Harley Quinn: Reckoning (DC Icons Series, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rachael Allen is a scientist by day and kidlit author by night. She is the winner of the 2019 Georgia Young Adult Author of the Year Award, and her books include 17 First Kisses, The Revenge Playbook, The Summer of Impossibilities, and A Taxonomy of Love, which was a Junior Library Guild selection and 2018 Georgia Center for the Book Books All Young Georgians Should Read selection. Rachael lives in Atlanta, GA, with her husband, two kiddos, and two sled dogs.

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Experience the origin story of a Super-Villain in this Harley Quinn backstory that fans have been waiting for―now available as a paperback.

When Harleen Quinzel scores an internship in a psych lab at Gotham University, she's desperate to make a Big Scientific Discovery that will land her a full-ride college scholarship and get her away from her abusive father. But when Harleen witnesses the way women are treated across STEM departments―and experiences harassment herself―she decides that revenge and justice are more important than her own dreams.

Harleen finds her place in an intoxicating vigilante girl gang called the Reckoning, which creates chaos to inspire change. And when Harleen falls for another girl in the gang, it finally seems like she's found her true passions. But what starts off as pranks and mischief quickly turns deadly as one of the gang members is found murdered―and a terrifying conspiracy is uncovered, putting the life Harleen has worked so hard for at stake. Will she choose her future―or will she choose revenge?

This refreshingly feminist spin on the story of our favorite villainess traces Harleen's journey from precocious, revenge-obsessed teenage girl to a hardcore justice-seeker on her way to becoming the most captivating Super-Villain of all time.

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Chapter 1

I wonder if I could flick this paper clip into Trent’s mouth. If he doesn’t stop talking, I just might. Blah-blah, listen to me, all you peons, while I talk about my superior scientific intellect even though my western blots never work.

I should really stop making out with him in the darkroom.

“It sounds like things are going well,” says Dr. Nelson.

“Really well,” says Trent. “I’ve already started writing my senior thesis, even though it’s still two years away. I’ll probably be the lead author on at least three papers this year.”

My eyes meet Bernice’s across the table, and I make a face, I can’t help it. We both have to look down at our laps, quick, so we don’t start laughing.

Finally, FINALLY, Trent is finished, and then Kijoon gives an update, and then Bernice.

“How about you, Harleen?”

“Yeah, Dr. N, it’s going really well! I ran another batch of tests on the blood samples from the Arkham patients this week, and we’re seeing genetic differences in this one too.”

The Nelson Lab has blood samples from all the most dangerous criminals in Arkham, and I get to analyze them. Super badass, right? Interns don’t usually get to do cool stuff like that, but my grad student mentor, Oliver, totally trusts me.

“That’s fantastic news,” says Dr. Nelson.

“I KNOW!” I think about saying something else--I actually have this Big Scientific Idea I was hoping to run by him, but Trent’s got this annoying smirk plastered on his face that makes me want to wait for another time.

Dr. N opens a schedule on the electronic whiteboard. “Okay, gang, I’ve got meetings with Wayne Industries and Alston Pharmaceuticals next week. Alston just developed a new antidepressant. Does anyone have time to test it out in our models?”

It’s so cool that he meets with all the heavy hitters. And that he’s one of Gotham U’s youngest full professors, at thirty-eight. I’m already pretty strapped, but I think about volunteering. He’s the kind of person you want to say yes to.

Trent’s hand shoots up. “I’m on it!”

Of course he is.

“Excellent,” says Dr. N. “Who’s next?”

“Actually,” Michael says. “I’ve been meaning to bring up some trouble I’m having with my immunostaining. These brain sections should be lighting up like fireworks, but I’m just not seeing it.”

“Have you tried upping your concentrations?” asks Oliver.

“Did you test a positive control?” asks Bernice.

Michael nods on both counts.

