Batgirl: Year One - Kennedy Harkins (black female authors .TXT) 📗

“Mom! I’m home!” I called out through the spacious Gotham City Apartment complex. Mom decorated the place with Anna’s help a few years back. Mom’s a painter and Anna worked in computer animation, our apartment is very colorful.

The furniture is all very modern, style instead of comfort. The maid keeps the rooms spotless at all times, which makes it feel unlived in. Like it’s vacant instead of home to three people.

My room is the only exception. I keep it locked at all times, so Mom can’t “surprise” me by redecorating, and the maid can’t get in and clean. I like the disorder of my room, it feels homey and lived in. The color pallet of my wallpaper, carpet, and bedspread is left over from my obsession with princesses and pink.

What am I going to do?

I can’t call the police. At least not until I know for sure what’s going on. Jessica and I only know each other in passing, but she’s a good person. There’s a chance she’s just in over her head, and I can talk her out of doing anything stupid.

But, what if I show up there and I can’t talk her out of it? What if there are other people around? Criminal people. Criminal people that will know who I am, and that I know something. Maybe enough to make me a liability.

So, just showing up as Nell Burnett is a big no.

What would Batman do?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I kicked the side of my desk. What does it matter what Batman, Batgirl, or Robin would do in this instance? They don’t have to worry about a bunch of thugs showing up to kill them during math class! Their secret identities are safe behind their masks-

An unexpected smile spread across my face. That’s it.

I ruffled around in my drawers until I found an old purple shirt, nylon tights, and my conquistador costume from a few Halloweens ago. Then, I grabbed a pair of scissors, and my black, long sleeved leotard from my backpack.

“What are you up to, Honey?” Mom asked from behind me.

“Jesus!” I flinched. “M-mom, you scared me.” I looked down at the pile of clothes I have on my desk. “Can I borrow your sewing machine?”

_____

Three hours later, I looked at myself in the full length mirror. My long blonde hair is pulled back in a high pony. A plain black domino mask, from my Halloween costume, covers my eyes. I cut a bat out of the purple shirt and sewed it onto the chest of my black leotard, which I’m wearing over the nylon tights. I attached a cape to the back of the suit that goes halfway down my back, it’s purple on the inside and black on the outside.

“This is so cool.”

I stopped admiring myself long enough to check the time. Eleven fifteen. Mom’s asleep. Time for Batgirl, at least for the night, to spring into action.

I slipped my cellphone in a pocket on the inside of the suit. On the way past my dresser, I grabbed some clothes to change into, just in case, and slipped them into a small bag. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I stubbed my toe on the dresser. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed a pair of black ankle boots from my closet.

The night had turned frigid, and I shuddered against the cold. When I get back I need to sow in some kind of thermal liner, for next-

Woa, there. There isn’t going to be a next time, I argued with myself.

While I was putting this suit together, I had plenty of time to think over my plan. I’ll arrive at the docks a little before midnight, in the hopes that I can talk Jessica into just going home. If she refuses, and I’m sure that what is going on is illegal or might get someone hurt, I call the police. No acts of vigilantism from this sixteen year old. I may have extensive martial arts knowledge, but I’m not a superhero.

The docks smell like rotten fish and sea air. There are boats of all sizes and purposes lined up in the marina, all of their lights are out due to the late hour. The dock itself is cluttered with discarded boxes and crates still holding cargo.

A teenager with pixie cut brown hair, wearing baggy black clothes, is talking with a couple burly guys next to a small crate about the size of a large backpack. Looks like I’m too late to stop Jessica from going through with whatever this is.

I tiptoed slightly closer. The men she’s talking to are huge, with bulging muscles that could crush me with minimal effort. And I don’t like the way one of them is eying her. God, Jessica, what have you gotten yourself into?

I’m just a yard away from them, hiding behind a crate. Time to call the police. This is too shady to be harmless. I reach for my cellphone, but my hand stops cold.

“Let go of me!” Jess screams. My head snaps up. One of the men had grabbed Jessica. She continued screaming at the top of her lungs.

My stomach dropped to the floor, and I felt my legs start to shake. What do I do? Oh, god, this isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t part of the plan! Nobody is supposed to get hurt.

Can I fight them off?

“Help! Someone, please, help me!” I glanced down at the bat logo on my chest.

I have to help her, because, for the night, I’m a hero.

I’m Batgirl.

“Boys. Boys. Didn’t your mothers ever tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” I said, raising my voice to be heard over Jess’s screams, and stepping out from behind the crate.

Where the hell had that come from? I’m never witty in front of strangers, let alone hard criminals that are probably going to try to kill me.

