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theclassclone · 20 days ago

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I Hope You Get Your Wins

Chapter 12

Word Count: 7,539 TW: Canon-typical Master List || Previous || Next

“On this very special chapter of Clone High,” Abe narrated. “Cleo’s been campaigning for Homecoming queen, but as it turns out, she needs a campaign manager. And one particular clone—.”

“Lincoln.”

“Just so happens to speak her language.”

“LINCOLN.”

CJ walked through the uneven grass toward Cleo; she had her arms crossed and she observed Cleo’s stand in the middle of the football field. “You do realize these morons are trying to complete their parade floats in peace, right?” She asked. “Who’d you even ask to set up this monstrosity of a stand out here?” She motioned to the stand. She realized that the stand was a coffee stand.

Cleo stopped mid self-promotion to listen to CJ’s question. She had a closed mouth smile and donned a ‘50s style dress rather than her typical Y2K tank top and low-rise skirt. Her face actually lit up as she held a paper cup out for CJ. “Pumpkin spice latte?”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes in her eye sockets to the point she caused herself eye strain. “I don’t take handouts.” She declined the dreaded fall-flavored latte.

Cleo forced herself to laugh at CJ’s comment. “It’s not a handout, silly,” she continued to smile. “I’m just offering these to hard-working students, you included. You’re our super influential VP! It must be so exhausting being all political for your school or whatever.” She tried to offer CJ the latte again.

CJ inhaled deeply. “Still not taking that.” She declined the latte again. “You lost me after pumpkin spice.”

“Take. The. Latte.” Cleo demanded through gritted teeth. “I want your vote for Homecoming Queen, just take the stupid latte.” She grabbed CJ’s right hand and tried to, once again, force the latte cup into her hand. “Ugh.”

“You’re not going to get me to take the latte.” CJ maintained. She pulled her hand away from Cleo. “You’ve made no indication to me that you even want my vote and I’ve made no indication to you that I wouldn’t vote for you if I were to vote for Homecoming Queen—which would only be fair for me to do because I planned the entire Homecoming week and dance.” She knitted her eyebrows together and examined Cleo’s expression.

Cleo was unwavering; she had one eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on her face. “Well, I don’t see any reason for you not to vote for me. I mean, I’m Cleopatra, I’m a total ten—.” She continued to hold the paper cup out for CJ.

“Yes, we’re all well aware.” CJ begrudgingly took the latte from Cleo’s hands. She immediately transferred the lukewarm cup to Confucius as he simply walked past her and Cleo, unsuspecting, but extremely grateful and happy to have finally received a pumpkin spice latte (even if it was lukewarm).

“A latte!”

“I’m sure you’re well aware that I don’t particularly care for this week whatsoever, especially the dance and it’s thematic royalty,” she exhaled slowly and tilted her head to the left. She glanced at Cleo’s large containers of pumpkin spice lattes. “But,” she glanced back at Cleo, “if voting for you lessens the chance of someone else being Homecoming Queen, then I’m fine with voting for you.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone was running against me.” Cleo slowly turned her head.

CJ lifted her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t say anyone is actively running against you, I don’t think anyone is campaigning like you are. But there are people who won’t vote for you.”

Cleo pouted as she thought about what CJ had said to her. She knitted her eyebrows together and tapped her cheek with her pointed fingernail. “I don’t know why you don’t care about any of this, but it makes things easier for me, why don’t you help me?”

“Help you?” CJ raised an eyebrow. “You set up a latte stand in the middle of the football field, promoting yourself for Homecoming queen, while these imbecilic drones work on their parade floats. What could I possibly do for you?”

Cleo shifted her weight and placed one hand on her hip and her other hand on her thigh. “Well, you’re the VP, aren’t you?” She asked, almost in a tone that indicated that CJ was the idiot. “You’re also familiar with half of these—uhm—nice classmates. I could use a campaign manager for the next three days to secure my spot as Homecoming queen. You and I are on the same team, we don’t want anyone else winning this popularity contest.”

CJ shook her head. “I don’t really think that utilizing a campaign manager this late in the week will be conducive to your popularity contest.”

“I insist.” Cleo continued to hand pumpkin spice lattes to their classmates as they approached her fall-themed stand specifically for the refreshment. “I’ll even buy you dinner.”

“Why?”

“Um, because I’m being nice to you.” Cleo scoffed. “You’re going to be my new campaign manager, I can tell. It’s only for the next three days.”