“Is it possible you’re using too strong a detergent?” I say. “Like, if you switched to one that’s less stringent, maybe it wouldn’t damage the cell membranes so much, but it would still poke enough holes to allow the immunostaining to happen. Because what if the protein you’re trying to stain for is actually--”

“Have you tried embedding the brains in different ways before you make sections? Frozen versus wax?” asks a postdoc.

Michael shakes his head. “Yeah, I’ve tried everything.”

“What if your protein is in the cell membrane?” says Trent. He gets some funny looks and throws up his hands. “Hear me out. Because it keeps disappearing on you, so maybe it’s getting washed away during your detergent steps. Maybe if you used a weaker detergent . . .”

I wait for someone to gently break it to him that I proposed this plan fifteen seconds ago.

“A cell membrane protein. Interesting idea,” says Michael.

“Quick thinking,” says Dr. Nelson.

I smack my hand on the table, louder than I mean to. “I literally just said that.”

And . . . silence. Every head turns to look at me, and I can see the judgment written in their eyes.

“Harleen.” It’s all Dr. Nelson says. It’s all he has to say.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

After lab meeting, when Trent and I are in the darkroom, I accidentally on purpose bite him on the ear a little too hard.

“Come on, Bernice. We’re only in college once! Live a little.”

“Um, we don’t actually go to college here yet.”

“Exactly. How many of the other gap-year students got invited to a frat party with college boys?” I put my hands on Bernice’s shoulders, just grazing her strawberry-blond hair. She looks at me doubtfully through her black-rimmed glasses. “Your experiments will be here when you get back. I promise.”

“But I didn’t bring a costume.” Bernice eyes my jean skirt and lifeguard tank and the Frankenstein stitches and neck bolts I drew on with eyeliner.

“You can totally wear jeans to a haunted beach party! What do you have on under that sweater?”

“A camisole?”

“Perfect!” I make a puppy face. “Pleeeease?”

Bernice gives a tiny shrug. “Okay, but just for a little bit.”

“YAY!!!” I yell way too loudly for someone who is indoors. There’s a happy fizzing in my veins, and I want the party to start NOW. I grab Bernice by the hands and swing her around in a circle while a Bunsen burner flares in the background. Trent gives us a dirty look because he’s jealous AF.

Then Bernice and I skip across campus to the frat party of our dreams. I hope they play Lizzo.

“I’m so glad you came with me!” I tell her.

Bernice and I are both in the Gotham University Bridge Scholars program, wherein high school graduates who are outstanding in STEM (that’s us), especially ones who aren’t from the best neighborhoods or backgrounds (that’s also us), get paid to intern in labs across campus during a gap year between high school and college, thus changing our futures and someday the world. That’s the idea, anyway. I can’t wait to go to college. Well, assuming I can afford it. There’s a Gotham U Presidential Scholarship I applied for that could actually make it a possibility for me, but they don’t give it to many people.

“Won’t it be so cool when we actually go here?” says Bernice.

“Yeah.” I smile. “Hey, do you ever worry about how you’re going to pay for it? Gotham U, I mean?”

Bernice blushes. “I’m doing okay. I’ve been trying to save most of the money they pay us in the Bridge program, and also I, um, make one-of-a-kind, creepy stuffed animals and sell them on Etsy.”

“Wait. Seriously? Like what kind of stuff?”

She shrugs. “Like, gargoyles and zombie kittens and Cthulhu and stuff. Sometimes from scratch, but sometimes I repurpose things I find at estate sales. And now people know I do it, so I’m always getting a creepy old teddy bear that a friend’s cousin’s sister found in their dead grandma’s attic.”

That is . . . dark. But, like, cool dark? And delightfully unexpected.

“Okay, first of all, that is the weirdest thing ever. And second of all, you’re about two hundred percent more mysterious than you were five minutes ago.”

She blushes again. She’s one of those people who are physically incapable of taking a compliment without turning red. Then her face grows serious. “Are you worried about it?”

Now I’m the one feeling flustered. “Paying for Gotham U? Oh. Well--” I guess it should have occurred to me when I asked the question...