Now for the next riveting installment...

Dick waited around a while after school, but no one came to challenge his claims about the circus and he was glad. He knew from his attempts in Harriet's back yard that he was very much out of practice. He could still turn a cartwheel, but so could most kids his age. He could manage a few chin-ups, but hoisting himself up above the bar with arm strength alone took all the wind out of him and he had to rest before attempting anything else. His dismount from the monkey bars had been a conservative skin-the-cat with a landing that wasn't as steady as it should have been. He didn't attempt a hand stand, but he was sure he wouldn't have been able to hold it for long.

I used to be able to walk around on my hands... swing on a trapeze and somersault through the air... A year out of the business and I'm almost as useless as a spectator. I need to fix this.

On the drive home, he told Harriet about his classes and that he hoped he had made some acquaintances that could become friendships, but he left out the confrontation with Jim. It wasn't until they sat down to dinner that she noticed anything wrong.

"Why, what happened to your face?"

"My face?" Dick asked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"It looks swollen—under your left eye."

"Oh..." He felt the area gingerly. "I forgot. I was almost late for a class, so I was in a hurry and the door was closed when I got there. I pulled it open too fast and ended up hitting myself in the face." It was a good story. He almost had himself convinced.

"Oh, dear. Does it hurt?"

"Not really. Only when I touch it."

"Well, I'll fix you a cold compress after dinner to see if we can get the swelling down."

"OK. That's probably a good idea."

"Do you have homework for tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I'll get right on it. It shouldn't take long, though."

"The Riddler left me two riddles at the hostage location," Batman told Commissioner Gordon. "The answers were 'bat' and 'death.' It's clear his current plan is to kill me."

"I see... well, thanks for your help. We'll let you know if you can do anything else..."

"That's my line. He's issued me a death threat. This means he needs me out of the way before he can get back to his original idea, and that's good news. It means that for now you don't have to worry about him trying to kidnap anyone."

"I guess you're right..."

"It also means that I can play his game and use it to lure him out in the open."

"Are you sure you want to do that? We still have no idea just how dangerous this guy is. All we know for sure is that he's kind of cuckoo."

"We don't have much choice. I'll keep you posted on my movements when I can."

Gordon drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "OK," he said at last. "You let me know what I can do to help."

"You'll hear from me."

Bruce disconnected the call and disengaged his anti-tracer. Then he looked up at Alfred hovering in the doorway.

"Your call on the land line, sir—it's Missus Cooper."

Bruce frowned. Dick had already made his check-in call. Maybe something was wrong. "All right. I'll take it in here." He picked up the little-used handset from his desk. "Bruce Wayne speaking."

"Hello, Bruce. This is Harriet Cooper."

"Good evening, Missus Cooper. Is everything all right?"

"Well, I think so, but I thought I should mention something to you. During dinner I noticed that Dick seemed to have some swelling under his left eye. He told me that in his hurry to get to a class today, he hit himself opening a door, and maybe he did, but... Well, I like to think the best of my nephew, but I'm not a simpleton."

"Running into a door is the oldest excuse in the book," Bruce agreed, "though he was smart not to word it that way."

"You think I'm right, then—he has been in a fight?"

"Maybe. But the first day at a new school is always a little rough. It doesn't mean he's in serious trouble."

"If someone hit him and he's lying about it... you don't call that serious trouble?"

Bruce sometimes forgot that ordinary people didn't sustain injuries and tell lies on a regular basis. "I'm not saying it's a good thing. But there's a sort of code among teenagers: you don't get adults involved in your disagreements if you can help it. I'm glad you told me about this, but I think we should give Dick a chance to work it out on his own."

"Maybe you're right, but I do worry about him. He's a grade ahead and a bit small for his age. Most of his classmates are bound to be bigger than he is."

"All the more reason to think he'll handle things diplomatically and try to avoid any more trouble."

"I suppose so. Well, I won't say anything to him about it, but..."

"If anything else happens, please let me know and we'll discuss how to handle it."

"All right. Thank you, Bruce. I think we both have Dick's best interests at heart. If we collaborate, I'm sure everything will work out."

"That's right. Good night, Missus Cooper."

Alfred replaced the phone for Bruce, even though the charger was within easy reach. "Is Master Dick in a spot of trouble, sir?"

"I don't think so," Bruce answered. "His aunt wants to shelter him, but she's going to have to get him a tutor if she wants him to avoid trouble completely. School hazing is an old and illustrious tradition."

"That it is, sir," Alfred acknowledged.

"I'm a little surprised that he lied to his aunt about it, but I'm kind of impressed that the principal hasn't found out. If he had, we'd have gotten a call from the school after it happened."

"True. If any part of the incident is his own fault, he was persuasive enough to prevent anyone ratting him out. And if he won the fight, he did it discreetly enough so no adults noticed it going on. The boy might have some mettle."

"Maybe so, but I've got much more important things to worry about right now. Like the man who's trying to kill me."

"Fair point, sir."

School went a little more smoothly the second day. Dick did his best to stay out of Jim's way and make a few more alliances. One boy, George, was also a sophomore new to Woodrow Roosevelt that year, and he was sympathetic to Dick's predicament.

"I'm just starting to fit in myself," George said. "I think I'm gonna try out for some sports. That would help me get to know some of the guys, and maybe make me more popular with the girls. Basketball tryouts are tomorrow. Want to come along?"

Dick smiled ruefully. "You see how tall I am? I don't think basketball is something I'd take to very naturally."

