abnormality - a jason todd fanfiction
chapter five: high school is hell... (confirmed)
warnings: shaming for body issues and scars, socio-economic shaming
summary: As Juliette prepares for her first day at Gotham High, leaving the safety of Wayne Manor feels more frightening than any battlefield. With Bruce, Alfred, Cassandra, Tim and Stephanie quietly becoming the family she never expected, she takes her first tentative steps into a normal life. But school proves to be its own kind of war. Whispered rumours, cruel classmates, and an unexpected partnership with the mysterious Wolfgang Mercer force Juliette to confront a painful truth: surviving the Joker was only the beginning—learning to belong may be the hardest fight of all.
August faded quietly.
The days grew shorter. Rain began arriving more often, tapping against the Manor windows in the mornings and leaving the gardens silver with water. The air changed too—not cold yet, but carrying the warning of it.
September was coming.
So was Gotham High.
I had tried not to think about it.
That became more difficult when Alfred placed a printed class schedule beside my breakfast plate.
I stared down at it.
English Literature.
Algebra II.
United States History.
Biology.
There were other subjects beneath those, but the words began blurring together before I reached them.
Tim leaned across the table. “We have English and history together.”
I covered the schedule with my hand. “I wasn’t finished reading that.”
“You’d been staring at biology for three minutes.”
“I was thinking.”
“About biology?”
“About leaving.”
He sat back in his chair. “It's not that horrible, Jules.” Jules. A fond name that Tim insisted on calling me.
Across the table, Damian gave an unimpressed sniff. “It is merely a school.”
“You’re thirteen,” I said.
“And?”
“You’re supposed to hate school.”
“I hate the people at school. The institution itself is useful.”
Tim looked at me. "He says things like that all the time.”
“I had gathered.”
Damian glared at him over his glass of juice.
Alfred placed a bowl of fruit in the centre of the table.
“You needn’t make any final decisions this morning, Miss Juliette.”
“I thought the paperwork was already finished.”
“It is.”
“And classes start next week.”
“They do.”
“So I have to go.”
“No,” Alfred said. “You have the opportunity to go.”
I looked back down at the schedule.
The distinction should have comforted me.
Instead, it made the decision mine.
I still wasn’t used to decisions being mine.
Tim reached for a piece of toast. “It won’t be that bad.”
“People keep saying that before something terrible happens.”
“That’s valid.”
“Timothee,” Alfred warned.
“What? It is.”
I folded the schedule in half. Then in half again. Then once more until it was a small square beneath my palm. “I don’t have clothes, I mean, I do... but I've been wearing all of Dick's old clothes for like a month... and I'm grateful, I am, it's just....”
Tim looked down at the oversized jumper Alfred had given me and the black leggings I had been wearing for most of the week. “I have three jumpers, two pairs of trousers and pajamas.”
“That’s technically clothes.” Damian says, looking at my sleeve dipping in my butter.
“Master Damian.”
“Pennyworth.”
Alfred glanced towards the doorway. “Master Bruce has already considered that.”
I stiffened.
Bruce had been living in the Manor for almost two weeks, yet I still wasn’t entirely used to him appearing at breakfast or passing me in hallways.
He was rarely unkind.
That almost made him more difficult to understand.
Joker had always filled every room he entered. He demanded attention before he even spoke. Bruce seemed to do the opposite. He entered quietly, stood at the edges and watched everything as though he was trying to understand the room before becoming part of it.
“What has he considered?” I asked.
“That you may require a more extensive wardrobe before beginning school.”
My stomach tightened. “I don’t need him buying me things.”
“I believe that particular argument has already been lost.”
“I didn’t argue it.”
“Precisely.”
Before I could answer, footsteps approached.
Quiet.
So quiet I nearly missed them.
A girl appeared in the doorway.
She looked around my age, perhaps a little younger. Black hair fell loosely around her face, and she wore black leggings, black trainers and a black hooded sweatshirt.
Everything black.
Her eyes settled on me.
She said nothing.
I had seen her twice since she returned to the Manor three days earlier. Once crossing the upstairs hallway. Once sitting beside Alfred in the kitchen while he repaired the torn seam of one of her gloves.
She had watched me both times.
Not rudely.
Carefully.
As though she could hear thoughts if she looked hard enough.
“Miss Cassandra,” Alfred said. “Good morning.”
She gave him a small nod.
Then looked at me again.
“This is Juliette,” Alfred continued. “Juliette, this is Miss Cassandra Cain.”
“Hello,” I said.
Cassandra nodded. “Hi.”
Her voice was soft.
Bruce appeared behind her, already dressed in a suit.
He looked between us. “Cass can take you shopping.”
Cassandra’s head turned slowly towards him.
For the first time, her expression changed. Confusion. I almost laughed. Bruce seemed not to notice. “She understands what you’ll need.”
