Author's Notes: The perspectives will most likely shift back and forth between Harley's and Jack's. I hope their characterizations are fitting and believable and that their interaction does (and will) make sense. The story will start to pick up in later chapters once Harley's "mistake" comes along. I hope the exposition will be interesting enough until then. Please tell me what you guys think! Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 2

Jack had to blink twice when she waltzed into art class, his last class of the day, two messy blonde buns bobbing happily as she sat in her seat at a drawing table in the front and began to chat with her neighbor.

You gotta be kidding me, he thought.

Of all the people to have art class with, it had to be the same preppy bimbo who had been gossiping about him to her friends. It also had to be the one he had violently bumped into and internally debated as to whether apologize to or not, bitterly going with the latter option, only for another awkward encounter to occur a few minutes later.

He tried not to draw attention to himself, keeping to the back or the edge of classrooms for the entirety of the day and hoping his teachers decided not to assign him a seat, though there were not many other seats to choose from anyway.

He was wrong in assuming her sitting on the opposite side of the classroom would prove to be an advantage.

Mrs. Fairchild, the art teacher, had decided to assign a project. Two people would be randomly paired up to work on a mixed media collage.

The assignment itself didn't bother him. He wouldn't have minded working with someone. But if his day hadn't been so great already, it became downright dandy when Mrs. Fairchild had to assign her to be his partner. In the end, it was still Ms. Quinzel's fault; by not being able to keep her lip-gloss stained mouth shut, she indirectly declared herself to be friendliest person in the room to Mrs. Fairchild.

"Harley, you can work with our new student, Jack." Jack could see that this caught Harley's attention. She stopped talking to the girl sitting next to her and turned to look at Mrs. Fairchild. "You've got a welcoming personality, so I'm sure you'll make him feel comfortable on his first day."

Jack snorted in disbelief. He didn't know whether to laugh or be offended by Mrs. Fairchild's passive aggressive punishment. 'Here, work with this fucked-up-looking new kid for being disruptive.'

He watched the shock slowly seep into Harley's countenance as everyone else began moving around to sit with their partners. She turned her head, and her eyes quickly found him. She faltered slightly, then turned away and began to gather her stuff.

For a moment, he was sure she was going to storm out of the classroom. Instead, she headed right for his table. She set her stuff down and sat in the empty seat to the right of him.

"Nice to see you again, Jack," she greeted, not meeting his eyes at first. He could practically see her train of thought steaming and tumbling ahead, unsure of where to go. Then, she quickly recovered and put on a small smile he figured was supposed to pass for friendly. "So where do you want to start? Have any ideas?"

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly and frowned. Then, he sighed and folded his hands on the table. "Look, uh, you don't have to pretend."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Ever so innocent. Jack suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look, if we're going to be working on this project together, I want to get all pretense out of the way. You don't need to pretend to be nice to me. No hard feelings. Promise."

At this, her smile fell. "I don't-" she stuttered. Her cheeks turned pink. "I'm not-" She took a deep breath and shook her head. "What makes you think I'm pretending to be nice to you?"

"I think you know the answer to that," he stated.

She seemed at a loss for words, and her cheeks got even pinker. Good, Jack thought.

After a long and awkward pause, she mumbled, "I'm sorry." She looked up at him, and Jack was taken aback by how big and bright her eyes were. He'd never seen anything so damn blue in his entire life. For a second, they had made him forget she was putting on a "nice girl" persona like the rest of the cheerleader/pep-squad popular-wannabes.

He could tell she was one of them. From the trendy high-waisted shorts and midriff top to the lip gloss and bubblegum-pink nail polish, she fit the type. It was so sickeningly artificial he was sure he'd be puking glitter if he spent one more minute near her.

She took a deep breath, shook her head, and repeated, "I'm really sorry. That was wrong of me. I promise I'm not like that. And I really was being nice. I meant what I said about your art." He didn't know how it was possible, but it was like her eyes had gotten even bigger, in a very child-like, innocent way. He had to question whether she was doing it on purpose.

Then, she stuck out her hand to him and bit her lip. "Would it be alright if we had a fresh start?"

Jack skeptically observed her hand. After thoughtfully chewing his lip, he drawled, "Sure." Slowly, he reached out his hand to shake her much smaller one. It didn't change anything, but she seemed so stupidly desperate he wasn't sure what else to do.

She let out a long breath as if she had been holding it in until he shook her hand. "Thank you."

Another awkward silence came between them, but soon enough, she switched the topic to something less awkward. "So you're an artist, huh?"

