Chapter Text
There were a lot of rules to being a diplomat’s daughter.
Some of them were official, the sort that would wind up in a plastic bound ring binder with an embassy letterhead, drilled into her head since childhood; what the Americans called ‘stranger danger’ cranked up to the extreme. ‘Don’t talk to strangers’, ‘top ten covert ways to communicate distress’, ‘here’s what you do if you end up kidnapped for ransom’, and so on.
Some of them were unofficial, like ‘stop promising your friends you’ll show them the embassy’, and ‘don’t use my work phone’, and most frequent of all, ‘your behaviour reflects more than just yourself’.
But France wasn’t exactly the other end of the world from Italy, so she’d be forgiven for thinking it’d take more than being a diplomat’s daughter to stand out in a place like Paris. What did it matter what amazingly foreign thing she knew about if one could just hop on a train to Venice? She had to up the ante as far as it’d go. She’d spent a school’s semester in L.A., London, Tokyo, Beijing, whichever city would catch someone’s eye, she’d gone there at some point, even if she had to put a bit of distance (the temporal sort) between each of her mother’s placements, it wasn’t like anyone ever knew anything about how diplomacy worked. The perks of opting out of international schools, you would always be special for being from somewhere else.
Except this was Paris, and apparently she’d lucked into a school with the sort of kids who were all rich or geniuses or both or something, and every single reaction she got was peppered with some reminder that some other person at their school did the same, so she needed something bigger than American filmmakers and British rock stars and sights from elsewhere. Someone huge, someone untraceable, someone who either wouldn’t be able to say they didn’t remember her, or had a very short list of contacts.
Someone like the resident superheroine.
In retrospect, it was a terrible idea, one that only felt worse when Ladybug practically strongarmed her into letting her carry her down the Eiffel Tower right in front of the news crews, lured in by the helicopter footage of her supervillain self dangling Paris’ golden boy off the edge.
It was only the doctor’s blase reception to her that calmed her mother down.
“Madame,” the doctor said, distinctly unimpressed, “These things happen. Just last week one of the nurses got akumatized at work. That’s just how Paris is these days.”
Her mother crossed her arms, unconvinced, but Lila did her best to look like she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Besides, she really hadn’t. Not as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
Someone did see Ladybug’s rant in the park, much to Lila’s mortification, but no one had gotten close enough to hear what they were talking about, and all that was obvious was that the city’s heroine was freaking out at her for some reason. Lila was sure Adrien’s father’s PR team was having a field day over that.
Her mother excused her from school the next day, but she was still on the hook. Even if she transferred into the nearby international school, the first impression would be the girl Ladybug yelled at until she got akumatised for some reason, whereas at least Alya was nice enough to text her afterwards, asking if she was all right and not to take it too seriously because half the class had gotten akumatised by now so “You’re practically one of us now!”
But Alya also ran a blog about Ladybug, and Lila’s interview wasn’t on it anymore, so the girl was probably just pretending to be nice.
Though she really hadn’t lied about saying a lot of people from their school got akumatised. Lila comforted herself a little bit reading Alya’s old entries on their classmates. If even the mayor’s daughter could get away with being akumatised, maybe she could too.
So, Plan B.
The key to getting through controversy was simply not to acknowledge it. She’d read that somewhere. Unfortunately it didn’t really work in her case, when the lynchpin to everything was in the very same class as her. If Adrien said a word about why Ladybug had yelled at her, then it was all over. Fortunately, Alya had let slip that Adrien wouldn’t say anything to her, so at least Lila had that. Despite everything, Adrien did seem genuinely nice, which meant he was likely stupid enough to believe her.
Lila strode through the front door of the school like she was any other student. The key to going unnoticed was simply to look like you were meant to be there. She’d read that about conning your way into places. She’d never know if she’d need to know how to do that one day. But, Francoise Dupont was a pretty big school, and no one had that good of a look at her face anyway, and she’d changed her outfit to stand out a little less. It was the sort of modest look that she’d wear to impress the slightly xenophobic parents of her classmates, but she was sure it’d help here too.
She made it all the way to the doorway of their classroom.
“Out of the way, new girl.”
The girl behind her hit hard, but the floor hit harder, not that Lila would admit to either. Her books crashed to the ground.
“Chloé!”
The mayor’s daughter laughed, the sort of laughter that rung in Lila’s heart as the type she would never ever let herself be scared of again, but it was only a moment before someone else — a girl — pulled Lila up to her feet.
“Are you hurt?” the girl asked. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
“I’m fine,” Lila smiled on instinct, but her elbow stung from catching herself on the spine of a book. “Thank—”
She couldn’t get more than a glimpse of the girl who helped her, before she turned to face the blonde, but Lila had read about this too.
“What the hell was that for, Chloé?”
