CHAPTER 7

An hour or two later, he heard the bell again and the sound of children's feet running. The smell of food told him it must be lunch time. He sat back on the mattress, stomach growling and his mouth painfully dry. He reminded himself again that they weren't likely to kill him…he meant money to them. Then he heard a sound at the door.

It opened and Dick held his arm over his face to temper the blinding sunlight that flooded in. "It's time for you to start school. You ready to follow orders?" Harrison's harsh voice came from the dark figure standing in the door.

"Ye..yeah," Dick stuttered, his voice hoarse. He limped over to Harrison, careful to stay out of arms reach. Harrison gave out a braying laugh and grabbed him by the forearm.

"C'mon, rich boy. I'll take ya to your cabin. You're in number four with all the other malcontents," Harrison tugged at the boy's arm and forced him across the paved road to a small barracks-like structure. Harrison pushed him through the door, where Dick saw his small suitcase on a top bunk in a room filled with bunk beds. He was next to the window, he noted.

"You got the empty bunk, nearest the window. Coldest, too. When another boy leaves, you can switch. If the other kids in the cabin let you, that is. Your locker is this one," Harrison pointed out a small locker in a larger row.

"But there's no lock on it," Dick protested. "My stuff'll be stolen!"

"That it will," said Harrison. "But students aren't allowed to lock anything. Not doors, boxes or lockers. Counselors have access at all times to search for liquor, cigarettes," Harrison leered. "Or drugs, meth-head."

"I never took the stuff," Dick said. "I just tried to sell it. I'm not that dumb."

Harrison shrugged. "You were dumb enough to get caught, so here you are. You screw up, you get punished. You just experienced punishment and segregation. Do you want to repeat it?" At Dick's head shake, Harrison went on. "Get dressed. Your shoes are next to your suitcase, for as long as you'll be able to keep 'em. Dining hall is on the other side of the 'box' where you spent the night. Toilets and showers are next to the dining hall. Shower every morning or when you need it." Harrison wrinkled his nose. "You'll have to skip today but you'll want one tomorrow." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here's your schedule. After lunch, report to room one in the admin building for your first class." He handed it to Dick. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get dressed!"

Nervously, Dick pulled some clothes out of his suitcase. He stripped off the pajamas while Harrison watched his every move and stiffly donned jeans and a t-shirt. As he bent to tie his shoelaces, Harrison commented, "So, what's with the bat on your t-shirt? You a fan of the Batman?"

Harrison said it with scorn. Dick stiffened. "I'm from Gotham City. He's the City's protector…and hero."

"Uh huh. Weird hero for a kiddie crook like you to have," Harrison shrugged and gestured towards the door. "Okay, you're hungry enough that this'll be the one day you won't have any complaints about the food. C'mon."

Dick followed and was soon led to the building next to the 'box'. It was packed with boys of all ages and sizes. He saw kids ranging from eight to eighteen at the tables. Each table had a beefy-looking student monitoring the occupants. Harrison took him through the cafeteria line where Dick received runny mac and cheese, some overcooked vegetables, a cupcake and a roll with a carton of milk. Harrison took him to a table and sat him down. "Jeremy here will be your guide for today. He's one of our older students and knows the ropes. Be sure you do what he tells you or you'll be spending the night in the box again." With that, Harrison left.

"So, you're Dick Grayson," Jeremy said, reaching for Dick's cupcake. "You won't need that," he said, taking a bite. "Son of a billionaire, huh?" Jeremy said indistinctly, chewing on the cupcake. Dick wanted to pound him but kept his face still and his body language submissive.

He nodded and plowed in to his macaroni, fearful of losing that, too. "He's my guardian, actually," he said, between quick bites. He sized up the other kid. Jeremy was tall and bulky with a layer of fat covering big muscles. Dick knew the type; had fought them at Batman's side multiple times. Small time thugs, available for hire, not smart enough to become crime bosses themselves. Jeremy looked to be about sixteen or seventeen with a bad case of acne and dark hair in a buzz cut.

"Eat your vegetables," Jeremy grinned, chocolate crumbs between his teeth and reached for Dick's bread roll. "And drink your milk. If we have dessert or anything chocolate, like chocolate milk, I get it. Or if there's bread with the meal, it's mine. You get whatever else is there unless somebody else wants it." He sneered. "Nobody likes spinach, so it's yours Dick." He said it with that insulting intonation that often came when people found out Richard's nickname.