Cassandra looked down at her black sweatshirt. Then at her black leggings. Then back at Bruce. “No.”
Bruce paused. “No?”
“I don’t.”
Tim covered a cough with his hand. Bruce frowned slightly. “You’re both young women.”
“That doesn’t mean we know clothes,” I said.
Bruce looked at me. “I assumed—”
“That was your first mistake,” Tim said. Bruce gave him a look. Tim immediately focused on buttering his toast.
Cassandra stepped farther into the room and sat beside Damian. “I can go,” she said after a moment.
Bruce nodded, apparently deciding that was sufficient. “Good.”
“But I don’t know fashion.” Neither did I. That should have made the prospect worse. Strangely, it didn’t. At least we would both be confused.
Cassandra found me in the library that afternoon. I was sitting on the floor between two shelves with three books open around me. One was about American history. One was a children’s book Alfred had said I might enjoy. The third was an atlas. I hadn’t chosen the atlas. It had simply been beside the others, and I liked looking at all the places people could go. Cassandra lowered herself onto the carpet opposite me.
She moved without making any noise. I looked up. “You do that deliberately.”
She tilted her head. “What?”
“Walk quietly.” A tiny pause.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Useful.”
That made sense.
She glanced at the books. “School?”
I nodded. "I’m supposed to understand two hundred years of history before Monday.”
“You won’t.”
I stared at her. She pointed towards the history book. “Not all of it.”
“Oh.”
She reached for the children’s book instead. It was about a girl following a rabbit into a hole. “You like this?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Cassandra opened it. “I do.”
We sat there for several minutes, reading separate pages without speaking. It was surprisingly comfortable. Most people tried to fill silence. Cassandra seemed to understand that silence could be shared.
After a while, she looked up. “Shopping tomorrow.”
I groaned. Her mouth shifted slightly. Almost a smile. “You don’t want to?”
“I don’t like people looking at me.”
“People look.”
“I know.”
“Can look back.”
“That usually starts fights.”
“Sometimes.”
I studied her face. “Do you like shopping?”
“No.”
“Then why did you agree?”
She thought about it. “Bruce asked.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
Her eyes flicked over me. “You need clothes.”
I looked down at Dick's worn-out jumper. It reached halfway down my thighs.
“Apparently.”
Cassandra returned to the book. “I need clothes too.”
“You own clothes.”
“Black clothes.”
“Those still count.”
“Bruce says no.”
I could imagine Bruce staring at an entire wardrobe of identical black clothing and deciding it represented some sort of emergency. “Could buy more black.”
Cassandra looked at me. That almost-smile returned. “Yes.”
The shopping center was louder than the theatre had ever been.
Not more violent. Just louder.
Music played from hidden speakers. Children shouted. Shoes squeaked across polished floors. Sales assistants called greetings from shop entrances with smiles too wide to be sincere. I stayed close to Cassandra. Not touching. Just close enough that I could see her from the corner of my eye. She seemed equally uncomfortable.
Bruce had given her a credit card. She held it between two fingers as though it might explode. “Where do we go?” I asked.
Cassandra looked around. “Clothes shop.”
“They’re all clothes shops.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved. “This was a terrible idea.”
“Yes.”
A voice came from behind us.
“Wow. You two look lost.”
Tim approached with a girl beside him. She had long blonde hair, a bright purple jacket and enough energy in her expression to make me suspicious immediately. Tim lifted one hand in greeting. “I brought reinforcements.”
The girl stepped forward. “Stephanie Brown.”
She held out her hand. I looked at it. Then at Tim. He quickly shook his head. “She doesn’t do handshakes.”
“Oh.” Stephanie lowered it without looking offended. “Fair enough. They’re weird anyway.”
She smiled at Cassandra. “Bruce sent you shopping?”
Cassandra held up the card. Stephanie stared at it. Then at her clothes. Then at mine.
“Oh, this is tragic.”
I glanced down at myself. “Thank you.”
“Not you. The situation.”
She pointed at Cassandra. “She thinks four black shirts counts as variety.”
“They’re different,” Cassandra said.
“How?”
“One has sleeves.”
Stephanie closed her eyes briefly. “Okay. I’m in charge now.”
Cassandra looked relieved. I was not. Stephanie linked her arm through Tim’s and began walking.
“First, basics. Jeans, shirts, jumpers, school shoes, something vaguely formal in case Bruce drags everyone to a gala—”
“What’s a gala?” I asked. Stephanie looked back at me.
“A fancy party where rich people stand around eating tiny food and pretending they don’t hate each other.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It is. You’ll need a dress.”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
“She said she doesn’t,” Cassandra said.
Stephanie stopped. She looked between us. “Okay. No dress unless Juliette wants one.”
