The next morning, Marie walked to the academy bright and early, as she did every day, with her headphones in and her only comrade from her home street by her side. She stared blankly forward, her mind in a morning fuzz as the music playing in her ears slowly woke her up more and more, each song's tempo rising a bit as the play list continued. Music was her way of escape from everything, and it usually decided what mood she would be in each day. If her player wasn't charged or she forgot it at home, she would not be feeling too cheerful until her means of listening to her many melodies was returned to her. Her MP3 was filled with a cornucopia of genres to listen to, from the oldest of classical music to the newest of rock and roll. She couldn't choose a favorite, believing that each genre had its own wonderful mixture of talent and sounds to provide her, and she often loved to lose herself in the melodies as they drifted into her ears through her headphones. And now she was enjoying a pleasant, mind-numbing stroll to school with Bob Seger playing, keeping her calm and relaxed.

A hand suddenly appearing in front of her face caused her to blink and return to reality. Her friend, an eleven year old boy with shaggy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, waved his hand in front of her to grasp her attention. She removed her headphones and looked down to him questioningly.

"What is it, Thomas?" she asked. Thomas pointed to their left, and Marie looked to see they were in front of the academy gates.

"You're real out of it today, aren't ya?" he asked. "We passed the entrance and everythin'." He flicked at her headphone cord. "That fancy-shmancy music player you got there makes you all out of sorts. You probly wouldn't notice a truck racin' at ya..." Marie stuck her tongue out at him and wrapped the headphones around her MP3 before putting it away in her jacket pocket.

"Jealousy much, Tommy?" she asked. He crossed his arms and sniffed at the sound of her nickname for him. He much preferred being called by his proper name.

"Nah. Don't need nuthin' all techy like that to enjoy myself. I go outside." he eyed her uniform. "Bet ya can't climb a tree in that get-up." he smirked, and patted his hand-me-down clothes that were a tad bit too big on his small frame. "I can climb trees all day in this."

"You can also go to school in that and learn something." Marie said. He huffed.

"School's for smart people. I can be dumb and still be a mechanic." he said, and smiled wide as he thought of himself in a coverall outfit covered in oil. "Can't wait." he said, and pointed to the academy. "You guys can keep your degrees and your PhD's and whatever you get. I'm gonna live practical. Dad's teachin' me everything I need to be a real professional, and one day I'll have my own shop." Marie smiled at his expression of his ambition. Sometimes she forgot that he was only eleven, the way he talked sometimes about owning his own mechanic shop. He picked up a small twig and ran it over the spokes of the gate, making a click-click-click noise as he went. "So..." he said as he

continued. "It's Friday, right?" he said, and she rolled her eyes. Every week he asked the same question.

"Yes, I'll be able to hang out this weekend with you." she said.

"No homework?" he asked.

"No homework."

"Good." he said, flashing a small smile before straightening up and feigning indifference. "Not that I really care or anything..." he muttered, and turned to head back for home. "See you later, smarty-pants." he called before beginning to run, still smacking his twig over the spokes as he went. Marie smirked at him as he rounded the corner and out of sight before heading onto the grounds of the academy.

Once through the gates, she kept her gaze down at the rich green lawn, not allowing herself to make eye-contact with anyone. To the students of the academy, she was considered a street rat, who was unworthy of breathing the same air as them because of her low social status and funds, and she was often called names as she passed some particularly rude classmates. People avoided her in the hallways, giving her a wide berth as she walked, which only pointed out further how alone in this school she was. She could handle this, though, and didn't mind at all the space she was given from them. She could ignore the jeers, the snide comments, so long as they never actually went up to her and shoved her, and why would they do that? They'd only dirty their rich hands on her commoner's skin. Yes, it was relatively simple to survive in a rich person's world. All she had to do was keep to herself, and she was always just fine at the end of the day. That was how it was every day since first coming here.

At least, until today.

As Marie neared the building that lead to her homeroom class, she was blocked by a girl with incredibly blonde hair and large brown eyes. Her skin would have been lovely had it not been caked in make-up, and Marie noticed her uniform skirt was much shorter than standards allowed. She must have had it tailored to her liking. Marie looked back up to the girl's face. She couldn't recognize her. She must have been new.

The girl smacked some gum as she regarded Marie, and sneered.

