This is Gotham High, a Batman fanfic by Crash Dummy. It is the tale of how the author’s OC enrolls into a not-so-prestigious school in Gotham and interacts with its student and teachers, who are all based on DC Comics characters. While the story’s title is similar to a contemporary comic book release as of writing this mock, the fanfic is in fact more than six years old and based on a scrapped cartoon pitch. That being said, I’m not expecting any great crimes against literature with this one. The premise is goofy, and that’s really all that I need to poke some fun at it for levity. Enjoy.
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Chapter 1
Gotham High was once a proposed TV series idea that was later cancelled. As a fan of DC Comics, I say blasphemy! C'mon, the idea sounds lame but who wouldn't want to see it? At least to satisfy some temporary curiosity?
This is the same kind of interest that is elicited by a car crash. Need I say more about the premise?
So I "created" a series involving a not-so OC exploring what that kind of universe would be like. I borrowed some ideas and/or quotes from the DC universes and wrote something that I might like to see on TV.
This story is also posted on Fictionpress since I didn't know there was a fanfiction site exclusively for Batman. The difference between this and the Fictionpress is that this one is more detailed.
Wow. It’s the first time I can say with any kind of confidence, that I’m reading a second draft.
I do not own any DC characters, comics, etc. and I don't own any of the songs or song lyrics that I may be posting.
Enjoy!
First Day Blues
Gotham High was a bit of a dismal place.
It’s Gotham. There is only one aesthetic.
All of the walls were dreary with graffiti and damage. Teenagers laughed or snickered in the hallways and teachers snoozed away at their desks.
"Dad, why are we moving to Gotham again?" Citrus whispered nervously and angrily as they walked down the hall to the principal's office. Eyes followed them with every step.
Citrus? That’s the OC’s name? Really?! Batman has given us the likes of “E. Nygma” and “Victor Fries”, but those are at least passable as names. In a world where names foreshadow your future career, hers will be a lemonade stand.
Her dad shook his red head, sighing, "I was transferred here, remember? And with your mom dying in the crash, I figured we might need to take a break from everything for a while."
I hope we take a break from contrived exposition as well.
Thank goodness her dad wasn't wearing his badge, then they'd get a lot more stares. It was awkward enough just walking down the hall with eyes following her. While it was a relief to leave what was once her home, but Gotham High was notorious for its violence, gangs, and low test scores. Other than that, she was sure this was just an excuse for him to make her get friends.
Her father wants her to have friends, so he enrolls her in a school known for its criminal environment and poor academic accomplishments. Her father, the policeman. Are there just no other schools in Gotham?!
At her last school, things were hard enough with friends. At least there, she knew how thing worked, here was a mystery.
Her dad went inside the principal's office and a redheaded girl sat next to Citrus. The girl wore a black turtle neck and a gray, ruffled skirt.
"Hi, I'm Barbara Gordon. Welcome to Gotham High," redhead smiled.
Welcome to the microcosm of everything the show was, but with teenage hormones and homework.
Citrus flushed and stammered, "Would your dad happen to be Commissioner Gordon? As in my dad's boss? Please don't fire him, I'll carry your books or help you do your homework if you want!"
Citrus clapped her hands over her mouth as Barbara stared.
Crud, now she knows my dad is employed under hers. I am so dead if she's like my last dad's boss's kids.
Slow down there, Miss Vitamin-C. Get a grip, hopefully around a spine to replace your missing one. What the hell are you on about with this uncalled for despair?
"Why would it matter if your father works for mine? Why would he be fired? And you don't have to do that kind of stuff," Barbara said worriedly.
Citrus chuckled nervously, "Sorry, at my last school I attended the same school of my dad's boss's kid, and... Well, he was one of those pretty, rich types of guys. The kind with a lot of social power, so he often threatened that he'd get my dad fired if I didn't do what he said."
Why am I telling her this? She seems easy to talk to, but she could be one of those types that are nice at first, and then they stab you in the back! What am I thinking?!
I don’t believe you are thinking at all, Lemonhead. And neither is the author. Why does Citrus even know the name of her father’s boss? Why, when realizing who Barbara is, does she cynically expect Barbara to behave like an entirely unrelated character instead of trying to assess her first? Why would Citrus even start blabbering about it, as if she was stuck in constant exposition mode, instead of keeping her trap shut and merely hold it as a silent point of distrust?