I waited for the argument. It didn’t come. She simply changed direction towards another shop.
“Jeans first.”
Tim leaned closer as we followed. “She’s actually very good at this.”
“Controlling strangers?”
“Shopping.”
“Both,” Stephanie called over her shoulder.
The first changing room had no lock. I checked it three times. Then shoved a chair beneath the handle. Stephanie noticed when she returned with another pile of clothes. She didn’t ask. She just placed everything on the chair and stepped away.
“Try whatever you like. Leave whatever you hate.”
“What if I hate all of it?”
“Then we go somewhere else.”
“What if Bruce gets angry?”
All three of them went quiet. I immediately wished I hadn’t said it.
Tim recovered first. “He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Stephanie leaned against the wall beside the changing-room door. “It’s his money. Rich people love spending money.”
“That isn’t true,” Tim said.
“It is when they’re emotionally repressed.”
Cassandra nodded. “Very.”
Tim sighed.
I looked at the clothes. Some were bright. Some tight. Some softer than anything I had ever owned. I picked up a blue jumper. “What do you think?”
Cassandra considered it. “Not black.”
“That’s the idea,” Stephanie said.
Cassandra frowned.
“I like it,” Tim offered.
Stephanie pointed towards the changing room. “Try it.”
I did. The jumper fit. Properly. Not oversized to hide bruises. Not stolen. Not someone else’s. When I stepped out, Stephanie smiled. Not falsely. “That’s yours.”
I looked in the mirror. The girl staring back still had a faint scar near her temple. Her right leg was hidden beneath jeans, but I could feel the healing skin tightening whenever I moved. She looked ordinary. I wasn’t sure whether I liked that.
Cassandra appeared beside me in the mirror. She held up a black jacket. “Good,” she said.
“The jumper?”
She nodded. I touched the sleeve. “Okay.”
It went into the pile.
By the third shop, I understood why people liked shopping.
Not because of the clothes. Because Stephanie made exaggerated faces at anything ugly. Because Tim carried every bag without complaining until Stephanie called him a gentleman and he nearly dropped one. Because Cassandra discovered a rack of identical black shirts and looked genuinely pleased. At one point, Stephanie handed her a yellow dress.
Cassandra stared at it. “No.”
“Just try it.”
“No.”
“For me?”
“No.”
“For Juliette?”
Cassandra looked at me.
I lifted both hands.
“Leave me out of this.”
She tried it. She emerged thirty seconds later with the expression of someone being held hostage. Tim turned away to hide his laughter. Stephanie pressed both hands over her mouth. I stared for a moment. Then said, “You look like an angry sunflower.”
Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. I laughed before I could stop myself. For half a second, she continued glaring. Then her mouth curved. A real smile this time. Small. Quick. But there. She changed back into black and left the dress behind.
My first day of school arrived too quickly.
I stood in front of the mirror before sunrise, wearing the blue jumper and a pair of dark jeans Stephanie had chosen.
My backpack sat on the bed.
Alfred had packed lunch inside it.
I had checked four times.
There was still food.
Nobody had removed it because I hadn’t earned it.
A soft knock sounded against the open door.
Cassandra stood in the hallway.
Black sweatshirt.
Black trousers.
Black trainers.
Apparently the shopping trip had changed nothing.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Me neither.”
That helped more than it should have.
Tim waited downstairs with Stephanie. She was talking fast enough for both of them, describing which teachers were harmless, which corridors smelled strange and which bathrooms to avoid.
I caught perhaps half of it.
Bruce stood near the front door.
He looked at the four of us.
Then at me.
“You have everything?”
I tightened my grip on the backpack strap.
“Yes.”
“Phone?”
“Yes.”
“Schedule?”
“Yes.”
“Alfred’s number?”
“Yes.”
“Mine?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
Bruce nodded.
There was something awkward about the exchange. As though he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the correct shape for it.
The car horn sounded outside.
Stephanie groaned.
“That’ll be Dick. We’re going to be late.”
Tim opened the door.
Cold September air rushed inside.
I followed the others onto the front steps.
Then stopped.
Bruce was still standing in the entrance hall.
“Juliette?”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
Cassandra waited at the bottom of the stairs.
The others continued towards the car.
I turned back.
Bruce watched me carefully.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“All of it.”
I gestured vaguely at the house behind him.
“The room. School. Clothes.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do.”
“No.”
The firmness in his voice made my shoulders stiffen.
He noticed.
His expression softened slightly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
I swallowed.
“I won’t let you down.”
Bruce went very still.
I rushed on before he could answer.
“I’ll do well at school. I won’t cause trouble. I won’t steal anything or bring anyone here or tell anyone who you are. I can help Alfred, and I know how to fight if you need—”
“Juliette.”
I stopped.
“You don’t have to do any of that.”
