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"How?" Anna demands, slamming down into the seat across from Jess, her backpack thumping loudly on the floor beside her. Normally, Jess would chastise her for treating her stuff like that—her laptop is in that bag, her thousand dollar laptop—but right now she doesn't have it in her. She's still too stunned about what happened last period to think about anything else.
"I...don't know," she replies, mystified, staring off. "I'm still trying to figure it out myself."
"Why? What happened?" Michael says excitedly as he slides onto the lunch table bench beside Jess. His tie and jacket have already been removed, despite him only having been in school for two periods after coming in late. Normally, Jess would roll her eyes and make a comment about his lack of respect for the dress code, but...
But.
"Dick Grayson asked her out!" Anna announces, dragging her narrowed gaze away from Jess to grin at Michael. She says it loudly enough that the people at the next table over hear her, gasping and looking at Jess with wide eyes.
That startles Jess enough to pull out of her shock, cheeks heating. "He did not ask me out!" she hisses back, glaring at her friend, and then quickly looks to the other people, rushing to say, "He didn't ask me out, really. Really, really."
One of them nods, but the other's taken out their cellphone and is typing away rapidly with a growing smile. Jess makes a pitiful noise, turning back to her friends.
"Why did you say that?" Jess asks helplessly. "Now the whole school is gonna be talking about it." She freezes, horror dawning. "Oh god. The whole school is gonna be talking about it."
Anna looks at her in pity. "Honey, Dick Grayson asked you out. Dick Grayson. Of fucking course the whole school is gonna talk about it." Her gaze sharpens. "Now tell me how the hell it happened!"
"It didn't happen," Jess protests. "He didn't...we didn't—!"
And she's not lying; he didn't ask her out. That would be ridiculous. Dick Grayson is the heir to a multi-billion company, gymnastics star, soccer star, straight A's, most popular kid in school, cheekbones she could cut her hand on, abs for days—
No, that boy did not ask her out.
But he did...ask her to come over. Which she's still struggling to figure out how this came to pass.
"I just don't get it," Anna says, shaking her head and staring at Jess like a butterfly under a microscope. "How did you get his attention? I mean, he's a senior, and you're a sophomore, so I'm just—"
"Please stop acting like he asked me out," Jess begs. "Because he didn't—"
"Alright," Michael says in a placating tone, lifting his hands in a calming gesture. His actions are straightforward but his eyes are bright with excitement. "So if Hotty McAbs didn't ask you out, what exactly is this all about?"
"Well, we share a few classes—"
Michael snorts. "Yeah, Jessie, we know. You've let us know that once or twice."
Jess glares, but it's halfhearted at best. And, yeah, okay, maybe she's mentioned it a few times. But it's only because she's a sophomore and shouldn't even be in any senior classes. She's only at Gotham Academy on scholarship to begin with, one she earned, and she's determined to work her ass off to get into an Ivy League and actually make something of her life.
Her academic advisor had advised her to take it easy, to ace the classes at her grade level and wait until senior year to take the senior classes, but no way. She's going to load up on as many honors and AP classes as she can. She's on track to be valedictorian when it comes time to graduate, and someone will have to pry that from her cold, dead hands.
So yeah, she shares three classes with Dick Grayson. The boy is killer smart, despite what he tries to pretend with all the high society kids at this school. One time, she overheard him talking to their AP Chem teacher Mr. Bernard; he'd been trying to withdraw from the class, saying it was too hard, but Mr. Barnard hadn't even pretended to hear him out, saying that he's one of his best students and he refuses to lose him because of some bullshit about it being "too hard."
It's one of the only times Jess has ever heard a teacher curse, and it was pretty weird.
"Well, last period was honors English Lit and we'd just been assigned an essay about—" She pauses, noting how her friends really don't care about the assignment itself, and clears her throat, skipping over it. "Anyway, it was a big essay, and so he approached me after and asked if we could meet up to discuss it because there were some of the themes of the book he was—" Again, she stops. Withholds a sigh. "Anyway, uh. He said he noticed I was one of the best in the class and wanted my help, if I was willing."
"And I bet you're pretty wiling," Michael says slyly, smirking at her, and Jess' cheeks heat.
"Who wouldn't be!" Anna says, still staring at Jess like she holds the secrets to the universe and is refusing to share. "He invited you to his house. Do you understand what his house is, Jessica my darling my love? Do you know where he lives?"
"A giant manor kind of like a castle," Jess says faintly, "yeah, I know."
Christ, she's going to visit Wayne Manor. As in Wayne Manor, as in the place Bruce Wayne lives, as in the richer-than-Scrooge-McDuck playboy who resides in their city. That's not something that happens to normal people. That's not something that should happen to normal people. How the hell did she of all people manage to get an invite?
