Status: Rewriting the whole thing, because I hated it. Hope you don't mind!
Anthem
6
The next few days went by in a whirl of excitement and motion. Tara was finally released from the mental hospital, and she managed to find the most comfortable spot on Harley’s pull-out sofa bed in her poorly furnished apartment. She went and bought a few winter clothes, choosing to throw out the sundress from the Scarecrow, and basically started herself a life with Harley.
“Public or private school, hon?” Harley said one evening, poring over brochures for schools. Tara had been released exactly four days ago, and she was due to start school at any time. Harley had talked to her about taking a semester off, to make sure she was completely settled in, but Tara insisted. She knew that with Harley looking for a job, she would be bored around the apartment alone, and the boredom would lead them to fighting.
Tara bit her lip, deliberating. She would love to go to Gotham Christian Academy for the Academically Gifted and/or Otherwise Specially Talented, the elite, snooty private school that she’d gotten her acceptance letter to the day before, but along with a mouthful of a name came a mouthful of a price tag. And Tara wasn’t stupid. She knew that taking care of a legally sixteen-year-old girl when you yourself are jobless and fresh out of college was not the most financially sound idea even without the added burden GCAAGOSP (geez, what an acronym) would surely put on poor Harley. Still, something in her mind told her that the only private Christian school in Gotham was the place she was supposed to be.
“Public,” she finally decided, a huge, fake smile plastered all over her features.
“Perfect!” Harley replied, a genuine smile on her face, “You can start at the semester.”
“At the semester?” Tara frowned, “When’s that? I thought the semester was over since you already graduated.”
“The beginning of the second semester is January 8th,” Harley nodded, proud of herself for remembering.
“Okay… and what’s today’s date? Tara’s smile returned.
“January 4th,” Harley returned Tara’s famously infectious smile, “You start school Monday.”
Monday morning, Tara rolled out of bed at six A.M. She brushed her teeth and pulled on the clothes she had picked out the night before. Upon checking the weather, however, she changed into something else. By this time, she was running late. It was a good thing for her that the school was within walking distance. She made sure to lock her door on the way out. All sorts of freaks and drug addicts lived in the Narrows, some of them even in her and Harley’s building.
Tara stood in front of Gotham Senior High. It was a large, intimidating building square in the middle of old downtown, a place usually referred to as the Narrows. Tara supposed that it had probably once been a nice neighborhood. She could see the vestiges and potential around the corner. The run-down shack down the street had once been a quaint cottage. The building with the broken shutters was once a plantation home, the first house ever built in Gotham, even. The rotting fence was once a beautiful white picket fence, and the winos that lived in the accompanying house once were a loving husband and wife, with two children and a dog. The school building itself was tall and had seen better days. There were bronze statues at the top, but they had turned green over time. The yellow brick of the building was stained with dark marks, ones Princess could only attribute to the rain and poor air quality of the city.
She was dressed in a pretty green wool dress well suited for the cool winter weather, a backpack strapped tightly to her back and a map clutched in her fist. She was glad to have the dress. It was long-sleeved, and she felt confident in it. She had managed to find it at a vintage store, and the ancient woman who ran the place, upon seeing how much she loved it, simply gave it to her, slipping it into her shopping bag with a wink.
She looked up at the massive building, awestruck. It was quite impressive, gigantic, and ancient, over 100 years old. In fact, her graduating class would be the 106th year it was open. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned her gaze to the map, and set out in search of the tiny square that Harley had neatly labeled “Main Office” to retrieve her class schedule.
Once she’d managed to get away from the overly helpful counselor, she appraised her schedule, grimacing at the poor class choices:
1: Algebra II, Ramirez, Room 202
2: W. History, Wilson, Room 400
3: Physics, Hyslop, Room 328
4: Music Theory, Anderson, Room 122
5: Spanish I, Spurlock, Room 724
6: Comp. Sci., McShan, Room 613
7: English, Belmir, Room 715
Wearily, she highlighted all of her classrooms on the map, tracing a direct route to each one before setting off to find Mr. Ramirez’s Algebra II class. She finally did, only to be politely informed that the class was already over, and she should probably head off to her next one to make sure she didn’t miss it, too. The teacher was nice about it, though, and he didn’t seem mad that she had missed his class. He had merely patted her on the back and laughed about it.
She rushed into her history class to a sharp reprimand by the teacher.
“You’re late. Go to the tardy table. Come back when you have a pass,” she snapped, barely turning her head away from the blackboard.
“But…” Tara protested weakly.
“But nothing. Late is late. Go.”
After fifteen minutes of searching, Tara finally found the table. There was a bored-looking woman sitting at it, doing her nails. She seemed put-out that she had to help a student. Tara decided she didn’t like her very much, and her teacher even less for putting her through that ordeal. She returned to the class triumphant, however, and took a seat in the back of the room without a word.
Her classes were all fairly similar, she found. The teachers all seemed exasperated, and none of them seemed to care that she was the new student. That is, until her seventh block.
“Hello,” she said softly to her short, portly English teacher.