Barbara looked sadly at her, "Ok, there are bad kids like that in our school, but there are good kids as well. You've just got to let them know who you really are."
Citrus smiled, "You remind me of my mom, she always believed in looking for the best in people. Sorry, I'm a bit of a blabbermouth, and also apparently a total jerk for judging so quickly. You can call me 'Jerk of the year' if you want, but my real name is Citrus O'Brien."
My god, you really are stuck in exposition mode, C. The story is barely into page two, what is the fucking rush?
Barbara smiled even wider, "I'll call you Citrus and you can call me Babs. Out of curiosity, why are you called Citrus?"
Citrus laughed, "You know how pregnant women have cravings? Guess what my mom craved."
They both laughed.
I, too, am laughing at this now verified walking joke of a character.
Citrus's dad stepped out of the office and smiled sadly at his daughter.
"See you later honey, and tell me about school later."
"Bye dad, and don't worry. I think I just made a new friend," Citrus smiled at Babs and Babs smiled back.
“Babs” means “tit” in my native language, and I don’t mean the bird. Why couldn’t you just have used “Barb”, which is the more popular nickname for her?
Her dad smiled brightly and hugged her before heading off to work. The school bell rang and Babs grabbed Citrus's schedule.
"Okay, your first period is ... Forensic science?"
"Yeah, I want to be a detective, like my mom was."
"What's with all the past tense about your mom?" Babs asked before flushing, as if she caught the gist of it. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Citrus sweat dropped, "Please forget about the mother thing. I miss her, but she's here in my heart. The more people worry over it, the worse it feels. I'm not going to be melodramatic about it so don't worry about it. So, which way do we go?"
What you just described is textbook melodrama, dumb-dumb. Just shut up already about the saintly inspiration that was your dearly departed source of career goals with a lemon fetish. I know more about your dead mother, heck, even your irresponsible deadbeat cop father, than I know about you, you overripe lime. Who are you?!
The campus was big and worked like an overcrowded city. Citrus struggled to stick with Babs and when they reached the classroom through the sea of people, they were gasping for air.
"Oooh, new meat!" a shrill, girly voice rang. Citrus looked up from panting and saw a blonde with pigtails. One pigtail was dyed red at the tips and the other black. Through her thick mascara, which reminded Citrus of a mask, she saw the girl had twinkling, cold blue eyes full of humor. There was something weird about them, an intelligence that challenged most.
The first thing it will challenge is probably my patience.
"Whadya think Mistah J?" she said with a Jersey accent.
The blonde was looking at a boy with extremely pale skin, blood red lips, and combed green hair. He reminded Citrus of one of those really scary clowns at a circus. There was something way off about him, but something childish as well.
It’s probably the red rubber nose and goofy oversized shoes. Seriously though, what kind of circuses have you been to?
"I think it's time to get the stink bomb Harley," Mistah J smiled evilly. His voice reminded Citrus of steel rubbing on gravel, rough.
Harley smiled widely, "Now you're gonna get it toots."
The teacher walked in at that moment and yelled, "In your seats everyone! Junior Oker, that includes you. And no more stink bombs."
Junior. Oker. His name is J. Oker. It’s not a nickname. It’s not an edgy moniker as befitting of cringe high school social dynamics. It’s not even the go-to alias of Jack Napir. His name is Junior Oker. I think I need a minute. Possibly a few blows to the head.
Mistah J frowned, "They spoil all the fun."
The teacher wore a nametag, Kirk Langstrom. The teacher noticed Citrus and asked for her schedule. After confirming who she was, he told her to sit next to a kid named Jonathan Crane. Jonathan was a thin person, and grim like a scarecrow. He was drawing possible chemical reactions in notebook, some of the chemicals she could recognize, like capsaicin or salvia divinorum, others were a mystery. Weird, salvia divinorum or seer's sage induces hallucinations. He's not planning to use that to get high, is he?
I’m more concerned that you recognized its formula on sight. Have you used it to get high? What exactly is your skillset, Schweppes?
Professor Langstrom began lecturing about how bats would survive anything that humans couldn't. Citrus felt like she wasn't learning anything new, and that everyone was over obsessive about something here. Ok, it was okay to have some obsessions, but not to the point where it might make others wonder if you were dropped on your head several times as a baby.
