A/N An update! And it's a nice, long one! To give fair warning, it may be a little while before the next one because school starts on Monday and I kind of got, um, no prep done over break. I am so not ready to go back! I'll send out review responses tomorrow, but right now I'm going enjoy the first night of sleep in my own bed in two weeks!
Disclaimer See Chapter 1.
Chapter 7
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
- Charlie Brown
"Cops are getting uneasy," Gordon said, wishing he had remembered his scarf before he had come up on the roof. "And if they're asking questions it won't be long before the media and then the rest of the city start asking the same questions."
"Whether I'm the Riddler?"
"Yeah. I wish we could have kept the riddles out of the papers. At least Bailey hasn't been dragged into it yet. My daughter goes there."
"She'll be fine."
"If he really is knocking off your enemies, I guess she will be. But I still don't like my kid running around a school that's a workshop for a serial killer."
"Anything else I should know?" the Bat asked.
"No. I was hoping you'd have news for me."
"Sorry."
"The riddle thing is still priority. And if you can think of any way to spike the media's guns, that would be great. I'm taking enough heat from Loeb. Any more might cook me."
"I'll see what I can do."
"I appreciate that," Gordon said, but the Bat was already gone.
For the most part, Batman avoided the business district. The more upscale parts particularly bristled with guards and security cameras, but he did take the occasional shortcut, vaulting over rooftops where he was sure the cameras couldn't see. Tonight he was headed for the docks, to check out a rumor about the cargo of certain newly arrived ships, when the smash of glass and the scream of alarms in the street below commanded his attention.
A guard burst out of a storefront. "Stop!" he bellowed and, lifting his gun, began squeezing off shots as fast as he could in the general direction of the roofs. Batman had to duck behind a large vent before he could catch sight of the guard's target, but a moment later, a black shape slithered over the edge of the roof. It gave a low spring toward the same vent that sheltered Batman, checked just in time, and froze, staring at him.
Batman couldn't help staring back. The escapee was obviously a woman, dressed in a very formfitting, black jumpsuit and tall, supple boots. She wore a mask similar to his own in that it protected her eyes and nose and curved in along the base of her skull. But the most curious thing about the outfit was the two oblong projections that came out from the mask at an angle, exactly like ears.
She was still crouched, looking up at him, and suddenly, she tilted her head to the side and asked (when he thought about it later he was ready to swear she did it tauntingly), "Meow?"
Before he could react, she was leaping away, and he had to tear after her as the guard's shots ricocheted off the vent behind them. Her movements were fluid, and she flew across the roofs as though they were familiar hunting ground. Despite his best efforts, she drew farther and farther ahead, until she disappeared from sight behind an elevated billboard. When he reached the spot she was gone, and although he combed the surrounding area for an hour, he found no hint of the direction she had taken.
"Bruce up?" Dick asked, sliding into his chair and narrowly missing the toast with his elbow.
"Not yet. Oatmeal?"
"Thanks. Hey, Alfred?"
"Yes, Master Richard?"
"Did you ever ride the school bus?"
Alfred paused, looking thoughtful. "No, I don't believe I ever did. I always lived close enough to walk."
"Oh." Richard dug a moat in his oatmeal with his spoon and sighed. "Still a month to go."
Alfred echoed the sigh. "You'll have your license soon enough. On the bright side, riding the bus is better for the environment than driving an individual vehicle."
"He's never going to let me get a motorcycle, is he?" Richard asked mournfully, before shoving a heaping spoon into his mouth.
"Perhaps not this birthday," Alfred said in a carefully neutral tone. "They can be … dangerous machines."
Richard got a dreamy look on his face. "Yeah."
"If you're not going to finish that, you'd better go. The bus will be at the gate in seven minutes."
Rick glanced at his watch and jumped up. "I forgot to print off my homework." When he made it to the front hall, loaded satchel swung across his shoulder, Alfred was waiting with a paper bag. "Your lunch."
"Thanks," Richard said gratefully, accepting the bag and grinning at its weight.
"Have a nice day, Master Richard."
"You too!" Rick ran down the steps and grabbed his bike. He beat the bus by half a minute, and had the security gate open as it pulled to a stop. Leaning his bike against the wall just inside the gate, he pulled it shut behind him and got on the bus.