“Hello,” he greeted back, “your seat is right here. Class, this is Tara Quinzel, she will be joining us this semester.”
Tara’s head tilted to the side in total confusion. The man had a thick French accent that didn’t really fit with his appearance. It made it very hard for her to understand exactly what he meant by his words.
Tara, bewildered, sat unsteadily in the front row, in the seat Mr. Belmir had indicated. She waited patiently for the rest of the class to arrive, examining them each in turn and feeling quite pleased when she recognized about half of the thirty or so faces from her previous classes. They all wore the same expression: tired, bored, anxious to be getting out of there.
The class assembled itself; a girl who smelled strongly of perfume sat down next to Tara, texting on her iPhone and looking like an airhead. She blew an exceptionally large bubble with her gum, popping it noisily and giggling.
Tara tried to concentrate on the teacher, she really did, but a combination of his accent, the time of day, and her exhaustion made it nearly impossible. Suddenly, though, everyone around her was pulling out pencils and paper. She mirrored them, hoping to not miss any instructions in her sleepy haze. She peeked over at her scented neighbor’s paper titled “Winter Vacation Quiz”.
“Quiz?” Tara protested, “But it’s my first day!”
“Like, relax?” the airhead said, laughing obnoxiously, her Valley-girl-esque voice like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s totally just a few questions about what you, like, did over the break?”
Tara gulped, wary of revealing more than intended on her first day. She didn’t want to have to tell anyone about what had happened to her. She somehow knew that having something that dangerous and strange happen to her would cause her to either become a social outcast or else popular, but with the wrong crowd and for the wrong reasons. She turned to the chalkboard, where her teacher had written in a clear, neat script a few questions. She read the first one several times, trying to figure out an answer to it that wouldn’t reveal too much on her part. What was the best thing that happened to you over the break?
She bit the eraser of her pencil, thinking. She was going to write about how she was released from the mental hospital in Metropolis, or how the Joker had beaten up the Scarecrow for her, but she decided those were both too strange to mention. After almost five minutes of deliberating, she wrote in a small, untidy script being adopted, and moved on to the next question. What was the worst thing that happened to you over the break?
Tara could think of lots of answers to that one. Losing my memory, that terrible terrible fear gas, being beaten up and thinking he would be the one to kill me, being arrested for something I didn’t do, being put into a mental facility…
Pretty soon, everyone else was finished with their quizzes, and staring at Tara. When the bell rang to end the school day at 3:00, she handed her unfinished paper to Mr. Belmir, collected her things, and ran out the door so she wouldn’t have to face the kindly stout man’s look when he saw that she hadn’t even finished her paper after taking the whole class period.
“Public or private school, hon?” Harley said one evening, poring over brochures for schools. Tara had been released exactly four days ago, and she was due to start school at any time. Harley had talked to her about taking a semester off, to make sure she was completely settled in, but Tara insisted. She knew that with Harley looking for a job, she would be bored around the apartment alone, and the boredom would lead them to fighting.
Tara bit her lip, deliberating. She would love to go to Gotham Christian Academy for the Academically Gifted and/or Otherwise Specially Talented, the elite, snooty private school that she’d gotten her acceptance letter to the day before, but along with a mouthful of a name came a mouthful of a price tag. And Tara wasn’t stupid. She knew that taking care of a legally sixteen-year-old girl when you yourself are jobless and fresh out of college was not the most financially sound idea even without the added burden GCAAGOSP (geez, what an acronym) would surely put on poor Harley. Still, something in her mind told her that the only private Christian school in Gotham was the place she was supposed to be.
“Public,” she finally decided, a huge, fake smile plastered all over her features.
“Perfect!” Harley replied, a genuine smile on her face, “You can start at the semester.”
“At the semester?” Tara frowned, “When’s that? I thought the semester was over since you already graduated.”
“The beginning of the second semester is January 8th,” Harley nodded, proud of herself for remembering.
“Okay… and what’s today’s date? Tara’s smile returned.
“January 4th,” Harley returned Tara’s famously infectious smile, “You start school Monday.”
Monday morning, Tara rolled out of bed at six A.M. She brushed her teeth and pulled on the clothes she had picked out the night before. Upon checking the weather, however, she changed into something else. By this time, she was running late. It was a good thing for her that the school was within walking distance. She made sure to lock her door on the way out. All sorts of freaks and drug addicts lived in the Narrows, some of them even in her and Harley’s building.
Tara stood in front of Gotham Senior High. It was a large, intimidating building square in the middle of old downtown, a place usually referred to as the Narrows. Tara supposed that it had probably once been a nice neighborhood. She could see the vestiges and potential around the corner. The run-down shack down the street had once been a quaint cottage. The building with the broken shutters was once a plantation home, the first house ever built in Gotham, even. The rotting fence was once a beautiful white picket fence, and the winos that lived in the accompanying house once were a loving husband and wife, with two children and a dog. The school building itself was tall and had seen better days. There were bronze statues at the top, but they had turned green over time. The yellow brick of the building was stained with dark marks, ones Princess could only attribute to the rain and poor air quality of the city.
