Bluejay: The Protégé of Black Canary

Gotham Academy

The moment I entered the grounds, I knew I was in trouble. It was August nineteenth, a glorious day, if I may add. (Note my sarcasm) Or better known as the first day of my new school. I had been standing across the road for a couple minutes, debating with myself if I should actually go in. I mean, I bet if I wanted to I could just leave and never come back. At this point, that sounded like a fabulous idea.

The academy was a massive, white structure that could have been mistaken for a capital building or something. Twenty foot tall iron gates surrounded the school like a prison, which didn't make me eager to get inside. Just behind the gates was a green, very neatly landscaped front yard. Tall trees lined the walkway to the school that lead directly to the front doors of the academy.

I made a face. When I first saw the school, I thought Dinah had given me the wrong directions or something because there was no way I could belong to a school like this one. But the students matching fancy uniforms like my own gave it away that, yeah, this was the one. I yanked uncomfortably at my stupid tie. Kaldur had to help me with it this morning. A moment later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Dinah.

*Yes, Jackie. This is the right building* It read.

I stifled a dramatic whimper and scanned the rooftops. She was up there somewhere. This is what you wanted. To go back to school, right? I tried to convince myself. After all, school was my shot at pretending to have a normal life again. I tried not to whine and stamp my feet like a toddler. Gritting my teeth, I eventually forced myself to cross the street. I wrinkled my nose when a slick, red convertible rolled into view and pulled up against the side of the school.

When Dinah said she would let me attend school this year, I assumed I would go to some high school in Star City. Definitely not a private school. In Gotham too. Wasn't this the city that the Intergang had last been seen in? The city my father and I had just escaped from months before? But Dinah insisted I would be well looked after there. She hadn't specified even when I asked, she just assured me I would be safe.

I resisted the urge to throw another nasty look towards the rooftops in case Dinah was watching. My finger tapped against the backpack strap I was clutching. I had mixed feelings about this. I did want things to start becoming sort of normal again, and going to school was the first step. But my heart was beating so loudly in my chest I thought it would burst open.

I took a deep breath and marched through the front gates, doing my best to blend in. I tried to look as casual as possible, strolling across the pavement and not meeting anyone's eyes. Students in lovely matching uniforms, (note the sarcasm again) socialized in groups of five or eight around the benches and steps, enjoying the last bit of semi-okay weather we were going to get. I walked straight past them and walked up the stairs, then through the doors crowded with students.

I had declined the offer of a tour, convinced that I didn't need anyone to show me around and could manage just fine on my own. But I soon slightly regretted that decision the moment I entered the building. But only slightly. The grand entrance had my feet glued to the ground. I quickly realized how utterly massive the school was, and how I had no idea where I was. Stifling a groan, I pulled out my schedule and map and went to find my first period.

The early morning light shone through the floor to ceiling windows, and painted lockers and various trophy cases lined the walls. Medals, trophies, and shiny brass plaques glinted behind the protective glass. Beautiful and elaborate paintings, and pictures of students holding the winning trophies at competitions decorated the hallways. Heck, even the garbage cans looked fancy. Wealth was definitely not something the school was shy of. And neither were the students.

Reading body language was a survival skill for me. Predicting what your opponent did next was a game changer. I unconsciously absorbed every visible detail about every student I passed. The way they averted their eyes, held themselves tall, flicked their hair over their shoulders, clutched books tight to their chests, or had their eyes glue to their smartphones. It was easy to read what sort of clique they belonged to. The jocks, the cheerleaders, the smarties pants, the drama kids, band students, artsies, and so on. Despite all of their differences, most of them had one thing in common. Money.