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Previously, on a Very Special Clone High...
"Who are you?"
"My name is...John D'arc!"
"Like the French name for Joan of Arc?"
"No...nothing like that...at all!"
"My Kennedy senses are detecting some fresh tail!"
"Gaah! I'll be err uh...leaving awkwardly now...!"
"Hey that's no way to treat a member of the team! Especially one who's skin is so silky smooth...A-and by that I mean someone's who's as smooth on the court as their err skin is silky...I-I mean thighs are milky! I gotta go!"
"Err uh...gay fostah dads. Mind if I watch Will and Grace with you guys?"
"But you usually watch Sports Center up in your room, baby!"
"Well I've been thinking about switching channels...but I'm a little scared...!"
"So John Dark and Handsome...when are you picking me up for the Homecoming Prom?"
"Thanks but...I'm just not attracted to you in that way..."
"Rejecting me? There's something funny about that John D'arc..."
And now back to a Very Special Fan-Fiction of Clone High.
“So I err uh…heard you uh…turned Cleo down for the dance?”
Joan could tell who it was by the thick Boston accent, but she looked up anyway to find the genetic copy of John F. Kennedy, leaning his broad shoulder against the lockers. His body was blocking Joan into this unwanted conversation, much to her annoyance. She rolled her eyes and mouthed obscenities under her mustache.
Great. Just great. As if Cleo practically throwing herself at her and Abe being heartbreakingly jealous wasn’t bad enough. Now Kennedy was gonna puff out his chest and try and fight her for Cleo, who again, she didn’t want in the first place.
Try being the key word here - she could take him. And she had. Many times. But still it was an annoying book end to her scheme. Which was going up in flames so fast it rivaled her clone mother’s fire-y death.
“Uhhh…yeah.” She coughed, in an attempt to make her voice deeper. “She’s just not my type umm…Bro.”
The replica of America’s 35th president just shook his head and laughed.
“Heh! Cleo’s err uh…everybody’s type. Even chicks want her! You should hear Susie B. Anthony talk-!”
Joan slammed her locker shut, making JFK jump a little. She was just so sick of Cleo this and Cleo that and Cleo, Cleo, Cleo, Cleo, Cleo! She got it. Loud and clear. She would never compare to Cleo. Not to JFK, not to Susie B. (apparently) and especially not to Abe.
“Well, I’m not a chick!” She jabbed a finger in Kennedy’s stupid broad chest.
“I err uh, nevah said-!”
“And If I were, I wouldn’t want to be called a ‘chick’ or a ‘broad’ or a ‘skirt’!”
“Err-!”
“And she’s just not my type ok?! Not all guys go for giggling, vapid sluts!”
She punched her poor, battered locker one last time before looking around and noticing everyone was staring at her. She quickly leaned her back against the locker in a piss-poor attempt to look casual.
“But if that’s like…your thing, man, that’s cool.” She shrugged, while deepening her voice as much as physically possible. “She’s all yours.”
“Been there, done that, D’arc.”
“So why do you care then?”
“It’s just that, no fellah around here turns down Cleopatra…but…you’re err uh…not like other fellahs, are ya?”
Dammit. Maybe she shouldn’t have turned Cleo down…as much as the idea made her half-digested school lunch flip around in her stomach.
Now she’d never prove her point about girls being just as good as boys at basketball if she was discovered before the big game against GESH. Or convince Abe to go out with her. Or whatever she was trying to do here that landed her in this stupid disguise stuck in this stupid conversation with stupid JFK.
“Wh-what do you mean? I’m just as hairy, sweaty and manly as all of you…” Her chest tightened, but maybe that was the 3 layers of too small sports bras she was wearing to hide her bust.
“Ya sure about that? I err uh…-” JFK looked around at all the other teammates staring at them. “C’mon Johnny Boy - wanna ask you somethin’…in err uh…private. Let’s hit the showahs.”
“What-!?”