He had felt uncharacteristically nervous about this part of the school experience, partly because in the movies the school bus was the frequent site of bullying and traumatic conversations. Neither option was appealing, and he was relieved to see that the bus was almost empty, the few kids on it apparently asleep. He took a window seat in the middle and stared blankly out at the passing city. He was determined to accomplish more today than he had yesterday because if he was going to be of any use at all, he had to pull his act together and stay focused. If he were to admit it to himself, he actually felt rather daunted by the task ahead of him. On paper, the task of infiltrating Bailey had seemed complex but workable, like a great chess strategy. But in reality, the players on his board were willful and unpredictable. Instead of outguessing one opponent, he had to outguess several hundred in order to find the one who was out of place, the one who was a murderer …
"Rick!" A squeal jerked him from his reverie, and with an inward groan he recognized Amanda Irving.
"I can't believe you ride this bus," she bubbled, sitting next to him without asking whether the seat was free. "At least, I know Wayne Manor would be on this route because the outer edge of your property is only a mile from my house. But I can't believe you ride the bus at all. Doesn't Bruce Wayne have like fifty sports cars? And a limo? You didn't ride the bus yesterday."
The last remark wasn't phrased as a question, but Rick guessed that since she had finally paused and was looking at him expectantly, he was supposed to explain. "Bruce drove me yesterday since it was the first day, but riding the bus is …" a way to help me integrate more quickly so that I can stop a serial killer ". . . better for the environment."
Amanda's eyes widened improbably. "Oh, wow, I respect that so much!" she breathed.
Rick felt like smacking his head against the window, but fortunately, the bus pulled up to the curb, and the new passenger proved to be Zorello from Life Skills. "Hey Mr. P!" he greeted the driver in a voice that could be heard at the back of the bus. "Got a big natural science presentation to give today. Snakes!" He nodded meaningfully at the large cardboard box he carried.
Amanda slid closer to Rick. "You don't think he's got live snakes in that box, do you?"
Zorello started up the aisle, but halfway up, just before Amanda's row, he tripped and fell headlong. The box was thrown against a seat, the lid popped off, and dozens of lithe green bodies erupted onto the floor. Shouts and screams filled the bus, the loudest in Rick's ear as Amanda snatched her feet onto the seat and threw herself into his lap.
Zorello scrambled to his feet and bellowed, "Nobody panic! They're just rubber!"
The pandemonium was immediately placed by irritated grumbles, with the exception of Amanda, who was whimpering into Rick's neck.
"Amanda, it's okay, they're fake," he muttered, trying to loosen her stranglehold.
At last she consented to return to her own seat, Rick painfully aware that everyone around them was staring.
"I'm so glad I'm sitting next to you. I would have been so frightened otherwise," she gasped.
He tried to smile politely, privately hoping he never happened to be nearby when she was really scared. She'd probably strangle him for real.
"I wanted to show you something," Amanda chirped, completely recovered. She pulled a copy of Gotham Gossip out of her book bag and flipped it open to a page she obviously had memorized. "It's us!"
His stomach sinking, Rick stared at the picture of himself and Amanda on the front steps of Bailey. His own face was averted and blank, while Amanda hung on his arm, attached like a blonde growth. At least I've got a good poker face, he thought glumly, before scanning the modest half-page article.
Princeling edges out of nest
For the first time in 7 years, Richard Grayson is going back to school. Since his miraculous rags-to-riches rescue from an abusive foster home by his billionaire guardian, Bruce Wayne, Richard has worked with a private tutor, but the time has finally come for him to leave the safety of Wayne Manor. After his first day at Bailey Academy, we stopped by to see how his day went. While Richard seemed a little shy, his fellow sophomore, Amanda Irving, stuck around to give us a few comments.
"Rick's going to fit in so well here at Bailey. I was just thrilled to welcome him to our school, and I'm really looking forward to developing our friendship," she said.
If all of Richard's new classmates are as enthusiastic as pretty Amanda, we predict a sweet ride through high school for the new student—perhaps not surprising for the heir of Gotham's own pet billionaire. Speaking of following in Bruce Wayne's footsteps, we think Wayne had better keep a sharp eye on that Sexiest title, or he may find a certain teen gearing up to take it away from him. We like the hair, Richard!
His face flaming, Richard slumped into the corner and wished for a hole to appear in the floor of the bus so that he could slip beneath its merciful wheels. Please, don't let anyone else at school ever see this. Especially Barbara Gordon. Please!
"Isn't it great?" Amanda gushed, holding up the page to be admired. "I'm going to hang it in my locker."
"No!" gasped Richard. "I mean, you wouldn't want your friends to think you and I … that is … that you're showing off about getting in the magazine or anything."