"Sometimes it's good to have a smaller player that can duck around people. You never know."

"Well, I'll think about it. I guess it might not hurt to try out."

"Right. And if you don't take to basketball, they've got soccer and baseball tryouts next week."

"Do they have any wrestling or kickboxing or gymnastics?"

"Gymnastics? I wouldn't say that too loud. I know you were in the circus, but you gotta earn yourself a reputation around here before you can talk about stuff like that without getting mocked, you know?"

"I'll take it under advisement. How about the other stuff?"

"I think I saw a signup sheet for kickboxing, but it's not a regular activity."

"What does that mean?"

"It means if only a couple people sign up, they don't do it."

"How many would it take?"

"I don't know. Let's check it out after lunch."

Along with basketball and kickboxing, there were signup sheets for baseball, soccer and cheer leading tryouts on the bulletin board.

"We should watch those," George said with a wink.

"You don't want to try out?"

"Are you totally off your nut? Guys don't try out for cheer leading! Not at Woodrow Roosevelt, anyway. You don't wanna wear a skirt and wave pompoms, do you?"

"No, but there's more to cheer leading than that. We had a tumbler in the circus that could get a cheer out of stale bunch of senior citizens. No matter how tough the crowd was, he always got the mood up."

"Well... kinda like gymnastics, I think that's something you should keep to yourself for a while. Like, maybe the next two years."

Dick laughed and shook his head. "Hey, the kickboxing sheet says 'Minimum eight participants.' No one's signed up yet."

"You boys interested in the kickboxing?" asked a voice behind them.

"Yes, sir." Dick looked up to see one of his teachers, Mr. Syun.

"I hope you're not the only ones," Syun said. "Last year we didn't get enough signups."

"Are you the instructor?" asked George.

"That's right—or I will be if you and six others want me to be," he said, smiling.

"So... you're smart and you can fight? That doesn't seem fair."

Syun laughed. "If life were like American movies, it would not only be fair, it would be expected. I'm second-generation Chinese, I teach algebra, and hand-to-hand combat is my hobby."

"You have a point, Mister Syun."

"Why don't people want to do kickboxing?" asked Dick.

"Oh, for a long time Woodrow Roosevelt had a very... shall we say pacifist school board? They were afraid that any sort of fighting presented the wrong image. I managed to convince them that letting kids bop each other in a controlled setting would actually decrease fighting in school, but people are reluctant to try it, especially since no one's done it before. There's no proud history here, you know?"

"Well, I don't mind being the first to do something new, and I don't really have any reputation to lose at this point. It's getting more people involved that I'm worried about. When would we practice?"

"They've got me penciled in for Wednesday afternoons. We'd use the lower court in the gym while the cheer leading squad has a practice in the upper court."

"Say, that could be a selling point," said George. "The guys love watching the girls."

"There are two problems with that," Syun answered. "First, I'd rather not have students who won't be paying attention, and second, it's the same situation for basketball on Mondays. I think more of your girl-watching friends will be attracted to that sport."

Dick dropped his right fist into his left hand determinedly. "There's got to be some way we can get them interested. How soon do you have to have your eight names?"

"A week from yesterday."

"I don't know, Dick... six days to find seven people," George said.

"Seven?" said Dick. "You're in this with me, aren't you?"

"Me? I don't know anything about fighting!"

"Neither will anyone else—that's what the lessons are for."

"Well... I guess I could try it."

"Atta boy. We'll do our best to find six more, Mister Syun."

"Great," said Syun. "Good luck."

Neither Dick nor George had persuaded anyone else to sign up for kickboxing by the time school let out, but a couple had said they would think about it.

"If you do get a team together, we'll cheer you on," Suzy told Dick as they stood outside waiting for their rides.

"A team for what?" asked Barb, coming up behind them.

"Dick wants to do kickboxing," Suzy announced.

"Really? I didn't realize Mister Syun was trying that again this year."

"Yeah," said Dick. "I don't know if we'll have enough people, though. Are you doing any sports?"

"I thought I might try out for softball."

"You should do cheer leading with me," Suzy said enthusiastically.

"I don't know... I don't want to be that stereotypical blonde cheerleader."

"You've got too much brains for that," Dick told her.

Barb smiled. "Yeah, maybe. But you barely know me, so you're just trying to flatter me."

Dick looked away, embarrassed. "OK, you caught me."

"You know what I'd really like? A gymnastics team."

Forgetting his embarrassment, Dick exclaimed, "That's what I was telling George earlier."

"They'll never go for it," said Suzy. "Too dangerous. 'Row-Ro is way too conservative."

"'Row-Ro?"

"Woodrow Roosevelt," Barb interpreted.

Jim drove up then in his beat up convertible. "Hey, Barb! Wanna go for ice cream?"

"Sounds good," Barb called back to him. "See you tomorrow, Dick."

"OK. Hey," he added quickly, "see if you can get Jim interested in kickboxing."

Barb raised her eyebrows. "You want him to knock your block off again? But have permission this time?"

"Better in a ring with a teacher on hand than somewhere else."

"I guess..."

"Just try, OK? I get the feeling we're gonna be desperate by Wednesday."

Jim honked his horn. "You coming?"

"Yes, I'll be right there." Barb's tone was annoyed. She turned back to Dick. "If you're sure, I'll give it a shot. Hate for him to mess up your face, though. You've got a nice face."

"Thanks. I mean thanks for trying."

"No prob. See ya."

Things are looking up for Dick's academic career. But just wait—more adversity and adventures await our heroes next time!