"So you're the poor girl, hum?" she asked, her voice nasally. Marie nodded robotically.

"That's me." she said. "And you are?"

"Sandra Keuling. The pleasure is yours, I'm sure." she said. Marie fought to keep her eyes from rolling to the back of her head.

"Yeah...all mine. If you'll excuse me, I need to get to class." Marie said, and attempted to walk around the girl, but Sandra held her arm up.

"I'm not done talking, poor girl." she said. "How rude. But you wouldn't know much about manners, would you?" she said.

"My lack of proper funds doesn't indicate whether or not I have manners." Marie muttered.

"Look at you, talking all smart." Sandra said, and Marie blinked at the girl's dullness. "They say that's how you got in here in the first place, not that you could have gotten in any other way."

"Do you need something from me?" Marie asked, her irritation growing steadily higher.

"I'm here to make an offer." Sandra said. Marie frowned. She wasn't expecting that.

"What kind of offer?" she aked with suspicion.

"Stop interrupting and I'll tell you..." Sandra said, sounding offended and even irritated with Marie, who gave it her all to not slap the bitch and walk away. "I would like to offer you money, which you will of course work for. I'll pay you four hundred dollars every Friday if you simply do my homework and make sure my grades stay in the A-B area. You can start today after school. I'll meet you at the gate, sound good?"

"No." Marie said flatly, and watched amusedly as Sandra's face twisted into something which showed that answer was not the one she was expecting.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"I said, no. N-O. That's it." Marie said. "You honestly believe that because I'm poor I'll jump at anything that'll make me a scrap of cash? I'm not some beggar-child looking for a dime. I'm a student looking for an education. I don't need your money. Do your own homework."

"You think you can speak to me like that?" Sandra said, astonished by Marie's tone.

"And what exactly makes you better than me?" Marie asked. "I got in here because the representatives of this school noticed my academic talents. You got in here because your daddy's wallet is full. The only difference between you and me is I earned my way into this school. All you have is a fat mouth and a Coach bag. I'd choose my brain over that any day." by that time, people had stopped walking by and stood around the two girls, dumbstruck as they heard Marie the Poor Girl talk down to one of them. They all looked to Sandra, her face contorted in rage and shock at Marie's harsh words. She'd never even been spoken to like that by her own family, especially not by some street girl. She clicked her finely manicured fingernails as she seethed.

"You called me dumb. I could make your life very difficult here, street rat..." she hissed.

"And I could rip out those extensions." Marie said, eyeing her blonde hair. "I hear those are pretty expensive."

"You wouldn't dare.." Sandra stepped forward, her black heels clicking on the sidewalk until she was inches from Marie. The heels added at least three inches, and Marie had to look up to see Sandra's livid face. She crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"I dunno. We street rats can be pretty wild. Watch out. I might have rabies." she said, and gave the creepiest smile she could muster, snickering when Sandra took an uncertain step backward. At that, Marie believed she had won the small battle of words, but Sandra sadly mustered some stubborn courage and stapped closer to Marie than before.

"You're a freak!" Sandra said, poking her hard in the arm. "A disrespectful freak!" A sudden fire sparked in Marie's eyes, and Sandra noticed it, a small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she shouldn't have done that. Marie felt her hand clench into a fist then, and knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from punching Sandra. She began to raise her arm, but a hand quickly reached out and brought it back down again. Her hateful glare shot over to see Timothy Wayne holding her arm down, a small smile of reassurance written on his face as he looked back at her.

"Hey." he said, looking over to Sandra. "Let's not fight, alright? It's Friday, the weekend is coming up. Let's try to just get along through the day, 'kay?" he said. Sandra looked flustered as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear shyly.

"Y-yeah, okay Timmy." she said, but pointed at Marie. "Just watch it next time you talk to me. You're lucky Tim Wayne is so nice to you people." she walked away then, adding a little more sway to her step, something Marie believed she'd done to please the Wayne kid, who she noticed was still holding her arm. She shook him loose and folded her arms over her chest, staring angrily at the ground.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked. She nodded once, but said nothing. He smiled.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Some people are just hard to get along with." he said. Marie nodded again, glancing at him. He seemed kind of nice."I mean," he went on, "...it must be especially hard for you, being so different from the rest of us-"

"What?" she asked, interrupting him. He held his hands up.