CJ inhaled deeply and pulled at her leather jacket. “Alright, I’ll accept the dinner.”

“Great, I hope you don’t mind having dinner with JFK and,” she grimaced, “Joan too. I’m not paying for them; JFK is just driving us to the Grassy Knoll once Joan and her weird friends—I mean the student council—finish with their float for the day.”

CJ narrowed her eyes and looked toward the sky; she, too, grimaced at Joan’s name. “Yuh, I guess, I don’t mind.” She looked back at Cleo and forced a small grin onto her face. “I’ll see you at the Grassy Knoll, then.” She walked past Cleo’s festive stand and toward the other side of the football field; she wobbled her in ridiculously tall heels.

“Oh, and don’t mind Joanie,” Cleo called after her.

CJ stopped walking and glanced over her shoulder at Cleo.

“She likes to think that she’s, like, progressive and cool, but she’s very basic. She felt threatened by me because I was popular when we were freshmen, she made herself into an outcast and she made herself unlikeable.” Cleo’s eyes barely traced CJ. “Everyone liked me, and I’m still liked—again, I’m Cleopatra. Don’t let her get to you, it’s not worth your time.”

CJ slowly turned around to fully face Cleo. “Why are you telling me this? Is this just another one of your miniature speeches to convince me to be your campaign manager?” She, now, studied Cleo.

Cleo looked away from CJ, watched their classmates build their parade floats (some good and some horrendous). “I’m not all that bad.” A small smile spread across her red lips; she slowly turned her head toward CJ. “I just feel like you understand. You might not be my vision of beauty, you might not be my idea of popularity, but there’s just something about you. There’s some, like, naivety to you. Think of it like this, from one girl to another, don’t let Joanie bring you down and don’t let Joanie decide who your friends are.”

“I’m sorry?” CJ drew the corners of her lips back and knitted her eyebrows together. She leaned forward ever so slightly to observe Cleo’s expression.

“Just because JFK and I broke up, doesn’t mean we’re not friends. I know you’re avoiding him.” Cleo smirked. “He said something about a sleepover.”

CJ looked away from Cleo, toward the parade floats, and brought her shoulders to her ears. “Ah… yeah, that.” She dropped her shoulders and looked toward the containers of pumpkin spice lattes. “For the most part it was fun. Until she kept getting mad about her boyfriend trying to talk to me. I don’t even talk to him first. I don’t typically initiate conversations.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cleo said flatly. She inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let Joanie control you, starting tonight at the Grassy Knoll. You and I will talk about you being my campaign manager and if JFK wants to talk to you, talk to him. It’s not like we’re sitting at the table alone.”

“You’re making it sound weird.” CJ stated.

Cleo sighed. “What are we going to do about Joan?”

CJ narrowed her eyes. “Don’t let her tell me what to do?”

“Consider this a little gift or whatever,” Cleo gave her half a smile as she spoke. “I’ll see you tonight.”

CJ knitted her eyebrows together and nodded slowly; she backed away from Cleo and turned around. She walked away from the cryptic clone of Cleopatrê, she glanced over her shoulder at least once and shook her head at the strange conversation she had. The fact that JFK told her that she had been avoiding him—first of all, they must still be close and that must bother Joan, second, does that even bother Joan? She shook her head again and walked through the football field to observe the monstrosities that are the parade floats being built.

A cherry red and rather shimmery 1960s corvette pulled into the parking space next to CJ’s pink mustang; CJ looked over at the occupants of the red convertible and pulled her sunglasses off of her face. She slipped out of her car. “I felt safer in my car.” She told them as she slowly looked toward the diner.

“Lincoln, uh, drove Joanie.” JFK tried not to slam the driver’s door, simultaneously answering what was likely going to be Cleo’s question to CJ’s cryptic sentence. “That guy. He, uh, thinks he can just drive my Joanie to the Grassy Knoll when we have plans that don’t include him.”

CJ raised her eyebrows and looked at Cleo, who simply shared and equally confused expression. She looked back at the Grassy Knoll and headed toward the entrance. “To be fair, Kennedy, you drive a corvette with no seating. What surprises me would be the fact that she drove here with Lincoln, I thought they weren’t friends anymore.” She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open allowing JFK and Cleo to enter the diner before her.

“Yeah, I, er uh, thought that too.” He frowned.