He was sure she still thought he was some sort of creep or something, or a druggie, or whatever else everyone was accusing him of being, but she clearly felt guilty and uncomfortable about all of it. He wasn't big on small talk, but he decided to give her a break, or a "second chance", as she called it. Maybe she would stop staring at him like a lost puppy.

He shrugged. "From time to time. Are you?"

"Actually…" Harley began to fiddle with the zipper on her backpack. "I'm just taking this class because it's easy to pass. It's not that I don't like art. I'm just pretty bad at it."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "So…you're not even going to wait till later to indirectly tell me the entire project is up to me, by, uh, telling me you're bad at art."

Harley looked up, startled. "What? No!"

He cracked a grin at her reaction and would be lying if he said he didn't get a twinge of pleasure out of it.

Once she realized he was joking, she let out an uncertain, slightly embarrassed laugh. "Oh."

Jack noted that she didn't seem as apprehensive or repulsed as he had expected her to be. Mostly she just seemed self-conscious and eager to make amends. He had only overheard her saying she thought he got kicked out for starting a fire at Gotham Academy. Maybe that's as far as it went. A gossiper, maybe, but far too nice to be threat. He wasn't fond of anyone that liked to talk about him behind his back, but it didn't seem necessary now to guard himself too heavily against her. She was ridiculous, maybe, and definitely the perky-cheerleader type, but, after witnessing her discomfort to the jabs he'd made, he guessed the guilt was eating her alive. And if that was the case, her apology had been sincere.

Jack took the lapse in conversation that followed as an opportunity to observe the classroom. He had subconsciously realized that something felt off about it, but it wasn't until now that he realized the sterile white walls were just that – white. No paintings, posters or decorations hung up on the walls, and the only splash of color came from the area in the back, where all the art material was stuffed into drawers or sat on tables. Brushes colored by dry paint and pencils and markers peeped out of boxes, screaming to be used. It's like Mrs. Fairchild had gone out of her way to stifle the creativity of her students by making the classroom look so dull. Even the boards were wiped completely clean, not a marker mark in sight.

He took a look at Mrs. Fairchild herself and saw that she was no different. Her hair, a dull blonde color, looked lifeless lying over her droopy shoulders. She wore a grey cardigan and a pearl necklace that seemed to blend in with her pale skin. As she sat at her desk glazing over a book, she was perfectly still and, when she had to move, she did so languidly. She licking her finger before turning each page and seemed to have no intent to look at the classroom even once.

Jack cleared his throat and nodded towards Mrs. Fairchild. "Is she always like that?"

"Mrs. Fairchild?" Harley asked. "Oh, yeah. She just takes attendance, assigns something, and spends the rest of the time at her desk. She doesn't care what we do, so long as we turn in our work."

Jack considered skipping class but then realized he had nowhere better to go.

"I have a lot of magazines at home I could bring tomorrow," Harley volunteered.

It took Jack a moment to realize she had been talking about the project. "Oh, um…I have a lot of newspapers."

"Great. We'll find something we like and maybe we'll come up with something."

Jack nodded, watching the seconds hand on the clock at the front of the classroom make its revolution. The two of them had fallen into silence for the rest of the class, and he could've sworn he had to wait a whole hour instead of twenty-five minutes before the bell finally rung.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder the moment it did. Before leaving, he hesitated, and without thinking, he said, "Sorry about almost knocking you over."

Harley looked surprised that he had even bothered to apologize. He wasn't sure why he had either.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's okay. We just got off on a bad start."

He didn't know how to respond to her hopeful comment, not sure why she still seemed set on making friends with him, and simply nodded before leaving the classroom.

Jack was glad that Art was on the first floor. He managed to be one of the first students to get to the student parking lot, meaning a quick escape from the school premises in his truck. The moment he heard the roar of the engine at the turn of the keys, his shoulders relaxed, and he didn't look back as the vehicle tumbled through the gate entrance.

He considered going straight home, knowing his mother would pester him about where he'd been and then give him a long list of instructions on how to behave once his father arrived from Washington, D.C. in the evening, complaining about how he wasn't there to help her clean up around the house despite the fact that every room looked like it had come fresh out of IKEA every day anyway.

Screw it, he thought. He deserved a burger.

He parked at the side of the road right in front of Donny's. It was cramped between a drug store and an Italian restaurant and was located right outside of the Narrows. The neon lights of the "OPEN" sign offered a promise of escape. A bell jingled above his head as he opened the door, and the sweet smell of a frying-something permeated his nose. He quickly surveyed his surroundings, and, as he had predicted, the diner was completely empty. Customers rarely came at this hour, and for that, Jack was grateful. He wiped his feet on the doormat before making his way across the checkered tiles to his usual seat at the corner of the bar.