Before Joan could protest, JFK had grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her across the locker room floor. She screwed her eyes shut just in case there was stray dong flopping around, but once JFK let her go she was relieved to find they were alone.
Which was odd since she was STILL alone with J-F-Fucking-K. In a shower stall. In the boys locker room!
“Okay, coast is cleah-“
“JFK! what the hell, bro-!? Oh…”
Joan felt the sweat forming under her backwards baseball cap as JFK pressed a hand next to her head against the shower stall and leaned in.
“I know your secret…” He whispered in the shell of her ear.
CRAP! Crap, Crap, Crap, CRAP!
Who would have thought JFK, of all people, would be the one to see through her clever disguise!? Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he looked (or tested).
Well, there goes any chances of scoring a point on GESH. And her chances of being a permanent, non-mustachio’d member of the Boys Team. And getting Abe to like her…he probably hated her now. She couldn’t blame him, she kinda hated her too. This was such a stupid idea-!
“Errr…You, err uh…okay there?”
Joan didn’t realize she was breathing heavy or fighting back tears until JFK started tapping her on the shoulder.
“How did you know-?!”
“You don’t think I err uh, notice how you never change with us? How you always sneak into one of the bathroom stalls? That I don’t see the way you look at Lincoln? And that you’re always passing him the ball…”
“Shhh! Kennedy!” Joan pleaded.
“It’s okay, Johnny-Boy…really!” He smiled softly at her, before lowering his voice. “You know…my gay fostah dads are err uh…ya know…queer.”
…wait…
…what?
“It’s not a err uh, big deal…about you, I mean. Not that it’s a big deal for my gay fostah dads! I love my gay fostah dads! I-In a totally not gay way…of course…heh- they’re err uh…my dads. Gross!”
JFK laughed awkwardly while rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at his loafers. Joan was somewhat surprised by this - she was pretty sure she heard JFK making gay-jokes at his foster dads expense with Alexander the Great and Rock Hudson before…although come to think of it, it did seem like it was mostly Alex and Rock and JFK was maybe just trying to keep up to fit in…even if it was at his and his loving foster family’s expense.
Huh…weird. She felt a strange twinge of sympathy for the big, horny idiot.
“Anyway, point is you’re the best playah on the team. No one’s gonna give you a hard time or nothin’- cuz if they do, I’ll sock ‘em!”
The big, horny idiot emphasized this by making a fist and punched the shower wall.
“GAH!”
Then immediately retracting his now bruised fist and shaking it off. And Joan had to suppress a giggle under her mustache. She played it off as a cough.
“But if ya wanna keep it err uh…undah wraps, I won’t say anything.”
“…wow…thanks, Kennedy…!”
Joan was genuinely taken aback by JFK, Clone High’s resident walking talking caricature of toxic masculinity’s, consideration for her feelings as a gay man.
Despite the fact that she was not gay. Or a man.
“Don’t mention it! We’re teammates - it’s what teammates do.”
Joan smiled and lightly punched him in the arm. As a long time suffering “one of the guys”, she knew it to be code for “I appreciate you” in boy speak. JFK grinned and punched her arm back, but she noticed he didn’t go as hard as she had. And that he let his hand linger, rubbing her silky smooth skin with his thumb absent mindedly (like how he did most of the things he did.)
“…you’re err uh…wastin’ your time with that Chowdah-head Lincoln though.”
Okay, maybe he wasn’t as absent minded as she thought.
“…why do you say that?”
“He’s not into fellahs…or any other broads besides Cleo.”
Joan felt her heart shatter into tiny fragments from inside her ribcage. She knew that wasn’t physically possible, but she felt it anyway.
“…O-oh…”
“His head is so fullah chowdah, I tell ya, that he doesn’t even see there’s an even bettah Betty always followin’ him around.”
Wait…!
…wait a minute…!
“…a-are you…talking about-?”
“Joan of Arc - the best Betty in the whole school.”