The girl crouched, picking up Lila’s books and looking up intermittently to glare at Bourgeois as she spoke, pigtails swaying indignantly. By the time Lila had remembered to do something, the girl had already picked up everything except Lila’s dignity.
“It’s not my fault. I barely even touched her. She’s just being dramatic.” Bourgeois said, leaning against the first row desk.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” the girl muttered, rising to her feet.
“What was that, Dupain-Cheng?”
The girl huffed, and turned back to hand Lila her things. With that, Lila finally had a good look at the face of her saviour. It put a name to the feeling in her chest, if not to the girl herself.
Deja vu, the sensation of having experienced something before, yet not being able to recall what.
The books remained, held out. The girl frowned, brows furrowing.
“You okay?” The girl stepped closer, worried. “Is your elbow okay?”
“Uh.” Lila blinked rapidly, taking the books back. “I’m fine, it just stings a little.”
“I can take you to the nurse’s office if you want,” the girl said, the smile on her face and the hand on Lila’s shoulder too earnest to be sincere.
Chloé let out a loud groan, and made a show of walking to her seat.
“Are you,” Chloé said a word Lila didn’t understand, “with the new girl, Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”
Marinette.
“Leave it, Chloé!” The flicker of annoyance in the girl’s eyes gave Lila a hint of her true sentiments, though the look of embarrassment made less sense. “My name’s Marinette. I’m the class president. You’re Lila, right?”
“Marinette.” Lila tried. The name felt familiar on her tongue. “Thank you.”
She stared a little bit too long at those eyes.
“Sorry, uh,” Lila searched for the words. French was easy, but not that easy. “Have I met you somewhere before?”
The expression on Marinette’s face struck her: a deep, raw fear that coloured every inch of her face. Within seconds of meeting this girl, who’d been all smiles and bravado, it was the most sincere expression Lila had drawn.
Something tugged at the edges of her memory.
Marinette gave a laugh, a desperate smile filling out the terror.
“Um, maybe,” she ran a hand through her bangs. “I designed Jagged Stone’s album cover, he made me do an interview about it a few months ago, so you might have seen me there?”
“Or,” a familiar voice chimed out. Alya. “It could be from your work with Adrien’s dad, the one Adrien’s modelling for in two weeks?”
And just like that, Marinette looked freaked out again, turning to shush Alya, reaching over the first row of seats to talk to her, pigtails twirling behind her as she corrected the class vice president that, actually it was just a rehearsal, and the real showing wouldn’t be until early next month.
Marinette. Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. Where had she heard that name before?
Oh right. So much had happened, it slipped her mind.
Wow, what a coincidence, there’s some girl in another class, I heard she’s practically Jagged Stone’s protegee.
Did you know Adrien Agreste goes to this school? So does this other girl who works for his dad or something.
Lila, you’re so nice, I think Marinette would love to meet you.
Chloé Bourgeois might be the mayor’s daughter, and Adrien Agreste may be a celebrity in his own right, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the one that people actually liked.
Or well, from what Lila could tell at least.
“A-Anyway!”
The girl recovered, standing straight in the aisle. She must have thought that sort of frazzled, ditzy look made her endearing. It was effective, anyhow. Lila had tried that before, but not as well as Marinette could.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Lila? Maybe I should take you to the nurse after all, you might have hit your head, who knows what Chloé did to you,—”
“I didn’t do anything, Dupain-Cheng!”
“Do what?”
A familiar mop of blond stepped through the door, looking much like he’d walked out of the pages of a fashion magazine instead of a school hallway.
Lila pretended the chill down her spine didn’t happen.
She could do this.
“Adrikins!” Chloé said. “Marinette’s accusing me of hurting the new girl!”
At the same time, Marinette looked panicked in a different way, one Lila understood quite well.
Oh, of course.
Then, Marinette’s face changed.
“Lila fell, the least you could do was help her,” she said.
“Umm, why would I help a total liar?”
Lila flinched. Adrien sighed, and Lila braced herself.
“I told you, Chloé, Lila isn’t a liar.”
What?
“Then why was Ladybug yelling at her? I thought the two of you were the best of friends?”
Lila had a lie for this, but she hadn’t expected to be put on the spot.
“Come on, you told Césaire yourself, Ladybug saved your life didn’t she—?”
“Chloé, let it go, it’s none of your business,” Adrien said.
“—then next thing you know, your so-called best friend is yelling at you and you’re getting akumatised—”
“Because I was being stupid, okay?”
The room fell quiet. Lila’s fists clenched at her sides, her eyes fixed to the side of one of the front row desks. A captive audience. Perfect. If her hands were shaking it would help her, but if they were it was on purpose. Definitely.
“Look, um… It was really stupid of me to say that I knew her.”
“Because you don’t.”
“No.”
Adrien Agreste was too much of a fool for her not to take advantage of whatever play he was doing.
She stared Chloé in the eye.