You aren’t learning anything new, as Man-Bat literally declares bats to be the new super predator on the planet?! I think I know who here has been dropped as a baby, you bruised fruit.
Citrus glanced over to Jonathan's paper again, "Hey Jonathan, what are you making?"
He looked surprised than angry, " The name's Scarecrow newbie. Everybody here goes by other names. I'm Scarecrow, the clowns are Joker and Harley Quinn. And I doubt you even know what chemical's are being used. "
Citrus narrowed her eyebrows, " I may be blonde, but I'm smarter than I look. Salvia divinorum is used to create hallucinations and can be extremely dangerous . I could tattle like a brat, but I want to know why you're using it."
I want to know why Crane felt the need to belittle your intelligence in the exact way that made you able to show off your big brains. Additionally, this is the first bit of description we’ve gotten of you. Blonde. We’re more than a thousand words into the story, and all I have is a hair color.
Scarecrow looked frightened for a second, then incredibly smug, "Okay, maybe you know a few things. I'm making a gas that will induce hallucinations about people's worst fears. I'm making it for the government to make loads of cash but if you tattle, I may consider using it on you."
Citrus hesitated, an error on her part, "I'm not fond of that kind of tactic, but as long as that's what you're doing with it, without test subjects hopefully, then I won't bother you about it. If I catch you using it for another reason, well, let's agree to disagree on that method."
I now have a hair color, a dead mother, and a non-existent moral compass. The picture of this grapefruit is slowly coming together, and it ain’t pretty.
Scarecrow glared," Are you threatening me?"
"No, I'm warning you against a possible danger asides from myself. Therefore, not a threat."
You’re literally threatening to expose him for his illicit biological weapons program. You’re in a school, open a fucking dictionary once in a while.
Scarecrow went back to his calculations, but not before glaring at Citrus. "All you people are the same, but you'll see. You'll all see."
Citrus felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as a chill went down her spine. Something was off with that kid. Heck, there seemed to be something off about everyone. It unnerved her, but she reminded herself to keep an open mind. There's something unusual about everyone, this school just takes it to a new level.
Unless you start exhibiting something unusual about yourself too, Pomelo, I don’t think you’re going to fit in here.
The period ended and Citrus and Babs looked over her schedule.
"Crud, we only share this period and lunch together. Maybe I can convince the teachers to let me help you around at the very least," Babs offered, but Citrus shook her head.
"Babs, no offense, but I have gone to school before and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it. I can last for two periods without you before lunch, and three periods after. Although if you don't see me at lunch, please do look around."
Sure, because Barbara was such a pillar of support during Bats Are Superior 101. Who put Langstom in charge of Forensic Science anyway?
Babs laughed nervously, "You sure?"
"Yes. I'll probably regret saying this later, but how hard can it be?"
Babs face paled for a moment, "See you later, I guess. Good luck."
Citrus smiled and waved goodbye. At least she made one friend here, hopefully.
...
Her next class was PE. Now why on Earth would Citrus voluntarily go there of all places with her past? Easy, she had to stay fit and practice the physical applications in her future job.
Her past? What past?! I can pick up a random kumquat at the grocery store, and I will have greater knowledge of its past than I do about this girl! What about her mother dying, or her transferring from a different school, would make me question her interest in PE?!
Citrus got her locker number from Mr. Lawrence Crock, a PE coach with a fetish for all things sporty.
Citrus walked towards her locker and noticed her three locker mates. Harley was one of them, another girl was a red-head and had almost green skin. The last had nails like claws and animal prints clothes, she reminded Citrus of a cat.
The girls glared at Citrus as she opened her locker and dressed into her uniform. Why were they so cranky? Was it that time of the month for them?
Silent resentment and character judgement bases upon superficial physical traits. Honestly, I can’t imagine a better description of a high school girls’ locker room.
A very girlish scream ripped through the air and it was coming from... the boys' locker room?
"Eeeeeek! A bat! Kill it! Kill it!"
Citrus raced to the room while keeping her eyes down. She knew what male parts were supposed to look like, but that didn't mean she wanted to ogle them. Citrus ignored the shrieks of terror coming from the boys who noticed she was there and focused on the ones coming from the guys scared of bats.
If your presence inspires terror in a bunch of puberty-addled boys, regardless of their state of dress, then I think you have bigger issues. As big as the rampant curiosity that drove you to dive directly into the boys locker room, just because you heard someone shouting about a bat. What do you think you’re doing, you absolute nutter?!
