Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

nineteen

25 YEARS EARLIER

Bruce uncomfortably pulled at the collar of his uniform, tugging the gray and navy tie until it sat slightly lopsided on his neck. It was the first week of grade nine— which also meant his first week at Gotham Academy— and his eyelids were already drooping from staying up too late as children filed into his first-period history class. A bookbag sat on the seat next to him as per the instruction of Meredith, who was apparently busy leading some club meeting. (Bruce wasn't exactly sure how she was the spokesperson of a club, because hadn't it only been, like, three days of school?)

He stared around at pointless things in the rather lifeless classroom— the blackboard, several tables in rows, and a line of windows off to the side. Everyone was dressed in black, white, blue, and gray— most children Bruce had seen or heard of at crummy charity events, and others simply strangers who looked like they came from some sort of money. He himself received a few bizarre looks and dull whispers sounding like his name flitting past his ears. Alfred had warned him that many people would only want to get close to Bruce for his money— not like Bruce didn't already know that.

He wondered how many times his own father had stood in this very room, or written on the chalkboard splayed across the front. Thomas had often talked about his fond experiences at the Academy, which only made Bruce depressed— everything somehow had a way of reminding him of his parents.

He was about to turn around and tell two kids to stop talking about him, when Meredith Elias stormed into the classroom wearing a crisp black blazer and plaid skirt. She seemed irritated, judging by the way her brows were wound tightly together and her walk was more of an angered march.

She rounded the corner to his table, shoved his bookbag unceremoniously onto the floor, and set her bag down next to it. With a scoff, she brushed her dark hair behind her ear. (She had only recently started to dye it a few shades from its natural brown— and Bruce would never admit it, but he maybe definitely went home and fantasized about it the day she had changed it.)

"I cannot believe—" she paused, looking at the kids who were whispering about Bruce and shooting them a sharp glare. The voices abruptly stopped. She turned back to him. "I cannot believe they refused to make me president! I'm almost too overqualified, and suggested discussing actual important things for the first meeting, like comparable company analysis or even discounted cash flow models, but nooo Brady Ellington wanted to do introductions. Like, who the hell is that going to benefit?"

Bruce raised his brows as she sat in her seat. She looked at him expectantly.

"Well? This is the part where you tell me that they were wrong and I was right."

"Uh, I don't even know what this is for."

She rolled her eyes. "The GAIA, duh."

He stared at her.

"The Gotham Academy Investment Association? I've only been telling you about this for, like, six weeks, Bruce."

"Isn't that only a club for upperclassmen?"

Silence.

"What's your point?"

"You're a freshman."

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

In the summer, Meredith's parents denied her request to transfer in as a sophomore, due to something about "having a normal high school experience," which had her livid. She then went on some sort of strike, swearing to her father that when she became CEO of his company, she wouldn't give him any of the shares. (Which then led to her getting grounded by Gregory, because those were fighting words in his house.)