Chapter Text
Frida tries her darndest to fit everything into her tiny locker. Normally she could make room for her books, art supplies, skateboard, polaroid camera, unibrow wax, stuffed platypus, hot sauce stash for the bland-ass school lunches, and her evidence shovel from that one time she and Harriet did that thing they swore to never talk about again… the second time. But she just couldn’t find a way to fit her spare clothes in case-
Her train of thought screeches to a halt at the sound of a hard slam against the lockers. Frida’s eyes start at the well-manicured hand, followed by the slender arm working its way up to the smirking face of the former queen herself, Cleopatra.
“Why hello, Frida,” she says, the sneer in her voice impossible to miss, one eyebrow raised at just the right angle.
How could Frida not be happy to see her?
“Hola, Cleo,” she says, pulling out her skateboard and matching Cleo’s pose. “So, what’chu got for me today?”
“Oh, you’re ready for me?” Cleo teases, checking her makeup in a compact mirror.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Ready for what I found from my time that you newbies love more than anything else?”
Frida couldn’t help but chuckle. It was hard to not love the growing creativity in her approaches. “Ooh, you’ve got me shakin’. And what can your secret weapon be?”
The tall clone flashes a bit of tooth, ready to finally strike the killing blow.
“Anime.”
Frida has to give it to her. She can say that she never saw that answer coming.
“Anime?”
Cleo pulls out her phone and hands it to Frida. “That’s right. I started looking and it didn’t take long to realize that about half the internet is people talking about how great anime from the 90s and 2000s was. And now I’m learning that now all the new popular stuff is remakes or new seasons of those? Tell me that isn’t a sign.”
Frida scrolls through Cleo’s phone as the taller teen talks, seeing nothing but endless memes comparing art, animation, as well as plenty of waifu rankings (which she was sure Cleo didn’t understand and was too afraid to ask about).
She shrugs as she hands the phone back to Cleo. “Yeah,” she says. “Can’t argue with that kind of popularity.”
It didn’t take long for Cleo’s face to light up like the sun. It was small, but this was clearly a win she had been waiting for, and it must have tasted sweet. It almost made Frida feel bad about what she was about to do…
“I guess that means you watch a lot of anime these days. Anything you can recommend?”
She watches Cleo freeze like a statue, laughing nervously as she looks around, possibly hoping for a distraction.
“Oh, sure,” say says with a flick of the wrist. “Of course I do!”
“That’s great.”
“It’s wonderful!”
The two girls just stare at each other, Frida enjoying the way Cleo sweats.
“So… you gonna drop any names?”
“Uh, duh,” Cleo says, staring down at the smaller clone with very thinly veiled contempt. “There’s… uh… Sword… Guy… with his Space… Tugboat.”
Frida stifles a laugh and nods. “Oh yeah, I’ve heard great things about that one. Any others?”
“Yeah, totally. Who isn’t in love with… Scissor Girl and the… endless panty shots…” Cleo just shoots the fakest, most forced smile that could only come from a genetically perfect clone.
“You hate anime, don’t you?”
“It sucks so hard!” Cleo groans, stomping around in circles. “I can’t even look at it without wanting to give myself a wedgie. But you agreed that the old stuff is more popular than the new, so point Cleo!”
“It doesn’t count if you don’t like the thing that makes you popular!” Frida laughs back, rolling her skateboard under her foot. “That’s like sayin’ Ivan the Terrible is ‘popular’ for his bad breath.”
“She has a point,” Ivan says as he walks past. “Still, better to be known for that than for being a fan of the tiny pony cartoon and knowing the theme song by heart…”
The clones shudder in unison.
“Fine, point Frida,” Cleo admits. “I’d rather not be associated with rainbow-haired brats that yell all the time. Speaking of that where’s Harriet? I haven’t seen her all day and normally she’s three steps behind you.”
“Harry’s staying home today,” Frida says, seeing some space for her extra clothes in her locker if she just moves her painter’s easel into her backpack. “Got the okay from her foster parents.”
“Huh,” Cleo responds. “I thought she was allergic to not being Miss Star Student all the time.”
“Heh, she do be like that. But you know how some people get about…”
Frida feels the entire world freeze solid. She just stares through her things, remembering who she’s talking to, and why she isn’t just another student at Clone High. She closes her locker, her chill replaced by a seriousness so deadly it even jars her competitive crush.
“Cleo,” Frida asks, “did you read that email school sent us last Monday?”
“No, I never read those things,” Cleo responds, arms crossed. “Why should I care about school when I’m not there?”