CJ swiftly followed JFK and Cleo into the diner; the greasy air filled her nostrils, and she remembered why she told Julius and Vincent she wanted to leave (which is how they ended up rolling down the hill in a shopping cart in the first place). She flared her nostrils and looked around at the scene and every time (all few times, to be exact) it struck her as a movie scene. Teenagers galore, and what was even funnier was that the majority of them thought that changing their attire was beneath them, so they were still dressed like they were from the ‘50s—much like CJ, Cleo, and JFK were.

“All that matters is that Abe is not at our table.” Cleo led JFK and CJ to the table Joan was sitting at. She slid into the booth.

“As bad as he is, I don’t mind Lincoln.” CJ said.

Cleo glanced at her. “Don’t say that too loud,” she paused. “Even though I agree.” She yanked CJ into the booth beside her.

“What do you guys agree on?” Joan asked.

“Nothing.” Cleo said quickly and sharply.

CJ grimaced at the sound of her faux leather pants sliding against the sticky and potentially leather seat of the Grassy Knoll booth. She crossed her arms and leaned against the back of the booth and glanced around the teen hotspot; the Grass Knoll was filled with the familiar faces of her classmates including her table, Abe (who stuck out like a sore thumb) and Topher, Julius and his friends at a nearby table, and a slew of other students she was vaguely familiar with. She remained close to the edge, not wanting to sit too close to Cleo, but not wanting to be out of the booth either. Across from her, JFK immediately had Joan distracted by his sexual innuendos, and his muscular physique practically toppling over hers, distracting her from CJ and Cleo. But CJ could still see that Joan was trying to see what CJ and Cleo were up to over JFK’s arm and bunched up jacket because his display was oddly suspicious. It wasn’t until he stopped his peacock-ish display that Joan stopped trying to eavesdrop and spy on CJ and Cleo.

Cleo had her elbow on the table and pressed her cheek into her fist. She watched CJ with a grin plastered on her stereotypical mean-girl face. “So, tell me how to get everyone to vote for me Friday morning.” She fluttered her eyelashes, most likely believing that the way she won Abe and JFK over was the way that she was going to win CJ over.

CJ inhaled deeply; her grimace slightly shifted into a smirk. “We never talked about me becoming your campaign manager.”

“Well, I just assumed you were going to say yes.” Cleo gently dropped her arm to the table. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“I want to know what I get out of being your campaign manager for three days.” CJ told her.

Cleo rubbed her lips together and looked away from CJ; she stared out of the window for a moment. CJ assumed Cleo was thinking about what she could possibly give her in return. She tapped her fingers against the table as she thought.

Joan was engrossed with something about experimental filmography, explaining the concept to JFK, even showing him pictures and short clips on her phone. He, for the most part, paid attention to what she was sharing, listening with about as much interest as he would in the classroom setting. His arm was wrapped around her shoulder, but she leaned so far away from him every time she turned her phone to show him something. Whilst Joan was distracted, looking for yet another short clip of an experimental film to show him, JFK glanced up at Cleo, at first, and a brief look that resembled confusion ran across his face because Cleo was not looking at CJ. He glanced over at CJ, who was already looking at him. He locked eyes with her, and a smile began to appear on his face—whether it be because he was going to laugh or something else. CJ quickly looked away from him.

Cleo turned her head back toward CJ. “What do you want out of this?”

CJ bit her bottom lip lightly and studied Cleo; she held a wary eye on Cleo. “Well, I don’t know. I was assuming there would be an offer, but if I have to propose my own offer, I’d rather leave it open.”

“You mean to call in a favor?” Cleo asked.

CJ nodded slowly. She allowed her eyes to wander away from Cleo’s personal space for a moment, even barely glancing at the excitable captain of the football team. “I’m not a particularly interesting person, nor do I want material objects at this moment because I often buy myself everything that I want…” She tilted her head toward JFK and Joan’s side of the table. “You seem to have a particular skillset that I do not have, it might become of use to me, and I might need to call in a favor, as you so kindly worded it, or I could simply reach out with a request and say that this request is what you owe me for the three days of me being your campaign manager.” She tried her hand at this negotiation tactic she once saw on TV (if that’s even what it really was).

“Well, whatever you ask for can’t be too bad. When you actually dress up, you don’t look terrible…” Cleo glanced at CJ’s outfit and makeup and looked away from her as her voice trailed off.

“Is there a problem with the way I dress?” She raised an eyebrow.

Cleo shook her head. “Not today, no. But your makeup… you could use some help.”

CJ swallowed and pursed her lips. “But the way I dress…” Her voice trailed; she cleared her throat. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “So, your campaign.”