“Because Ladybug was right and it put me in danger telling people that I was. She was mad at me, because she thought I would know how to keep a secret, because of the job my mother has. But, um, it’s probably for the best if you do act like I lied. Ladybug said she’d act like I was just some fan making stuff up, if anyone asked her, so…”
Lila folded her hands together and turned to Adrien, meeting his eyes.
“I’m sorry for saying the things I did, Adrien. It’s one thing for me to act like an idiot, but I put you in danger too. For that, I’m really sorry.”
A pause, the whole class was watching.
And Adrien picked up his cue perfectly.
“It’s okay,” he smiled a model’s smile, one that could fool anyone, except her. “I believe you, Lila.”
“Seriously?!”
“Just leave it already, Chloé.”
Marinette stood.
Chloé huffed and turned away.
Marinette smiled at Lila, even faker than Adrien’s. But just like that, no one else had any objections, welcoming Lila with open arms and sympathising over her akumatisation. Lila pushed down the adrenaline of a near miss.
Well, this complicated things.
She got an answer out of Adrien fast enough. He practically cornered her between classes.
“I know how it feels to want to fit in,” Adrien said, “when I first started a lot of people liked me, but for the wrong reasons, you know what I mean? It’s not worth it.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lila looked away. Every conversation she had felt like she was just humoring someone, but Adrien especially. The guy didn’t have a clue. She was surprised no one has ever taken advantage of that sooner. “And, um… Thank you for standing up for me earlier, you didn’t have to say that…”
“Don’t sweat it,” Adrien smiled, and worryingly, Lila had the feeling it was real. “I could tell you’re not a bad person, Lila.”
“Thank you. That’s really—”
“Lila!”
Now there was a girl who had a clue.
It was starting to seem like Marinette wore a permanent frazzled air now, but even that couldn’t hide how poorly she feigned surprise.
“Hey Adrien, I didn’t see you there.”
“Hey, I was just—”
The girl verbally steamrolled him. It would be impressive if Lila wasn’t acutely aware Marinette was talking as fast as humanly possible, practically putting herself between them.
“Say, Lila,” the girl sidled up to her, a bit too close, “wanna get lunch with me?”
Lila stared. “Sure?”
Marinette beamed, grabbing her hand and just about ushering Lila away.
“See ya, Adrien!”
“Uh, bye—?”
Wow, Lila thought to herself, as Marinette launched into a rant about their school’s cafeteria food. Marinette really wanted her away from Adrien.
No wonder she was trying so hard to seem nice…
“Um, Marinette—”
“Yes?”
“Could you let go of my hand?”
The blush on Marinette’s face would have been cute. Would have been, since of course, Marinette’s only interest in anything would be over a boy, and Adrien at that. That was probably the only reason why she was even Gabriel Agreste’s protegee, or Jagged Stone’s, or whichever it was. Just like that, Lila felt that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was utterly unremarkable. Just like any other girl.
“S-Sorry,” Marinette said, pocketing her hands in her hoodie. “Uh… The cafeteria’s this way.”
Lila blinked.
“You speak Italian?”
Marinette looked a little startled, and the sincerity of reminded Lila for a second, of that terrified look she had earlier.
“Yes?” Marinette said. “My dad’s mom taught me when I was little. I’m… not very good at it, it’s been a while, but I thought it might help? At least I thought it did when I talked to you back in class.”
“Oh,” Lila said. She’d forgotten about that look already, worrying about Adrien. Just like, apparently, she’d forgotten Marinette was speaking Italian for a second. “I didn’t realise you’d switched.”
“It was when Chloé—” Marinette blushed deeply. Hm, that must have been the word Lila didn’t understand. “It was nothing. We can stick to French if you want?”
Lila thought for a moment.
“Whatever works for you,” she said, “Though it would be nice to get to talk in my own language for once.”
“If you’ll excuse my conjugation,” Marinette smiled. “And that I kinda talk like I’m still a kid.”
“It’s all right,” Lila said. “I’ve been travelling since I was a kid, so I just kind of talk like my mom.”
“Oh.”
And there it was, that pity in Marinette’s eyes. It was familiar, but Lila had stopped playing up the lonely diplomat brat story for a reason. It was boring, the pity, the promises that this time she wouldn’t be forgotten, that she would make real memorable friends here.
But, that look…
“It’s fine,” Lila waved it off. “I use English more anyway, it’s a lot more useful for travelling.”
“But it’s your family’s language,” Marinette said slowly. “Doesn’t it…” Marinette paused in a familiar way, the way one did when they were searching for a word, then shook her head and said, “Oh, here’s the cafeteria!”
Lila let her dart ahead for the door, listening with one ear as Marinette talked about the menu.
She could swear, she knew Marinette from somewhere. She just couldn’t place a finger on it, but the feelings of deja vu were starting to get annoying.