"I didn't mean any offence-"

"You said the 'rest of us'." she said in disbelief. "Really?" her anger was rising again. "I remember you, Timothy Wayne." she said, pointing at him. "Or should I say Timothy Drake? We went to the same damn little shit middle school out by the Narrows when we were kids. You sat in the same run-down classroom as I did, reading the same torn-up school books as me!" his mouth dropped open then, caught completely by surprise by her comment. "One day you just happened to go missing, and the next week we see your smug face plastered on the front of the Gotham Times, 'New Member of the Wayne Family' written in bold ink. You must of felt pretty damn good about yourself, huh?" she said. "And now, here you are, with your tailored uniform and slicked back hair, not a care in the world, talking like you were always upper class, acting like you never woke up one morning wondering if your old man is still out with his drinking buddies or lying in a ditch somewhere in his own vomit." Tim's eyes darkened then, and Marie wondered if she went to far talking about his father like that. In the Narrows, everyone knew Tim's father, either through rumor or personal acquaintance. He was a gambler, a thief, and known to often go missing for weeks on some errand for bad people. Needless to say, he was also known for his lack of parenting, and people often wondered if Tim would follow his footsteps. But the sudden adoption by the richest man alive drove them to surprise, and even relief. Marie suspected that he held a grudge against his father, and didn't enjoy speaking about him, but she shook it off. She was too irritated with these people today to really care about what they thought.

"That was uncalled for..." he muttered.

"Then next time, remember where you came from before talking down to me so freely. Now if you'll excuse me, your crowd has nearly made me late for class. Unlike all of you, I have to work to stay in this school." she said, and shoved by him to finally reach the building and open the door, slamming it behind her as soon as she entered.

Tim flinched a little at the sound of the door slamming, and frowned at the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets. Her verbal blows hit pretty low under the belt, an he couldn't help feeling wounded. Had she really attended class with him? He couldn't recall. In truth, he never liked to remember his life before the one he lived now. He remembered her words. 'Remember where you came from before talking down to me'. Had he really talked down to her? Thinking back, he remembered being in a similar situation, thinking all rich people were cruel as he watched them pass him in their diamonds and furs, not paying him a second glance as they strolled on the streets to their dinner reservations while he planned to steal his next meal.

"Whoah, that's an intense stare, Tim." one of his friends said, walking up to him and noticing his hard gaze at the cement. "Trying to burn a hole into the sidewalk or something?" he asked. Tim looked up to him and forced a smile.

"Nah, I was just thinking about that Booker girl." he said. His friend quirked a brow.

"The poor chick?" he asked, and scoffed. "I saw you talking to her. Was she being a bitch? She seems like one." Tim's jaw set at the comment.

"No, it's not that-"

"Then what'cha worrying about?" he asked. "If she said something to you, then she's just jealous that she doesn't have any friends. Let her bitch all she wants. It's not like her opinion matters anyway." he said. Tim blinked, and looked directly at this guy talking to him. Did he really hang out with these people? Was this what Marie saw when she looked at him? What was this guy's name again?

"I'm...gonna go..." he muttered, beginning to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?!" his friend called.

"Somewhere where I can seriously reevaluate my life..."

...

The next Monday, Marie was leaving school moments after the bell rang. Her headphones were already in her ears, and she was deciding what she would listen to on her way home, when a black limo pulled over next to her. She stopped, and watched the back window roll down to reveal Tim Wayne's face smiling at her from behind a pair of RayBan sunglasses.

"Need a ride home?" he asked. She knitted her eyebrows together and shook her head.

"No. I'm perfectly fine walking, thanks." she said bitterly. Tim nodded, ignoring her tone.

"Fine, then I'll walk you." he said, moving to get out of the car.

"No." Marie said before he could open his door. "I don't want your company, either." she said.

"That's something you'll need to get over." Tim said. "Either way, I'm taking you home." he grinned at her frown.

"Then I hope you like knuckle sandwiches..." she muttered.

"Love 'em." he said. Her silence was all that was needed to express her agitation, and he sighed. "Look, if you let me give you a ride home, then you'll just have to spend a few minutes with me. If we walk, then it's at least half an hour. Which sounds better?" he asked.