“Who’s that?” The one holding Jessica asked stupidly.

            “It’s a bat! Let’s get outta here.” The other said, glancing around wildly, probably looking for my back-up.

            I’m flattered. He thinks I’m smart enough to bring back-up.

            “It’s Batgirl.” The first man- who I will now refer to as Creeper- sneered, and took a step towards me, releasing Jessica. “That’s hot.”

            The second man grabbed Creeper’s shoulder, holding him back. “We’re getting outta here before her Daddy shows up.” From the look on Creeper’s face, I can tell he’s not going anywhere. Using that fact that they both had let their guard down to argue with the other, I struck.

Leaping into the air, I kicked the second man in the chest with all my might. The air left his lungs in a short whoosh, he collapsed to the ground gasping and trying to catch his breath.

A sharp blow to the head sends me sprawling. I throw out my hands and cartwheel to avoid falling on my face. I spin around to face Creeper. The back of my head throbs sharply, and I blink to clear my vision.

Rookie movie, Burnett. Never take your eyes off your opponent, even when you’re taking down his friend.

Creeper picked up a crowbar that was lying on an open crate. Fear paralyzed me for a moment. He made a move for me, and I dove to the side to avoid getting my skull bashed in. He was on me in a second, throwing blow after blow. I didn’t try deflecting them, the sheer force would probably break my bones, so I dodged left and right, looking for an opening.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jessica standing to the side, watching us with wide-eyed wonder.

“Run! Get out of here!” I yelled at her. She stayed for a moment longer, before stumbling off into the night.

Will she call the police? Not that they would respond quickly enough to help me...

“Ugh!” I grunted as Creeper’s fist collided with my sternum. I rolled away from the hit, saving myself from some of the force. But not all. I’m definitely going to have bruises.

Lurching to the side, I grab the handle of a heavy metal bucket lying discarded by a crate. I plant my feet firmly on the uneven wooden planks and, using all my bodyweight, I swing the bucket at his head. He ducks, but not quickly enough. The metal makes a sickening thud as it clips his forehead. Creeper sways slightly before his eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the ground.

I rest a hand on a light pole, leaning into it, and trying to catch my breath. From behind me I hear the click of someone turning off the safety on a semi-automatic. My body stiffens, and I turn around slowly.

The second man has gotten up from where I knocked him over. He points the gun directly at my chest. A loud roaring sounds in my ears. I should run. I should fight.

I should do something.  

But, I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

He smiles. “Sorry about this, Batgirl, but the money’s too good. Good enough to risk killing a Bat.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

            “Now, we can’t have that.” A voice sounds out.

            A streak of black coming from nowhere, and before I know it, the man’s gun goes flying. The gun lands next to the piece of metal that knocked it from its owner’s hands.

            A Batarang.

            We both stare at it for a moment, before he looks up and meets my eyes. I can’t help it. I give him a big ol’ grin.

            “What was it you were saying about my Daddy showing up?” I do a back handspring towards him, picking up the crowbar, the one his buddy dropped, mid flip.

Okay, I’m showing off a little. Sue me.

His eyes are wide with fear, and they’re fixed behind me. He goes to shove me out of the way, but I make my move first. Gripping the crowbar with two hands, I drive it up and into the man’s jaw. He drops like a sack of potatoes.

I don’t turn around. Part of me is scared to. Who am I going to see? Batman? Robin? Batgirl? Unlikely, since she hasn’t been spotted in over a year, and the voice sounded too deep to be female.

“Aren’t you a little old to play dress-up, Miss?” I grit my teeth. His insult gives me the push I need to turn around and face him.

“Well, you know how it is these days. They’ll let any loser parading around in a mask call themselves a hero.” The man standing in front of me was in all black, except for a blue design on his shoulders. He wore no cape, has a mask similar to mine, and eye length, messy, black hair.

Nightwing.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Nice moves, for a civilian.” Nice backhanded compliment. “Where do you study?” I almost missed the calculating undertone his voice carried.

“No comment.” Like I’m really going to tell him that? It’d practically give away my secret identity. Kairi Tanaga runs a small, private dojo behind a fish stall in Chinatown for series students. Still don’t know why she accepted me.

The Bat-Signal appeared in the sky. Nightwing’s attention flickered to it, and then back to me. “Listen, kid. Let me give you some friendly advice. Go home, put your costume in the trash, and enjoy living a long, happy life.”

I nodded, silently fuming at  his condescending tone. If the news is to be believed, Nightwing was the original Robin. Which, means he started crime fighting when he was what? Ten? And I’m the kid?

He turns away from me, mounting