Amanda laughed. "That's silly! And I don't care even if they do. Besides, I'm hanging it up because you're in it, not because I'm in it! Now everyone will know who you are, even though you're new." She pulled a pair of scissors from her bag and began carefully cutting out the article.
Rick leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and wished for death. Or at least a sudden and debilitating illness that would require two months of bed rest. If I had a motorcycle, this wouldn't be happening. I could just drive myself to school, and Amanda could throw herself on top of somebody else the next time there's an infestation of snakes. I wonder how Barbara feels about guys with motorcycles?
Unfortunately, when the bus finally pulled up in front of the school, Amanda took her time repacking her bag so that they were the last two off the bus. Gratefully remembering that his first period teacher has assigned him homework so that the textbook was already in his bag, Rick said hastily, "See you later," the moment they made it inside and pounded off down the nearest hallway, regardless of where it led, before remembering that he'd never actually been to homeroom. But he had the room number and the basic layout of the school memorized, and if he got really lost, he could ask someone. Someone who was not Amanda Irving.
Richard swung into a hallway which he was pretty sure would lead to the right section of the building and was getting close, when one of the approaching faces made him pause. David Stern, the guy whose mom had been killed by the riddle murderer, was white-faced and tight lipped, was blindly shoving past people in his hurry. Rick swung to the side to avoid being hit and, after a moment of hesitation, followed. David Stern was as good a place to start as any, and there was a strained desperation on his face that alarmed Rick. The guy obviously needed help.
David, a few feet ahead, swung around a corner and by the time Rick arrived the other boy had disappeared. Surveying the available doors, Rick chose the bathroom and ducked inside. The open area was empty, but he heard someone throwing up in one of the stalls. Whoever it was sounded really sick and Rick, remembering David's pale face, bet that he had guessed right. He stood at the sink pretending to wash his hands, and a minute later David emerged and leaned, shaking, against another sink.
"You ok?" Rick asked cautiously. "Want me to call the nurse or someone to take you home?"
He was unprepared for the speed or the fury with which David turned on him. "What business is it of yours? I don't need to go home," he snarled.
"Whoa, sorry! It's just that … you don't look so good."
David offered a frontal view of his middle finger and stormed back out into the hall.
"That went well," Rick muttered, staring after him in dismay. After a minute, he remembered that he was supposed to be going to class and had barely five minutes before the bell. He pounded down the hall to where room 344 should have been but found a dead end after 343. The hall was deserted, but Rick caught a flash of blue coverall passing the opening of another hallway. "Mr. Harris?" he shouted, sprinting in that direction.
The janitor backed up to the intersection. "What can I do for you, young man?"
"Where's 344?"
Mr. Harris smiled and shook his head. "That throws everyone for a loop. It's halfway down that stairwell on the right."
"Thanks!" Dick called over his shoulder, already hustling toward the stairs. He slipped into his seat with five seconds to spare.
Hal grinned at him. "I heard there was some excitement on the bus this morning."
Rick just shook his head and groaned.
"Not your type?" Hal whispered as the bell rang and the teacher started taking attendance.
"Not really. Oh no!"
"What?"
"She's in our history class," Rick hissed a little too loudly, earning him a stern look from Mr. Smith.
After English, Richard and Hal (who thought the whole thing was hilarious) lingered in the bathroom until they were actually late to history, earning them a tardy point apiece. Amanda sat in the row behind them, thanks to Harris, Healy, and Henry, and she smiled and waved when they came in. Richard pretended not to see her, and when class was over, he bolted from the room before Hal even had his books together.
"Packing a lunch already, huh?" Hal asked as they headed toward the cafeteria at lunchtime.
"Why don't you?"
"My mom keeps forgetting to go grocery shopping. You don't have to wait in line with me. Our usual table's over there," Hal said, pointing, as he queued up behind a couple of freshmen.
"I remember." Richard took two steps in the right direction, then frantically backed up and ducked behind Hal. "Amanda's over there!"
"Oh yeah. I forgot she's kind of friends with April." Hal looked apologetic.
"Great. No way am I sitting over there now. No offense."
"Oh come on, she's not that bad."
"You're only saying that because she didn't jump in your lap and scream in your ear. It's still ringing. Ok, I'm outta here. See you in gym."
Rick slunk behind a couple of students with loaded trays, scooted behind a pillar, and made it safely to the far side of the cafeteria. Relaxing slightly, he looked around for a seat. There were no empty tables, so he would have to join a group, which would be more productive anyway, he reminded himself. Casually scanning the nearby tables, he discovered several students staring at him, all girls. Focusing on one attractive brunette, he tried a smile. She immediately smiled back and tossed her head so that her shining hair swung up over her shoulder. That looks promising. Better than David Stern, anyway. He was about to walk forward when someone behind him shouted, "Hey Rick!"