“Yes, I want to win.”

“Obviously,” CJ said.

“You sound like that guy from, uh, those movies.” JFK quickly turned his head and interrupted CJ and Cleo.

Cleo drew her eyebrows together and scrunched her nose. “What?”

“They way she, uh, said ‘obviously’.” He looked between the three adolescent females at the table.

Even Joan was appalled by his strange interruption—and possibly for her own reasons because she was trying to have her own conversation with him. “What movies are you even talking about?” Her voice became harsh. “Why were you listening to them and not me?” She leaned forward and tried to bring herself into his line of his, not just his peripheral vision.

“Do you mean Professor Sarpa from The Witching World of Hugh Parris?” CJ asked.

“Er, yes! Do you like that series?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear.

She shook her head. “No, actually. I hate it, deeply.” She watched his smile fade; she swallowed hard and raised her eyebrows. She slowly turned to face Cleo and opened her mouth to speak again and closed her mouth, having completely lost her groove. She blinked and looked down and around Cleo’s personal space, trying to collect the thoughts that she had completely forgotten because of JFK’s stupid—yet kind of funny—interruption.

“Don’t mind him.” Joan spoke up. “That’s just silly JFK for you.” She reminded CJ.

CJ pursed her lips and flared her nostrils at yet another distracting voice. She pressed the palms of her hands together and pointed the tips of her fingers toward Cleo. “You’re already campaigning, so everyone already knows that you’re running for Homecoming queen. You made the right call by offering the student body pumpkin spice lattes, which was a good tactic. However, you only have less than three days to win, you need to keep this energy up. Maybe, erm, put posters around the school that entice each of the high school stereotypes—nerds, jocks, theater kids, band geeks, so on and so forth.” She listed. She crossed her arms over the table. “You might need to ask an additional friend or two for help because you’re already late if you plan on doing posters.”

“Mhm.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy the pumpkin spice lattes, you could always do something like that again because pumpkin spice is not the only fall-themed beverage or food available. It is also Halloween season; candy is typically on sale before the holiday and immediately after.” She lifted her left hand and rotated her wrist as she spoke.

“Those are some really good ideas.” Cleo told her; she immediately turned her attention toward JFK. “JFK.”

“What?” He quickly peeled his eyes away from his girlfriend and rapidly looked between CJ and Cleo. “I’m, er, havin’ a conversation with my, uh, girlfriend over here.” This time he was having a conversation with his girlfriend—not when he interrupted CJ and Cleo. But the way he said it was sort of odd to CJ, almost like he said it to appease Joan, the tone, saying it in general. His eyes continued to bounce between CJ and Cleo.

“We know, but I need to ask you to do me a huge favor.” Cleo stretched her hands across the table, reaching out for her ex-boyfriend. “You’re the only one at this table that friends with that weird tech-savvy kid, the one with the mullet.”

“Confucius.” CJ leaned over and told Cleo the clone’s name.

“Yes, that one, Confucius. And I really need him to get in touch with CJ so he can do something for me. Could you text him CJ’s number or whatever and have him get everything he needs from her?” Cleo batted her eyelashes. “CJ will buy you a milkshake for you to share with Joanie if you do that right now.” A grin spread across her face as she roped CJ into her ploy to use JFK and Confucius.

“I will?” CJ slowly turned her head to look at Cleo.

JFK grinned. “Absolutely!” He pulled his phone out of his jacket and obnoxiously pushed Joan away from him so he could joyously text Confucius and tell him exactly what Cleo told him to say. “I want that milkshake!”

CJ sighed. “I can’t believe I’m paying for a milkshake. And I don’t even get to drink it.” She reached into the inside pocket of her cropped leather jacket and pulled out a bifold wallet; she handed JFK her credit card. “I will drink your milkshake if this card is not back in my hands.”

“You got it, doll!” JFK jumped out of the booth and swiped the credit card from CJ’s hand. He quickly disappeared to order the milkshake that he was clearly dying to have.

Joan glanced at CJ immediately after JFK’s choice of words; her gaze was like that of an unpredicted storm because still, CJ could not grasp exactly what Joan was so worried about if that was ‘just JFK’ or however Joan had previously and continuously worded it to CJ. Joan’s eyes never flickered with the same kind of fury or envy when Cleo pouted or begged for JFK to do something for her, it was a frustrating mixture of confusion and something so nonsensical—maybe Cleo was right. It wasn’t worth CJ’s time. And even then, CJ could be reading too much into it after the words of Harriet and Frida reached her ears because it was Harriet who was the school’s second biggest gossiper next to Topher. Harriet would latch onto something and spread it like wildfire in a way that would rival Topher’s own abilities. And Frida was really just along for the ride, just as susceptible as CJ and Joan to Harriet and Topher’s juicy gossip.

