A/N Surprise! And no one is more surprised than me. Everybody owes WhitStar a huge thank you. She wrote me a fabulous review, and when I came home from my Thanksgiving trip today and found it, I felt so inspired that I started typing and didn't stop until I had a chapter! It's a little shorter, but it's a whole lot better than nothing. So enjoy! I won't get review responses out for the last chapter because I have so much grading and academic writing that I have to do in the next three weeks, but please know that I read and appreciated each one. And please, please review this chapter! I promise you all another one as soon as I'm on break!

Disclaimer See Chapter 1.

Chapter 5

Beatrice: But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?
Benedick: Suffer love! A good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.

-Much Ado About Nothing

Richard's calm deserted him as his heart started pounding an uneven tattoo, and the stiffening left his bones so that he nearly slithered right out of his chair. Barbara's expression was bored as she sat flicking her pencil between her fingers. She had beautiful fingers, long and slender but strong as they deftly maneuvered the pencil end over end.

The smack of books being dropped to the desk on his other side abruptly brought Richard out of his haze, and he realized that he had been staring at Barbara Gordon's with his mouth open for heaven knew how long. Snapping his mouth shut, he forced his reluctant gaze back to his own desk, although he couldn't risk peeking about once every five seconds to make certain she was still there. The person on his right was still slamming books around, and a particularly loud snap of a cover finally caused Richard to glance over. When the petite blond saw him looking, she tossed her curls and winked. The effort made no impression on Richard, who merely looked at her blankly, and then sneaked another glance at Barbara. A particularly violent sounding slam came from the blond's desk, but before she could take any more definite course of action, a man with short, iron gray hair and a brisk stride came through the door.

"Seats!" he barked, and the clusters of gossiping students broke up as everyone dove for their desks.

Mr. Davis's method of taking attendance was as laconic as his calling the room to attention had been. "Applebaum! Baker! Brabon!" He fired the last names off like bullets, and each student shot back an equally snappy, "Here!" When he got to Gordon, Richard suddenly realized that the reason he was sitting next to beauty incarnate was because of his never-before-so-glorious last name. He was so busy blessing Bailey's alphabet fetish that he almost missed his own name, and stumbled out an "Uh, here," half a beat too late. The blond on his right giggled before calling out her own "Here" in response to "Irving!" but Barbara didn't glance his way, much to Richard's relief. He wanted her to look at him. He definitely wanted her to look at him, but not when his ears were burning with embarrassment.

Mr. Davis handed out the syllabi, a single sheet full of concise bullet points, and then stood in the front of the room, his back rigidly straight, hands clasped behind his back. "Class," he began, although Richard got the impression he would much rather have said "Troops." "Welcome to Life Skills. During this hour, you will be acquiring the knowledge and skills necessary to becoming a successful and independent adult. By the end of the semester each and every one of you will be able to balance a check book, create a realistic budget, find an apartment, finance car payments, start a stock portfolio, and understand the complexities of caring for an infant. It is my firm belief that the best way to learn how to do these things is practical application. Class work will be a series of projects mimicking real life situations, so that by the end of the semester you will have created a mock adult identity for yourself."

"Do we get mock adult IDs, too?" a voice from the back of the room asked.

Mr. Davis glared. "That might be funny, Mr. Zorello, if exactly the same comment hadn't been made every semester I've taught this class. If you have nothing to contribute to the general welfare, kindly shut up."

"Shutting up," the cheerful voice promised, and Mr. Davis shot him a cold glare before continuing.

"The due dates for each project are marked on the syllabus. You will be assigned a partner with whom you will work for the entire semester, and you will be expected to collaborate extensively outside of class. And before you start making eye contact with your best friend across the room, let me tell you that all partners will be assigned alphabetically."

A collective groan rose from the students, but Richard's heart leapt. Holding his breath, he quickly tried to figure out the number of students sitting before Barbara. Was it odd or even? He counted, and then counted again. It was even. But he didn't quite let himself believe it until Mr. Davis read out, "Elliott and Fisher. Gordon and Grayson." Rick couldn't stop the grin that stretched his mouth until it hurt. He turned toward Barbara and found that she was finally looking at him. She watched him expressionlessly, her lids drooping until her eyes were only a brilliant slit of green. Then she moved her gaze back to the front, the pencil twirling quicker than ever between her fingers.

It wasn't the most promising beginning, but Richard was flying too high to be daunted. His dazzled eyes saw before him endless study sessions in the glorious presence of those eyes and fingers and legs …

The last partners (Yancy and Zorello) assigned, Mr. Davis picked up his textbook, but before he could announce a page number, Irving's (Amanda's) hand was waving wildly in the air. "Mr. Davis!"

