I stared intently at the back of the neck of the object of my affection. If I leaned a little to the left, I could examine his scalp at the severe part on the left side of his head. The part in the boy's dark brown, lightly-oiled hair extended almost to the back of his skull.
Dick Grayson was seated at the desk in front of me. He was concluding his analysis of the verdict of history on the impeachment of President Andrew Johnson, " . . . so most historians agree that the impeachment of President Johnson was a mistake that put the independence of the Executive Branch at risk."
Pursuant to high school protocol, I raised my hand. Mr. Fleming promptly called on me, "Yes, Chris."
"I disagree." When I first arrived at Woodrow Roosevelt High School a couple of weeks ago, the concept of any student disputing a conclusion reached by Dick Grayson in class was almost unthinkable. Now, I think our classmates actually looked forward to the debates between Grayson and me.
"Many historians have a hard time taking a position on the wisdom of Johnson's impeachment, because they are in sympathy with the Radical Republicans goal of assuring the rights of the former slaves. The failure of the Senate to convict Johnson set the cause of civil rights so far back that it didn't recover until the next President Johnson . . . Lyndon Johnson."
Dick's rebuttal was pre-empted by the ringing of the bell. Dick turned and gave me a wry smile before he gathered up his books, got up and left the room. I wonder if he ever realized that every chance I got I gazed at the contours of his butt as revealed through his pants.
Very few high school-age boys could tolerate having the name "Dick" these days. Grayson could pull it off. Even though everyone knew he was the ward of millionaire Bruce Wayne, he was popular with almost everybody in school. Dick Grayson was the rare teenager who didn't belong to any clique, but had the ability to be accepted by the members of just about all of them.
Dick was about five feet, nine inches tall. I'd guess he weighed around 160 pounds. He had the sleek build of a basketball player. An "A" student, Grayson was the center of every circle, the one picked for greatness in the crowd.
In the hallway, outside of history class, I was confronted by Mike Phillips, All-State interior lineman from the Roosevelt High football team. He weighed about 250 pounds and stood over six feet tall. Mike did his part to perpetuate the stereotype of the "dumb jock."
"All right, Thomson! Let's have it! Are you a boy or a girl?"
Hacking into the Gotham City Public Schools database, I was able to enroll myself at Woodrow Roosevelt without disclosing that particular bit of information. I was also able to attach a letter, supposedly from my psychiatrist, to Principal Schoolfield stating that it could be quite damaging to me if I was forced to disclose my gender.
Since I enrolled myself as a junior to be in as many classes as possible with Grayson, I had the option of not taking Physical Education, which I, of course, exercised. My long hair, along with the baggy shirts and pants I wore to school, did a good job of conveying an androgynous appearance.
The whole hall went quiet. I was quite sure that my sexual identity was the source of much speculation among the student body. I had already achieved some notoriety as Dick Grayson's intellectual equal. Now, I was going to add another aspect to my reputation.
I stared at Phillips through condescending eyes, "Mike, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."
Enraged, Phillips charged at me, arms extended as if to grab me by the chest, to try to discover my sex firsthand. Deftly, I sidestepped him, grabbed his left arm as he passed, twisted it into a hammerlock behind his back and shoved him up against a locker.
"Let's just drop it here . . . and you won't mess up your chance to play at some Division I university," I hissed as I let him go. He stormed off, thoroughly embarrassed.
Although Dick didn't have much time for team sports, he did excel at track and field. While my little demonstration wouldn't put me in his class as an athlete, it did show that I could take care of myself.
Several kids in the hall congratulated me on getting the better of Phillips. I noticed that Dick had seen the whole thing. Now, he had a strange look on his face. Alone among the witnesses, he perceived what I had done. All the other students projected their own feelings into the incident. Those who thought I was a boy, took this event as confirmation of that fact. Those who thought I was a girl would still think I was a girl, albeit a "Buff(y)" one. Only Grayson seemed to understand that I really hadn't answered anything.
Dick and I hadn't spoken to each other outside of class. I decided it was time to take our relationship to the next level. I arranged to bump into him after school.
"Oh, Dick, can I talk with you for a minute?"
"Sure, Chris. What can I do for you?"
"Well," I began shyly, "I just wanted to say that . . . er, I hope you don't mind that I dispute your answers in class sometimes."
"Gosh, no!" he replied enthusiastically. "I think it's great! It makes the classes so much more interesting!"
"Good." I smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Dick said, "Say, I saw how you handled Mike Phillips today. Most impressive!"
