#CJ’13 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theclassclone · 6 months ago

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Maybe Sometimes They Got It Wrong

Chapter 13

Word Count: 7,648 TW: Canon-typical, Family drama Master List || Previous || Next

“Previously on a very special Clone High: Cleo started running for Homecoming Queen and I’m pretty sure no one was actually running against her. But that didn’t stop Cleo from recruiting CJ and Confucius from helping her get those votes. CJ accused Topher of starting a rumor about her and Cleo dating—.”

“Because he did start the rumor.” CJ cut Abe off.

Abe sighed. “Man, I’m reading the script.”

“Your script sucks, ask a theater kid to write them.” CJ bluntly suggested.

CJ stood uncomfortably by the faux stage that she had ordered the art students to create specifically for the school’s gymnasium; she crossed her arms and slumped her shoulders forward. She grimaced at the assault on her senses, each note a reminder that first- and second-generation clones have clashing interests. She surveyed the students around her, the sea enjoying themselves more than she was, a kaleidoscope of bright colors and wild ‘80s hair mingling and dancing together. She was suffocated by cheap perfumes and axe body sprays to cover up the sweat. The dance she planned was way too chaotic, but she should have expected as much—it was ‘80s themed. She didn’t want to be here, but it felt like an obligation, not only did she plan the entire thing for Frida and Harriet, but she was the VP. Her discomfort was nothing more than a prickling sensation that crawled up her spine that settled heavily in her chest.

Despite this, she was proud of herself. The gym was decorated the utmost ‘80s aesthetic—the bleachers had been pushed back and covered by a large metallic backdrop, framed by brightly colored balloons (in other words, the aesthetic was loud because the ‘80s were a loud era). The food was pushed against the wall near the exits with more than enough tables surrounding the outskirts of the middle of the gym. CJ researched the most popular food items of the ‘80s: filled with sloppy joes, seven-layer dip, impossible pie, and dirt cake, and other snacks and candies. The drinks ranged from Capri Sun to Dr. Pepper. On the other end of the gym, there was a makeshift ‘photobooth’ which, in reality, was just a small, concentrated, version of the backdrop on the bleachers with tables filled with props next to it.

“Attention! Attention!” Harriet spoke unusually soft into the microphone. “Hello?”

She watched as the students continued to ignore Harriet’s subtle attempts to grab their attention over the volume of the chaotic blend of retro and modern music. She grumbled in annoyance at Harriet’s uncharacteristic unwillingness to be louder than the music or at least turn the volume of the music down. She stepped up to the stereo behind Harriet and turned the volume down.

CJ marched up to Harriet and swiped the microphone from her hands. “ATTENTION.” Her impatient voice sliced through the noise like a blade. She forced the microphone back into Harriet’s hands.

The chatter of the student body died down as they slowly began to focus on the faux stage. Their startled silence rang louder than the drastic change in music genre still humming in the background and much louder than the sounds they produced. The anticipation of CJ and Harriet standing on the stage now captivated them, holding them in a new trance. CJ watched them transfer their attention from her to Harriet, their personal devices, and God knows what else to each other, unable to comprehend the excitement and willingness to participate in the Homecoming dance. She scrunched her nose and took a step back from Harriet and remained close to the stereo—despite her already bleeding eardrums.

Harriet cleared her throat and held the microphone up. “And now, the moment you have all been waiting for! It’s time to announce this year’s Homecoming king and queen! This year’s Homecoming king is inexplicably popular and so lovably dumb and so hot—in a way that even your parents would approve of—and not a total piece of human garbage—.”

“Get on with it.” CJ called out from behind her.

Harriet glanced behind her. “Sheesh, lighten up, bish.” She held her hand out for both the envelope with the homecoming king name and the homecoming king crown. She quietly thanked Nostradamus and his friend after they handed her the envelope and the crown. She looked down at her hands and opened the envelope, reading over the words. “Our king is…” She lowered her voice, “Does this say Abe?” She stared at the card in confusion. “Huh, I for sure thought it would be the most popular guy in school… Our king is apparently Abe Lincoln.” She announced with less enthusiasm and vigor than she should have.

“Oh…”

“My…”

“God.”

The student body remained silent at the announcement of the king. Absolutely no one seemed pleased or seemed to show any signs of having voted for Abe. Everyone turned around to stare at him as he slowly crept through the crowded gym to the stage to receive his crown. He nervously climbed up onto the shoddy architecture and joined Harriet by the microphone. He looked out into the crowd and waved at everyone with a forced, lopsided grin plastered on his face.

He bowed his head for Harriet to place the crown. “I don’t know how this happened; I didn’t even run.” He grew excited. “This is really exciting.” His voice wavered—the microphone barely picked up his voice. He seemed uncomfortable, almost unwilling to accept the crown.