“I should be useful.”
“Why?”
“Because I live here.”
“That isn’t a debt.”
Everything inside me resisted the sentence.
“People don’t just let someone stay.”
“We do.”
“For nothing?”
“For nothing.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Bruce stepped closer, but stopped before entering the space between us.
“You don’t have to fight for your place here.”
I stared at him.
“This family isn’t built on what you can provide.”
I almost laughed.
Batman’s family.
A house filled with people trained to fight.
Of course it was built on what they could provide.
Bruce seemed to read that thought on my face.
“Sometimes we forget,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”
“What happens if I fail?”
“At school?”
“At anything.”
Bruce considered the question.
“You try again.”
“And if I keep failing?”
“Then we keep trying.”
We.
The word lodged somewhere behind my ribs.
“I don’t know how to be part of a family,” I said.
His eyes shifted briefly towards the driveway, where Damian was arguing with Tim through an open car window and Stephanie was shouting that they were all going to be late.
A faint tiredness settled across Bruce’s face.
“I’m not certain any of us do.”
That was perhaps the first thing he had ever said that I completely believed.
I look at Bruce for a moment. I feel this rush of anxiety course through my soul as I ask. "Can i have a hug?"
Bruce looks stunned softly for a moment and then he nods, opening his arms as i hesitantly hug him. I come up to just below his chin, i can hear his heart beating. i pull away and clear my throat. "Thanks, Bruce."
Cassandra called my name from the steps.
My name.
Not Girl.
Not Shadow Puppet.
Juliette.
I adjusted my backpack.
Bruce stepped aside.
“Have a good first day.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s enough.”
I walked towards the car.
Cassandra opened the door for me. Tim moved his bag from the seat. Stephanie immediately began talking about the school cafeteria and something called pizza Friday. Dick smiles at me through the rear view.
Behind us, Wayne Manor grew smaller through the window.
For the first time, leaving home didn’t feel like escaping.
It felt like knowing I could come back.
The drive to Gotham High took twenty-three minutes.
I counted.
Not because I cared how far the school was from the Manor, but because counting gave my mind something to do besides inventing ways the day could go wrong.
Dick drove with one hand resting loosely on the wheel. Tim sat in the passenger seat, twisting around every few minutes to contribute to whatever Stephanie was saying beside me. Cassandra occupied the seat on my other side, dressed entirely in black as though the shopping trip had been some elaborate dream.
Stephanie had been talking since we left the Manor.
“—and don’t use the bathrooms near the east stairwell unless you’re desperate, because someone broke the lock on the third stall and the second one always smells like cigarettes.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because people smoke in it.”
“Inside the school?”
“People do lots of things inside the school,” Tim said.
Stephanie leaned forward between the seats. “Also, Mr. Buckley says he doesn’t accept late assignments, but that’s a lie. He does if you look sufficiently miserable.”
“I always look miserable,” Tim said.
“You look sleep-deprived. Different thing.”
Dick glanced at him. “You could try sleeping.”
“You could try minding your business.”
“I’m your brother. You are my business.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It was meant lovingly.”
I looked out the window.
Gotham passed in fractured pieces beyond the glass. Grey buildings. Wet pavement. People huddled beneath umbrellas despite the rain having stopped ten minutes earlier. Gargoyles watched from rooftops blackened by exhaust and age.
The closer we got to the school, the more teenagers appeared.
They moved in groups.
Some wore uniforms from private academies. Others wore jackets with Gotham High’s crest sewn onto the chest. They laughed too loudly and shoved one another without anyone reaching for a weapon.
I watched a boy throw his arm around another boy’s neck.
The second boy laughed.
I kept waiting for the grip to tighten.
It never did.
“You okay?” Stephanie asked.
I looked at her.
She had stopped talking.
All three of them were watching me now.
Dick too, through the rear-view mirror.
“I’m fine.”
Cassandra’s eyes shifted to my hands.
My fingers were locked around the straps of my backpack.
I loosened them.
“People keep asking me that.”
“People ask when they’re worried,” Stephanie said.
“I know.”
I didn’t.
Not really.
Joker only asked whether I was all right when he already knew I wasn’t.
Usually because he was responsible.
Dick pulled into the drop-off lane.
Gotham High rose behind a wrought-iron fence, all dark brick and narrow windows. It looked more like a courthouse than a school. Stone gargoyles crouched above the main entrance, their mouths opened in permanent warning.
At least the building understood what city it lived in.
Hundreds of students moved towards the doors.
My stomach tightened.
Dick parked along the curb and turned around.
“First-day rule.”
Tim groaned. “We don’t have a first-day rule.”
“We do now.”
Dick pointed at each of us in turn.
“No fighting.”
Stephanie looked offended. “Why did you look at me?”
“Historical precedent.”