JFK returned to the booth with his extra-large milkshake for two; he happily sat back down next to Joan. He grinned at her and even moved himself closer to her. “Oh—.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed CJ’s card. He held it out for her to take from him.

CJ quickly snatched her card from between his thumb and forefinger, barely grazing his hand with her own. She kind of snarled, still upset at the idea of paying for someone else’s stupid milkshake. She angrily fumbled with her bifold wallet and jammed her card back into it, simultaneously realizing she could have also paid for her own (but even then, she’d still be paying for the lovers’ milkshake, which was not something she wanted to do at all).

“Joanie, look,” JFK started.

“Awe, JFK that’s so swee—.” Joan cut him off and looked up at him endearingly.

“Do you want to see how fast I can drink this?” He pointed at the milkshake as he grabbed the two straws between his fingers. He smiled at Joan, almost like he was looking for her approval before he started to inhale the milkshake on his own.

Joan’s expression completely changed from that of endearing and complete admiration (CJ assumed) of her boyfriend to one of utter annoyance and frustration that spelled out the words as clear as day. Joan was sick and tired of JFK’s little shenanigans. She drew the corners of her lips into a little frown and nodded slowly—more like bobbing her head. She looked down at the table, completely losing interest in the little half-date that she was on with her boyfriend, his ex, and CJ. “Saw that coming.”

A lopsided grin spread across CJ’s face. “Chug it.”

“Don’t encourage him.” Joan quickly looked up at CJ with eyebrows knitted together in some form of anger.

CJ was sort of taken aback by Joan’s quick and angry response, but she should have pieced together that she would have responded in that way. She slowly turned her head to look at Cleo—who thought that she was more mature than everyone at the table combined. CJ’s mouth hung slightly open, and she battled herself while staring at Cleo. She wanted to take Cleo’s advice and not waste her time on Joan’s silly comments because perhaps Cleo was right about the whole thing and perhaps Harriet was right about the whole thing. But this was also CJ, she wanted to do the exact opposite of Cleo’s advice and say something extremely witty or uncalled for and completely waste her time on something that doesn’t deserve her time.

CJ just wanted to have a little bit of fun now that she and Cleo have some idea of what they were going to be doing for the next three-ish days and JFK presented to perfect opportunity for fun—seeing just how fast he can drink the milkshake he got himself through two straws. It was just absurd enough to qualify as entertainment and it was present enough to CJ to even consider encouraging it. And to be fair, it just didn’t feel right if she didn’t. JFK just wanted to be her friend and, well, what is this other than friendly encouragement?

JFK proceeded to happily show them (despite, at this point, none of them even paying much attention to him) how fast he could slurp the milkshake through two straws. CJ, however, glanced over at him and his progress from time to time. Cleo and Joan, on the other hand, were mildly embarrassed by his childishness.

CJ pushed the front door open and dropped her heels, leather jacket, school bag, and mini bag from her arms onto the floor. She pushed the door closed and huffed. She kicked her belongings back toward the door, her heels rolled against the ground and her bags easily slid to the wall. She turned her back toward the front door and walked toward the kitchen; she hesitated at the kitchen door upon hearing movement. She pushed the kitchen door open and glanced between Mr. B and Scudworth. She scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes at the butlertron and the bumbling idiot taking up the butlertron’s kitchen space.

She yawned. “You know, believing that cooking together is a form of intimacy is actually a reason for divorce because it’s not a form of intimacy at all.” She stepped into the kitchen and slumped her shoulders; she tilted her head to the side and watched Mr. B try to work around Scudworth.

“Oh, I’m not helping.” Scudworth said.

“Even if you were, you wouldn’t be.” She drew the corners of her lips back and raised her eyebrows. “Hence cooking together being a reason for divorce.”

Mr. B stifled a laugh.

“Enough of that,” Scudworth nudged Mr. B. “When were you going to tell us you had a girlfriend? You know there’s none of that in this house.”

“That’s pretty homophobic for someone that fruity.” CJ deadpanned; she hesitated before speaking again. She lifted her head and straightened her posture and widened her eyes in realization. “Wait, I don’t even have a girlfriend for you to be homophobic about.”

