I'm not bored. I am absolutely fine by myself.

"Why would they cancel it? I don't understand. It's literally fucking perfect! The diversity is literally the main plot. They renew that stupid suicide glamoriser and leave this with a little movie to tie it up?"

I wave my arms around as I speak, Luscious and Cookie both watching the action with disinterest. When I splash my hands back into the water around me they shuffle back further towards the door.

Since I'm alone, I have moved the TV out to the pool area and decided to watch Sense8 whilst swimming. Today is a day off, a Thursday, so I'm taking advantage of it.

"13 Reasons Why," I scoff, watching an ad appear for the upcoming season between my beloved Sense8 episodes, "More like 13 Reasons Why Clay Had More Of A Reason To Kill Himself In The End Than Hannah Did, right?" The cats stare at me, disinterested.

Yes, I watched that show as well. Upon Iggy and Klover's request, mostly.

Cookie and Luscious eat their fancy feast while I float around, half-listening, half-day dreaming.

So, as I was saying. Not bored. Not bored at all. I do just fine on my own. I spent a lot of time that way when I came back from my tour and as a child. The only difference is that now I don't have a beach to sit in and meditate, no waves to comfort me, no fish to join me, no board to hold me up.

Just a pool and my cats in Gotham city.

In all honesty there is a lot less anxiety without him here. I feel no pressure to hide anything- insanity or knowledge of his night activities alike. I'm not thinking before I speak, just blurting things out to Cookie and Luscious. I feel a lot more like the old me when he's not here.

The sound of my phone ringing from inside cuts through the peace of the day. I only get out of the pool to answer because I hope it's one of my siblings. Dripping water across the living room, I pick up the squawking device.

Unknown Number.

Well, "Hello?"

"Perich."

Ah. Only one person calls me that, with such a tone.

"Kid. What do you want? He's not here."

He scoffs, "I am aware of that. Obviously."

Snotty little brat.

I roll my eyes and put the phone on speaker, chucking it on the couch. I miss and it thumps on the floor instead. Oops. I turn and start looking for a towel.

"Are you still there?"

"Obviously," I mock him.

"-Tt-" If one of my siblings did that often enough, I think I'd remove their tongue.

"So you obviously called me for a reason, kiddo," I add, knowing how annoying that nickname is because I hate when people call me that, "What do you want?"

"First of all, never call me that again."

"No can do kiddo."

I can basically hear him grinding his teeth.

Whilst I may have been in the same room as him several times this month during painfully slow dinners with rich families, we haven't had that much contact. We glare sometimes, he makes little comments under his breath and shows up here to see Dick unannounced and demands I leave the room. It's great.

"I will end this call immediately if you continue to call me that."

"No you won't," I laugh as I dry my hair, "You called me because there is no one else. I'm a last resort. So, like I said, what do you want?"

Again with the silence. This must be unbelievably hard, whatever it is. Advice about a girl?

Ha, no, he's to prideful.

"My presence has been requested at my school later today. The Principal requires a meeting with myself and an authoritative family member." He stops right at the moment, like he has explained everything with those few words.

In a way, he has. He wants- No, needs me to be that authoritative figure.

"What about Alfred?" I ask, looking back at the pool with longing.

"Alfred is not...official family."

Dammit.

"I don't know kiddo," I sigh, dropping onto the couch which I know I'll regret later when I want to lay down and watch TV, "I'm really busy today."

I can practically hear the grinding of his teeth over the line, "P-Please," he grunts out.

I don't really doubt that Damian deserves whatever is coming. He's an asshole of a kid. The more I think about it though, the more I realise he's a lot like Gordon. Gordon and Hallow used to compare themselves to the Weasley twins from Harry Potter, only they didn't pull pranks; they beat up kids, skipped school, dealt drugs at one point and a whole array of other things. The worst thing is that they got away with it because my dad would send his lawyers there instead of going himself. Occasionally my mom would go but she understood the importance of keeping up an image in our position.

Later in life I started to realise that the only reason they acted out was to get dad's attention. They never had it; just the ghost of his support. When I left it increased tenfold.

No one was there for them.

So, with a relatively apprehensive tone, I give him my answer, "Guess I'm it, kiddo."

◊

◊

He's suspended and the meeting is during some parent teacher thing at 6, so I pick him up from the manor. I'm glad I don't have that ridiculous purple eyesore anymore, because this is a time for black sleek cars and all the riches in the world.

