Electric Flame

1.2

At six in the morning, I returned home. I had to start getting ready for school sometime, and Mother would not be happy if I was late. First day at the school for the rich and snobby: Gotham Academy. Living off the salary of a thief, we don't have much money, but Mother pulled a few strings.

I pulled on the beige skirt first and, disgusted by the lack of color, I crinkled my nose and took it off. It was not my style. I put on a pair of my favorite light blue ripped skinny jeans instead and popped on the Gotham Academy vest, stringing the tie loosely around my neck. I placed on my favorite gray Converse high-tops and, after brushing my teeth, put my hair into a high ponytail.

After applying some light makeup and realizing I don't know how to apply makeup, I made my way downstairs and grabbed a piece of toast. I waved goodbye to Mother, who was talking to Killer Frost about some stuff in the kitchen (sorry, it's classified) and slung my black Jansport backpack over my shoulder, stepping out onto the concrete porch. I stared at the road for a good five minutes, just thinking about nothing, before beginning my route to the academy.

Ten minutes had passed by the time I was remotely halfway there. The longest ten minutes of my life. But that was soon cut short when I passed a huge mansion up the hill. As I walked by, I just had to look through the gates. I'm a curious person.

A boy exited out of the dark oak front double doors and the wrought iron gates began to open up. As he drew closer, I recognized him as the same person I met last night, but I saw this as an omen to get my butt out of there. Step after step, faster and faster, my feet hit the pavement.

I was about ten yards away when I heard the boy cry out. "Hey! Wait up!" he shouted. I ignored him and kept walking, placing my earbuds in my ears to block out the sound. I felt a hand on my shoulder and immediately grabbed it, twisted the wrist, and flipped the person over my shoulder onto the concrete sidewalk."Ow!" groaned Dick in pain. "What was that for?"

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," I responded, not really sorry. In fact, it was a complete lie.

"And where'd you learn to do that?" he asked, curiosity overflowing from his eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I teased then carried on, earbuds back in my ears.

He caught up to me once more and walked alongside me. I was starting to think of him as a creep. "Can I help you?" I asked, annoyed.

"The name's Richard. Richard Grayson," he told me as he put out his hand, probably for me to shake. "But my friends call me Dick."

My ears perked up at the sound of money. "The playboy's son?" I probed further, raising an eyebrow, then checking him over from head to toe. "(y/n). But that doesn't mean we're friends," I said dryly. Why should I make friends with a rich snob? There are going to be plenty of them at the academy.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, smiling knowingly. 

His eyes dazzled in the sunlight and there was no crater or pock in sight. Through his slightly parted lips, the front row of perfectly straight teeth showed, recently brushed and white. His dark hair shadowed his forehead, falling just above his impossibly perfect eyebrows.

In all honesty, he looked like a potential teenage model on the cover of dozens of magazines. And he probably was.

He probably has someone that brushes his teeth for him. I mentally rolled my eyes.

"Your kind of people and my kind of people just don't get along," I sang, an innocent tone lingering on the edges of my sweet voice. "Never have; never will."

"And who would your people be?" he asked, his contagious smirk getting bigger.

"Hmm," I grinned, trying to act dainty and adorable, which wasn't very difficult. "Next question."