“I’m not homophobic or fruity—!”

“It’s all over FlipFlop.” Mr. B informed her. “You and Cleo went on a double date with Joan and JFK.”

CJ opened her mouth to speak, raised her right hand and pointed toward the ceiling with over a million things to say but she closed her mouth and curled her finger slightly. She was taken aback by this information, but she wasn’t entirely surprised by the rumor considering the crowd that was present at the Grassy Knoll. She opened her mouth to speak again and pointed up toward the ceiling again, but once more closed her mouth and slightly curled her finger back down. She knitted her eyebrows together and looked away from Scudworth and Mr. B. She once more opened her mouth to get her thoughts out, straightened her finger, and looked between Mr. B and Scudworth, but back down again by closing her mouth, retracting her finger, and looking away from them.

“Did you feel like you couldn’t tell us?” Mr. B asked.

CJ slapped her right hand to her forehead. “I’m not dating Cleo.” She whined. She dragged her hand down the side of her face. “It’s just a stupid rumor and a bet I know who posted it.”

“She’s definitely lying.” Scudworth said to Mr. B.

“I’m not lying! I’m not dating Cleo!” She stretched her arms out to her sides.

Scudworth shook his head. “Your classmates posted it; it can’t be a lie.” He picked his phone up off of the counter and poked at the screen, all to likely show her the FlipFlop post about her on that supposed double date. “They wouldn’t lie about such things.”

“You’re impossible.”

He turned his phone toward her and showed her the video in question—the angle at which top-her69 had taken the video at definitely made it seem like Cleo and CJ had a few intimate moments during their conversation (and the way Cleo had pulled CJ into the booth when the arrived didn’t help much either). There was a lot of indications (loosely) that Cleo was flirting with and making moves on CJ because that’s just how Cleo was (considering how she acted toward JFK and Abe when she showed interest and that one time when Joan apparently cross-dressed for some reason). The video even made sure to show JFK and Joan to make sure it looked like it was a double date! Topher could be so infuriating sometimes—all the time. The comment section of the video was flooded with comments, short, long winded, arguments, shock, emoticons, speculation, conspiracy, support, concern, etc. There were icons near the comment section that indicated that the video had been viewed, shared, and added onto by her classmates.

“Oh-ho, no. no. no. no. no.” She tucked her chin to her neck and scrunched her nose. “God, Cleopatra? Gross, no. I’m not in a relationship with Cleo.”

Scudworth raised an eyebrow. “I’m finding that awfully hard to believe.”

“If they’re just rumors—.”

“That the entire school now believes to be fact because it’s Cleo-fucking-patra. AUGH!!!” She balled her fists and threw her arms down to her sides. She walked around Scudworth and pulled the fridge open; she rummaged through the fridge looking for a drink despite knowing she was probably going to default to something plain and simple as she always does. “That creatin needs to stay the fuck out of my business.” She mumbled and continued to mumble incoherently as she settled for cold water. She slammed the fridge door. “Stupid bastard.” And once more walked around Scudworth, but this time, to exit the kitchen. “And you are too.” She pointed at him as she slipped out of the kitchen.

She marched up to her room, suddenly fuming because of Topher’s rumor and the fact that she had to find out from idiot’s one and two in the kitchen. She aggressively pushed her bedroom door open and tossed her phone onto her bed; she groaned and slapped her hands to her face.

CJ walked down the stairs with her cellphone to her ear and her shoulder holding it so she could use both of her hands. “Lincoln, you’re starting to sound like a parent on an episode of Charlie Brown.” She cut off her friend—rather forced acquaintance. “Thank you for the sound of approval Confucius, could you mute yourself until you’re done?” She snorted and tried her hardest not to smirk, even if she had no reason to hide her facial expressions because neither Abe nor Confucius were even around to see them. “I don’t know how we got this far off topic, but since you both insist on this little break; I’m certain Topher is doing this on purpose, I have no reason to believe that he truly suspects that there is anything going on between Cleopatra and myself.” She walked into the kitchen without paying any attention to whether or not she was alone. “That’s just what he tends to do once he finds a reason to dislike or hate you.”