“Cass fights more than I do.”
Cassandra shook her head. “Don’t get caught.”
Dick stared at her.
“That is not the lesson.”
“It’s a better lesson,” Tim said.
Dick turned to me.
“And if you need anything, call.”
“I have Alfred’s number.”
“You also have mine.”
“I know.”
I had saved it under Richard, because calling him Dick still felt like I was insulting him.
He smiled.
“You’re going to be fine.”
People kept saying that too.
I opened the door before he could see my expression.
Cold air struck my face.
Students flowed around us as we climbed out. A few glanced at Tim. More looked at Stephanie. Several stared openly at Cassandra.
Then their attention landed on me.
I immediately pulled my sleeves over my hands.
Stephanie noticed.
She didn’t say anything.
Instead, she stepped closer until her shoulder bumped mine.
“Come on,” she said. “Before Tim starts giving us a campus tour.”
“I give excellent tours.”
“You got lost last year.”
“I was taking a shortcut.”
“You ended up in the boiler room.”
“It was a badly labelled shortcut.”
Cassandra moved to my other side.
The four of us crossed the courtyard together.
Nobody touched me.
Nobody had to.
They placed themselves around me so naturally that I didn’t realise what they were doing until we reached the doors.
A barrier.
Not a cage.
There was apparently a difference.
Gotham High smelled like floor cleaner, wet wool and too many people breathing in one building.
Lockers lined every corridor. Some had stickers covering their doors. Others were dented as though someone had repeatedly introduced them to a human skull.
The walls displayed posters about attendance, college applications and a school dance called Homecoming.
One poster read:
IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.
Someone had written beneath it:
Unless it’s Batman. Mind your business.
I stopped to read it.
Tim followed my gaze.
“That’s solid advice.”
“You’re saying students see Batman?”
“It’s Gotham,” Stephanie said. “Everyone’s seen Batman.”
Cassandra glanced at Tim.
Something silent passed between them.
I looked away before either noticed me noticing.
Teenagers filled the halls, slamming lockers and shouting conversations from one side of the corridor to the other. A girl sat on the floor applying eyeliner using a compact mirror. Two boys were trading what looked suspiciously like cigarettes beneath a stairwell. A teacher walked past and pretended not to see them.
Everything was loud.
But it wasn’t chaos.
Not exactly.
There were patterns.
Popular students occupied the centre of the corridors, forcing everyone else to move around them. Younger students kept close to the walls. Couples blocked doorways. Teachers stood at strategic intersections, watching without appearing to watch.
Everyone seemed to know where they belonged.
I didn’t.
“Your locker’s here,” Tim said.
He stopped beside a blue metal door.
I unfolded the scrap of paper Alfred had written the combination on.
Twenty-two.
Nine.
Thirty-four.
I turned the dial.
Nothing happened.
I tried again.
Nothing.
“It hates you,” Cassandra said.
“I gathered.”
Tim reached around me, then stopped before touching the lock.
“Can I?”
I stepped aside.
He spun the dial, yanked the handle and the door opened immediately.
“You have to pull harder.”
“I was pulling.”
“Not hard enough.”
“I’ll remember that next time I encounter hostile furniture.”
Stephanie started arranging the books inside.
“English first. Then history. Chemistry after lunch.”
“I can arrange my own books.”
“I know.”
She continued anyway.
For some reason, I let her.
English was tolerable.
Tim sat beside me. Stephanie sat directly in front of us and passed notes backwards whenever the teacher turned towards the board.
Most of them were drawings.
One depicted the teacher as a dragon guarding a pile of overdue essays.
I looked at it too long.
Tim leaned closer.
“She does that when she’s bored.”
Stephanie passed another note.
This one said:
I CAN HEAR YOU.
Tim wrote beneath it:
Then stop eavesdropping.
She kicked his desk.
I had never seen people irritate each other with so little malice.
It was unsettling.
History was similar.
The teacher introduced me as a transfer student.
Twenty-seven faces turned towards me.
I counted those too.
“Would you like to tell us something about yourself?” he asked.
“No.”
Several students laughed.
The teacher looked startled.
Tim coughed into his fist.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The teacher quickly moved on.
Apparently honesty was not expected in school introductions.
At lunch, the four of us claimed a table near the back of the cafeteria.
Cassandra sat where she could see both exits.
I chose the seat beside her.
Stephanie unpacked Alfred’s lunch before I could stop her.
“Oh my God.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
“You have homemade bread.”
“So?”
“So, Alfred packed you an actual sandwich. Tim has three protein bars and a coffee.”
Tim looked into his bag.
“I have an apple.”
Stephanie held it up.
“This is bruised beyond recognition.”
“It’s still an apple.”
She traded him half her sandwich.
He accepted it without thanking her.
She didn’t seem to require thanks.