She was dressed in a pretty green wool dress well suited for the cool winter weather, a backpack strapped tightly to her back and a map clutched in her fist. She was glad to have the dress. It was long-sleeved, and she felt confident in it. She had managed to find it at a vintage store, and the ancient woman who ran the place, upon seeing how much she loved it, simply gave it to her, slipping it into her shopping bag with a wink.
She looked up at the massive building, awestruck. It was quite impressive, gigantic, and ancient, over 100 years old. In fact, her graduating class would be the 106th year it was open. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned her gaze to the map, and set out in search of the tiny square that Harley had neatly labeled “Main Office” to retrieve her class schedule.
Once she’d managed to get away from the overly helpful counselor, she appraised her schedule, grimacing at the poor class choices:
1: Algebra II, Ramirez, Room 202
2: W. History, Wilson, Room 400
3: Physics, Hyslop, Room 328
4: Music Theory, Anderson, Room 122
5: Spanish I, Spurlock, Room 724
6: Comp. Sci., McShan, Room 613
7: English, Belmir, Room 715
Wearily, she highlighted all of her classrooms on the map, tracing a direct route to each one before setting off to find Mr. Ramirez’s Algebra II class. She finally did, only to be politely informed that the class was already over, and she should probably head off to her next one to make sure she didn’t miss it, too. The teacher was nice about it, though, and he didn’t seem mad that she had missed his class. He had merely patted her on the back and laughed about it.
She rushed into her history class to a sharp reprimand by the teacher.
“You’re late. Go to the tardy table. Come back when you have a pass,” she snapped, barely turning her head away from the blackboard.
“But…” Tara protested weakly.
“But nothing. Late is late. Go.”
After fifteen minutes of searching, Tara finally found the table. There was a bored-looking woman sitting at it, doing her nails. She seemed put-out that she had to help a student. Tara decided she didn’t like her very much, and her teacher even less for putting her through that ordeal. She returned to the class triumphant, however, and took a seat in the back of the room without a word.
Her classes were all fairly similar, she found. The teachers all seemed exasperated, and none of them seemed to care that she was the new student. That is, until her seventh block.
“Hello,” she said softly to her short, portly English teacher.
“Hello,” he greeted back, “your seat is right here. Class, this is Tara Quinzel, she will be joining us this semester.”
Tara’s head tilted to the side in total confusion. The man had a thick French accent that didn’t really fit with his appearance. It made it very hard for her to understand exactly what he meant by his words.
Tara, bewildered, sat unsteadily in the front row, in the seat Mr. Belmir had indicated. She waited patiently for the rest of the class to arrive, examining them each in turn and feeling quite pleased when she recognized about half of the thirty or so faces from her previous classes. They all wore the same expression: tired, bored, anxious to be getting out of there.
The class assembled itself; a girl who smelled strongly of perfume sat down next to Tara, texting on her iPhone and looking like an airhead. She blew an exceptionally large bubble with her gum, popping it noisily and giggling.
Tara tried to concentrate on the teacher, she really did, but a combination of his accent, the time of day, and her exhaustion made it nearly impossible. Suddenly, though, everyone around her was pulling out pencils and paper. She mirrored them, hoping to not miss any instructions in her sleepy haze. She peeked over at her scented neighbor’s paper titled “Winter Vacation Quiz”.
“Quiz?” Tara protested, “But it’s my first day!”
“Like, relax?” the airhead said, laughing obnoxiously, her Valley-girl-esque voice like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s totally just a few questions about what you, like, did over the break?”
Tara gulped, wary of revealing more than intended on her first day. She didn’t want to have to tell anyone about what had happened to her. She somehow knew that having something that dangerous and strange happen to her would cause her to either become a social outcast or else popular, but with the wrong crowd and for the wrong reasons. She turned to the chalkboard, where her teacher had written in a clear, neat script a few questions. She read the first one several times, trying to figure out an answer to it that wouldn’t reveal too much on her part. What was the best thing that happened to you over the break?
She bit the eraser of her pencil, thinking. She was going to write about how she was released from the mental hospital in Metropolis, or how the Joker had beaten up the Scarecrow for her, but she decided those were both too strange to mention. After almost five minutes of deliberating, she wrote in a small, untidy script being adopted, and moved on to the next question. What was the worst thing that happened to you over the break?
Tara could think of lots of answers to that one. Losing my memory, that terrible terrible fear gas, being beaten up and thinking he would be the one to kill me, being arrested for something I didn’t do, being put into a mental facility…
Pretty soon, everyone else was finished with their quizzes, and staring at Tara. When the bell rang to end the school day at 3:00, she handed her unfinished paper to Mr. Belmir, collected her things, and ran out the door so she wouldn’t have to face the kindly stout man’s look when he saw that she hadn’t even finished her paper after taking the whole class period.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know it's much shorter than all my other chapters, but they'll go back to being longer, this was just where it needed to stop this time.