“WHAT?!”
On the other side of the locker room, the rest of the basketball team looked up as Joan’s cry echoed off the shower stall tiles.
“Joan of Arc!? You Like Joan…Of Arc? More than Cleo?!”
JFK simply shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What’s not to like? Doesn’t every guy want a err uh…a ‘Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend?’”
Joan crossed her arms and shot him a look. JFK held up his hands in defense.
“Err uh…except for you, uh…obviously. Heh.”
“Well if I DID like girls, I wouldn’t just like them for their ‘tiddies’…” She huffed, before adding quietly. “…is that all you see in Joan?”
Joan knew JFK liked her body - he wasn’t exactly subtle. But he was like a labrador puppy - he’d follow just about any girl around and hump their leg. It wasn’t special. She wasn’t special.
Still it was more attention and praise than Abe ever gave her, she thought bitterly.
“Err uh…no. Of course naht. She’s wicked smaht, beautiful, has a killer right hook, and best of all she’s a great ball playah. Why, if girls were allowed on the team, between you and her we’d err uh…cream those GESH creeps!”
Joan felt the like she had just taken a basketball to the face with how hard and fast the realization had hit her.
She’d been waiting her entire life to hear a certain genetic copy of a US president to tell her these things. That he saw her as more than a ‘friend’ or ‘one of the guys’ (despite how she was currently dressed.) She always imagined it’d be Abe, if she tried harder or waited long enough…
…but maybe she was waiting on the wrong president.
Somewhere in the middle of her existential crisis, she remembered JFK was still talking.
“-Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her around in err uh… a few days. Weird. You remind me a lot of her, for some reason…I bet you’d err…get along. Even though you’re not into chicks-”
“…you think I’m beautiful…?”
“Wha-?! I ERR UH-?!”
Shit! Think fast, Of Arc!
“I mean-! Uh…” Joan coughed, before the lightbulb went off under her baseball cap and she smirked to herself under her mustache.
“Well…you said I remind you of this Joan…who does sound pretty incredible, by the way…for a girl. You thinking about ‘switching teams’, Kennedy?”
Joan challenged, while reaching out and stroking lazy patterns into JFK’s forearm. Maybe if she gave JFK a taste of his own medicine and flirted with him while in this clever disguise, he’d leave her alone and stop…confusing her so much. She loved Abe!
(…didn’t she?)
Oooor maybe instead Kennedy would in closer, their noses were practically touching. Confusing Joan even more.
“I’ve err uh…nevah played 'one on one’ with another guy beforah…but there’s something about you, John D’arc.”
Joan had never seen the Kennedy Clone so…vulnerable before. Or so up close.
So was JFK, John Fucking Kennedy, so into her, that even if she was a guy he’d question his sexuality? Wow.
Normally when a girl turned a guy gay it was a blow to the self esteem, not a boost.
Before Joan had time to question all her life decisions that lead to this moment (she just wanted to play basketball!), JFK cupped her chin with his big, warm, surprisingly soft hand.
“I wanna do…things. With you. Err uh…gay things. Like…this…”
Never in her most vivid nightmares did Joan imagine she’d share her first kiss with JFK. Especially not while pretending to be a guy. A gay guy, apparently.
She also never imagined she’d like it.
Somewhere in the back of her mind the ghost of the original Joan of Arc, her own personal Jiminy Cricket, was yelling at her. “This is wrong!” “You’re leading the poor boy on…” “You’re being dishonest!” “I thought you loved Abe?”
But what did that Kentucky Fried Bitch know?
It was suddenly very clear to Joan why all the women at Clone High put up with JFK’s terrible pick up lines, inappropriate jokes and just being a general man-whore.
He was an incredible kisser.