I looked down at my own lunch.
Bread we had made together.
Cheese.
Apple slices.
A small square of chocolate wrapped in paper.
Alfred had written Good luck, Birdie on the outside.
I folded the note before anyone else could read it.
Cassandra had already seen.
She said nothing.
Her knee bumped mine beneath the table.
Once.
Then moved away.
Chemistry was the first class I had without any of them.
I considered not going.
The thought lasted all the way down the corridor.
Then I imagined returning home and telling Alfred I had skipped because I was afraid of teenagers.
He wouldn’t be angry.
That somehow made it impossible.
Room 304 smelled like chemical cleaner and gas.
Long black tables filled the room, each fitted with a sink and metal taps. Safety posters covered one wall. A glass cabinet held rows of bottles labelled with names I couldn’t pronounce.
Students had already begun claiming seats.
I chose the table farthest from the door.
Back corner.
Wall behind me.
Clear view of the room.
Old habits.
The blue jumper Stephanie had chosen felt too warm. I pushed the sleeves to my elbows and opened the notebook Alfred had bought me.
The first page was blank.
So clean it felt accusatory.
A group of girls entered together.
Four of them.
They wore their hair in the same loose waves and carried bags that looked too small to contain books. The tallest had glossy dark hair and a short plaid skirt despite the cold.
She sat two tables ahead of me.
Her eyes moved across the room.
Stopped on me.
Then slid away.
I knew that look.
Assessment.
Joker’s men did it before deciding whether someone was dangerous.
Teenage girls apparently did it before deciding whether someone was embarrassing.
The teacher hadn’t arrived yet.
Everyone spoke over everyone else.
I looked down at my notebook.
“She’s the new girl.”
The dark-haired girl wasn’t whispering as quietly as she thought.
“Obviously.”
“Who starts a new school in senior year?”
“Someone who got expelled.”
“She doesn’t look expelled.”
“What does expelled look like?”
“I don’t know. Trashier.”
One of them laughed.
I kept my eyes on the page.
The pencil remained motionless between my fingers.
They weren’t speaking to me.
That seemed important.
If they weren’t speaking to me, I wasn’t supposed to respond.
Those were apparently the rules.
“She came in with Tim Drake.”
“No way.”
“And Stephanie Brown. I saw them.”
“Maybe she’s another charity case.”
The pencil creaked.
I loosened my grip.
Charity case.
Bruce buying clothes.
Alfred arranging school.
A room that had not been mine until they told me it was.
Maybe that was all I was.
I forced myself to look at the periodic table.
Hydrogen.
Helium.
Lithium.
The letters blurred.
The dark-haired girl turned in her seat, pretending to look towards the door.
Her gaze dropped to my arms.
A white scar crossed my left wrist.
Another curved beneath my elbow.
Small circular marks climbed towards the inside of my arm, pale against my skin.
Joker had once called them decorations.
I had never thought much about whether they were ugly.
They were simply there.
“Look at her arms,” the girl murmured.
Her friend glanced back.
“Oh.”
“What happened to her?”
“Probably did it herself.”
The words lodged beneath my ribs.
“Some girls do that for attention.”
“They’re ugly.”
I rolled my sleeves down.
Slowly.
No sudden movements.
No reaction.
Never give someone the reaction they want.
Joker had taught me that.
Of all the lessons he had given me, I hated that this one remained useful.
Nobody had pointed a gun at me all day.
Somehow, this felt worse.
A gun made sense.
It wanted to hurt you.
These girls smiled while they did it.
One of them looked back again.
Our eyes met.
She immediately turned around and whispered something that made the others laugh.
Joker had always wanted people to fear me.
These girls wanted people to laugh at me.
I wasn’t sure which was crueler.
The classroom door opened.
The teacher entered carrying a stack of folders.
Conversation dropped in volume but didn’t stop.
“Seats, please.”
Everyone shifted.
I remained where I was.
The teacher wrote MR. HARGROVE across the board.
He wore protective glasses pushed into his greying hair and had the exhausted expression of a man already regretting the year.
“Welcome to senior chemistry. If you set anything on fire, I will fail you.”
Someone near the front raised a hand.
“What if it’s an accident?”
“I’ll fail you accidentally.”
A few students laughed.
Mr. Hargrove opened his folder.
“This semester, you’ll work with a permanent lab partner. I’ve assigned pairs based on previous grades and the seating chart.”
My stomach tightened.
Permanent.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
He began reading names.
Students moved around the room.
The dark-haired girl was paired with one of her friends. She complained until Mr. Hargrove threatened to move her beside someone named Christopher who apparently ate glue in ninth grade.
Then—
“Juliette Pennysworth.”
My head lifted.
The surname still felt borrowed.
Alfred had offered it for the paperwork after I refused Wayne.