A kid with really scaly skin, sharp teeth, and shorts , thank goodness, was raising a metal bat to hit a little baby brown bat trying to crawl away on the floor.
Citrus raced over and took the blow instead to her ribs. She grunted as she stood up and guys around her gasped. She reached down and carefully picked up the little bat, making sure not to get near its face.
Sure, let’s just ignore your broken ribs. Just like I’ll ignore how someone trying to hit a bat on the floor could hit a standing person in their chest.
The little bat squealed with a sound that was a mix between anger and terror. Citrus slowly walked out of the locker room, careful not to let the bat escape and making sure it wouldn't be able to bite her. If it did, it would have to be put down, or it could have rabies and kill her.
Outside the locker room stood Professor Langstrom, Coach Crock, and her three locker mates. Crock gave her a lecture about entering the boys' locker room and Langstrom insisted that she fork over the bat.
He also insisted that the bat would surely have survived the strike, since it can survive anything that a human can’t. No, I am not going to let that go, don’t even ask.
"Keep in mind, it didn't bite anyone. So please don't put it down."
"Don't worry, I'd never harm a bat. They're the next step in evolution you know," Langstrom explained as he put the bat into a cage with... velvet lining? He stared at it lovingly, mesmerized.
"Oh please Langstrom, you're married. So quit being in love with bats, they're so creepy. If anybody should love anything, it should be sports. I'm the master of all sports. Now wench, get your butt onto that field before I give you detention."
Pardon me, but when first this character was introduced, I thought it was simply a misspelling of Killer Croc, but that was clearly the person who decided to practice his baseball swing by pulping the author’s OC. Let me look into this, Google don’t fail me now!
Sportsmaster? Some c-list villain whose origin is being a banned football player? I mean, sure, he’s from Gotham, but he’s a Golden Age leftover from the Injustice Society. He appeared more recently in Young Justice, but that should really just highlight how little he has to do with Batman overall. I don’t know anything about this guy’s personality, but with the way the author just had him address a female student in his class, I doubt it’s going to matter much.
Citrus ran to her locker to grab her sneakers, but realized to her dismay that they, along with her regular outfit, had been stolen.
"Terrific, it's my first day and this happens already," she murmured. Well, she had better get to the field before the Sportsmaster throws a tantrum.
...
Citrus saw that a whole lot of guys on the field were lifting weights or running the field. The girls were either sitting around or walking.
Sitting around? During a Physical Education lesson? What the heck kind of laissez-faire class is Crock running here?
Citrus shivered a little. It was freezing out and the ground even had some ice. Great... and she was out here in her socks. The boys and Crock began to fill the running track with hurdles, tires and cones.
"Okay everybody, for extra credit we have an obstacle course. Anybody who can beat the record in timed racing gets credit for the day," Citrus stepped forward and the guys around her laughed.
"This girl's crazy boys. Charging into the boys locker room, handling a bat, and now attempting to race an obstacle course in her socks? I knew girls were stupid, but not that stupid. Give it up girly, there's no way you can win," Crock laughed maliciously.
I’m sure she can still achieve a moral victory, Coach Strawman. After all, it only requires that the author makes everyone around her blatantly in the wrong.
Citrus knew he was sadistic and trying to make her cry. She had enough of that kind of thing, so she decided to be gutsy. She smiled and tugged off her socks. The coach widened his eyes in surprise.
"Your funeral. Don't expect that I'll let you go to the nurse if you get hurt. Ready, get set, go!"
He blew a whistle and Citrus ran as fast as she could. One thing her mom and dad had taught her was how to survive and thrive in these situations. Whether it depended on chasing down crooks or running for your life, it didn't matter. Citrus knew what she wanted in life and no one would tell her no simply because she couldn't complete an obstacle course.
There’s a fine line between being steadfast in the face of adversity and being an idiot, you prime example of the latter. You’re taking on an extra credit obstacle course while running barefoot. That’s not surviving or thriving. That’s begging for an injury.
Citrus tripped and scraped her knee.
I rest my case, your honor!
She bit her lip, got up, and continued. The boy who had a baseball bat ran up next to her and shoved into her ribs. Citrus bit her lip even harder to keep herself from crying out. The guy had the strength of an alligator or crocodile. Another guy who looked Hispanic with huge muscles tried to have a go at her. She jumped another hurdle and avoided both shoves by cartwheeling.