“It’s just Homecoming, sweetie.” Harriet rolled her eyes as she placed the crown on his head.

Abe stood tall and looked toward the student body again; he pointed at the crown and grinned. He looked back at the individuals on the stage—he looked for his friend, his new best friend—and showed her the crown. His smile only faltered when it appeared to him that CJ didn’t share his enthusiasm.

CJ crossed her arms and slipped the real Homecoming king card out of her dress. She flashed Abe a crooked grin and hid the card back in her dress like she had never shown him what she had done as she walked off of the stage. This was her moment to disappear into the crowd again, to be where she wanted to be—lost at sea and unrecognizable to the naked eye.

Abe’s mouth hung open at what she had showed him.

Harriet interrupted his growing internal crisis by speaking into the microphone. “What a twist, am I right?” And now to announce our Homecoming queen!” Harriet squealed.

Frida ran up onto the faux stage and handed Harriet the envelope and the queen’s crown. “Oh, it was a close count!” She accidently said into the microphone.

Harriet snatched the envelope out of Frida’s hands and excitedly opened it up. She gasped at the name written in calligraphy. “No freaking way!” She squealed into the microphone again. “Oh, my gosh!” She giggled with Frida. “Okay, okay, okay.” She inhaled deeply.

“Breathe, girl.” Frida told her.

“Everyone! Your Homecoming queen is…” she paused for dramatic effect, “please put your hands together for… JOAN OF ARC!!!” Harriet cheered; she giggled again with Frida. “This is so great.” She whispered to Frida.

“Stop it.” Frida harshly whispered back.

CJ raised her eyebrows and stared at the back of Harriet’s head. “What?” Her irises shrank in disbelief. “Excuse me? ‘Of Arc?” She spoke with the taste of bitter injustice rolling off of her tongue; she swallowed hard and straightened her posture. She met Cleo next to the stage, away from the majority of the crowd.

“Oh, absolutely not.” Cleo’s voice rang in CJ’s ears with venom. “I worked hard for this crown, and she won?” She knitted her eyebrows together and pointed a finger at Joan from across the gym. She tried to lean over CJ, who stood nose-to-nose with her in heels.

CJ and Cleo looked over at Joan; both with their eyebrows drawn together. CJ clenched her jaw and curled her fingers into fists while Cleo crossed her arms and grimaced. Joan remained at the edge of the crowd, staring up at Frida and Harriet, shocked that she was announced Homecoming queen. Cleo looked away from Joan as she reluctantly dragged herself up onto the stage, she placed a hand on CJ’s upper arm and turned her away from the stage.

“You had this in the bag. She had to have done something—.” CJ started.

Cleo rolled her eyes. “Of course, she did something. And if it wasn’t her, it was one of her stupid friends.”

CJ tilted her head. “I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

Cleo huffed. “There has to be a rumor, we missed something.”

CJ hummed and glanced over her shoulder.

Abe and Joan awkwardly stood next to each other, somewhat stammering over their words to each other because they were not on the best of terms—Abe was cancelled and, well, Joan dropped him for ‘better’ friends. They didn’t seem to know how to interact with each other anymore and Joan didn’t appear to want to interact with Abe at all. She was stiff, trying to avoid conversing with him, she looked as though she was giving him one- or two-word responses. Abe seemed uncomfortable with their exchanges.

“We could take one of those selfies?” Abe suggested. “Confucius runs the schools’ social media.”

“Uhm, no.” Joan responded.

Abe rubbed his arm nervously. “Is there a problem with taking a picture?”

Joan suddenly exploded in Abe’s face, her arms were outstretched, and her face was nearly as red as her hair. “YES, ABE! Yes, there is a problem with what you just asked! There’s definitely something wrong with taking a picture with you! Everyone is going to think I’m cheating on JFK with you or worse, dating you as a rebound!” She scoffed and threw her arms in Abe’s direction; she glanced away from her former friend. “Not like you would understand, you’re single and your only real girlfriend was Cleo! She was never loyal to you!”

“Hey—!”

Joan shook her head. “No, I’m not going to listen to you anymore, all you do is make mistakes! I’m the homecoming queen and you’re the homecoming king, Abe, think about that. I’m still dating JFK! Not you! That’s not even the only thing that could go wrong for me!” She pressed her hands to her temporals. She gripped her hair and groaned, exasperated at Abe’s lack of understanding. “Just because I didn’t want Cleo to win, doesn’t mean I wanted all of you to vote for me! I just didn’t want Cleo to win because she doesn’t deserve to win, she doesn’t deserve the attention you give her!” She rambled, half yelling into the microphone.

“I just—.”

“No, there is no excuse for any of this, Abe!” Joan shouted. “No one should be queen. I shouldn’t be queen! It goes against everything I believe in. No one should be king either and-and you don’t deserve that crown! After all of the mistakes you’ve made, after how you’ve hurt me?” She pointed to herself then dropped her arms to her sides.