"Do you think you'll get to meet Bruce Wayne?" Michael asks excitedly.
"I really hope not," Jess moans, dropping her head to the cafeteria table. God, she really hopes Bruce Wayne isn't there. She'd feel the need to thank him for the scholarship that he probably has nothing to do with anyway—he's certainly not the one reviewing applications for his foundation scholarships—and that most likely would lead to an awkward conversation about how much he likes helping underprivileged students, and Jess just. Doesn't want to deal with that.
Dick Grayson is one thing. Visiting Wayne Manor is another. And meeting Bruce Wayne at Wayne Manor? Well that's an entire other ball game that Jess is unprepared for.
"Do you feel like Cinderella?" Anna asks, teasing, and Jess shoots her a glare.
"It is not. A. Date. Okay?"
Anna smirks. "I don't know, I've certainly seen enough TV shows to know that more often than not the tutor ends up hooking up with the tutee."
Jess picks up a peach square from her lunch tray and throws it at her friend's head, enjoying the indignant squawk she gets for her troubles.
"I am not going to hook up with Dick Grayson, Annabelle."
"Ever notice how no one just uses his first name?" Michael muses, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You never hear anyone say Oh look, there's Dick. It's always his full name. Why is that?"
"We, the masses, have to earn it," Anna tells him solemnly, and then looks to Jess with a wicked smirk. "I think Jess is definitely gonna earn a first-name-basis this weekend."
"I'll throw another peach square at you," Jess warns, making Anna laugh and throw up her hands in surrender.
Ray likes working at the clinic.
Sure, it's in a dangerous area, so he gets kind of anxious walking home at night, but the pros far outweigh the cons.
Like for instance, the little boy sitting on the exam table in front of him. Tommy Williams is seven years old, and without this free clinic, the laceration on his arm would go untreated by a medical professional. There are so many families that simply don't have the money or insurance to easily go to the doctor, but Leslie Thompkins free clinic helps any and all individuals, even criminals.
Dr. Thompkins says it's not her job to catch the bad guys, that's for the police and the bats. Her job, she says, is to help and to heal. And she'll do that for anyone who needs it.
It's probably the reason the clinic has never been attacked or vandalized; no one is going to hurt a place that welcomes them without discrimination. Ray's worked on a few men—and boys—who have come in with gunshots wounds or other injuries like that. They don't explain what happened, and he doesn't ask. He just helps.
And though that can be kind of scary, it's also...pretty nice. Just helping.
"There ya go," Ray says with a smile, finishing places the bandage over the laceration. He's pretty good at figuring out what's child abuse after having worked at this place for a while, and he's relieved to note that this cut definitely came from a bad fall off a bike and not from a beer bottle. The abuse cases—god, those never get any easier to deal with.
"Thank you," Tommy says shyly, hopping off the table. Ray offers him a lollipop and the boy takes it with enthusiasm, and then Ray walks him back out to his mother in the waiting room.
"Who's next?" Ray asks the boy at the reception desk. Ray doesn't know his name, but he knows the kid doesn't actually work at the clinic, that Leslie just lets him hang out and fill in when one of their receptionists have to call out. He's a sweet kid, far as Ray's had any interaction with him, and Leslie's so obviously fond of him. Ray would guess the boy is her kid, if not for the fact that they look nothing alike, and the boy isn't around frequently enough for it to make sense.
"Patricia James," the boy responds, nodding to an elderly woman sitting nearby. The boy offers Ray a clipboard with the information Ms. James filled out when arriving, and helpfully says, "She fell down the stairs outside her apartment building. Overall she feels fine, but she's got some pain in her lower back."
"Thanks," Ray says earnestly, smiling. The boy smiles back, a small but pleased expression, and goes back to the book perched in his lap.
Ray takes Ms. James into an exam room, and continues on with his job.
The rest of the day passes much the same. Patient after patient, the boy at the desk being exceedingly helpful and knowledgeable about each of the people and what's wrong with them when Ray comes out to help the next person.
It's on the fourth one when Ray sees that the book the kid is reading is Lady Susan by Jane Austen.
"That for school?" Ray asks during a lull, nodding towards the book. The kid's in his early teens maybe, and Ray didn't think that's a book typically assigned—if Jane Austen's assigned, it's usually one of her more famous works; Ray's never even heard of this book until just this moment.
The kid glances up at him, down to the book, and then back to Ray. He puffs up a little, defensive, and says, "No. It's just for fun."
Ray just nods, open expression not changing. No wonder the boy's defensive; people at school have probably made fun of him for just casually reading obscure Jane Austen books.
"That's cool," Ray says. "I can't claim to have read a lot of her stuff, but I read Pride and Prejudice when I was younger. She certainly wrote some good prose."
The kid smiles at him, nodding. "Yeah she really did. " A little hesitantly, he adds, "She's probably my favorite author."
