure. Wouldn't miss it." She smiled and she was on her way.
Bruce stood dumbfounded about what had just happened.
Bruce sat on the edge of the fountain of the school, eating his lunch.
"Hey, Bruce." He heard what he thought was an angelic voice coming toward him.
"Is Tim your boyfriend?" Bruce blurted accidentally. He wanted- no needed to know.
Anne stared at him for a second. Suddenly she began laughing.
"Ew. No. That idiot?" she laughed as she stood up with her apple and threw it in the trash.
"Why'd you throw your apple away?" Bruce asked. Anne sat back down next to him.
"Filled with questions, aren't you? Well, I have a severe allergic reaction to the acids that an apple contains. It's pretty rare." She said and Bruce nodded and his lips made and 'o' shape.
A tiny locket escaped from Anne's gray polka dot satchel and Bruce picked it up. When he opened it, Bruce saw a picture of a little girl, maybe six on one side and a boy on the other maybe sixteen.
Anne slowly took the locket out of Bruce's hand.
"That's my brother Avery. He's the only relative I have left." She said sadly while looking at her locket.
"I…I don't have any other relatives. It's just Alfred and I." he said quietly looking down.
Anne quietly scooched closer to him. "I'm sorry for your loss Bruce." She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't flinch away.
"Me too…" he said.
"Both of my parents died in a car collision. Neither Avery nor I were there." She said.
It was Bruce's turn to put a hand on her shoulder.
Anne saw the tear drop before she felt it. She looked down at her knees to hide them from Bruce.
Stop being sorry for yourself, Anne. She thought to herself and sighed and stopped crying.
She decided to change the subject. She got out her shiny red notebook and scribbled something down. She then neatly tore it out and folded it neatly and gave it to Bruce.
"My number. And address. I'm sure Avery would love to meet you." She stood up and began walking away.
"Where you going?"
Anne held out her hand and counted backwards from 5. When she got to one, the school bell rang and she winked.
How does she do it? Bruce thought to himself as he rushed the opposite direction to class.