"Gee . . . thanks!" I cast my gaze downward and stared at Grayson's shoes. "Dick . . . would you like to go get a soda or something?" I looked up into his blue eyes, trying to wear a hopeful expression.
"Mm, no . . . I can't," he added quickly. "There are some things I have to do every day after school . . . but I'll tell you what. How about we have lunch together tomorrow?"
"Wow, that'd be great!" I answered with gratitude. "See you then . . . er, well, in class tomorrow morning, too," I elaborated with a laugh.
Over the next few school days, I purportedly told Dick Grayson about myself. I explained how my father had been killed in a car accident before I was born. When I was ten, my mother remarried. Two years later, my mother died of cancer. Now, I lived with my stepfather, Ian Michel, and his new wife. Michel worked as a systems designer for various defense contractors. His job meant we relocated quite often.
Dick seemed deeply moved by my tale. I soon found out why. Although I had guessed he was an orphan, since he was Bruce Wayne's ward, I was shocked to learn the tragic circumstances that led to him living at Wayne Manor.
Dick and his parents had been the Flying Graysons, aerial artists with a circus. His parents were murdered during a performance when their trapeze was sabotaged by gangsters trying to extort protection money from the circus owner. His mother and father died right in front of the young boy. Despite myself, I admit I was touched when Dick told me about the great tragedy in his life. I don't think many of the other students had heard the details he had confided to me. Briefly, I considered sparing the handsome teenager before me from what I had planned.
"No," I concluded. The events in his past didn't justify his conduct in the present, any more than my childhood excused the path I had taken. Each of us is responsible for the decisions we make. I decided that tomorrow, my trap would be set in motion.
I arrived at school bright and early the next morning and set up camp near Dick Grayson's locker. I knew that it was his usual habit to get to school early as well. I did my best to work myself into an agitated state. Suddenly, he appeared around a corner, walking towards me.
As he approached, I said quietly, but urgently, "Dick . . . Dick, you've got to help me! I don't know of anyone else who can!"
Grayson put his book bag down in front of his locker. "Chris, what's wrong? What can I do?" he asked sympathetically.
Breathlessly, I began to explain. "Yesterday afternoon, when I got home from school, I found a note from my stepfather. It said that he had been threatened by a criminal . . . that if he didn't give the plans to a new defense system he was working on to this man by today, that my stepdad, my stepmom and I would all be in danger!"
Dick watched me intently as I told my story. I could see the wheels in his mind turning as I continued. "My stepparents and I haven't gotten along real well lately. You can probably guess why," I added, sheepishly.
"Anyway, the note went on to say that they had left town to get away from this threat! And that I should leave town as well!"
"But, Dick," I sobbed, "I don't have any place to go! I have no other family . . . and very little money. That's why I need your help."
"Chris," Dick began decisively, "you've got to go to the police."
"Of course, I though of that," I answered through bleary eyes, "but the note said the threat warned against involving the police . . . and what if this man has already captured my stepparents? What might he do to them?"
"It's good of you to think of them after they left you to fend for yourself," Dick said admiringly.
"Not only that, but the note also said who this man . . . this criminal, was." I paused dramatically.
"The Penguin!"
"Penguin!" Dick exclaimed as he pounded his right fist into his left hand.
"Dick, I've heard that your guardian, Bruce Wayne, is a friend of Batman. If there was some way you could get word to Robin for me . . ." I let my voice trail off.
The mention of The Penguin's name had distracted Dick for a moment. Now he once again snapped to full attention, "Robin? Why just Robin? Why not both Batman and Robin?"
"The threat also warned against contacting Batman . . . but it didn't say anything about Robin! Oh, Dick, if you could just get in touch with him somehow, I'm certain he'd know just what to do!" I pleaded.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Dick said ironically. Then with conviction, he continued "Chris, go to your classes as usual. You'll be safe here. After school, go straight home and lock all the doors. I can't promise anything, but I'll do the best I can. What's your address?"
The bait had been taken.
The two-story house I had rented for the occasion set far off the street. Many large trees spread their branches between the avenue and the dwelling. "My" upstairs bedroom had a window that looked out over the front sidewalk.
That afternoon I kept myself occupied as I ran the plan over and over in my mind. I was sure I had worked out every detail, that, as long as Robin played his part, nothing could go wrong. Still, butterflies had taken up permanent residence in my stomach and I was constantly wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. If the Boy Wonder was already watching me, I was confident that the anticipation I was feeling would be mistaken for anxiety over The Penguin's "threat."