"You're serious..." she said, almost amused at his boldness.

"As the Riddler is with his puzzles." Tim said. Marie cocked her head to the side at the odd use of simile, but finally huffed and opened the door to the limo. Tim slid over to give her space, and she climbed in. "Alfred knows mostly where to go." Tim said when the limo moved forward. "But you might need to help us later on with directions."

"That's fine." she said, buckling her seatbelt. "What's the point of this?" she asked. "Picking up someone like me in your fancy limo right in front of school is sure to damage your reputation..." Tim pushed the comment aside and gave a small smile.

"I thought about what you said Friday. You were right, so I thought I'd make it up to you."

"Oh, so you felt sorry for me." she mused. "That'll be a good excuse when you explain yourself tomorrow." she said. "Don't worry, I forgive you. Tomorrow you won't have to do me any favors. You can go back to your clique of rich-boys as soon as I'm dropped o-"

"You wanna study together sometime?" Tim asked, interrupting her and taking her completely off guard. Her eyes widened.

"Wh-what?" she asked.

"I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime." Tim repeated. "You can come to my place and have dinner with me and Bruce and Alfred. It'll be fun." Marie's blinking became rapid as she tried to process this. What the hell was this kid trying at? Was this going to end like that Carrie movie, or something?

"Now I don't know whether or not you feel sorry for me or are trying to get into my pants..." she said, and Tim burst out laughing. Up front, the one called Alfred harrumphed at her comment.

"I don't feel sorry for you, and I'm definitely not trying to do the other thing." Tim said. "I'm just trying to be friendly. I'd like for us to be friends. Honest. After our conversation, I took a hard look at the people I associated with, and thought 'wow, I know a lot of pricks', y'know?" he said. "I used to throw rocks at people like them and run away back when I was a kid."

"I still do, time to time..." Marie joked before she could stop herself. Tim smiled.

"So, yeah?" he asked. Marie shrugged.

"I guess so..." she said. "You got one chance to prove you're not a complete ass, no pressure."

"None at all." he said. "How about tomorrow?" he asked. Marie stopped, and shook her head.

"No, not tomorrow." she said warily. "I...have somewhere to be. How about Thursday? That'll give me time to calm my mother down about finally going to a friends house." she said.

"So we're friends now?" Tim asked, grinning. Marie smirked.

"Don't push it..."

...

The next night, Marie walked down an old street, the hood of her jacket up over her head to hide her face. The Narrows wasn't a good place to have your face seen by anyone. Every few minutes, she turned to see if anyone was following her. She only ever saw a few drunks this time around. Maybe it would be an easy night. She didn't dare get her hopes up...

Once she reached her destination, she looked up at the condemned apartment building. Rotting boards covered or hung from the windows, and weeds and moss grew high against the old brick walls. The entrance door was kicked in. Marie rolled her eyes. The people she worked with were never subtle.

She carefully stepped in and looked around. A dim light shined from the kitchen area, and Marie heard voices mumbling to each other. She walked towards the light, dodging the torn up floor-boards and rusted nails. Before entering, she knocked on the wall by the entrance. The voices stopped.

"Who'se it?" a gruff voice asked, naturally suspicious.

"Pizza man..." she said sarcastically, and the voices sighed in relief.

"Quite yer jokin', Booker, and git the fuck in here." the second voice said. She walked in to see two large men sitting at a small table, playing cards to pass the time.

"Where's the others?" she asked. There should have been way more people, at least fifteen. Tonight would be a relatively big job.

"They're out getting the trucks. We got stuck guarding the cargo."

"He's not here yet, is he?" she asked, taking a seat next to the larger of the two. His name was Joe, or that was what he called himself. The smaller one was Mickey. Joe rolled his beady eyes before looking to his cards.

"Fashionably late, as always." he mumbled. Marie rest her elbows on the table, making it creak.

"As always..." she said.

"I ain't never heard of a host being late to his own party..." someone said in the dark, and Joe and Mickey instantly grabbed their guns from the back of their pants to point them where the voice came from. A figure walked forward into the dim light, and they brought their guns back down, relieved.

"Hey, boss." Mickey said. The figure nodded, and shot a look at Marie, who had caught herself staring. She looked away. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn't help but stare.

And the Black Mask never liked to be stared at...