The fuck?! No, seriously, what the fucking hell?! It wasn’t enough to just stand on the sidelines and watch the girl gash open her kneecap? They have to actively attack and impede her? Why?! Not only is this goddamn absurd, the fact that a teacher would even allow this is mindboggling. I’m fully expecting they’ll keep kicking her if she falls down. I know this is based on cartoons, but full-blown cartoon villainy is not a good thing!
She was no acrobat, but knowing how to do at least that helped a little. The boy flew past her sideways and fell onto the ground with a thud. There was the finish line, only a few feet ahead of her. Citrus pushed herself and her lungs burned. She ran past the finish line and bent over, gasping for air.
After a moment, she noticed everything was quiet. Citrus looked up and saw that the whole PE class was staring at her. Despite the pain from breathing hard against her ribs, she knew she shouldn't show weakness and stood up tall.
"Your feet," Harley murmured quietly.
Someone just discovered a new fetish, I see.
Citrus looked down and was relieved her feet were numb from the cold. They were bleeding a little from scrapes and bruises. It wasn't terrible, but it'd hurt in the morning. She met Coach Crocker shocked eyes.
"What... was ... my time?" she asked between breaths.
He looked at his watch and smirked evilly, " You were ten seconds after the record. Sorry sweetie, but it's like I've said again and again. Women are no good for anything except staying at home and pleasing their men."
Can we please stop with this trope? The vocal and rampant misogynist with all the subtlety of an exploding gas main. It’s no different than the author going, “Here he is, people! Hate him!” I’m not saying he can’t be a woman hater, I’m saying he doesn’t have to advertise it, like it couldn’t possibly affect his reputation or professional career.
Citrus wanted to punch the smug look on his face. No, if she did they'd call her dad and he was worried with too much already.
"C'mon ladies, we've got work to do!" he said gleefully.
Some people looked at her with pity, and they continued on their way. Citrus took a moment to breathe before picking up her socks. She didn't know the Sportsmaster's parentage, but she called him a bastard in her head and it felt good.
...
Citrus was panting by the time she got back to her locker, so much that she started to lose her vision. Somebody caught her by the middle and helped her sit down.
Is she at all capable of taking care of herself? So far, she’s done nothing but make bee lines toward every obstacle presenting itself. Gotham High might be a health hazard, but I feel like Tangerine would stick her neck in a guillotine just because it’s there.
"Easy tiger, you've been through a lot today," it was the girl with the claws. "By the way, I'm Selina. Green is Poison Ivy and you've already met Harley."
The other two waved and Harley handed Citrus a water bottle. Citrus sniffed it and then chugged it down greedily.
"Thirsty, aren't you," Ivy said as she took out an aloe plant from her locker.
Citrus panicked, "Don't let it get near me!"
"What? Do you have botanophobia?" Ivy asked.
"Batawha?" Harley asked.
"Fear of plants," Citrus clarified. "No, I don't fear plants. I fear killing them. Any plant that has ever been around me somehow dies."
Start counting the days, Pamela. It’s terminal.
Ivy took a step back and took a piece of the aloe off before putting the plant back in her locker. The she gave the aloe to Citrus.
"Thanks for the warning, I wouldn't know what to do if something happened to my babies. Anyway, this will help your feet."
"I know, it's aloe, right?" Citrus questioned.
"Right."
"Thanks, but why are you guys helping me? It seemed like you hated me earlier."
You’re the author’s OC, practically a self-insert, and the author is a fan of these characters. They’re obligated to be friendly the moment you do anything vaguely impressive.
Harley shrugged, " It's tradition to pick on the newbies. But it's kind of nice that you stood up to that jerk. Too bad you didn't beat the record."
"She would've if it weren't for Killer Croc or Bane, " Selina sneered.
Citrus almost gagged on her water, "Bane? Killer Croc?"
"Yeah, he probably hasn't killed anyone though, yet."
Makes it kind of weird that Waylon Jones would already have that name, then. Why does every character already have their future personas in place, when this is a literal formative period in their life?
Citrus gulped and then regained her composure, "Okaaay. Thanks by the way."
"You didn't get it from us," Harley said.
Citrus got the message and chugged some more water. Next thing she knew, her sneakers and clothes were in her face. Citrus looked up at Harley.
