areyoukiddingmedude: haha, your girl is totes crushing on my girl! "Ooh, I'm Pamela. I'm feeling sparks!"
AmberZ10: Well your girl is super awkward in this chapter, so...
aykmd: YEAH SHE IS
AZ10: Is there a point to this? or...
aykmd: Nah, I just like doing them.
AZ10: ...
Harley slid into the empty seat and fumbled in her bag for a pen or a pencil or something, anything to hide her mortification at being late on the first day of school – and to avoid the chilly glare of the redhead sitting next to her.
She froze when Professor Gordon said, "Ms. Isley, I'm going to need you to share your syllabus with—I'm sorry, what's your name?"
"Harley," she mumbled, hoping that was the last time anyone would talk to her. But the professor went on, kindly, "How about your full name. For the chart?"
"Oh, right," said Harley with a nervous little laugh she instantly wished she could take back. "It's Harleen. Harleen Quinzel."
"Great," said the professor, marking her present. "Pamela, please share your syllabus with Ms. Quinzel."
Please let Pamela Isley be the girl behind me. Or the class guinea pig. Or . . . Professor Gordon's imaginary friend, Harley prayed silently. But – of course – there was an extremely put-upon sigh from her left as the frosty redhead slid a piece of paper over to her, harder than necessary, so that their fingers brushed.
Harley's eyes snapped up to see that the other girl was staring at her. Uh-oh, Harley thought. She just knew that the girl – Pamela – was scrutinizing her sloppy uniform, her cheap makeup, that she could see right through her as easily as if Harley wore a sign on her forehead that said SCHOLARSHIP KID.
But the look in Pamela's bright green eyes was more stunned than calculating, and she hadn't moved her hand yet. Even with that light touch, Harley swore she could feel how soft the other girl's skin was.
Then the professor started class, and Pamela jerked her hand back, facing front as if nothing had happened.
Harley leaned her cheek on her hand, a little flustered, and wished the day would just end already.
After class, she quickly gathered up her things so she could get out of the room before anyone else noticed her. She couldn't resist one quick glance back at Pamela, who was watching her for some reason. Harley wasn't sure how that made her feel.
She tossed a quick smile to Professor Gordon – Harley already knew this was going to be her favorite class – and hurried out to find . . . ugh, AP Biology.
/
Pamela watched Harley get up from her desk after the bell rang. She glanced back at Pam, but didn't say anything, just smiled at Professor Gordon and left.
"Hey!" Selina kicked the back of Pam's chair. "Let's go, we've only got 10 minutes and Bruce needs food. He's a growing boy."
The redhead scowled as she gathered her things, slipping the syllabus into her binder and filing it into her backpack. "I don't see how that's my problem."
"Oh, shush, Pammy. You don't have anything better to do." Selina chided, looping her arm around Bruce's.
"Than to watch your boyfriend eat? What a sad life that would be." Pam got up and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"Would you like it if I ate a banana? Real slow…" Bruce mocked.
"And indulge your homoerotic fantasies? I think not." Pamela had an uncanny ability to keep a straight face no matter what she was saying. "Last time I checked that was Dick Grayson's job."
"Ooh, burn, Pammy." Selina laughed, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. "She got you there, babe."
"Remind me why I hang out with you guys?" Bruce's good-natured expression was marred only slightly.
"Because we're sexy." Selina grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him into a kiss.
"Hey!" Professor Gordon shouted. "None of that in here. I will write you up."
"Yes, ma'am," Selina winked.
/
Harley found the AP Bio classroom relatively easily; she was starting to get the hang of the room numbering now.
She was the first student there – Harley supposed that her classmates were probably checking in with their horses' daycare providers, or possibly doing some light mergers & acquisitions during the break between classes.
The professor was sitting at his desk, fully engrossed in something on his computer. When Harley said, a bit haltingly, "Professor . . . Woodrue?" he jumped and quickly minimized the window, then turned to face her with an oily smile. He wore nerd glasses and had messy hair and kind of a pointy face. Harley supposed some people might find him attractive, but she thought he looked shifty.
"Hello," he said. "Yes, I'm Professor Woodrue." His gaze swept over her briefly as he stood up to come around to the front of his desk, where he leaned in an affected casual pose.
He held out a hand. "And you are . . .?"
"Harley Quinzel," she said automatically, shaking his hand. His palm felt unnaturally smooth, like he over-moisturized (who moisturizes their palms? Harley thought), and he held her hand just a second longer than appropriate, until Harley pulled her hand away and stammered something about finding a seat.
She hoped she was imagining his eyes on her as she walked to the back of the classroom.