“How I’ve hurt you? Is this just about you?” Abe asked.

“You’re missing the point!” Joan said.

Abe shook his head. “No, I read you loud and clear.”

Frida crossed her arms. “Sis, it’s just Hoco. Enjoy it, don’t make a big deal over nothing.”

Harriet nodded. “Yeah, it’s just for sophomore year, you deserve this crown.”

CJ leaned into Cleo. “She doesn’t even want it, what do we do?”

Cleo smirked. “I mean, we could stay here and watch.”

“You’re going to instigate.” CJ deadpanned.

Cleo hummed and nodded. She returned her attention to the commotion up on the faux stage; she cupped her hands around her cherry red lips. “Get off the stage! I demand a recount!” She dropped her arms to her side and looked at CJ. “This is ridiculous, no one was even running against me! I put so much effort into my Homecoming campaign! And I’m freaking Cleopatra!”

CJ glanced at Cleo, then back at the commotion on the stage. “Obviously. I don’t know who would vote for someone other than Cleopatra, they must be delusional. That or two entire generations of clones can’t even do so much as count.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow and smiled at CJ. “So, you agree?”

“Naturally.” CJ crossed her arms and stood with her feet shoulder width apart.

Cleo clenched her teeth and looked back toward the stage. “It should be me up there! Not Joan!”

“Obviously.” CJ agreed, yet again. “I counted the votes myself; you were the winner, and I made some adjustments and rigged the votes for the Homecoming king—no offense to Kennedy, but you did tell me to be careful of Joan. In order to keep the peace, I changed the king.”

Cleo relaxed slightly. “You did that for me?” She glanced at CJ then back at the stage. “Well, then who would have changed the votes for the Homecoming queen?”

“Someone who doesn’t know me very well.” CJ thought aloud; she looked at Harriet. “Someone obsessively encouraging Joan to accept the crown.” CJ looked over at Frida. “More than one someone.”

Cleo rubbed her lips together, smoothing the red lipstick over her lips. She held a tightlipped smile across her face; she shifted her weight toward CJ. “You might be onto something.”

“Just take the crown, Joan!” Harriet reapproached Joan, returning the stage conversation back to its original state. “You’re the Homecoming queen! Just accept it!”

Joan shook her head and backed away from Harriet. “No, no! This isn’t what I asked for! This isn’t what I wanted, Harriet!” She looked at her. “I didn’t ask to be Homecoming queen, I don’t want your stupid crown, I don’t want to be part of your stupid monarchy.”

Harriet held the crown out for Joan and scoffed. “Ugh, just take the crown. No one wanted to vote for some unethical pumpkin murderer.”

“WHAT?!” Cleo raised her voice.

CJ puckered her lips and cocked her head to the side. “Well, there’s that too.”

CJ and Cleo watched their fellow students on the stage carefully. Abe was less than confident after his verbal disagreement with Joan—also knowing that he didn’t win fair and square. He couldn’t even look at her without furrowing his brow and frowning. Had CJ known that Harriet was going to pull the same stunt, she would have never but Abe up on that stage. But then again, having Abe on that stage next to Joan—both of them as Homecoming king and queen...

She glanced down through the sea of students toward an area that was heavily concentrated. JFK was surrounded by his entire football team, Confucius, Juluis, and several of his other male friends and acquaintances. She almost smirked at this little bit of misfortune he was experiencing—as the stories would tell, JFK had never lost a popularity contest that involved a crown. Student body president, sure. But a crown? Never. The double whammy in this situation would be that Abe was wearing what would have been JFK’s crown had CJ not interfered and he was with Joan. CJ’s pleased expression faltered with JFK looked away from Confucius and glanced toward her and Cleo; his eyes glistened in the dim party lights, reminding her of his insecurities about his relationship with Joan.

She clenched her teeth and swallowed hard—she hadn’t intended on this happening, she just wanted to help Abe, not hurt JFK—if what she was seeing was hurt. She looked away from him, not wanting to search his eyes or facial expression for any answers or to study his expression to understand what he was feeling. She looked back toward the stage and scanned the rest of the clones. Frida and Harriet stood near each other—as they usually do, never one without the other, it was weird for them to be separate. Frida looked in CJ and Cleo’s general direction, her expression mirrored one that Joan would often give CJ for being near JFK. CJ couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why Frida would have such an expression. She knew Frida had a crush on someone, but there were so few people in CJ’s area, it was hard for CJ to precisely pinpoint the individual Frida was glaring at and the individual she had a crush on—and it should be easy considering. Harriet and Joan were facing each other, arguing, flailing their arms about. Harriet waved the crown around Joan, trying to place it on Joan’s head while Joan—if she kept with her own agenda—tried to protest her royal Homecoming status.