Harley glared down at her, her eyes repeating the message. Citrus nodded and grabbed her clothes before they could change their minds.
"Hey, why'd you help that rodent with wings?" Selina asked.
Citrus flushed, "I've, got a bit of a weakness for anything fuzzy and cute. Don't you dare laugh."
And yet I think Langstrom would have at least knocked, if he was in the same situation. Acting like a crazy person is not explained away by establishing superficial quirks.
Selina smiled, "Wouldn't dream of it, you're not the only one with that kind of weakness. Mine is for cats. And if anybody calls me a crazy cat lady for it, well, "she flexed her claws, "I'd have to teach them a lesson they wouldn't forget."
Citrus shivered.
"Hey Lemons, if you need help, just call us. Oh, and we're the Gotham Sirens for short," Harley giggled.
"Lemons?" Citrus asked as the bell rang. She didn't get an answer.
With a name like yours, I’m surprised you didn’t hear that one in grade school, cough drop.
Next up was Music. No, the schedule didn't clarify. Not music theory, or band or anything like that. It was simply Music.
...
The theater had kids seated in chairs on the stage where they were tuning their instruments or warming up somehow. The class seemed to be a mixture of all groups. Choir, orchestra, band, it was all a blend.
The teacher liked to call himself, The Fiddler. Well, at least he didn't call himself a master like some teachers with a superiority complex.
Another villain from the Injustice Society? He’s from the Flash’s rogues gallery - you can’t just throw everyone into a high school in Gotham because they’re from DC Comics!
"Now, my young pupil, let's see what your talent is," he said with a smile. Maybe this teacher wasn't so bad?
It turned out that his patience ran out quickly. Citrus tied out dozens of instruments, and she sucked at playing every single one. Oh, and when she tried to sing, she sounded like a kookaburra.
Oh. I see what’s going on now. This is the first time I see one of these in the wild. Citrus is an example of the lesser-known cousin of the Mary Sue, the “Anti-Sue”. This is what you end up with, when you’re trying to avoid writing a Mary Sue by removing the typical traits of one. Citrus sucks at everything she does. Because that is the opposite of what a Mary Sue would do. Funnily enough, this person typically ends up as a Mary Sue anyway, as no matter how inept, clumsy, blabbermouth, self-deprecating, or plant euthanizing they become, people still treat them like the most likeable person on the planet. They will fail, constantly, but with no meaningful negative consequences.
"Go to the corner until I figure out what to do with you!" the teacher grumbled.
In the back, two redheaded boys were fighting. One was wearing a green jacket with question marks and the other had big glasses with...music notes on them.
Citrus got out her CD player and plugged in her headphones, trying to ignore them. A favorite song of hers started playing. Admittedly, even she was confused at her favorite songs. Some were from Disney, and others from people like Adam Lambert. Sadly, this song came from a well known and infamous band, Nickelback. The song was "If Everyone Cared". What a laugh, it was Gotham wasn't it? Asides from that, she knew people who wouldn't care.
Count me in, Lemongrass! I don’t want or need you to become a mouthpiece for the author’s musical tastes. A mottled music library is not a unique personality trait. It’s such a widespread phenomenon that it’s been subjected to scientific study.
She started humming to it. Her eyes closed. The song made her see images of her past. Her mom, dad, Babs, Joker, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, Harley, Ivy, Selina...
She allowed one tear to fall. She would make it. This was one day of many and she knew her mission. She wasn't going to give up. The song finished and Citrus heard clapping.
She stood up and realized the entire class was smiling at her, and that she had been singing the song. Citrus flushed madly with embarrassment.
Total blunder of an unconsciously committed social faux pas. The result is instant praise, despite imitating a bird called the “laughing jackass” last time she tried singing. Yeah, she’s an Anti-Sue alright.
"Beautiful. Magnifique! Sing again, that was a wonderful voice!" Fiddler said euphorically with a tear streaming down his cheek like some kind of anime character.
Citrus felt frozen as a statue. She tried to sing, but her voice now sounded worse than chalk scraping a chalkboard. People even covered their ears and the teacher looked at her, confused.
Then, his face lit up like New Year's Eve, " I see, you have stage fright, correct? And when you are afraid, you perform horribly."
Of all the people to be intimidated by the limelight.