Once, after coming back, I did have to put on all the bells and whistles to save one of the kids. Jeremy and Klover (it's always the twins that are the troublemakers) had taken on a group of kids and won without effort, but resulted in many injuries for their opponents.

The main boy who ended up with a broken nose, tooth and multiple bruises, has his mother to blame. Some airhead tart complaining to her friends about how the Marines and Soldiers of the Western World have no business helping victims of war in other countries, when there are 'so many worse problems here'.

He listened to his mother and the other vulgar things she had to say about how we're stuck up and only get into it because we're not good at anything else.

The kid decided to taunt Jeremy about it having known about me and, well, he paid for that with a half-tooth and a crooked nose. I dealt with it myself since I felt I'd caused it. I rocked up to the school with looking fresh and frightened the school into forgetting the incident. The mother mysteriously pulled her kid out of school later.

So I have decided to treat this the same.

Damian is standing at the door with a disgruntled look on his face. Alfred is beside him, in a strange spot between the open door and the closed one, like he's blocking something.

Kiddo's uniform is hilarious, revoltingly so. It brings back private high school memories in a really bad way.

I swerve around the expensive diamond-y water fall at the front to pull in by the door. The passenger side opens vertically and reveals one very angry looking child staring me down.

"Get in."

He takes the first hesitant step. His face shifts to suspicion.

"You do realise we are going to my school and not a fashion show, correct?" He snaps, climbing in primly like my car might burn him.

"This isn't the first time I've had to get a kid out of trouble," I tell him as the door automatically shuts. He puts his belt on stiffly, still incredibly awkward in his movements. "Just have to look flash." I race out of the driveway and he looks positively uncomfortable. "This is the most expensive pantsuit I own. The car looks extra shiny, each piece of jewellery is three years tuition there. It's going to scare your principal."

There's no response to that, which is probably a good thing. He doesn't disapprove.

"What'd you do?"

A mega eye roll, like he's sick of explaining it, and then, "The Merrybrooks tried to start a fight. I simply defended myself. I may have thrown Barnaby Merrybrook into a teacher and he may have crushed the teacher's ankle. I also knocked Clive Merrybrook to the ground."

I snort, "A fight. Not surprised. It's always a fight. Am I going the right way?"

So we're going to strut in, flashy, richer than everyone else. Merrybrook will be there with 'Barnaby' and 'Clive', awful names. I'll get to the bottom of what happened and flip it somehow.

"Who hit first? Be honest, I can work with anything."

"He shoved me. He walked up to me in the hallway and said that I should stop harassing his sister," he explains, "The way he said it seemed rehearsed, especially since I have never seen Melinda Merrybrook at the school, in my life." Unsurprising, that girl is invisible.

"Typical. I bet the kid had it written on his hand. Was this today?"

"Yes."

It's slowly darkening. We arrive at Gotham Academy. It's design reminds me of the University of London- Old, gothic, artistic structure.

"This school looks creepy," I say as we pull into the car park.

The cars around us are worth tens of thousands, maybe a few worth some hundred. My car is a three million dollar Lamborghini that Mai bought like a purse, because dad has no self control when it comes to image budget. It looks especially expensive when I park and the doors open by moving up, instead of to the side, like a peasant.

"Gotham upholds its original buildings for their artistic value. That is creepy to you?" He frowns, folding his arms like a child. Well, I guess he is a child.

"Looking for a fight are we, kiddo?" I snort. What a brat. "Dial that down, or you'll make it harder for me to-"

"I do not require your help, Perich. Only your presence. The school requested a guardian and you are hardly that. I can handle myself just fine without you," he snaps, walking just ahead slightly. I don't get how Dick puts up with this boy.

This part of the school is relatively empty, apart from a few students who are teetering around with their friends. Brat and I strut through the water fountains and trees that make up the true luxury of Gotham Academy.

"One of them your girlfriend?" I ask loudly as we pass a group of girls about his age. The girls erupt into giggles and Damian scowls back at me with enraged eyes.

"You are insufferable. How does Grayson put up with you?" He growls.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We enter a path lined by thick styled shrub. My fingers twitch and years of being an annoying older sister kick in. He deserves it. I can't help but give him a little push to the right that sends him stumbling into the bush, never to be seen again.