CJ glanced at the bottom of Cleo’s dress. “I think you’re correct. Joan is not the bigger person, nor is she the honest and good person that she tries to paint herself to be. I think I’m starting to understand your warning a little more clearly—and I thank you for that warning.” She looked up at Cleo; she turned to face her and crossed her arms. She inhaled deeply. “Joan isn’t the only one I have to be cautious of, is she?”

Cleo’s anger temporarily sank beneath the surface at CJ’s innocent question. Her eyebrows lifted and something in the shape of her irises shifted; her grimace disappeared. She slowly turned to face CJ and frowned. “I already told you, you’re naïve.” Her eyes traced CJ’s slender face, searching for the expression that matched the sad tone of her voice. “I didn’t say it to be mean, I said it to help you. But, You don’t believe that, do you?”

“That’s not what I said.” CJ tried to reach for Cleo’s hand.

“No.” Cleo stepped away from her. “I don’t want to talk to you about this. Any of this. Just leave me alone.” She balled her fists and turned her back toward CJ.

“Wait—.” CJ stepped forward.

CJ watched Cleo leave her standing beside the stage. She suddenly felt herself becoming intertwined in a string of failed social interactions, each one a different weight. She thought she could ignore the feeling of being weighed down if she could just watch and listen to the nonsense that was Harriet (and most of the other clones) counting down from ten to place the Homecoming crown upon Joan’s head.

Joan glanced up at the crown in Harriet’s hands. “I HAVE THE USE THE BATHROOM!” She yelled and snatched the crown out of Harriet’s hands. She ran off of the faux stage and out of the gym.

For a moment, the gym was filled with an insufferably awkward silence—that was now two people that ran out of the gym over the Homecoming queen crown—or so CJ thought. To drown out the chaos, the music was turned back up and it was unanimously decided to pretend that everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine. CJ felt like she was caught in the eye of the storm, a dangerous one. She was frozen in place, watching the students resume dancing and socializing around her. She felt alien again, surreal, like an observer of her own life. Her feet didn’t feel like they were on the ground, nor did she feel like her acquaintances were within reach. The idea of popularity, the concept of social interaction continued to remain just outside of her grasp like the stars in the sky—sure, she felt like an alien, but even aliens had access to the stars and star-like things. The noise rang in her ears until there was nothing but the sound of angry buzzing left. No music, no chatter. Just the hum of the frequency itself.

Harriet cleared her throat. “Well, that was odd.”

CJ’s head flew back in a half nod motion. “Odd isn’t the word I would use, per se.” She blinked at Harriet. “I like to think that I’m repeating myself, but I’ll do it again. We were fine without the first-generation, but that, obviously, was not up to us. Every disaster, such as this one, is a direct result of them. How odd, indeed.”

Frida forced herself to look at CJ and grin. “Don’t hate, girl. They’re still new to 2023. Just relax.”

CJ rotated her eyes. “Oh, my sincerest apologies, speaker of the first-generation clones. You are absolutely right, let me just relax and take it as it is. After all, I was the only sucker on this stupid council to put my time and effort into Homecoming. Alone. Because if I so much as let you help, you’d piss me off. Neither of you could even plan a Homecoming ‘prom-posal’ or whatever it’s called, so, no, I was not letting you help. Not to mention, I wasted three days helping Cleo secure Homecoming votes and she still lost.” She threw her arms above her head. “Hard to believe, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you accusing us of something?” Harriet spat.

CJ raised an eyebrow. “Accusing you of something? No, what I’m saying is that I think it was totally uncalled for that Joan gets to spread a rumor and squander my campaign.”

“Squander?” Frida mumbled.

Harriet scoffed and crossed her arms. “Right, and I sure Abe winning Homecoming king wasn’t your doing?”

“Mine? Of course not, everyone knows JFK should have won.” CJ drew her lips into a thin line. “Are you accusing me of something?” She used Harriet’s question against her.

Harriet laughed. “Ah-ha-ha! Um, actually yes, yes, I am!” She outstretched her arms and leaned slightly forward. “I’ll tell you what really happened, Miss Perfect.” She pointed a pink fingernail at CJ. “You rigged the votes in order for your cancelled boyfriend to win instead of the most popular boy in school. All because you want your crowd to look better than us. What you didn’t account for was the rumor that Joan came up with to ruin your and Cleo’s reputation during your campaign for Cleo! Joan and JFK were supposed to be Homecoming king and queen!” She began to raise her voice.

“Boyfriend? Crowd?”

“Oh, please.” Harriet rolled her eyes. “Just admit to the world you’re dating Abe; everyone can see it. And your crowd is Abe.The cancelled kids, the disliked kids. You’re not better than them. The only reason you’re ‘one of us’ is because you’re the principal little pest. Why don’t you go find the girlfriend you’re cheating on and kiss it better?”