Citrus flinched a little but wrinkled her nose. As far as she was concerned, she always sounded bad. Why would people ever say she sounded beautiful?
" I shall train you so that you will no longer have stage fright. Meanwhile, you shall practice with some of my best students. Edward, my Music Meister, introduce yourselves to the young lady," the teacher clapped.
Citrus found herself facing the two redheaded boys. They looked related somehow.
" Riddle de diddle," Edward said.
Is the riddle why he would utter those words in the first place?
He had a British accent. "I'm Edward Nygma, but call me Riddler. This chap is my very distant idiotic relative who refuses to state his real name."
"Call me Music Meister," the distant relative said as he shook her hand. He had an enormous gap between his teeth.
Somehow they both seemed to be charming.
She faced Riddler, "You don't seem like the type intrigued by music. So why are you here?"
You don’t seem like the type who is intriguing, lemon slice. So why are you in this story?
"Aah my little blond friend, that is not much of a puzzle. The school staff figured that I should be close to him so they can keep track of us. I was stuck in here."
Citrus resented how people treated her differently for being a blond, but she'd put up with it for now.
"You really seem to like puzzles, can I try one?"
Gee, another chance for Citrus to flex her brain on a smug villain. I do so wonder if she’ll totally ace it.
Music Meister looked worried, but Riddler smiled an oh-so-not charming smile.
"Very well, I have billions of eyes yet I live in darkness. I have millions of ears yet only four lobes. I have no muscles, yet I move two hemispheres. What am I?"
Citrus smiled since the answer was obvious, "The human brain of course."
The Riddler's eyes widened and she continued, " The brain is made up of two hemispheres. There are four lobes. It is composed of mostly fat, it has no eyes and yet it can see, and although it has no ears, it can hear."
Because the brain has optical and auditory nerves. If you’re going to rip off the Batman animated series, at least get the entire explanation right instead of stating blatant contradictions.
The Riddler stuttered, "You're... the first one to solve that."
"Thank you. Maybe you can solve something for me since I don't know the answer to it," Riddler leaned forward a little to hear, intrigued. "Why does the teacher say I have a beautiful voice? Every time I've heard my voice, it sounds like an exotic bird squawking in terror. "
Riddler and Music Meister smiled at her. Meister was the first to respond.
"Believe it or not, you have a gift. Even I, the greatest musician and singer to ever live though it was lovely. Eventually, once you gain the courage, I hope that we can perform a duet."
Croc plays a mean xylophone with his batter swing, why don’t you start a band?
Citrus flushed and stammered, "That's very thoughtful of you, but I..."
"A warning little puzzle solver, we will teach you to no longer fear the stage or the audience by putting you through some terrifying experiences. After all, I owe you for solving my puzzle," Edward said darkly.
Damn, if it weren't for that British accent, that statement would have made her think a little more clearly on the meaning behind it. Why did girls always feel strange around people with foreign accents? They were attracted to it, or it disturbed them. Why couldn't it be the latter for Citrus?
Why couldn’t she just have self-motivation to overcome her stage fright? Why must she be baited or dragged by the hand towards the plot?
...
The cafeteria was the same wherever Citrus went. There was a table for every social group, and Citrus didn't belong to a single one. Babs sat at one table and looked like she was having a good time. It'd be better not to bother her.
Just go sit with your one and only friend in this place, you sourpuss.
Thank goodness this high school had an area to eat outside. While it was freezing to the point where her face was numb, the cold was oddly comforting. Across the way, a bald kid wearing a t-shirt, and shorts with red glasses was cuddling with a girl he was obviously in love with.
Admittedly, Citrus wanted that kind of love, but she'd rather wait till she was out of high school to start dating. Asides from the kids at this school being a little too psychopathic for her, she didn't want to kiss a sweaty or pimply kid that she'd fall in love with, only to find out when they grew up that he did drugs or something far worse. Besides, love would only be an unnecessary distraction from her goal.
Ever heard of a breakup, Honey Lemon? Your goal, as far as you’ve stated, is your future career. I think you can wedge love into your schedule.
She sat beneath a large oak filled with birds of all species. Odd, wouldn't they had flown to warmer areas by now? As she unwrapped a sandwich, Citrus could almost swear somebody was watching her. She looked and figured it was only the birds eyeing her food so she gave them some.