"That's cool. It's great to see someone your age so invested in reading," Ray says.
The boy's face scrunches up in distaste, and he nods. "Yeah, I haven't met a lot of readers. My new school has more people who do it for fun, but a lot of them are stuck up so I'd almost rather they didn't like to read, they give us a bad rap."
Ray laughs, nodding. "I bet. Where do you go?"
The boy hesitates, glancing around. He doesn't look like he wants to answer the question, so Ray opens his mouth to change the subject, when the boy mutters, "Gotham Academy."
Ray blinks in surprise. It's extremely rare that kids from Crime Ally end up attending the prestigious Gotham Academy, but not unheard of. With all those Wayne Foundation scholarships, anyone who really puts in the work can make their way there. This kid strikes him as really smart; Ray could believe him qualifying for a scholarship.
"Nice job," Ray says with an encouraging smile. "Not easy to get in there."
If anything, the boy just looks more uncomfortable. "Yeah, well. I didn't...apply. Exactly."
Ray frowns, confused. He's stopped from inquiring further when Dr. Thompkins appears from an exam room, escorting a very pregnant woman out towards the door. She heads back over afterwards, looking between the kid and Ray.
"Hey, Jason," she says with a warm smile. "How are you doing?"
"Good, Leslie," the kid—Jason, apparently—says, some of the tension sliding out of his shoulders as he turns his attention to her. "I got my homework done earlier."
"Good," Dr. Thompkins praises. "Alfred would kill us both if you spent all your time here and didn't do anything for school."
Jason huffs a little laugh, nodding, and then glances at the clock. Just before five. The kid's face falls a little. "I've got to go."
"Is Alfred picking you up or do you need a ride?"
"Alfred's picking me up," Jason confirms, glancing towards the door. "I really hope he's driving something less conspicuous this time."
Dr. Thompkins cracks a smile. "I highly doubt it."
Just then, the door opens, the little bell above it going off. An older man steps in, dressed in a very smart suit, standing with perfect posture and a polite but distant expression on his face. When his gaze lands on Jason his face relaxes a little, his smile becoming far more genuine, if sill small.
"Master Jason, Dr. Thompkins, good to see you both well," the man says with a dip of his head.
"Hiya, Alfie," Jason greets, standing up. He pulls a backpack out from under the table and puts his book in it, heading around the desk towards the door.
"Good to see you too, Alfred," Dr. Thompkins replies. "Bye, Jason. See you next week."
The kid waves, calling a goodbye, and then they're gone. Dr. Thompkins turns to look at Ray with a cocked eyebrow. "You have questions."
"A little bit," Ray says hesitantly. "I thought the kid was an Ally kid, like everyone here. What's all that about?"
"He recently got adopted by someone with a lot of money," Dr. Thompkins tells him, shrugging a shoulder. "Before that, he did live here. Just down the street, in fact. He's a good kid, and so's the man who took him in."
"Why's he come here?" Ray asks, mystified. "Hell, when I was his age I would've killed to make a break like that."
Dr. Thompkins hums, nodding. "His life right now has a lot of stressors," she says carefully. "And his new environment can be...a lot. He likes to be here for something familiar, and to help out."
Ray mulls that over. "He was reading Jane Austen for fun."
The woman laughs. "Oh yes. Kid's bright as anything. Mark my words; Jason Todd's going to live an extraordinary life."
"What I wouldn't give to be able to move like that," Esme sighs, unable to take her eyes off the stage. Around her, the other girls nod in commiseration.
It's almost unreal, the way the girl on stage is dancing. Esme would cry meta if she didn't know how unlikely it is, and that's also just her jealousy at work. Because seriously, how can someone be that good, be that talented? She knows they exist—hell, she's watched enough performances of the big ballet companies to know how amazing some of them could be—but those are The Greats, the people they aspire to be.
This is a girl younger than her.
And the worst part is that it's almost impossible to hold onto any jealousy when watching the girl on stage perform. Because she's...enrapturing. Her fluid movements, the way she practically defies gravity in some of her leaps, the effortless way she does things they all have trained years to do even half as well. You watch her dance, and you're just...in awe. You can't help but stay still and watch.
Cassandra Wayne came from nowhere, and is now the star of their dance studio. And it's certainly a prestigious dance studio.
The dance concludes, the music ends, and it takes them all a moment to shake the beauty of it off to applaud. Cassandra looks over to them all and beams, overjoyed, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.
She's so...nice. She's just kind, in a way that Esme hasn't seen a lot of. It's clear the younger girl has been through a lot—Esme saw the scar on her back a few times in the changing room—but she still is so warm, so welcoming. Even when Emily got all bitchy about Cassandra getting a solo she wanted, Cassandra didn't even bat an eye, just smiled and asked if Emily wanted to work on a piece together.