“Cleo is not my girlfriend.” CJ insisted. “Abe is not my boyfriend. Get some better bullying material.” She hissed.”

“Then go back to the grave you crawled out of!” Harriet threw her hands in the air. She stormed away from Frida and CJ.

Frida cleared her throat. “I don’t want to hear anything about Cleo with you.”

“Are we gatekeeping topics of conversation?” CJ knitted her brow in confusion.

Frida shook her head. “It’s just…” she paused. “I told you I was crushing on Cleo, and you went off and started flirting with her. That hurt more than any insult you’ve ever thrown my way.” She pressed her hand to her chest. She stared up at CJ with glossy eyes. “I thought we were friends, man. I even had to find out from FlipFlop that you started dating Cleo right before Hoco. And I was getting ready to ask her.” Her eyes wandered CJ’s form.

“Excuse me?” CJ leaned forward.

“You just keep finding new and cheap ways to take digs at people.” Frida told her. “I thought we were cool, but I thought wrong.”

“I-I-I’m going to stop you,” she pointed at Frida and pressed her finger against her clavicle, “right there.” She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. She held her elbows and looked away from Frida and Harriet, trying to contain her laughter at the absurdity and at how confused she was. “My God, I feel like I’m in an Alternate Reality.”

“Huh?”

CJ looked down at Frida. “You never said who. You only said ‘someone’. And, for the record, I was not flirting with Cleo and I’m oh so sorry if it seemed like I was. I’m not dating Cleo. I’m not dating Abe.” She stepped forward and stared down her nose at Frida. “Topher posted those goofy videos on his FlipFlop, so I would take those with a grain of salt—uhm, you know, not true—because Topher has a problem with me, and he can continue to have a problem with me because I don’t care what Topher thinks of me, okay?” She scrunched her nose and drew her eyebrows together and down; she tensed the muscles in her face to match the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Because she did care about Topher’s opinion of her, and she did care about what he was doing to her reputation. “I don’t want to date Cleo; I don’t want to flirt with Cleo. I don’t want to date Abe, I don’t want to flirt with Abe.” She took a step back from Frida and relaxed her face. She dropped her arms to her side and slowly tucked them behind her back and beneath the bow of her dress.

“But—.”

“But nothing, Kahlo. I thought we were getting along just fine. Swell, as some might say, but I, too, was wrong. I wholeheartedly don’t expect you to believe me after Topher’s viral video. But I said my piece, I’m walking away now because I don’t care about what either of you say next.” She took a step back from Frida.

“How do you have the balls to say that?” Frida gawked.

CJ snorted. “The same way you have the balls to dress like that, stand next to Harriet, and say you two aren’t dating. Same dilemma as mine, right? But wait, no one will ever assume anything because you’re Frida fucking Kahlo.” She outstretched her arms and stepped backwards.

She turned her back toward Frida. Her eyes were stale, not a single glint of confidence or anger reflected in them. As she walked away from Frida, the clones closest to their conversation continued to watch, some of which had moved slightly to allow CJ some room to make her great escape. She approached the food and drinks without any real reason, she wasn’t hungry, maybe thirsty after all of the talking she participated in, but otherwise there was no reason for her to be by the food tables. Her choices in food didn’t entice her, nor did that aid in easing her tensions—she was already out of her comfort zone by wearing a dress, and one that didn’t even cover her arms at that, plus she’s at a social event that’s out of her comfort zone. She was out of her element. She was getting progressively more furious.

She knitted her eyebrows together and picked up a paper plate down by the desserts and snacks. She piled the snack-sized junk food onto her plate—this ought to help. Or not.

Abe approached the table and grabbed a plate of his own. “Awh man, you really out did yourself!” He praised her collection of snacks and food items.

She hummed.

Abe looked down at her. “So, what’s your favorite candy?”

“I like Twix, but I find the left and right marketing scheme to be stupid.” She looked at Abe and her brow furrowed. “What happens if my left and right Twix are directionally challenged?”

“That’s a very good question.” He pointed at her. “Aren’t you the scientist?”

CJ hummed again and looked away from Abe.

“Have you ever had a York?” He reached across the table and grabbed a few peppermint patties.

“That thing?” She pointed at the silver wrapped chocolate in his hand. “I heard it had the same consistency as toothpaste, that does not sound appealing to me.”

Abe chuckled. “Try one. It’s not so bad.” He held one out for her.

CJ hesitantly took a peppermint patty from his hand and scrunched her nose. “But it’s just toothpaste encased in chocolate.” She looked down at Abe’s plate of dinner items and candies. She held her plate out for Abe to hold—which he did. She gingerly unwrapped the piece of chocolate and pulled the patty out of the silver packaging. She inspected it, expecting it to be explosive or poisonous, except it was just extremely minty. She drew her brow together and poked at the peppermint patty with her tongue.