Pennyworth felt safer.
Temporarily, he had said.
We could change it later.
“Wolfgang Mercer.”
A chair scraped across the floor.
The boy who stood had been sitting beside the window.
I hadn’t noticed him enter.
That bothered me.
He was tall, though not as tall as Jason. Broad through the shoulders beneath a faded grey T-shirt. His hair had been cut close to his scalp, and dark bruising shadowed one eye.
Two red scratches marked his forehead.
Another bruise coloured his cheek.
He looked like someone had recently tried to rearrange his face and failed.
He picked up his notebook and crossed the room.
Students watched him.
Not openly.
Carefully.
He dropped into the stool beside me.
His eyes were pale green.
Tired.
He looked like he had slept about as much as I had.
“Juliette?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Wolfgang.”
“I heard.”
His mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
He smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something smoky beneath it.
I couldn’t place the scent.
Mr. Hargrove began explaining laboratory safety.
Wolfgang opened his notebook.
There was nothing written inside except a phone number and a badly drawn skull.
“You take detailed notes,” I said.
He glanced down.
“I’m very academic.”
I looked towards the teacher.
“Should I write this down?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to?”
“Probably not.”
I stared at him.
He leaned back slightly.
“You’re new.”
“So people keep saying.”
“People here aren’t subtle.”
“No.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my sleeves.
They were still pulled over my wrists.
He looked away immediately.
That was the first thing I liked about him.
He had noticed.
He hadn’t stared.
Mr. Hargrove handed out safety contracts.
Wolfgang took one and pushed the other towards me.
“You know how to use a Bunsen burner?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Means you haven’t blown anything up yet.”
“Have you?”
“Not in this classroom.”
I looked at him.
He picked up his pen.
“Joke.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
From the front of the room, the dark-haired girl had turned around.
She was staring at us.
More specifically, she was staring at Wolfgang.
Then at me.
Her expression had changed.
The dislike was no longer casual.
That seemed unfortunate.
She waited until class ended.
I had nearly reached the door when she stepped into my path.
Her friends arranged themselves behind her.
Not surrounding me.
Nearly.
Wolfgang had already left through the other door.
“You’re Juliette?”
I looked at the name written across my folder.
“Yes.”
“I’m Ashley.”
I waited.
Apparently that wasn’t enough.
“Ashley Webb.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Wolfgang is my boyfriend.”
I glanced towards the empty corridor.
“Congratulations.”
One of her friends made a choking sound that might have been laughter.
Ashley’s mouth tightened.
“I’m just telling you so there’s no confusion.”
“About what?”
“You and him.”
“There is no me and him.”
“You were talking.”
“He’s my lab partner.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you confused about?”
Her friends went very quiet.
Ashley stepped closer.
She smelled like expensive perfume.
Sweet enough to make my throat hurt.
“I’m not confused.”
“You said there shouldn’t be confusion.”
Her face flushed.
Perhaps I had misunderstood.
Teenage conversation appeared to rely heavily on saying one thing while meaning another. Joker did that too, but usually someone died afterwards.
“Just stay away from him,” she said.
“I can’t. Mr. Hargrove assigned our seats.”
“Outside class.”
“I hadn’t planned to follow him.”
“You think you’re funny?”
“No.”
That answer seemed to anger her more.
Her gaze flicked over my face.
Paused on the faint scar near my temple.
Then moved to my covered arms.
“I don’t know what kind of place you came from—”
“You don’t.”
“But things work differently here.”
I studied her.
She was nervous.
I could see it now.
The rigid shoulders.
The fingers gripping her bag strap.
The way her eyes kept moving towards the chemistry door.
She wasn’t confronting me because she thought I was dangerous.
She was confronting me because she thought Wolfgang might leave her.
That made more sense.
“I don’t want your boyfriend,” I said.
Ashley folded her arms.
“You don’t even know him.”
“Exactly.”
Her expression faltered.
I stepped around her.
One of her friends moved as though she might block me.
I stopped.
Looked at her.
Whatever she saw in my face made her step aside.
I continued down the corridor.
My hands didn’t begin shaking until I reached the stairwell.
I pressed them against my jumper.
It was ridiculous.
I had faced men twice my size.
I had watched people die.
I had held guns to throats and knives to wrists.
But a group of girls in lip gloss had left my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.
Teenagers were terrifying.
Cassandra found me before lunch ended.
I had taken my tray outside and sat beneath the overhang beside the gymnasium.
Rain dripped steadily from the roof.
She appeared without warning and sat beside me.
I didn’t jump this time.
Progress.
“Bad?” she asked.
I looked towards the courtyard.
“Girls spoke about my scars.”
Cassandra waited.
“They said they were ugly.”
Her face didn’t change.
But something in her eyes did.
“Who?”
The question sounded dangerous.