How do people that kind exist? Esme doesn't know. She tries to be a good person, tries to be nice, but sometimes she's only human. But she's never seen Cassandra anything less than welcoming with them.
"Do you think Miss Annalise wished really, really hard and Cassandra just poofed into existence?" Becca asks, still watching the stage where Cassandra and their instructor are currently talking about something they're too far away to hear.
"No," someone else disagrees, opening their phone. "Not even Miss Annalise could wish up someone that good."
A murmur of agreements go over the group, and Esme cracks a smile.
"Maybe Wayne grew her in a lab," Lizzie suggests. "Genetic tampering to make somebody so perfect."
Esme snorts. "Oh, come on, Liz. Just face it—Cass is 100% human, like the rest of us plebes. She's simply..." She waves a hand, struggling for the word.
"Unbelievably incredible?" Rya offers, smiling.
Multiple pairs of eyes turn to her with identical smirks. "Careful Rya," Natalie tuts teasingly, your crush is showing."
Rya's cheeks go bright red, and she splutters out some sort of denial, making the rest of them laugh. "You guys are awful," Rya mutters, sliding down further in her chair as if trying to hide from view. "Absolutely horrid."
"But you love us anyway," Nicole coos, slinging her arm around Rya's shoulders and squeezing with a grin.
"Becca, Esme," Miss Annalise calls out. "Can you come up here?"
The pair of girls exchange a look and get to their feet, pulling themselves up onto the stage and heading over to where their teacher and Cassandra are standing.
"Hi," Cassandra greets with a smile and a small wave.
"Hey," Esme replies, waving back. Becca echoes the sentiment, and they both look to Miss Annalise expectantly.
"I was thinking of adding a bigger moment to the end of this section. Instead of fading off, ending bright. Would you girls be interested in being involved in that? You three I think would make a great team, and Cassandra agrees."
Esme beams and nods quickly. A bigger role in the show? Hell fucking yeah! And working with Cass is always great; she somehow manages to make five-hour rehearsals feel like a relaxing half-hour hanging out together.
She's going to be something unbelievable one day—already is, really—and Esme has to admit that even amongst her jealousy, she feels...honored, to be a part of something so unique and incredible. That's what she always feels in group pieces, the community, the partnership, the understanding, the feeling of being part of something greater than yourself. And dancing with someone like Cass always makes that feeling so much stronger.
"Excellent!" Miss Annalise says, clasping her hands together. "I'm so glad. We'll discuss it more next class. For now—" she raises her voice, "—you're all dismissed! Excellent work today, girls."
They all head towards the changing room, getting back into their normal clothes, chatting amicably about their plans for the weekend. Esme's dad isn't in the lobby to pick her up when she gets there, but that isn't too much of a surprise; ever since the divorce, her parents have been kind of all over the place when it comes to who's supposed to do what. Esme doesn't mind too much; the weather's nice, and the walk isn't that far.
She sees the two black-haired boys lounging by the doors that Cassandra makes her way over to with a smile. She hugs the shorter of the pair and then tucks herself against the side of the other, relaxing in their presence.
Esme recognizes them, of course; Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, Cass' adoptive brothers. One of them is usually here when classes get out, them or the pretty blonde girl that the rest of them have a bet about; whether or not she and Cassandra are a thing, considering how close they seem. They certainly make a cute couple, if so.
Both boys look up then, unerringly spotting where Esme stands staring, and Esme's cheeks heat at having been caught, and then even further when both of them offer her a smile. Is it a requirement for Wayne, that the kids he takes in have to be super attractive?
"Esme," Cassandra calls, waving her over, and Esme follows the instruction hesitantly, offering the boys an awkward smile when she gets there.
"Hi."
"Hey," the elder of the pair responds, smiling brightly. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Dick; Cass' said great things!"
Esme blinks, glancing at Cassandra, and is met with an open smile. "It's true."
"Oh, uh, nice to meet you, too," Esme gets out, blushing even harder for how stuttered her words come out.
"Would you like to come to lunch with us?" Tim Drake asks, nodding towards the door. "We were just gonna go grab a bite, celebrate the fact that it's Friday. You're welcome to join."
Esme blinks at them, a little taken aback, glancing between the three of them. Why? Was she looking particularly pathetic and they took pity on her?
"C'mon," Cassandra says, smiling gently. "It'll be fun. Please?"
She looks between them all again for any hint of deceit. But no, they're being genuine as far as she can tell, actually inviting a person they don't even know to go have some food with them. Is this another requirement for Wayne kids, just nice for no good reason? Cassandra has certainly been a good example of that.
"Sure," Esme agrees, smiling back, thoughts of the messed up situation between her parents falling to the background. "Sounds good."