He turned and found Zorello striding toward him, balancing a loaded tray. "Yeah?" Rick asked, not feeling particularly friendly.
"Need a place to sit?"
On the one hand, he wanted to strangle the guy with one of his own snakes. On the other, hanging out with him would possibly discourage Amanda. "Sure."
"You would have ended up here sooner or later," Zorello said comfortably, leading the way to a table that held three other students. "It's where you belong."
"I do?" Rick asked uncertainly, setting his tray beside a girl he recognized from the country club. "Hi Samantha."
She raised bored eyes, nodded, then dropped her gaze back to her bag of baked sun chips.
"Sure you do. You belong for the same reason I and Lindsey and Sam and Les belong."
"Why's that?" Rick obligingly asked, pulling a sandwich out of his bag.
Zorello smiled and began lining his peas in neat rows across his slice of pizza. "Because someday, we'll all be filthily, disgustingly, nauseatingly rich, without having worked a day in our lives for it. We're the heirs of Gotham."
"And heiresses," Lindsey snapped.
"And heiresses," Zorello obligingly agreed. "Frankly, we can't stand each other, but we fit. The others," he waved vaguely at the rest of the cafeteria, "will never understand. Sooner or later, you'll find that out. We mingle on occasion, sometimes even try to break free, but we always come back, right Lindsey?"
"Shut up, Johnny," she hissed, opening her package of crackers so forcefully that they broke in half.
Rick felt distinctly weirded out, and he definitely didn't "fit," whatever Johnny Zorello said. Feeling it would be wiser, however, not to express his dislike openly, he instead asked, "If you're going to inherit Gotham, why are you eating the school food?"
"You've got to admit he's got a point, Johnny," Les put in.
Johnny now had all of his peas neatly arranged on his pizza. With his fork tines, he began mashing them into the cheese. "I eat the school food because unlike some of us," he looked pointedly at Samantha's sun chips, "I at least try to stay in touch with reality."
"And is dropping snakes on the bus another way of staying in touch with reality?" Richard couldn't resist asking.
"Johnny wants to be the class clown," Lindsey put in snidely. "He's been trying for three and a half years, but he hasn't been elected yet."
"This semester," Johnny promised, picking up his knife and beginning to cut his pizza into squares. "This semester will be one the dear little snots of Bailey will never forget."
"Rubber snakes on a bus?" Les asked.
"Simply a warm-up exercise. My grand plan is, however, is already set in motion, and I defy the Batman himself to stop me."
"Johnny," Samantha said wearily, "shut up."
"In a moment, my dear Sam. Before the bell rings, we have one small item of business to attend to. I would like to propose a toast, to our comrade in exile, Garrett Wyth." He raised his Coke and looked expectantly around the table. His companions ignored him. "Well, I remember him," Johnny sighed, and set his soda back down. "Garrett is now exploring the pleasures of boarding school in Switzerland, having been requested to permanently leave this august institution last November," he explained to Richard. "You have his seat."
"Great," Rick muttered, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth.
"Well, I'm done." Johnny had pushed the pieces of his neatly dissected pizza into a geometrically pleasing arrangement around his plate without consuming a single bite. "It's been real, as always." Standing, he dropped his tray, plate, silverware, and all into the garbage and walked away.
"Me too," Rick said, shoving himself away from the table. None of the other three gave him a second look. Heirs of Gotham, he thought disgustedly. Heirs of stupidity is more like it.
He spent the rest of the lunch period exploring the halls around the cafeteria, memorizing locker banks, fire extinguishers, and air vents, the kind of details he kept track of in every other quarter of Gotham. When he got to math class, Carmen Leo was already in her seat, her hair draped over her face. "Hi," Rick sighed, not sure he wanted an answer. So far, the friendly people at Bailey were the ones he would rather not have met.
Carmen shifted slightly and pulled back her curtain of hair just enough to make the tip of her nose visible. "Hi," she whispered, before letting the curtain fall back into place.
Rick kept his head down and his mouth shut for the duration of the period, and things went much smoother than they had the day before. There was still the problem of finishing the in-class work too soon, but he filled the empty minutes by working the answers to his decimal/fraction conversions into a number puzzle to send Alex.