"What is it, Irving?" he snapped.

"Don't you think Grayson and I should work together since we're the only sophomores in the class? I mean, it's not really fair to saddle the seniors with underclassmen partners."

Richard's head snapped around and he gaped at her in horror. What was she doing? Why was she smiling at him as though this were the best idea in the world?

Mr. Davis tucked his book beneath his arm with as much precision as if it had been a rifle. "I don't hear them complaining. Gordon, do you have a problem with your partner?"

Richard held his breath.

Barbara glanced up. "No problem," she said evenly, before returning her attention to her pencil. Rick exhaled until he felt as deflated as a popped balloon. Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, cool and smooth and low.

"Michelin? Any problem?" Mr. Davis asked Amanda's partner.

She shrugged. "Whatever."

"But …"

Mr. Davis slammed shut the book he had begun to open with a crack that made half the class jump. "Miss Irving, unless you have something to contribute to the general welfare, kindly shut up."

Amanda subsided into sulky silence, and Mr. Davis spent the rest of class lecturing on the rather tedious introduction to the textbook. When the bell rang, Rick took his time putting his book back into his bag, watching Barbara out of the corner of his eye. Should he speak? They should at least acknowledge their new academic relationship, shouldn't they?

Barbara stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. Now or never, Rick thought, bent over his own bag, but before he could open his mouth the low tone said, "Grayson."

Richard straightened up so fast he was in danger of whiplash. "Hey partner. Rick comes before the Grayson." He hoped that was cool and not stupid and that he wasn't smiling too widely.

She wasn't giving him a smile of any width in return, and her eyes were like green ice as she said, "I have a four point, and I plan on getting a full ride to the college of my choice. You will not screw that up." Turning on her heel, she walked away.

"No problem," Richard said under his breath, simultaneously vowing to be the best partner ever and wishing she had given him just the slightest hint that she didn't regard him as lower than gum stuck to her shoe.

"Hey, Rick," a breathy voice said next to his ear, and he turned in annoyance to find Amanda Irving staring at him through soulful blue eyes. "I can't believe Mr. Davis is so pokey," she complained. "I know we would have been perfect partners."

"He's the teacher," Rick said briefly, standing and swinging his bag to his shoulder.

"I know, but he's so unreasonable. What's your next class? Do you need help finding it? Maybe we're in the same one."

"It's just gym, and I know where it is. Thanks," he added insincerely. Whatever feeling he had toward Amanda Irving was the opposite of gratitude.

Her full lips pouted. "Too bad. We have history together, did you see me? There's two H's between us. I tried to talk to you, but you left too quickly with Haliburton. He is the school's biggest nerd, and that's saying something because Bailey has a lot of nerds." She rolled her eyes dramatically.

"I'd better go so I can change for gym," Rick hastily inserted before she could launch into another sentence. "I'll see you in history." He shot out of the classroom, forcing Amanda to call her goodbye at his retreating back.

The gym uniform was a set of basketball shorts and a tank-style t-shirt in the same blue and scarlet as his tie. Richard was tying his sneakers in the locker room when Hal plunked down on the bench beside him, looking decidedly out of place in his athletic wear. "How were your classes?" he asked cheerfully, fastening a security strap to his glasses.

"Fine," Rick answered, affecting a casual tone. "Guess who my Life Skills partner is?"

Hal looked blank until Richard's grin escaped his control. Astonishment covered the other boy's face. "Not the one and only daughter of our esteemed police chief?"

"You got it." Rick stood and bounced on his toes, testing out his new tennis shoes. "Alphabetically, we're a match."

"Sweet!" Hal offered his palm, and Rick slapped him a high five. "Uh oh." Hal's grin faded and he whispered, "Don't look now, but here comes the reason it doesn't matter if you're her partner for every class."

Ignoring the hissed instruction, Richard looked across the room where a guy had just pushed through the door. He was tall, at least six feet, and a wave of tawny hair tumbled over his forehead, emphasizing his chiseled features, slightly tan despite the deep winter. He walked with a casual arrogance, as though he owned the ground he stepped on, and even before he pulled off his undershirt to change into the uniform, it was obvious that he was serious about working out.

Hal was moaning. "I can't believe we have to share the gym with the seniors again."

"Who is he?" Rick asked, with a sinking feeling that he already knew.

"Trevor Wren, otherwise known as The Tren, The Train, the Unstoppable Force, and Barbara Gordon's longtime boyfriend."

"How longtime?" Richard muttered, an unfamiliar sickness twisting his stomach.

"Two years."

The sick knot evolved into a surge of unexpected fury. I can take you, pretty boy. Give me one chance and I'll kick your ass so far your mama will put missing notices on milk cartons.