"Perich!" He shouts in response. Luckily there is no one around to see.

I stop before the tunnel that clearly leads to the centre of the school. In the distance, parents are scattered around in their little cliques. Social class, money, aristocracy, politics. They all judge one another. I feel footsteps sprinting up behind me while I take the scene in.

"Careful now," I call out, "We almost have an audience."

Damian stops short just behind me. I don't know what his intent was- to push me, punch me, whatever -but he decides against it with a low growl.

I turn and look him over once. He straightens his uniform.

"There's a leaf in your hair," I smirk.

"I hate you."

He pulls out the greenery and tries not to look like he's preening himself as he smooths up his undercut.

"You know there are probably paparazzi undercover around us?" I ask.

"I am aware."

As soon as we emerge, everyone turns to watch Damian and I walk across to the building entrance. The brat manages to maintain a relatively disinterested look and I pull something of the same, if a little resting bitch face.

The moment the woman at the main door catches sight of us, she immediately cuts off the conversation she is having and focuses her attention our way.

"Who?"

"Dean of Studies, Mrs Harlow," he murmurs back.

Mrs Hallow is short and chubby, like so many school office staff. She looks to be in her fifties with greying dark hair tied back in a low ponytail and a hideous tweed suit.

"Ah Mr Wayne! You have brought your sister with you today," she smiles with a croaky voice.

Damian stays back a bit on the steps leading to the pristine corridor.

"Cleo Grayson," I shake her hand, "Mr Wayne is sorry he could not make it, but he is on a very important business trip. I understand this meeting is with the principal, correct?"

"Yes it is," she gives Damian a big, sweet smile. It seems pretty genuine. "I can take you there now?"

"That would be lovely."

She turns around and heads into the school. I step aside and usher Damian in first like an actual sister would. I toss a I'm better than you look to the other parents before following inside.

"Gotham Academy is one of the oldest buildings in the city, alongside your family's manor, the Justice building, Gotham bank..." For a moment I think she is talking to Damian, as we walk through the grandeur halls scattered with students and parents, some crying, some gawking at us.

Then I realise she is actually talking to me.

A part of me wants to tell her I didn't come here for the tour, but for now it is all about the image.

"This hall was rebuilt and funded by Thomas Wayne himself, upon the inception of the Wayne Foundation. You should be proud of that, Damian."

Glancing at him, kiddo looks annoyed by the claim. I get that; when I was in school I was told to be proud of my family's additions as well, like they weren't assets to flaunt our wealth.

"This classroom was one of the first in the entire building, it even housed..."

I stop the moment my eye catches it, glistening in a cluttered dust-free cabinet. This hall is lined with them; pedestals to put their greatest on. The one I see is about the third along, five years of memorabilia crowding it.

A frame with a little plaque nailed to the bottom, Richard Grayson, Valedictorian Honors sits on the top shelf. A fresh-faced, blue-eyed young Richard Grayson is smiling in what must be his senior photo.

"You didn't know?" Damian asks quietly as Mrs Harlow realises we're not following her and begins to scurry backwards.

"Does he look like a genius to you?" I respond, but I can't help but smile, because it's so funny- The dork I live with has his own little shrine at his high school.

"Ah yes," Mrs Harlow smiles warmly when she reaches us again, "Mr Grayson was well loved here. As was Mr Drake before he, uh, dropped out." Tim dropped out? Also, funny that she doesn't mention the other one.

Before we leave, I snap a photo, just to tease him about it later.

She leads us up to the end of the hall, "And up here, we have Mr Thomas Wayne himself."

There are pictures and portraits of the Wayne family at the manor, but at no point in time have I thought Damian looked so much like Bruce more than now. Seeing the boy in the picture in his uniform and then comparing it with his son, wearing almost the same clothes, it's uncanny.

Damian is just a slightly darker, more Arab Bruce. They have that same determined look, though. Damian also has jade eyes, likely from his mother whom I apparently never want to meet.

We both seem to feel it at the same time. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look at Damian and he's already looking at me. We can both sense the presence of an enemy.

Turning in unison, baby Wayne and I come to face our foe, standing at the end of the next corridor with his brick children, practically foaming at the mouth. The door to the principal's office is in-between us.

I smirk, so ready for battle.

Placing one hand on Damian shoulder, I know he is ready as well.

"Let's go, round two."

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