And then it was time for Life Skills. Rick's anticipation at seeing Barbara again was only slightly dampened by the thought that Amanda would also be present. Sidling up to the door, he peered in and saw that Barbara's seat was empty while Amanda's was full. Perfect, he thought, edging back and bending down so that he could pretend to adjust his shoe laces.
Barbara came down the hall from somewhere beyond his math classroom. Better and better, Rick gloated, suddenly feeling fond of the room in which numbers had, for the first time, become boring. "Hi Barbara," he greeted her, straightening up.
"Hi," she said coolly, barely looking at him.
That was friendly, wasn't it? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was friendly. Way better than yesterday. He followed her in and even managed to return Amanda's overly warm hello with equanimity.
"I can't believe you didn't see me in history again," she pouted.
"I was late," Rick mumbled, head in his book bag as he groped around for the pen that always managed to slip to the bottom. "So was that homework last night lame, or what?"
He was facing Barbara as he voiced the question, but of course it was Amanda who answered. "I know, I was completely asleep by …" She broke off as Mr. Davis came into the room.
The day's lecture was no more interesting than the previous one had been, but Barbara was wearing pants, and Rick discovered that when her legs weren't around to distract him, he could pay a lot more attention to her face, which was breathtaking. She's more beautiful than half the women Bruce dates. I wonder if she wants to be a model? Wait, she said she was going to get a full ride to college, and I don't think models have to go to college. Do they?
Filled with these and other equally pleasant speculations the period flew by, and Mr. Davis was suddenly (or so it seemed to Rick) announcing the homework. "And be sure to set up a work schedule with your partners so that you'll be ready to go next week. I'll be giving out the first group assignment on Monday."
Great, Rick thought happily, lovingly closing his textbook and reaching down for his bag. Barbara was already on her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "What …" he began, but before he could finish the question she strode toward the door, her longs legs quickly carrying her out of it. Rick threw his bag over his shoulder and ran after her, only fractionally aware of a plaintive voice calling his name behind him. "Hey Barbara, wait up!" He had to run to catch up, and when he did, she didn't stop, merely gave him an irritated glance as she kept walking.
"What do you want?"
"I just wanted to ask what days would work best for you. For working on Life Skills stuff."
"I haven't decided yet. I'll email your Bailey account before Monday."
"Do you need my phone number too?" Rick asked hopefully.
"I'll just email. Hi, T."
T? Richard wondered, confused, before he looked up and saw Trevor Wren leaning casually against a locker a few feet away.
"Hey, babe," Trevor responded, but his eyes rested on Rick as he reached out and caught his girlfriend around the waist, pulling her close.
Just go, Rick told himself grimly, striding down the hallway as quickly as he could. She calls him T? How stupid is that? It was probably his idea. I would never make her call me R, and if … Richard was so caught up in his inner ranting that he walked straight into a woman who was backing out of a classroom with an armload of books. With dismay, he recognized his math teacher. "Ms. Simpkins, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees and frantically gathering up the fallen books.
"You have eyes, Richard. I suggest you use them," the teacher snapped as he handed her the books.
Get a grip, Rick told himself as he hurried toward the gym. This Barbara Gordon thing is out of control. Sure, she's hot. Ok, she's really really hot, but this is ridiculous. I have much more important things to think about. Not getting kicked out of math for one. And … and … He cringed, but forced his mental lecture to continue. And she has a long term boyfriend who's good looking and a great athlete and her own age and, face it, Grayson, he's taller than she is. You don't have a chance, any chance, so forget about it and do your job.
Feeling depressed but determined after his self pep talk, Rick scrambled into his uniform in the almost deserted locker room and ran into the gym just in time for roll call. They were beginning a unit on basketball, and the thudding of balls made conversation difficult, so it wasn't until afterwards as they showered and dressed that Hal was able to talk to him. "Amanda was really upset that you didn't sit with us at lunch."
"Huh," Rick said vaguely, bending over to tie his shoes.
"And April thinks it's my fault you didn't sit with us, so now they're both mad at me."
"Tell them you had nothing to do with it," Rick answered unsympathetically.
"Come on, man, help me out here. Just sit with us tomorrow, that's all I ask."
Rick pulled on his blazer and swung his bag over his shoulder. "Sure, why not?" he agreed unenthusiastically. After all, he had no need to impress Barbara, so it didn't really matter whether or not he was seen with dippy Amanda.
"Thanks, I owe you one," Hal said gratefully as they left the locker room.
"You're welcome," Rick muttered. More important things, he reminded himself. Starting tomorrow, I'm the best student Ms. Simpkins ever had. And then I'm going to find a way to make friends with David Stern.
To Be Continued
