Chapter Text
“C’mon baby, it’s time to get up,” Wally says from the doorway of his foster son’s bedroom.
A low groan emanates from the chaotic tangle of blankets and pillows that is Kennedy’s bed. Amid this web is Kennedy himself, sprawled out and lying on his stomach.
His foster dad sighs and shakes his head. “You’re gonna be late for school, baby,” he warns, but Kennedy does not budge.
It takes a few minutes of coaxing, but with the promise of hot waffles and fresh coffee, Kennedy is upright and rubbing the sleep from his pale green eyes.
Wally smiles. “We’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”
Kennedy mumbles a drowsy acknowledgment before stumbling out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. Once there, Kennedy looks in the mirror and grimaces. His hair, as a result of his shower last night, is devoid of any styling product and thus devoid of shape. It’s merely a brown, shaggy mop atop his head, the complete opposite of his preferred look.
“And you call yaself a Kennedy,” he scolds before grabbing his usual armada of styling products. After fifteen minutes and an obscene amount of hairspray and gel, Kennedy steps back and admires his reflection. His hair has gone from its messy mop to an immaculate, somewhat precarious coiffure. Kennedy sighs in satisfaction. It’s a truly beautiful structure, with a nice, healthy shine, a beautiful color, and not a stray strand or flyaway in sight. It’s perfect. Kennedy expects no less of himself.
Following his daily hairstyling session, Kennedy searches for something suitable to wear. He walks around his room aimlessly before, unsurprisingly, settling on his iconic red and white sweater, which is currently balled up in a heap on the floor. Kennedy picks it up and gives it a tentative sniff. Smells clean enough, he thinks, pulling it on.
Before he joins his family downstairs, Kennedy checks his reflection again. He flashes a smile in the mirror, pretending it’s some sexy broad he wants to take to bed. He waves as well. If he’s practicing his smiles he might as well practice his waves. That’s what being the genetic clone of John F Kennedy is all about: smiling and waving. Eventually, Kennedy decides that’s enough smiling and waving for now, and hops down the stairs to join his dads for breakfast.
In the kitchen, Wally is sipping coffee while Carl reads the paper. They both say their good mornings and the family sits down to eat.
“Do you have all your homework done,” Wally asks as Kennedy shoves a forkful of hot waffle into his mouth. He merely nods in response, hoping that nerdy chick he pawned off his essay to did a good job.
Breakfast occurs as it always does, with Wally and Carl talking over the events of last night’s Golden Girls reruns while Kennedy noisily eats his breakfast. Kennedy doesn’t enjoy many activities with his foster parents, but the day isn’t complete without their family breakfast. His waffles disappear as quickly as they come and within a few minutes, Kennedy is slinging his backpack over a shoulder and waving goodbye to his dads.
In the driveway, next to the family’s old station wagon, is a cherry red convertible. Kennedy swoons at the sight of it. He swears he loves that car more than any of his previous girlfriends. He puts the keys into the ignition and it roars to life. He revs the engine and tears out of the neighborhood toward Clone High School.
The drive is short, but not short enough for Kennedy to go without singing along to his favorite 80’s songs on the classic rock station. He pulls into school and squeals to a stop in his usual parking space. He’s just barely unbuckled his seatbelt and he can already see his buddies from the football team waving wildly in his direction. Kennedy looks in the mirror and smooths down his hair. It’s showtime.
Kennedy steps out of the car and struts into school. In the hallways, he waves to calls of “JFK!” and winks at the hot girls in the hallway, who turn to their friends and whisper about how sexy he is. Kennedy loves it all. Each and every ounce of attention serves to inflate his ego and make him more sure of his identity. He’s the manly, womanizing, popular jock: a true Kennedy.
Eventually, Kennedy struts his way over to his girlfriend Cleopatra’s locker. His heart skips a beat when he sees that she’s still there, collecting her books for the day, her long, perfectly manicured nails tick, ticking against the spines of the books.
Kennedy smooths down his hair and goes to lean against the locker next to hers.
“Hey, Cleo” he coos in his hottest voice. They haven’t had sex in three, incredibly long days, so Kennedy believes they are well overdue for a night together, and his upcoming party would be the perfect place to do it.
“Hi Kennedy” she replies coolly.
“So, are you excited for my party tonight,” Kennedy asks, “And by party I mean-“
“I know what you mean Kennedy.”
Kennedy grins at his joke but frowns at Cleo’s response. Something is off with her today. Her tone sounds less like, “I wanna sleep with you tonight” and more like “I don’t want to sleep with you tonight”.
“You don’t sound that excited,” Kennedy points out, and his words are like a spark to a powder keg. Cleo turns from her books towards him, the thing on her mind jumping at the chance to be said.
“Look, Kennedy, I feel like I’m being taken advantage of in this relationship,” Cleo says suddenly. Kennedy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“What do you mean? I always ask for consent-”
“That’s not what I’m talking about! Not everything is about sex!” Cleo says exasperatedly, “in fact, that’s just the problem.”
“The problem is that we have sex?”
“The problem is that we ONLY have sex,” Cleo clarifies, “sometimes I feel like you only care about me for my body. . .Kennedy. . .are you listening?”
“Oh! Sorry,” Kennedy says, looking up from her breasts, “I got distracted.”
Cleo facepalms. “I’m Cleopatra, the most beautiful girl in school, and I deserve more than thirty minutes of sheet shaking. I want a boyfriend, Kennedy. Someone who takes me nice places and buys me expensive things and calls me beautiful!”
“I take you places,” Kennedy says, and Cleopatra scoffs.
“Yeah right! The Drive-In doesn’t count! It’s really unfair to hear people like Anne Boleyn and Helen of Troy brag about how nice and considerate their boyfriends are while my boyfriend only acknowledges me when I’m not wearing any clothes! If you can’t properly appreciate me, then there are plenty of other boys at this school who can!”
A crowd has gathered around them, buzzing with excitement as the most popular couple in school hashes it out. Cleo is glaring challengingly at Kennedy, but he merely stares back with a blank look.
“. . .So, uh. . .does this mean we’re not having sex tonight.”
That does it. Cleo lets out a humph! and shuts her locker with a slam, turning on her heel stomping away towards homeroom. Kennedy feels a twinge of remorse, but he doesn’t go after her. He’s the manly, womanizing, popular jock. He’s not supposed to care. Besides, they’ve argued before. This is no big deal. He’ll make it up to her at the party. They always make up. Always.
Kennedy smooths back his hair and continues walking down the hallway, waving and winking and smiling all the way. By the time he reaches homeroom the sting from his argument with Cleo has almost disappeared.
He’ll make it up to her. He’s not worried.