Abe tilted his head and stifled his laughter.

“What?” She stared at him with wide eyes, hinting at a bit of panic. Her cheeks flushed and a pout formed on her lips. “I don’t trust it.” She took a small bite out of the peppermint patty and knitted her eyebrows together again. She stared at the patty and inspected it, front and back. She hummed and pushed the rest of it into her mouth.

Abe nudged her shoulder. “Toothpaste tastes good, right?” He handed her plate back to her, grinning at his own little joke.

She chewed slowly, staring at him with her eyebrows still drawn together and a bit more of a pout on her lips.

“Really? It wasn’t funny?” He chuckled to himself.

“It was kind of funny.” She mumbled and gripped her plate. She glanced toward the exit, then back down at her plate.

“Soooo, floss flavored jellybeans next time?” He asked.

CJ pushed him lightly. “Ew, no.” She pushed her snacks and desserts around on her plate. She peered at the exit again and bit the insides of her cheeks. She slumped her shoulders and allowed her eyes to begin darting around the room, plotting an exit strategy.

Abe frowned. “I saw you and Cleo getting upset earlier. We worked really hard on her campaign; I didn’t know Joan was going to win.”

“We?” She hissed. “You mean Confucius and I… and I really don’t care for this fake friendship the four of us have.”

“Did Cleo leave because of the whole Joan becoming Homecoming queen thing?” He asked.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think…” her voice trailed.

Abe was unconvinced despite not knowing CJ all too well. “And what about Frida and Harriet? What was that all about?”

CJ shrugged her shoulders and leaned away from Abe. “They’re upset about Topher’s stupid FlipFlop videos. I don’t understand why.” She omitted information and stared at the exit.

Abe swallowed hard and gripped his plate tighter. He drew the corners of his lips back and followed her gaze. “Hey, uhm, text me when you get home.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her again. “I mean exactly what I said. Text me when you get home.”

“If I leave, who are you going to spend your Homecoming with?” She asked.

A small smile spread across his lips. “Don’t worry about me. Homecoming isn’t for everyone; I want to be here. I’m also the king, remember?”

She stared blankly at Abe. “Will you let me know when you get home?”

“I sure will.” Abe nodded.

CJ watched Abe saunter off to his friends; she remained by the table for a moment longer. She watched Homecoming for a few more moments. She felt frozen, stuck to the ground, and time seemed to slow down around her. The party around her continued to feel dull; the students danced by, and Abe ‘disappeared’ into the crowd. CJ remained idle, her eyebrows were drawn together, strained, and she didn’t look approachable.

It was kind of funny to be able to see Abe tower over the majority of their peers with the added glint of the metallic plastic crown. He would always stick out like a sore thumb, crown or no crown.

She walked toward the exit and dropped her plate in the nearest trashcan as she walked past it. She pushed the doors of the gym open and entered the fluorescent yellow school hallway; that was the joy of everyone being distracted by loud music and other students, she could leave with ease. Even the chaperones didn’t seem to notice her not-so-stealthy escape. She took her time walking around the school to get to her locker just so she could grab her car keys and wallet (considering they were not on her person while she was in the gym because she refused to carry them during Homecoming and didn’t know where else to keep them). She kicked her locker door shut and slunk through the school and slipped through the main entrance to get to her car.

CJ was perched on the kitchen counter, she tapped her left hands against the counter, with limited finger movements, still from her previous injuries. She pressed her clonefather’s bottle of whiskey to her lips and hummed against the brim. She felt a twinge of nervousness tug at the back of her mind as she never really drank at home since Julius had made her acquaintance (or if she did it was because she had her own stash and wasn’t drinking from Scudworth’s ‘bad habit pile’ as she called it). The whiskey burned a fiery trail down her throat, serving as a bitter reminder of both teenage rebellion and that she doesn’t actually like whiskey. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the front door swing open.

“This is such a disaster Mister B! I’m going to get blamed for Cleo getting the Homecoming crown! This was not part of the plan!” Scudworth rambled. “Wait, Mister B, if I can get the crown back to Joan, Candide will surely see how capable I am!”

Mr. B trailed behind him. “Right…”

CJ inhaled deeply and lifted her arm; she rested her cheek in her left hand and lightly gulped down another sip of whiskey. She listened to her clonefather rattle off how he might be able to convince Joan to wear the crown again by just stealing the crown back from Cleo and giving it to Joan and giving Joan an ultimatum. And then she listened to him get stuck on the ultimatum because he had no idea what his students would bend to. The only thing he could potentially threaten Joan with is the school’s death maze.