“I don’t know their names.”
“Faces?”
“I know their faces.”
She nodded once.
That was somehow more concerning.
“You’re not going to hurt them.”
“No.”
“Cass.”
“No permanent damage.”
I turned towards her.
She was joking.
I thought.
With Cassandra, it was difficult to tell.
Tim and Stephanie appeared a few minutes later.
Stephanie dropped onto the bench beside me.
“How was chemistry?”
“I have a lab partner.”
“Who?”
“Wolfgang.”
Tim stopped opening his drink.
Stephanie stared at me.
Cassandra tilted her head.
“What?”
“Wolfgang Mercer?” Stephanie asked.
“I assume there aren’t several.”
“Oh,” Tim said.
“What does ‘oh’ mean?”
Stephanie and Tim exchanged a look.
I hated when people did that.
“It means,” Tim said carefully, “Wolfgang has a reputation.”
“For chemistry?”
“No.”
Stephanie leaned forward.
“He gets into fights.”
I thought of the bruises across his face.
“That explains several things.”
“A lot of fights,” Tim added.
“He was suspended twice last year,” Stephanie said. “And once the year before.”
“For fighting?”
“One time for smoking behind the gym.”
The smoky scent.
Cigarettes.
“He also skips class constantly,” Tim continued. “He’s been arrested.”
Stephanie glanced at him.
“Questioned.”
“Same difference.”
“It really isn’t.”
“For what?” I asked.
They both hesitated.
“Assault,” Stephanie said.
“Charges were dropped,” Tim added.
“Why?”
“No witnesses.”
I looked back towards the school.
Wolfgang sat on the low wall beside the athletics field.
Alone.
A cigarette hung between his fingers.
Even from a distance, I could see the purple bruising around his eye.
Ashley stood several metres away with her friends, watching him without approaching.
“He didn’t seem dangerous,” I said.
Tim followed my gaze.
“That’s usually how dangerous people seem.”
I looked at him.
He immediately winced.
“Sorry. Bad phrasing.”
Cassandra watched Wolfgang.
“Knows how to fight.”
“How can you tell?” Stephanie asked.
“Hands.”
I remembered the way Wolfgang had held his pen.
His knuckles had been split.
Old marks beneath newer ones.
“What did he say to you?” Tim asked.
“Not much.”
“And Ashley?”
I looked at Stephanie.
“How did you know?”
“She’s been dating him since spring. She’s also territorial enough to pee on him if she thought she could get away with it.”
Tim nearly inhaled his drink.
“Steph.”
“What? She is.”
“She told me to stay away from him.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes.
“Of course she did.”
“I told her I hadn’t planned to follow him.”
A grin spread across Stephanie’s face.
“You said that?”
“Yes.”
“To Ashley Webb?”
“Yes.”
“I think I love you.”
The words were casual.
Meaningless.
A thing people said.
My body didn’t understand that.
I went very still.
Stephanie’s smile disappeared.
“Oh. Not—sorry. I mean, that’s something people say when—”
“I know.”
I didn’t.
Not fully.
But I wanted her not to look guilty.
Tim rescued both of us.
“Did you threaten Ashley?”
“No.”
Cassandra looked disappointed.
“I answered her questions.”
“That can feel like a threat when you do it,” Tim said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You stare.”
“So does Cassandra.”
“Yes,” Stephanie said. “And it’s terrifying.”
Cass stared at her.
Stephanie pointed.
“That. Exactly that.”
Something loosened inside my chest.
I looked at the three of them.
Tim with his terrible coffee.
Stephanie with her purple jacket and complete inability to remain quiet.
Cassandra sitting close enough that our shoulders nearly touched.
My group.
The thought arrived without permission.
I immediately tried to reject it.
It remained.
Across the courtyard, Wolfgang brought the cigarette to his mouth.
His gaze lifted.
For one brief second, he looked directly at me.
Then at Tim, Stephanie and Cassandra around me.
He gave the smallest nod.
I wasn’t sure whether it was a greeting or simple recognition.
I nodded back anyway.
Stephanie saw.
“Oh, Ashley is going to hate that.”
“I don’t care.”
The answer came easily.
Maybe too easily.
Stephanie smiled.
Tim sighed as though he could already see an approaching disaster.
Cassandra’s mouth curved faintly.
The bell rang.
All around us, students stood and began moving towards the building.
I remained seated for another second.
My first day wasn’t over.
I had already been stared at, whispered about and threatened over a boy I barely knew.
My scars had become public entertainment.
I had learned that chemistry contained fire, Wolfgang contained secrets and teenage girls were far more confusing than armed criminals.
But I wasn’t alone.
That was new.
“Come on, Jules,” Tim called from the doorway.
Jules.
Another name that belonged only to me.
I stood and followed them inside.