/
The air outside the AP Biology classroom seemed fresher to Pamela somehow. She'd been admitted into the class Sophomore year, but her parents somehow knew the teacher in a professional capacity and Mr. Isley hadn't been fond of him, so Pamela waited. Just her luck, Gotham Prep hired a new one just in time for Pam's Junior year, and she was over the moon at his qualifications. Professor Jason Woodrue came to Gotham Prep immediately after a 5 year run at Cornell, which was Pamela's first choice school. She wondered- if she impressed him- if he'd put in a good word for her, maybe write a letter of recommendation.
Selina had Calculus this period with Processor Dent, and Bruce was with Diana at Ms. Kane's Physical Education. So Pamela was alone in this class, and she liked it better that way. No one to hold her back. She stepped into the classroom with her head held high. The sciences were her domain, even the other students knew that.
Unlike Professor Gordon, Professor Woodrue was sitting on his desk having a conversation with the boy Pam recognized as Edward Nygma. The professor's features took a moment for Pam to get used to. He was attractive, she supposed…but also dangerous somehow, all points and angles. His messy sandy blonde hair and round glasses gave him a sort of charming boyish appearance that Pamela found somewhat endearing.
She waited for a perceived break in the conversation before strutting up to the professor, pushing Nygma slightly, who didn't seem to mind. Actually, Nygma blushed at the brief contact.
"Professor Woodrue?" She attempted her greeting again, hoping for better luck this time. "I just wanted to introduce myself. Pamela Lillian Isley." She stuck her hand out.
Yes…He was far more susceptible to the pretty redhead's charms.
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Pamela." He grinned, his lips pulling back away from his teeth. "Congratulations on being accepted to AP Bio."
"I was actually accepted last year…when I was a Sophomore." Pamela wanted- no, needed- to set the record straight on that. She deserved to be here a year ago.
"So we've got a prodigy on our hands." Their hands- he was still holding her hand.
Pamela blushed, ending their handshake to shyly brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Well I—"
"Hi!"
Now there was a hand on Pamela's lower back. 'Nygma, you little creep', she thought as she whipped around to find…Harley. Harleen. Ms. Quinzel. The blonde from earlier.
"Remember me?" The girl asked, pulling Pamela away from the professor a bit.
"Y-yes, yes, I do." Pamela stuttered, somewhere between confused and uncomfortable.
"Pam, right?" She asked, her voice high and clear.
The redhead nodded. "Harleen, right?"
"Harley." The girl smiled, her lips stretching as wide as the professor's, but somehow less sinister…
"Perfect." Woodrue spoke up. "Isley and Quinzel?" He pointed to the girls belonging to the names. Both nodded in unison. "Looks like blondie here needs a tutor, and according to Principal Waller, you drew the short straw, Red."
"Pamela." She corrected.
"Pamela." He winked.
/
Harley tried to make herself invisible in the back of the AP Biology classroom – of all her classes at Gotham Prep, this was the one she was most worried about. She remembered that Principal Waller had said something about a tutor and wondered idly who it would be.
Students started filing in. Some of them stopped by and introduced themselves to Professor Woodrue, including that weird kid from the office – Eddie something? He waved eagerly to Harley before engaging Woodrue in conversation.
Harley recognized a couple other students, too – the girl with long dark hair from Gordon's AP Lit class slipped into a seat near her in the back and nodded at her silently.
And then – of course – Ms. Pamela Isley waltzed in, head held high like she owned the place. Harley held her breath, hoping that she'd sit near her and smile, hoping that she'd never speak to her again.
But Pamela zoomed right in on the Professor, literally pushing Eddie out of the way (rude) and turning on the charm for that creep Woodrue.
When he leered at her, using that same hand-holding move that he'd tried on Harley earlier, Harley was halfway down the aisle before she even realized she was moving. Some instinct she couldn't name told her to get up there and save the redhead, who didn't seem to have any idea that she even needed saving.
Think, Harley, she told herself. What's the game plan here?
Apparently, the game plan was to awkwardly put a hand on Pamela's lower back (her lower back, Harley?) and say the first amazingly clever thing that popped into her head: "Hi!"
Pamela whirled on her, green eyes flashing, and Harley actually took a little step back, pulling Pamela away from the professor a bit. "Remember me?" she said. God, Harley, words – remember words?
The tall redhead stuttered, "Y-yes, yes, I do."
"Pam, right?" Harley said. Probably should have called her Pamela, she thought nervously, but Pamela nodded. "Harleen, right?"
Harley flinched. She hated that name. "Harley," she said, easing into a smile now.
"Perfect," the professor interjected. "Isley and Quinzel?" Both girls nodded, and Woodrue smiled that greasy smile again. "Looks like blondie here needs a tutor, and according to Principal Waller, you drew the short straw, Red."
I'm going to kick him, Harley thought.
The redhead corrected the nickname: "Pamela."
"Pamela," Woodrue amended with a wink.
Right in the nuts, Harley thought.
But she didn't. She went straight to her seat in the back, avoiding Pamela's curious gaze, and did her best not to look at her again for the rest of class.