“Yes, of course, that could work. Unless, well, it doesn’t.” Scudworth pushed the door to the kitchen open, having lost interest in his original topic of conversation. “But whatever I do, Mister B, I have to do it right because that’s the only what I can prove to Candide that I am completely capable!”

“Of what?” Mr. B raised a metallic eyebrow.

Scudworth opened his mouth to speak and pointed a finger toward the ceiling before taking offense to Mr. B’s question. “Y’know, I don’t like your attitude, Mister B. You’ve been spending too much time with those nasty teenagers.” He looked over at CJ briefly, not yet noticing her delinquency. He walked through the kitchen to grab himself a drink. “This is about showing Candide exactly what I can do, what I am capable of. If I succeed, she’ll stop playing hard to get.”

CJ coughed through a laugh. She pressed the back of her right hand against her nose.

“What’s so funny?” Scudworth asked.

Mr. B, the shortest of those living in the Scudworth residence, noticed the glass bottle between the gaps in the way she was leaning against the counter. He drew his eyebrows up and stared at her, wanting to speak up, but knowing his words to fall on deaf ears (and not to mention, rile up Scudworth even more).

“Candide still doesn’t like you.” CJ choked out, amused.

Scudworth scoffed. “You’re no help to me in this. You obviously don’t know a thing about women, she is into me. You are just making it extremely difficult for her to enjoy my company.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay.” She nodded. “Sure.”

Scudworth blinked at her. “I don’t like your attitude either.”

“Pfft, that’s nothing new.” She set the bottle of whiskey down on the counter, with her hand still tightly wrapped around it, and laughed dryly. “You never have.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She turned around and leaned her back against the counter. She hummed and dragged the bottle across the counter and lifted it to her lips again. “Riiiiight.” She took another sip, it was sort of exciting to do something she knew Scudworth frowned upon right in front of him, but it was also nerve-wracking.

At first, he didn’t register what she’s drinking. “I have no idea what your problem is, but I’m getting so sick and tired of it—.” He abruptly stopped talking. His eyes widened with surprise, just for a moment, before they narrowed again, but with a sense of disapproval. “What are you doing?”

She chuckled. “Oh, this you can see? Shocking. It took you awhile though.” She was so tired of feeling invisible to him, just in general, but now also to his new fabricated affection toward Candide. She gritted her teeth and grinned, wanting so desperately to be proud of the thick tension she created between them, but couldn’t stand to breathe in it. “Why is the stupid crown so important?” She spoke, trying to mask her annoyance.

“Don’t you change the subject.” Scudworth pointed at her; he walked toward her, intending on snatching the whiskey out of her hands. He was disappointed, to say the very least. But CJ didn’t take this as a disappointment, his action was malicious as far was she was concerned.

Mr. B rolled between Scudworth and CJ as a preventative measure, one intended to keep the peace. “The crown has a very powerful gemstone.” The unwelcome third party answered for Scudworth.

CJ tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. She remained silent as she tried to figure out what the crown had to do with Scudworth’s infatuation for Candide. “I don’t see how your cockamamie scheme gets you anything with Candide—she doesn’t like you and I don’t understand how you don’t see it.”

“Go to your room.” Scudworth pointed toward the kitchen door. “And leave the whiskey.”

“Mmmmno.” She shook her head. “It’s funny to me.” A grin spread across her face, a poignant mask to hide her festering anger and hurt.

“What is?” Scudworth cocked his head to the side, trying not to raise his voice to his defiant clone.

She shrugged her shoulders. “This. You’re trying not to be mad, but you’re mad. You’re not even trying to force me to stop, you’re just watching.” She sipped the whiskey. “And I’m a little disappointed in your selection, it kind of sucks.”

Scudworth clenched his teeth and smiled. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“As are you.” She said. “And you’re delusional. Fixing this crown situation is not going to get you a steamy first date with Candide.”

Scudworth inhaled deeply. “That is not the point of getting your classmate Joan to wear the stupid crown! It’s just a coincidence that Joan happens to be Candide’s foster daughter and was voted to be Homecoming queen! But your girlfriend ruined it! I need to get that crown back to Joan!” He tried to explain himself. “I cannot take the blame for this failure; I need to make it right!”

CJ narrowed her eyes and leaned her head forward. “The math is still not mathing.”

“What the fuck does that even mean—you kids and your bullshit slang!” Scudworth threw his arms up; he crossed his arms and squinted at her.

CJ exhaled deeply. “It means I still don’t understand, dumbass.”

Scudworth stared at her and blinked. He looked down at Mr. B, then at the floor, then back at her. “Are you stupid or something?”

CJ snorted. “Asks the druggie that dropped me.” She muttered under her breath.

“The Board wants to use the crown on a strong-willed student as part of their operation.” Mr. B clarified for CJ.

CJ motioned to Mr. B with a slight smirk on her face.

Scudworth mumbled something incoherent—at least to CJ—under his breath.