"Hey, Rick," Hal whispered nervously, tugging on his friend's jersey. "Stop looking like you want to kill him, would you? That guy could eat you for lunch and still have room for dessert."

Rick opened his mouth for a sharp correction, when Bruce's voice echoed in his head, No showing off … "In gym or anywhere else," Richard finished out loud, his stomach undergoing another abrupt transformation into a lump of misery.

"That's right," Hal agreed, misinterpreting the half statement as a sign of good sense. "He'll beat you in gym, and he'll beat you everywhere else too, if he even suspects you're going within two feet of Barbara thinking what you're thinking. He's insanely protective – not that she ever looks at anyone else anyway."

Rick heard only half of this informative speech. He was too busy cursing the fact that he was about to enter the gym and let Trevor Wren show him up in everything.

It wasn't as bad as it might have been. There were stations set up around the four court gym – rope, vaulting horse, chin-up bar, tumbling mats – and the sophomore and seniors were split into two groups each and rotated activities, so that only group members became familiar with any one person's overall performance. An assistant coach stood by each station, recording results, while the head coach, Bryant, strode from group to group, offering liberal criticism.

"I don't know why they think I might be better at climbing now than I was at the end of last semester," Hal grumbled as they stood in their alphabetical line, waiting for their turn on the rope. "Like I didn't have better things to do over break."

The boy in front of him touched the knot at the top and slid back down. The assistant coach nodded approvingly, and Hal trudged out and wearily wrapped his hands around the rope, screwing his face up, he managed four arm lengths before his grip gave out and he landed hard on the floor. The assistant coach looked resigned. "Gratchison, two meters," he muttered, scribbling on his clipboard. "Next."

Richard took hold of the rope uncertainly. Not showing off didn't mean he had screw everything up, did it? He slowly pulled himself up, trying to make it look as though he were exerting a supreme effort to achieve his inching progress. Finally at the top, he rested his hands on the knot and gazed around the gym, involuntarily seeking out The Tren. Stupid nickname, he thought contemptuously, as his eyes lighted on a tall, muscular figure, poised at the head of a line. Trevor sprinted forward, hit the springboard with a thud that echoed around the gym, and executed a perfect handstand over the horse. Show off, creepy little …

"Grayson! Have you gone to sleep or are you scared of heights?" a voice bellowed from below. "Get your butt down, now!"

Sending a last, venomous glare in The Tren's direction, Rick scrambled awkwardly down the rope and meekly accepted Coach Bryant's very loud reminder that this was not a ladies' tea society.

Showered and back in his uniform, Richard trudged toward his locker, trying to remember the last time he had felt so exhausted. Tracking criminals was nothing compared to going to school, he decided, shrugging into his coat and slamming his locker shut. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on the library sofa and take a nap, after one of Alfred's sandwiches (the cafeteria lunch had been less than satisfactory).

"Rick, our lockers are on the same hall," a voice squealed, and Amanda Irving was suddenly standing so close that her bag brushed against his arm.

"Small school," he said unenthusiastically, starting for the front exit.

"How was gym? I bet you did great."

"So so, I guess," Rick muttered, wondering why she would not leave him alone.

Amanda lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Tell me, what's it like living with Bruce Wayne?"

"What do you mean?" he demanded, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

"Oh you know. He's always doing something notorious. And he dates all those models. Do they ever try to flirt with you?"

"No," Rick gritted, thrusting open the door to let a welcome blast of cold air hit his face.

"Well that's good. It gives the normal girls at this school a …" A barrage of flashes buried the end of Amanda's comment. She shrieked and clutched Rick's arm.

Great, just great, Rick thought bitterly as a host of reporters hurled questions at him. "How'd you like your first day of school, Richard?" "I like the new look, Richard." "Hey, Richard, who's your pretty friend?" Amanda was giggling and Rick was ready to strangle the nearest photographer with his own camera strap, when the loud blast of a horn signaled the presence of the Aston Martin at the curb.

"That's my ride!" he shouted, shook free of Amanda's arm, and bolted for the street, bulldozing through three grinning reporters. He dove into the car, and Bruce peeled away from the curb before the door latch had even clicked.

Rick fastened his seatbelt and leaned against the headrest with a groan. "Are they going to do that every day?"

"They'll get bored after a couple of days."

"Super," Rick muttered.

Bruce cast him a sideways glance. "How was school?"

"It was all right, I guess."

"Any problems?"

Richard thought about Barbara and The Tren, Silly Amanda, and the accusation of cheating in math class and found that he didn't know how to explain any of it. "No," he said quietly. "No problems."

To Be Continued

A/N Thanks for reading! Please review!