August 16, 1330h

	Dinah walked up the sidewalk of the strangely quiet school.  It didn't 
seem right for a school to be so hollow and barren.  Lockers should be slamming, 
people yelling across the halls, sneakered feet beating a path to an almost-
missed class, bells ringing, kids spilling from the double doors...that was the 
school she remembered.
	She'd been hovering in the parking lot for twenty minutes, way too early, 
but fearful of being late.  She passed a nervous hand over her stomach. Although 
her carefully chosen slate-blue suit lay flat across her midsection, she was 
definitely starting to show.  Bruce had been anxious for the baby to start 
kicking before all this and had even fallen asleep one night with his hand on 
her stomach.  She'd wished for a camera.
	She hadn't seen him once since Dick's injury.
	Her heels echoed in the empty hallways as peripheral noise indicated that 
the teachers, fresh from summer vacation, were preparing their classrooms for 
the influx of new students.
	Ms. Senonca Jones was in room 212.
The hallways were decorated with brightly colored construction paper and the air 
smelled like new pencils and chalk.  The door to room 212 held an array of 
children's book covers, blown up into posters.  The letters announcing the room 
number and teacher were precise and level.
	Dinah smoothed her hand over the front of her suit one more time.  She 
took a deep breath and stepped into the room, her eyes glancing back to the desk 
where a regal woman sat.  The door was at the rear of the room so Dinah moved 
forward, toward the blackboard and desk.
	Senonca Jones looked up.  She was a light-skinned black woman, her 
features aquiline, her high forehead highlighted by her severe hairstyle.  Her 
age could be anywhere from thirty to sixty, Dinah guessed, noticing the flawless 
skin and intelligent eyes.
	"Hi," she said aloud. "I'm Dinah Lance-Wayne."
	Ms. Jones nodded pleasantly.  "My name is Senonca Jones.  Will your child 
be in my fall class?"
	"Yes," Dinah nodded, feeling more at ease.  "His name's Spud.  Well, it's 
James Grayson, but we call him Spud."
	"I'm sorry."  Ms. Jones was regarding her with a piercing look that made 
Dinah feel like she was back in second grade herself.  "I was expecting a 
Barbara Grayson."
	"Yes."  Dinah smoothed her suit self-consciously again.  "She couldn't 
come.  She couldn't make it."
	"I see."  Ms. Jones' expression was closed.
	"See, I'm her best friend... well, her mother-in-law, actually, which is 
pretty funny, but um-"  Dinah realized she wasn't scoring any points with this 
conversation.
	"You're Bruce Wayne's new wife," Ms. Jones said.  "I've seen you in the 
papers."
	Dinah felt a flash of anger.  She knew there'd be these days-days when 
people would see her as 'Bruce Wayne's wife' rather than as 'Black Canary' but 
she'd had yet to have someone say it to her face.  She tucked it away though, 
hoping she could use it as leverage.
	"Yes.  I am."  Dinah shifted stance and glanced down when her leg bumped 
into one of the child-sized tables scattered across the room.  She sat gingerly 
on the edge.  Ms. Jones' face tightened in disapproval.  "Dick Grayson was 
Bruce's foster son.  Barbara is his wife."  
	"I see."  Ms. Jones moved a file folder to the center of her desk but 
didn't open it.  "I see here that James has been living with the Graysons a 
year?"
	"Well, a little more than that, actually," Dinah filled in.  "A year and 
about three months, I guess.  And they adopted him you know."
	Ms. Jones was already nodding.  "A string of disciplinary problems at 
Hilltop."
	"He's had a hard time," Dinah excused.  "And he couldn't read and they 
didn't know that."
	"I see."  Ms. Jones pinned her with another glare.  "Are you aware that 
most nine-year-olds are entering fourth grade at this time?"
	"Um."  Dinah racked her mind nervously for this information.  How should 
she know?  "No?  Wait, yes, I did know.  Roy-uh, a friend of mine, his daughter 
went to fourth grade two years ago."
	"And you realize that Somerset's placement tests have assigned James to a 
combination first and second grade classroom?"
	"Babs told me.  I didn't know they combined grades."  There was a pause as 
Dinah scrambled frantically for Ms. Jones' point.  "I know he's a little behind, 
but he was on the streets for over a year.  He just doesn't know. He's a smart 
kid, I'm sure he'll catch up fast."
	"I've had many parents tell me that," Ms. Jones assured her.  "I find it's 
the will of the child more than the will of the parent that decides such a 
thing."
	Dinah felt as if she'd been slapped.  "I'm sorry to waste your time, Ms. 
Jones," she said stiffly, standing and picking up her purse.  She turned on her 
heel and hurried towards the door.
	"Ms. Lance-Wayne!" she heard the other woman call to her, but she ignored 
the sound.  She hurried through the twisting corridors, out the front doors of 
the school.  The air inside had been muggy and stagnant, the lights dimmed and 
Dinah was grateful for the smallest of breezes that disrupted the beaming 
sunshine.
	She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her stomach.  That was clearly a disaster.  
She wondered suddenly, desperately, if she could learn to handle teachers before her own child neared that age. As if in 
answer, something fluttered inside her.  Her eyes flew open.  Was that a kick?  She pressed her hand carefully, rubbing 
her stomach a little. Nothing.  Maybe just too much coffee.