It took all my self-control to keep from going to my place at my desk before nightfall. "Better, much better," I reminded myself, "to wait until later in the evening."
Finally, around ten o'clock, I decided the time was right. I walked upstairs to what appeared to be a teenager's room. My homework was spread out on my desk, opposite the window. I sat down with my back to the front yard and toggled the hidden switch.
I had activated a laser pointer concealed in a tree. The pointer was aligned at the middle of my back. If the Boy Wonder was keeping me under surveillance, the red dot would make it appear as if I was in the cross-hairs of an assassin's weapon. I rigged it so that the pointer would go off after twenty seconds. I could turn it on again anytime.
CRASH! I heard the sound of breaking glass behind me. Shards of the window pane went flying through the room. "Get down!" Robin shouted, as he dove towards me.
Robin knocked me and my chair over, shielding me from any "bullets" with his body. The bed was now between us and the window. I was face-down on the floor. It was heaven to feel him on top of me.
Seconds flew by. "Stay down!" the Boy Wonder ordered. He got off me and began to creep towards the window. Before he had gotten out of reach, I quickly rolled over and yelled, "Robin!"
Still crouching, he turned to look at me. My right hand shot up towards his face. I lightly brushed his left cheek with my fingers as I said, "Thanks for coming . . . and for saving my life." My plan had worked perfectly!
Robin smiled a "You're welcome," crawled across the room, stood up and then flattened himself against the wall next to the window. "I'm going to see if I can catch your attacker," he called. "I don't think he'll come back here tonight, but stay away from the windows and keep the doors locked."
With that Robin, the Boy Wonder, swung out of the window on his Bat-rope and into the night. Tomorrow would now be a very big day . . . for both of us!
I returned to the site of my vigil of the previous morning. Before long, my patience was rewarded, as Dick Grayson came into view.
"Dick, wonderful news!" I cried out happily.
"What happened, Chris?" Dick asked innocently.
"Well, not only did Robin show up at my house last night and scared an assassin away," I said in a rush of words, "but I heard from my stepfather! He and my stepmom are O.K.! and he wants me to come join them."
"That's great!" Dick agreed.
"And I owe it all to you. Thanks for getting in touch with Robin," I said conspiratorially.
"Well . . ." Dick began, but I interrupted him.
"Dick, I know you're usually busy after school, but could you come by my house just this once?" I begged. "We may never see each other again . . . and I've got a . . . surprise for you!"
Grayson seemed intrigued by the mystery. "Very well, I can come by right after school," he agreed.
So, that afternoon, Dick Grayson pulled up in front of the house in a late model sports car. My old Chevy was in the driveway, piled high with most of my belongings. I met Dick at the front door.
"Come on in, Dick," I called. "Your surprise is upstairs."
Dick trailed behind as I bounced up the steps. I led the way to a doorway and offered, "Right this way."
Dick walked into the room. The draperies were closed, so the room would have been dark if it hadn't been for the ceiling light. The room was empty and the walls were bare, except for a full-length mirror hanging on a closet door. Heart pounding, I followed Dick into the room and closed the door.
"All right, Chris, what's this all about?" Dick asked with a first inkling of suspicion.
Instantly, I flipped the light switches on the wall. Down went one, turning the ceiling light off. Up went the other. Immediately the room was bathed in the eerie purple glow of an ultra-violet light.
"Your surprise, luv," I said confidently as I stared at Dick Grayson's face. "Your surprise is that I know that you are . . .
"Robin, the Boy Wonder!"
Dick started to object, but before he could say anything, I continued. "Don't bother to deny it. Look in the mirror."
Dick turned to consider his reflection. Three long glowing streaks ran down his left cheek. "That's where my fingers brushed against Robin's face last night after he . . . uh, you, saved me."
I marched up to Dick Grayson and stood right in front of him. "But don't worry, Dick . . . Robin. Your secret is safe with me." With that I reached out, grabbed him and gave the civilian guise of the Boy Wonder a hard, passionate kiss on the lips!
I then turned, opened and went through the door, down the steps, out the front door . . . hopped into my car and drove off, leaving the dumbstruck teenaged crime fighter far behind.
I complimented myself on my success. Not only did Robin have to worry about the fact that someone had discovered his secret identity, but he would be bound to wonder if he had been kissed by a girl or a boy. Either way, whether he enjoyed it or not, I had given him something else to think about.
Now Robin and Batgirl had both been psychologically tortured. I eagerly began to make plans for what I would do to them next . . .