Donny's had an unassuming, vintage charm that appealed to Jack, and he appreciated its ability to blend in with the rest of rusted, gloomy city, but his main reason for frequenting the place was to see Derek, who was currently nowhere to be seen.

Derek was Jack's best friend since middle school, though they hadn't attended the same high school. He was two years older than Jack and was supposed to be a senior, but he had dropped out of school the previous year. He would always mumble about school getting in the way of his music career and would dedicate all the time one would normally use to do homework to playing his guitar and writing music, so Jack had figured it was only a matter of time.

Derek's father owned the diner, and luckily for the both of them, it was a popular joint. Derek's father had only allowed Derek to drop out if his son promised to continue working at the restaurant and would find another job to support himself in a few years, not planning on having his son depend on him for money for the entirety of his life. Derek has eagerly accepted the conditions. So long as he had his guitar, he was ready for anything.

Jack made himself comfortable at the stool and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the chef, Manny, a man in his fifties with tanned skin who had stopped to wave as he fumbled around with boxes of produce in the kitchen, visible through a glassless window than opened up into the diner.

"Derek will be out soon," he told Jack. "You want the usual?"

Jack nodded. "If you'd be so kind. I'm downright famished."

"Comin' right up, Jack."

While the chef continued his work in the kitchen and set to preparing Jack his usual, a 50/50 burger with a side of fries, Jack pulled out a napkin from a napkin dispenser and tried to fold it into a paper airplane.

He looked up when the door leading to the back of the diner opened and Derek emerged.

Derek's hair, as always, was a tangled, dirty-blonde mess. The bandana he tied around it only amplified its rumpled look. His white sleeveless T-shirt was wrinkled and his jeans were baggy and torn. The apron wrapped around his waist and his name badge were the only things that indicated that he worked there. In short, Derek spectacularly managed to look like he had just climbed out of bed at all times.

"Hey, man." Derek's face broke into a grin. He came up to Jack, shook his hand, and put an arm around his to pat him on the back in greeting.

He then went behind the counter and asked, "You want a drink or something? Something to eat?"

"Manny's already making me something, but, uh, I'll have Coke."

Derek set about retrieving a cup and filling it with soda with the soda dispenser. "So, how was your first day of public school?" he asked with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Jack shot him a glare. Derek only grinned wider. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You look miffed. I would be too if I was stuck in that place. Not as pretentious as where you came from, but man, it just messes with your mind. Having all those voices drone on and on for hours about crap."

While Jack could agree the repetitive, dull cycle of attending classes bothered him too, that wasn't what bothered him now. "Nah, it's not that." He took of a sip of his drink when Derek slid it over the counter. "It's the people. They're all so…full of their own bullshit."

Jacked thanked Manny when he brought him his food. He bit into the hamburger and savored the warm, sweet greasiness of fast food as he chewed, not stopping to wipe his hands and mouth until he was finished.

"Oh, like Gotham Academy isn't full of those?" Derek challenged.

"No. Gotham Academy's kids just have sticks up their asses. The bad part is that they're not pretending."

Derek cleared his throat. "You were just a Gotham Academy kid."

Jack shot Derek yet another glare. "That's why I left."

Derek scratched his neck and grinned. "If that's how you want to put it."

Jack knew Derek was trying to subtly hint at the fact that Jack hasn't so much chosen to leave as he had been kicked out. But doing what got him kicked out in the first place was the only way he could get what he wanted. That's why he considered it his choice. He didn't stay anywhere he didn't want to be.

After Jack was finished with his meal, they headed out to the back of the diner for a smoke.

The dull brick wall of the adjacent building in the alleyway was vandalized with undecipherable graffiti. A dumpster stood just a few feet away from the backdoor of the diner, and the stink was inescapable no matter how far away they stood. After a while, though, they adjusted to the smell, and the way the surrounding walls washed out the sound of the congested, loud city allowed Jack to hear his own thoughts.

When he took his first drag of a Marlboro, his shoulders relaxed, and he rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. For a few minutes, they just stood there, sharing exhaled smoke and silence.

"Wanna take a few packs home, Jackie?" Derek asked, referring to the cigarettes. Jack and Derek had a deal; since Derek was old enough to purchase cigarettes and Jack wasn't, he'd supply Jack with some as long as he paid a reasonable price. Jack wasn't exactly a smoker, but every once in a while, he needed to unwind through good old-fashioned nicotine.