Frida gulps, feeling a lump in her dry throat. “So, you really don’t know what today is?”
The two lock eyes, uneasiness growing on Cleo’s face.
“…math test?”
“Shhhiiiiit,” Frida says, the words sliding out of clenched teeth like a deflating balloon. “Shit, shit, meirda! Okay, Cleo, we need to go.”
“Like… to class?”
“Like out of the building. Now.”
“Why?”
“I promise to tell you when we get to…” Frida wracks her brain for a place to go to. Any place. “When we get to anywhere that isn’t right here. Now come on.”
Frida reaches out and grabs Cleo’s wrist, skateboard under her arm. They have to move fast. And they would have, if Cleo didn’t lift the tiny teen with ease, leaving her dangling like a Snowflake Day ornament. She brings Frida to eye level, Cleo’s entire aura making it clear that she wasn’t going to just play along.
“Oh no. I’ve been around the block enough times to know how that line ends. So how about you just tell me now.”
“Mmmf!” Frida grunts, trying to free herself. Cleo might look like she was made of toothpicks, but this girl had muscle in all the right places. Did she have bodybuilder DNA too? “Fine! But we gotta walk and talk. If we stand around someone might…”
“YO, FRIDA! CLEO!”
The two look and see Confucius with his usual dopey smile, bounding towards them like a man on a mission with a small black box strapped to his head. “Man, talk about perfect timing, right?! This could not be better!”
“Hah, yeah,” Frida laughs, internally wanting to rip the hairs from her wispy mustache in frustration.
“You bros need to check this out,” pointing to the plastic brick on his forehead. “It’s the brand new SnapChamp Pro Plus Advance X5!”
Cleo leans in to get a better look at the solid black box, entranced by the phantom price tag hanging off it. “Ooh, that looks expensive.”
“Uh, yeah, of course it does. This is a freaking IMAX camera on steroids! 690 degrees of vision, ultra-zoom lens, prepackaged compliments…”
The box gently buzzes, printing out a small slip of paper that he rips and reads. “You are incredibly talented at spending money.” He gasps, a twinkle in his eyes. “It knows me so well! And wait until you see the filters!”
Before Frida can get a syllable out, Confucius has his phone shoved in the girls’ faces, Cleo admiring herself in the high-quality feed.
“I’ve got night vision, plus inverted, sepia, x-ray, gamma, retro, spiral, smell-o, telly, Coleco, radar, and even sonar!” He flips through all the visions with a dial on the box, bombarding the two with a parade of freaky copies, starting cool and quickly becoming nauseating. “And that’s only the stuff behind the first paywall! Today is going to be great! I’m going to get so many new followers when they see… Frida, are you okay? You keep slicing at your neck with the flat of your hand.”
She keeps going, hoping the boy will get the picture. Though all it does is get Cleo’s attention. Frida swears she can feel the anger burning its way through her braided hair.
“So, the camera is for something special going on today,” she says bluntly, her patience running thin. “Do you want to fill me in?”
Confucius continues to fail at getting the point. “What, didn’t you read the email school sent out last Monday?”
“No, I didn’t read the stupid email!” Cleo growls, teeth clenched. “Tell me what it said!”
“Jeez, someone’s testy today,” he laughs, seeing Frida’s pleading stare. “You’re acting like this is all brand new… almost like... you've... been… frozen for twenty years…”
The two girls watch Confucius suck air, avoiding eye contact as Frida’s point fully gets through his thick skull.
“Well, I’m waiting!”
“Right! Uh, well…” he goes, using whatever brainpower his clone father gave him that hasn’t been overloaded with memes and internet fads. “Oh! Yeah, no, it’s nothing. Just another one of Principal S’s boring medical days, running tests to make sure none of the clones have… rickets. Hey! Who wants to grab an early lunch at The Grassy Knoll and stay until closing? On me.”
“I do,” Frida says, a blunt desperation in her voice. “What do you say Cleo, it’s on him.”
“That’s right,” he says, smiling and waving his wallet full of his foster mom’s credit cards in Cleo’s face. “Can you smell that, Cleo? It’s the smell of fresh fried chicken and buttery waffles with a side of OW OW OW!” He shouts as Cleo digs her nails into his elephant-sized ear. “Let me go let me go let me go!”
Cleo, seething, gets the whining to stop by knocking his and Frida’s heads together like a couple of coconuts. The dull thud winning her their complete and undivided attention.
“Alright, I have had enough newbie crap for one day,” she growls, fury in her eyes. “Now, who is going to tell me what the hell is going on today?”