Dick sighed but didn't react. He'd finished the macaroni but was downing the milk and the spinach. "If anybody doesn't want their spinach, I'll take it," Dick offered. He needed to keep his strength up if he was going to be giving the lion's share of his calories away. Good thing he liked spinach. The other boys shrugged and soon Dick had a plateful to work through.

"Maybe we shouldn't call him Dick," said one kid. "How about Garbage Disposal?"

Jeremy, watching Dick closely, saw him cringe at the name. He grinned. "Okay, Garbage Disposal it is, or GD for short. So, I'm supposed to show you where your classes are." He stood up and Dick saw that he was nearly six feet tall. "C'mon."

Dick took a last bite of his spinach and got up. Jeremy didn't slow down for him, so Dick was forced to limp after. But that was okay, because he was accustomed to keeping up with Batman. Batman—he frowned a bit. Wearing the t-shirt was a mistake but he'd chosen it for comfort. It reminded him of what he was going back to and that he hadn't lost it.

Jeremy led him into the administration building and down a long hallway. "You missed your morning classes, but this one is American History in room one. Jeremy held his hand out for Dick's list, which Dick hurriedly supplied him. "You're upstairs for the next two classes…uh…English and Math. Then you report to the training field after school for P.E. When you're done with P.E. you'll hear the bell for Dinner. After dinner, your time's your own until lights out at ten. You get up at 6:00 a.m. with the rising bell. They give you a half hour to shower and dress, then show up for breakfast at 6:30. Don't be late or you won't get nothin'. We got some hearty eaters here and they don't save leftovers for anybody. Tomorrow morning after breakfast come back here to the first floor for Group and Science class." Jeremy handed the list back. "And on Sunday they give us waffles with syrup. I get yours. You eat the eggs that come with. Got that?"

Dick nodded. "Yeah. I…uh…guess I'll see you back at the cabin later. Thanks for showing me around, Jeremy. I appreciate it."

Jeremy briefly looked surprised. Dick didn't think he'd been thanked very often. "Well…okay…I'll see ya tonight," he said and disappeared down the hall. Dick went into the classroom and found a seat.

"You're sitting in my chair," said a boy at his elbow. Dick looked and found a tall, blond boy in the next chair over.

"But you're over there," Dick said. "This one was empty."

"I get both of 'em, new fish," the boy said. "Looks like you spent your first night in the box."

"Does this happen to everybody?" Dick asked. Maybe he wasn't Harrison's personal project after all.

"Oh yeah. Everybody spends their first night there and has a session with Harrison. You look more battered than most of us. You musta fought back or something. And you're still in my chair."

Dick got up and sat in the row behind. "Or something…How about this one?"

The kid thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, you can sit there." The kid grinned. "Until I tell you not to, anyway. So what's a little kid like you doing in this class?"

"I dunno," Dick looked around at the boys filing into the room. They were all tall and in their late teens. "This is where they told me to come." He pulled the paper out of his pocket and showed it to the kid.

"Yeah, you're in the right room." The kid shrugged. "I'm Chris MacArthur, family failure and general screwup. Who're you?"

"Dick Grayson," Dick replied and continued watching as the room filled. The kid's snicker made him sigh again.

"Hey, G.D.! Looks like we're in the same class," said one of the kids from the lunch table, sliding into the seat next to him.

"G.D.?" asked Chris. "I thought his name was Dick," he said and snickered again.

"Nah, Jeremy decided that 'cause he eats stuff nobody else likes we'll call him Garbage Disposal or G.D. for short," the new kid said. He had dark hair and dark eyes. "I'm Pete Sabatini. Thanks for eating my spinach for me. Can't stand the stuff but they got a clean-plate rule here." He eyed Dick. "What are you doing in this class? This is the advanced American History, not the junior level."

"I don't know," Dick said. "Um…it's one of my favorite classes back home. Test scores, maybe?"

Pete frowned briefly. "Could be. But just don't show any of us up or you'll make some enemies pretty fast."

"Okay," Dick said, shrinking down into his seat. He could almost feel the undercurrents running through the room.

"So, which cabin did they put you in?" Chris asked.

"Number four?" Dick said and watched as the boys traded meaningful looks.

"Shoulda known by the way he looks," Pete said. "No point in making friends with you, then. You won't be here very long."

Dick sat up straight. "You mean, they'll send me home soon?" he asked disingenuously.

"No, you'll 'run away'," Chris said bitterly. "You'll go where the other kids from Four go, wherever that is."

"What's wrong with the way I look?" Dick asked.

Chris and Pete exchanged looks again. "You've got a girly look to you, G.D. The kind they like. Blue eyes and dark hair and you're short. They aren't interested in big guys like us." Dick heard the unspoken 'Thank God' in their voices.