Joan may not have anything to compare it to, but he must be incredible to make her knees buckle and start sliding down the shower wall. She didn’t slide down too far though, because JFK hoisted her up by the back of her leg as his tongue slipped in her mouth. Joan moaned against his tongue, trying to keep up with his technique and also trying not to get her mustache too wet. The part of her brain that never shut up and let her enjoy anything was nagging at her that she had no idea what she was doing and he was so…experienced.
So experienced, in fact, that he seemed to sense her insecurity and upped the ante by pulling her thigh into his crotch. Which she had always assumed he stuffed with socks.
She now knew, for a fact, that he did not. Oh god.
“Mmm…you-ah so…sawft!” He broke this kiss to whine, his Boston accent thicker than usual. It was kind of adorable. “Your skin…! So silky smooth…like a girls…” Joan froze as his fingers dipped into the waistband of her shorts.
Okay 1) Her first kiss was going REALLY fast REALLY quickly and 2) He was inches away from finding out just how “silky smooth” and “like a girl” she really was!
She panicked and reached behind him to grab two fistfuls of his dump truck ass. Really sinking her nails into it.
Holy shit…how had she never noticed his ass before? It was built like the space shuttle!
“Gah!”
It seemed to work and the Kennedy clone pulled his hand out of her shorts in surprise and arched his back into her hands, bracing himself on the shower wall.
“Heh…you’re a err uh, kinda kinky, aintcha? I like it!”
Joan gasped as JFK’s hand slid from the back of her leg to her own ass, pressing her thigh even more into his err…”Commander in Chief”.
“K-Kennedy…!” She managed to choke out as he started kissing her neck.. “…the others…L-Lincoln…!”
“Gonnah…err uh…make you…forget…all about…Lincoln…Johnny-Baby.”
JFK huffed against her throat, and Joan had to pull herself away for just a second to say something she never thought she’d ever would.
“…Abra-who?”
“Atta boy.”
JFK dove back into kiss her, tongue first-
“Hey D’arc! You back here?! I gotta bone to pick with yoo-OH MY GOD!”
-when who should walk in on them but “Abra-who” Lincoln.
Joan’s eyes shot open hearing her former crush (“former”…huh. Wow.) shrieking in horror having caught her making out with another man.
While posing as another man.
She expected Kennedy to push himself off her, to deny everything and slide comfortably back into the ‘Big Butthead on Campus’ box he fit so nicely in.
But to her surprise he pulled her closer.
He was surprising her a lot lately.
“Get in err uh-line, Penny-Face!” JFK taunted Abe from over his shoulder. “I’m picking a err uh… ‘bone’ with him right now! And by ‘bone' I mean BONER!”
He turned back to Joan with a wink, waggling his eyebrows.
Before his face fell. Not that you could tell, because at some point during their make-out session/game of locker room grab ass, Joan’s mustache had come off and stuck to his upper lip.
“…Joan…?”
“JOAN?!” Abe gasped behind them, clearly shocked by this shocking revelation that the mysterious stranger, John D’arc, was really Joan of Arc all along.
Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, her face nearly as bright magenta as her hair. She felt like she had just been punched in the stomach, and her eyes began to water.
She knew she should be upset about her incredibly clever cover being blown. About her chance to score a point on GESH for women and animals everywhere going up in smoke like the ghost of the original Joan of Arc. Maybe even about Abe, who even an hour ago would have been at the forefront of her mind.
But all she could do was look at Kennedy’s chiseled, confused, mustachio’d face and think she just screwed up her chances with the only boy who ever made her feel seen. Wanted.
…and how sad and pathetic that really was. Especially when the boy was JFK - who wanted pretty much every girl in school in some form or another. And she was so insecure and desperate for male attention that she fell for it.
She ran out of the boys locker room crying, leaving Abe and some mysterious NEW stranger sporting a prominent mustache.
“Well, that was weird-Wait a minute, where did JFK go? And who the hell are you?”
JFK sniffled, slowly raising both hands, palms up.
“I-err uh…don’t know anymoah…”
End of Part 1, of a 2 Part “Very Special” Clone High Fanfic…