As if on cue, the intercom rumbles to life over their heads.
“Attention students,” Mr. Butlertron said in his cold, flat tone, “today’s active shooter preparedness drill will begin in five miiiiiiiiinutes.”
Cleo lets go, no less angry, dropping Frida on her ass while Confucius rubs his throbbing ear.
“Great, now I know,” she says in a huff. “Now who is going to tell me what that means?”
The second gens grumble, either not knowing how to answer or just not wanting to.
“Fine,” Cleo shouts, pointing at Confucius and making him jump. “Tell me what an active shooter whatever drill is or I’m shaving your head. And if I think you’re lying, I will make the carpet match the drapes.”
With his hands covering his heads, Confucius sighs.
“An active shooter preparedness drill is when someone pretends to be a shooter trying to… kill as many students as possible.”
Cleo raises an eyebrow, making the lanky clone flinch.
“Why would we need that?”
“You know,” he mumbles. “In case a shooter does come to school and… tries to kill as many students as possible.”
Confucius looks down at Frida, eyes pleading for some forgiveness. She gives it to him with a small nod as she gets back on her feet, and two just focus on Cleo. They watch her like a slow-motion train crash, seeing the anger and annoyance melt into confusion before her body language shifts again, showing the weight of something awful being placed on her shoulders.
“That…” she stumbles out, trying and utterly failing to keep some control. Just staring at the two, waiting for one of them to admit this is a bad 2020s joke. “That’s something that can happen now?”
The two hem and haw, trying to find the right words.
“I mean,” Frida starts, “the media crazy overblows the problem.”
“Yeah,” Confucius adds. “By like… a little.” That gets him a flick to the ear by Frida.
“Look, to be fair I was the one overblowing it. The truth is… the exercise is super lame. It’s just Principal Scudworth walking around school with a paintball gun.”
“That, and he sings show tunes the entire time he’s doing it to try and make the experience ‘edufunional,’” Frida says with massive air quotes. “What was it he sang last year?”
“The Pirates of Penzance,” Confucius says, a light bulb going off as he flips through his phone. “Hold on, I think… I think… yes! I actually have a recording! Guys check this out.”
He hits play and instantly hits Frida and Cleo with a blast of Scudworth’s warbling singing voice through the shaky video of last-year Confucius filming through a crack in a doorway.
“COME FRIENDS WHO PLOW THE SEA!!!!!” he shouts, unloading an entire clip of pellets into Topher. “trUCE TO NA-Vi-ga-TION, take a-na-tha STA-TION!”
“Stop shooting me!” Topher whines in the most punchable of tones. “I’m already dead!”
“Ha, a fool of you to assume I operate on logic and reason! I am a madman with a god complex!” He laughs evilly, before catching the camera on him. “And by that I mean the character I’m playing for this drill is a madman with a god complex! Just so nothing is being taken out of context…”
And without looking, he squeezes off another shot.
“MY EYE!!!”
Then the video ends.
“See, so stupid and lame. Are you feeling any better Cleo?”
Cleo takes some time to look up from the screen, staring at the other two clones with even deeper despair on her face.
“Ah. Frida, I’m going to stop talking now.”
“Alright, hit the showers Conny,” she says giving the taller boy a pat on the back before putting a comforting hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “Are you ready to head to The Knoll?”
Cleo, still shaken, can only look down and give a small nod.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way for all of this to make sense. Now come on, we’ve got three minutes before…”
The double doors are violently kicked open, catching the attention of every kid in the hallway.
“Attention students, an update on my previous statement,” Mr. Butlertron says over the intercom, as Frida, Cleo, Confucius, and the other students see a leather-jacketed Scudworth with a matching Candide Sampson by his side, both armed to the teeth. “I liiiiiiiiieeeeeed.”
“Good news students!” Principal Scudworth says with a big smile. “I have taken your comments about last year’s exercise to heart, and this year we will not be using paintballs!”
“Man, that’s a relief,” Confucius says to the girls before Candide squeezes off a shot, striking him in the forehead. The two watch his SnapChamp explode into a cloud of smoke and debris before he falls to the ground and slides ten feet. Cleo lets out a scream, wrapping her arms around Frida’s head.
Frida runs over to her friend, Cleo still clinging to her for dear life, and sees plastic and metal scraps lodged in his forehead, a massive purple welt in the middle where he was struck, the boy completely out cold.
“Thanks to our beautiful friend Candide, this year we will be using military-grade beanbag rounds! Now, who here is a fan of The Greatest Showman?!”