CJ faced the pantry and listened to Abe try his best to defend Topher’s behavior while simultaneously dig Topher a grave. She had a glaze over her eyes as she listened to Abe’s contradictory words through the phone, and quite frankly, it was not the best quality because they were on a three-way call while Abe was driving himself home from, ironically, Topher’s house. Confucius, by this point, had unmuted himself because he had stopped laughing at CJ’s comment and sided with CJ about Topher’s behavior, but not saying too much as Confucius was not the kind to start and argument (rather, he would offer a solution, but seeing as Abe was on the defensive, Confucius was just waiting). CJ had, unsurprisingly, stopped listening to Abe because she was more interested in finding herself a late-night snack, which consisted of her lifting various snack boxes and putting it back on the shelf where she grabbed it from.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, being associated with Cleopatra in a positive interpersonal relationship makes me look good, but I do not what the entire school to think that I am in a romantic relationship with her.” She grabbed an open box of variety fruit snacks and tucked it under her arm. “I would like for Topher to just move on. I did, it’s rather easy.” She stepped away from the pantry and stepped toward the fridge; she pulled it open and stared at the contents, now wondering what to drink. “This entire thing only started because Cleopatra wanted me to run her Homecoming campaign for the next three days.”

CJ hummed in response to Confucius’ wise words. She plucked two juice boxes out of the fridge absentmindedly, more focused on the wise words of the clone of Confucius—who she knew felt he didn’t live up to the real Confucius (which was bizarre in her mind, but who was she to judge his problems). She slammed the fridge shut and turned on her heel.

“Well, you’re not wrong, experience is experience in any form—whether it’s what to do or what not to do.” She deadpanned.

She inhaled deeply as the conversation took yet another turn, in yet another direction because of Abe’s anxieties. She waited for her acquaintance, maybe friend at this point, to ‘briefly’ elaborate on the similarities between his problem and her problem. News flash, he was cancelled, and she wasn’t, there aren’t that many similarities. Nonetheless, he talked CJ’s and Confucius’ ears off about ideas on how to fix things and change things—and not ideas that were considered good in 2023.

“Alright, alright, I—Lincoln.” CJ tried to capture Abe’s attention because he had drawn this on a lot longer than she had hoped. “I know you want to assist me with clearing the air about my reputation regarding the rumors Topher starting, but, well, you are still considered cancelled, obviously you know this.” She began her trek out of the kitchen, avoiding the curious butlertron whom she crossed paths within the dining room. “Confucius was kind enough to offer to help me dig you out of the gutter because your so-called best friend couldn’t do so much as defend you.”

Unfortunately for CJ, this only sparked Abe’s manic blabbering about both situations again.

CJ stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m sorry, did you just tell us that you’d kiss your ex-girlfriend to help my situation? Why would you ever want to do that?” She knitted her eyebrows together.

She stood dumbfounded as she listened to Abe and Confucius bounce off of each other in a stereotypical male fashion, something she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“What kind of answer is ‘it’s Cleopatra’? I don’t understand.” She marched up the steps and huffed. “Men!”

CJ pushed her bedroom door open with her foot. She rolled her eyes as Abe and Confucius talked over each other, trying to explain their though process.

“I still think that seems kind of extreme and I don’t think she cares much for you anymore. Wasn’t she shallow? Just dating you because you and JFK had some sort of, uh, rivalry and she wanted the popularity points from the male who became class president in the end?” She kicked her door shut and shuffled over to her bed. She dropped her juice boxes and box of snacks onto her bed and shuffled over to her desk. “Hold that thought, I’m connecting my headphones, I was struggling this whole time because I needed my hands for something else.” She grabbed her cellphone from between her ear and shoulder and placed it on her desk. She lifted her hybrid gaming headphones off of her laptop screen and held the power button until the device lit up. Her headphones instantly connected to her phone, and she put her headphones over her ears. “Can you hear me?”

She waited for Abe and Confucius to respond to her voice, but they continued to talk amongst each other. She inhaled deeply and looked around her desk for the detachable microphone piece that she didn’t need all the time, but apparently this was the one time she needed it. She lowered her laptop screen and grabbed the microphone piece and plugged it into her headphones after poking around the device instead of taking them off of her head and plugging the microphone in swiftly.

“Can you guys hear me?” She asked again.

This time she received a response from Abe and Confucius.

CJ lifted her laptop and her phone. “Backup for me, Cleopatra kept going back and forth between you and JFK the entire time, for whatever reason, correct? She couldn’t just wait until there was a clear winner and decide from there?” She climbed onto the foot of her bed and crawled toward her pillows. “I’m starting to think I don’t understand girls like I thought I did. Maybe I just don’t understand humans. I don’t know.”