Jack cracked open his eyes and smacked his lips. "And risk my mom being a bitch about it? Hmm."

"That's never stopped you before."

Jack chuckled, though he wasn't amused. "No," he agreed. "It has not. But with, uh, dad coming into town, she'll already want to choke the life out of me for smelling like cigarette smoke. So I'll go easy on her today."

"Come get 'em when you have to make another public appearance. Sneak one out when you see a paparazzi hiding behind a bush."

They both smiled at that. "I'm sure they'll want to get a load of my charming face," Jack agreed.

Then, Derek studied Jack carefully as he stubbed out his cigarette. He mussed up his hair before speaking, and Jack knew that meant he was about to ask something serious. Something he knew Jack wouldn't want to discuss. Jack's tongue shot out to lick his lips.

"Think he's gonna win? Your dad?"

"As long as the good people of Gotham continue to believe an old-money conservative has their best interests in mind because he, uh, donated money to an orphanage once and kissed a puppy." The nicotine could only do so much to prevent acid from rising up his throat and flowing to the tip of his tongue, ready to be spit out like a cobra's venom. Jack nevertheless took a drag of his cigarette.

Derek huffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But he doesn't have to live in D.C. anymore if he wins, right? Which means he'll be living with you."

Oh, Jack knew exactly what it meant. The moment he heard the news, not from the man himself, or his mother, but the goddamn news channel, he had curled his hands into fists and felt his body grow hot from the way his blood boiled. He jaw had gone rigid and he'd bared his teeth, ready to growl at someone, something. Ready to smash the television screen with one hurl of a remote. Instead, he just sat there, chest rising and falling rapidly, the edges of his teeth furiously working the inner flesh of his mouth.

"Yup. The picture-perfect family happily reeeunited."

Derek scratched his shoulder and continued to stare at Jack with a frown etched between his brows. "Sorry, man. Really." Jack knew he meant it. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"If he ever-" Derek hesitated. "If you ever need anything, need my help. You know I got your back, man."

Jack returned Derek's gaze for a moment as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He only said "I think I'll have another cigarette." Derek passed him one.

It was a known fact to Derek that Jack and Harris Napier were not on the best of terms. Jack had told Derek everything so he could understand that he was, by nature, a true politician. Self-interested, manipulative, a liar, a fraud. It wasn't like Jack was stupid and didn't understand how politics worked. He couldn't care less about the man Harris needed to become at work. Except he didn't just become that person at work. That's who he was, down to the rotten core. And he treated Jack and his mother just he treated any audience. He put on whatever mask he thought they should see. He lied through tight, white smiles and had a talent for making promises he couldn't keep. And sweeping things under the rug. Jack's whole life, it had seemed like Jack was the biggest, ugliest son-of-a-bitch dirt stain on the lion-skin rug of them all.

Maybe because he was good at masks. He liked to figure out how many a person wore and then pick apart what was underneath. He knew his father's true face. That's not what his father wanted.

His preventive measures included keeping Jack on a leash. Attend this dinner here. Wear a suit and tie and smile, Jackie. Shake hands. Be a good student. Watch me while I gloat about your academic excellence so you make sure not to slack off, Jackie. I promised them you were a good student. Keep it up, son. Because I have the power and I'll get my way. I'll scheme until the picture's right. Be like your mother, stand still, and give the camera a smile. Because we're the good old American family with the good old American values. You don't even have to try hard, Jackie boy. Just wear this mask. You look too serious. Just hide the goddamn scar.

Jack hadn't realized how hard he'd been gnawing at the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He was only halfway finished with the second cigarette, but he stubbed it out and threw it away, ready to leave.

When he looked at his watch, he saw that it was 3:50. There wasn't enough time to get home by 4:00. That's the time his mother had asked him to come home. He was on time to being late, just as planned.

He said goodbye to Derek, who had made one last attempt to change his mind about buying the cigarettes, and headed out of Donny's. He eyed the newspaper vending machines sitting right outside of the diner and remembered Harley and the project. He dug around for a few coins in his wallet and found enough to buy ten newspapers. Nancy Napier could've already disposed of the ones he remembered them having at home, anal-retentive habits and all that.

Once he got inside his truck, he took a moment to leaf through all of them, figuring it wouldn't hurt to be late just a few more minutes. One headline popped up at him as he skimmed: "BRUCE WAYNE FOLLOWS IN FATHER'S FOOTSTEPS, ENROLLS IN GOTHAM ACADEMY".

Jack almost laughed. Almost.