She was about to take a bite when something thudded at her feet. She jumped, dropped the sandwich, and almost screamed until she realized that it was a short and squat little boy with a rather large beak-like nose. An umbrella lay next to him and he was patting dirt off of himself while muttering apologies. His voice was a bit like a bird's, chittering away. She picked up his umbrella and handed it to him.
"You okay?" she asked.
He snatched at the parasol, "None of your beeswax. Oh, sorry I ah, thought you were somebody else."
Then who did he think he was apologizing to just before now? And how did Citrus not see him sitting in the tree, yet she noticed all the birds? I’m just asking for basic continuity here.
The way he straightened himself out reminded her of a penguin. It was kind of adorable.
She saw a notebook on the ground filled with pictures of birds and she handed it to him, "Are you a bird-watcher?"
"Indeed, I find them quite exquisite. Um, how about you?"
Honestly, she was more of a fan of little furry animals, but she liked some birds too. Hopefully he wasn't obsessive over animals like Langstrom.
"I think some species are very nice. I have to be honest though, I don't watch birds. Your drawings are fantastic though."
They really were. The drawings were lifelike. Some of the even looked like they were breathing or full of life. He must really love birds if he draws them like that.
Passion and talent are not necessarily linked. Case in point, this fanfic.
"Oh um, thank you. Too bad about your sandwich, I think I stepped on it."
Citrus tried to appear nonchalant, but that really was the only food she really had for today. She didn't want to bother her dad for more. A fishy, literally fishy, salty smell filled the air.
"Would you like some sardines? I really am sorry about your lunch," he said as he held up a can of the stinky fish.
Citrus didn't want to be rude, "Thanks but, I'm okay. Besides, my feet are about to freeze off. I better go inside. Oh, I'm Citrus O'Brien by the way. What's your name?"
"I'm Oswald Cobblepot, of the famous and wealthy Cobblepot family. Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms. O'Brien. I hope we meet again for I find your company quite, pleasing."
They shared all of thirty seconds and four dialogue exchanges, boom, friendship. Today’s flavor of Mary Sue is zesty.
He acted like a gentleman and she even pretended to curtsy, although she had no skirt. Like many students at Gotham High, there was something eerie about him. Citrus felt a flash of fear since she found out he was somebody of wealth and great social power, but she calmed herself down. He didn't have blue eyes or dark hair like her former bully and Oswald seemed nice. She didn't know what'd she do if she ran into somebody like her ex-bully.
Blue eyes, black hair, wealthy and coming from higher society? Gee, what character could you possibly be foreshadowing in a Batman fanfic?
...
The next few classes didn't seem too unusual compared to the hours before. She met no new students, but she did meet some new teachers. Professor Strange was her psychology teacher, her arts teacher was nicknamed "The Crazy Quilt" for his fashion sense, and her government teacher Professor Joe Coyne, was obsessed with pennies.
Crazy Quilt and Penny Plunderer? What forgettable c-listers are you going to dig up next? Does Lock-Up manage detention? Is the Condiment King in charge of the cafeteria? Does Getaway Genius drive the bus?!
So far, Citrus felt like she made a few enemies, but she had hopefully made some new friends as well. However, today was almost like a paradise since no one like her ex-bully was there. Citrus began to write in her diary and decided that maybe Gotham High wouldn't be so bad after all.
My song for this series can be High School Never Ends by Bowling for Soup ( watch?v=jrxI_euTX4A) or Photograph by Nickelback ( watch?v=T3rXdeOvhNE).
My song for this chapter is If Everyone Cared by Nickelback ( watch?v=-IUSZyjiYuY).
If only I had a nickle for every time that band inspired mediocre writing.
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I can’t say that I’m familiar with American high school outside of the cultural paradigm portrayed in media. I blame it on being an introvert Scandinavian kid during my youth. I doubt it’s inhibiting me from mocking this fanfic, though. First day in school, and already Citrus has met seemingly everyone worthy of note, and she has asserted herself as an absolute screw-up, who somehow still manages to impress everyone around her. There are two more chapters of this - in this version of the story. The Fictionpress version the author mentioned is both longer and has newer updates with a tally of twenty-five chapters. Unless the next couple of chapters somehow overturns my opinion of this fanfic as nothing but harmless, I don’t see a reason to tackle the full brunt of the author’s teenage angst theater performance.
Edit: Removed messed up formatting.
