Eu nu fac nimic din proprie. (I don't own anything.)

"Hey, Dick, a little help on number seven?"

"X equals 49.31."

"Still don't like this."

"Still doesn't matter."

Artemis glared down at her math homework, wishing she would suddenly gain heat vision. Not like that would be a great excuse for not turning it in ("I suddenly developed heat vision and accidentally fried my math. That's why I don't have it." Right, that would work well with the teacher). Dick, on the other hand, seemed to have already finished the damn thing in ten minutes. Frustrated, she stared blankly down at her paper, willing for it to complete itself.

"This is going to take forever," she groaned, sitting back and letting out a breath. Dick only looked up at her from his position at the floor and smirks.

"This is only math. We still got that essay in English, the chemistry project, research on WWII for history, and an assignment in Japanese left."

Artemis punched the wall out of frustration, leaving a hole.

"I know, I know, I'll help patch that up later. But now, I. Need. Help."

Despite the boatload of homework and the embarrassing moment of waking up with her head rested in the Boy Wonder's lap and the said teen with his head lolled back, it had been a pretty good day. By her standards at least.

Most of her classes included kids who were either really lazy or really independent, as about every hour she could hear a collection of groans from classmates who didn't manage to finish their assignments.

Lucky her. Having a genius (more like Boy Wonder) for a friend.

She came around his house a lot more often after that.

"How's life at Stanford?" came the question, making her want to bang her head against a wall and let out a string of curses. She had to fill out her Vietnamese paper while helping (scratch that, doing for him) Wally. Not to mention the amount in the other courses she took up...

"And I thought the Academy was bad," she halfheartedly joked. "Help?"

Dick just shrugged and proceeded to take out her Vietnamese textbook.