"A…friend…of mine goes to this school," Dick said carefully. "Rufus Garrett. I was wondering if you know him? I really want to find him and tell him I'm here too."

The two boys went silent as the class' teacher came in.

Dick sat through the rest of his school day and was a little surprised that anything was taught at all. He didn't find the classes very challenging but evidently many of the boys he shared the classrooms with did. He was always the youngest and smallest in any of his classes, clearly the more advanced level ones offered. He hadn't thought about much about what a good school Gotham academy must be, until he saw the level that the other boys here were at. He didn't like pretending to be dumb, but he'd already learned not to show up the other kids in class if he wanted to blend in.

The academic part of the day over, he followed the other students to the field. In the "locker room" he was given a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, which he put on, then headed out to the field. What the school called a 'field' was nothing more than a big patch of dirt with a path running around it. Harrison was there, in shorts, t-shirt and a whistle. Great. He was the coach. At his direction, Dick and the other boys began running around the field. And running. And running. Dick was still limping, so he trailed the pack and came in for the abuse Harrison had to dish out to the slow ones.

"C'mon, slowpoke! Pick it up! Pick it up! What are ya, a girl?" Harrison shouted at Dick. Dick tried to run faster but his leg wouldn't let him and his limp got worse the harder he worked it. Through the shouting, he could see a grin trying to break through. Harrison was enjoying this.

When one pudgy boy turned his ankle and stopped, Harrison stood over him, shouting until the boy was helped up by his friends and started moving again.

Dick tried to stay in the middle of the pack, avoiding any of the leaps, flips and handsprings with which he usually peppered his runs with Bruce. At the end of the run, he gratefully gimped after his fellow classmates to the showers.

In the locker room mirror he got his first glimpse of Harrison's handiwork. His legs and arms were covered with welts and the left side of his face had a big handprint, which marked where Harrison had slapped him. "Wow," Dick murmured, putting a hand on his jaw, which still hurt.

"Well, you're part of the club now, G.D.," said Chris, snapping him with a wet towel. "We all looked like that the first day. You get used to it. You get away, if you can."

Dick looked around and saw the array of bruises and welts on the bodies of the other boys. "Does this happen a lot?"

Chris shrugged and pulled his shirt on. "Less than when I was at home. I try not to stick out too much, or talk too much during group. I've got my own bed and the food's regular. I got no complaints."

Dick was pulling his clothing on and digesting this when he heard the dinner bell. The boys immediately took off running, although from the quality of the food, Dick couldn't understand why. He looked around the cafeteria and realized that all the tables were filling up except for the one supervised by Jeremy. That's why the boys ran so fast, to get a good table. He sighed and realized he'd be giving up most of his dinner.

He was one of the last in the cafeteria and got into line with his tray. As at lunch, there were four men behind the counter, slopping food into the trays or handing out cartons of milk or juice. Dick limped up the line and put his tray in front of a server. A red-haired man ducked his head when Dick stood before him and gave him a heaping serving of that night's stew. Dick gave him an absent thank you and moved on, missing the burning look in the man's blue eyes when he spotted the boy's limp and the marks on Dick's arms and face.


HAMILTON SCHOOL KITCHEN

AFTER DINNER CLEANUP

Sal, the cook, had had his doubts about the new guy as a cook's helper. Still, they guy worked hard, he had to admit. The guy, what was his name? Malone. Yeah, that was it. Anyway, Malone had peeled a pile of spuds that morning and, after a few false starts, had seemed to get the hang of it. He seemed to know his way around a knife, cutting carrots and vegetables for the stew with increasing skill. He washed dishes with thoroughness, but seemed a bit slow. Sal would have to work on that with him.

In fact, he'd worked so hard today that Sal put him on the serving line to give him a break before dish duty. To Sal's amazement, Malone strode over to the pile of dirty dishes and began scrubbing them almost maniacally.

"Hey, Malone!" Sal called. "Don't take the enamel off them things! We gotta use 'em tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll get 'em..." Malone muttered under his breath. "I'll get 'em all!"

"Yeah, I know you'll get to all the dishes, Malone 'cause that's your job! Just don't scrub 'em so hard, huh? They gotta last the school year!"

Malone turned blazing eyes to Sal, who immediately worried that the guy was gonna punch his lights out. Then Malone calmed. "Yeah, I'll take care, Sal. You won't haveta buy any new pans when I'm done with 'em. I'll be more careful." Malone laughed a little and was more gentle with the pans. What Sal didn't see was the cold, fixed look in Malone's blue eyes.