CJ drew her eyebrows together. “So, let me fill in the gaps myself. Candide wants Joan to wear the crown? Is she delusional?”

“No, she’s not delusional!” Scudworth defended Candide.

CJ nodded slowly. “Got it.” She pursed her lips. She pushed herself off of the counter and glanced toward the sink. She stood there for a moment, wondering what she should say next, what she could say next. Her words were falling onto deaf ears, he wasn’t listening to her, but that came as no surprise to her, she shouldn’t be upset over it. “So, you’re the delusional one.” She slowly turned her head back toward him.

She tilted her head to the side and studied her clonefather; her eyes bounced back and forth between the lenses of his glances, trying to see through the glare. She clenched her jaw and drew her eyebrows together, she focused on examining him, hardly blinking. She felt the pattern of her breathing change and began to hear her heart against her eardrums; what she couldn’t understand was why. She and Scudworth had butted heads in the past, they had argued in the past. So why did this feel different? Why did this force her to hide her trembling hands and try to maintain a straight or angry expression? He was quick to become obsessed with the next new thing—Candide in this case—but what hadn’t changed was what little care he put into her. Well, maybe it had changed. He became so enamored with his boss. Maybe he was the one who had changed.

“I’m not—maybe to you and your stupid teenage mind! And your clouded judgment!” Scudworth raised his voice. “We are working on something so much bigger than you!”

“Uh-hum, no, I’m not. Candide is delusional. Her strong-willed student fell into the teenage drama-trap of spreading rumors, making fake friends, and being a fake friend.” CJ scrunched her nose and drew her eyebrows together. “And I think your big plan is stupid, and you are delusional.”

“I think you should go to your room, Wesley.” Mr. B tried to tell her.

She peered down at Mr. B and pressed the tip of her finger into her chest. “Me? Send this bozo to his room!” She quickly outstretched her arm and pointed at Scudworth.

“This is my house!” Scudworth retorted. “He can’t send me to my room!”

CJ sipped the whiskey again; the liquor burned as much as holding back her tears of frustration with the people she regarded are more of roommates than anything else. She set the now empty bottle of whiskey on the counter beside her and crossed her arms.

“Did you just… finish that?” Scudworth asked, continuing to be blocked by Mr. B.

“Like you haven’t done worse.” She said, roughly incoherently.

“What was that?”

CJ pursed her lips and raised her brow; she shook her head. “Nothing, just—. Nothing.” She paused and glanced toward the space between herself and Mr. B. He served as a barrier, the continued unwanted guest. She felt like the room was spinning and, in a sense, she continued to feel like she was an observer of her own life, watching from above her own head. “I just think you don’t see the problem.”

“What problem? I don’t see any problems; I see a stupid teenager harping on bullshit. I see a teenager pulling problems out of her ass like every other teenager in this stupid generation!” Scudworth raised his voice and thew his arms in the air, dismissing her words, as he usually does. He widened his eyes and furrowed his brow; he studied her facial expression.

Even Mr. B peered at her with some semblance of confusion.

CJ shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, if you just took a second to listen to yourself, you’d understand.” She leaned forward. “You’re obsessed with someone who wants to step on you—and not in the internet meaning way—your work is the second most important thing to you, the most important thing to you is your stupid Cloney Island,” she pushed herself off of the counter. She stumbled past Mr. B and approached Scudworth’s ‘hidden’ stash of alcohol and opened the cabinet door. “You also have this, which isn’t the only stash you have, this is just what’s in the kitchen. Do I even have to mention any other drugs that you do?” She kicked the cabinet door closed.

“See, there you go again, harping on problems I don’t even have!” He spat. “It’s recreational; I don’t drink more or less than the average person, anything else that I do is… is for fun. Recreational, like I said.”

“Recreational, daily, addiction. It’s all the same.” She scrunched her nose.

Scudworth gritted his teeth. “I have just about had it with you.”

“Puh,” CJ rolled her eyes. “Have you checked yourself lately?” She walked past him and Mr. B again and made her way toward the kitchen door. She pressed her fingertips against the kitchen door, unable to feel the cool wood against her the skin of her left hand. She glanced behind her, first making limited eye contact with Mr. B, then merely looking at her clonefather.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gritted her teeth and flared her nostrils. She looked at the kitchen door again and stood there in the tense silence she and her parental figures had created by being unable to get along with each other. “Have you ever considered that I don’t want to be your mirror?” Her voice was low, an unusual tone for a Scudworth. The venom in her eyes matched the venom in her voice. She slipped out of the kitchen and escaped into the confines of her bedroom.

#oc: cj scudworth #cinnamon j scudworth fanfiction #clone high x oc #clone high x oc fanfiction #principal scudworth fanfiction #the genetic puzzle #the genetic puzzle chapter 13

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