She snorted at the collective assumption that CJ was not human at all—the conversation quickly turned into one of trying to figure out what CJ was, as a joke of course. An alien? A ghoul? A secret third thing? Not even CJ knows!

“Ok, no, go back to my question!” CJ stopped their guessing game.

Abe laughed and tried his best to clear up the story, from his point of view, of course, as she turned her laptop on. She hummed and nodded along as if he could see her. His story was filled with holes and stories within stories.

“Oh, yeah, school politics and a drag race make it so much clearer.” She scoffed. “So, let me at least get the ending sorted. Cleopatra chose you, even if you didn’t win anything. JFK somehow got Joan but still had other girls. When you were about to have meat locker sex with Cleopatra you realized that you were actually in love with Joan, who was apparently in love with you for the longest time, but you caught her having meat locker sex with JFK and realized that you missed your chance with Joan?” She tried to understand.

Confucius even expressed his confusion. And Abe tried, once again, to clear up the story.

CJ hummed. “I’m glad Confucius is amused and confused. I’m somewhere in the confused and horrified range.” She scrunched her nose and poked at the keys on her laptop. “And for whatever reason, you think that by kissing Cleopatra you could solve my rumor dilemma? What, do you think you’ll no longer have feelings for Joan as well?”

She laughed at Confucius, who had to mute himself because he began choking. Abe argued his idea once again, finding offence in Confucius and CJ’s opposition.

She inhaled deeply and hung her head. “I watched so many movies and I can assure you that that is a purely fictional method of doing things, but sure, by all means, give it a go. Just make sure you write it down so that it counts as science.” She allowed herself to begin mumbling. “Make sure this science happens in front of Confucius and I, I’d hate for us to miss it.”

Confucius had unmuted himself and rejoined the conversation, adding his two cents worth between fits of laughter.

She lifted her head and kept herself propped up on her elbows. “Oh, yeah, he’s as good as dead.” She laughed with Confucius, immediately offending Abe. “So, what exactly did JFK tell you?”

Confucius answered CJ before Abe had a moment to think of a response to them; he outlined the information that JFK had given him about Cleo’s campaign and what she was expecting them to do. He continued to talk over Abe, who was trying to being to conversation back to his poorly crafted ideas to fix CJ’s rumor problem and his cancellation problem.

“Text me your email, I’ve got a few posters I’ve used for school projects in the past that I think you could use as templates or at least guides—they’re nothing fancy.” She poked at her keyboard and clicked a few things and opened a few tabs and browsers.

She waited for Confucius’ text to come through and listened to Abe begrudgingly ask about what he could do to help with the campaign since no one would listen to his ideas to fix the other problems; he went as far as to rattle off way too many ideas, some worse than others, which was apparently typical for him. She grinned at a few of his more nonsensical ideas. She reached over to her side and grabbed at her juice boxes and snack box and began to pick at her snacks while she and Confucius listened to Abe drag on and on. She tapped her phone and typed Confucius’ email into the recipient line of her email draft, finally up and deciding to just tune Abe out until Abe or Confucius decide to bring her back into the conversation or end the phone call.

“Huh?” CJ absentmindedly poked her strew into her juice box. “Oh, yeah, the drawing board for Cleopatra’s campaign. Erm, I mean, Confucius is all over social media, why not utilize that?”

Confucius expressed how good of an idea what was.

“Obviously that’s a grand idea, that’s why I said it.” CJ rolled her eyes and sipped at her juice box, she poked at her laptop with one hand and sent the email with her old school projects to Confucius. “I sent the email, Confucius.”

Abe filled the silence with asking CJ questions as Confucius glossed over CJ’s email.

She slightly kicked her feet. “Why are you asking if I actually have romantic feelings for anyone? What does this have to do with Cleopatra’s campaign?”

Abe argued with her.

She ran her fingers through a section of hair, twirling it between the stiff fingers of her left hand. “It’s not going to help, Lincoln.”

Confucius bounced back into the conversation.

“Ugh, yes, thank you, Confucius!” She pulled her hand away from her hair. She grabbed a pack of fruit snacks and struggled to pull the packaging apart to enjoy the artificially flavored snack. “She needs to have another—ugh I can’t open my stupid snack, I just want fruit snacks, damn it! Sorry. She needs to do something else like the gross latte thing. Lincoln, are you laughing at me? You wouldn’t be laughing if you couldn’t open your fruit snacks, you stupid jackass.”

CJ nonchalantly ate her fruit snacks and listened to Abe and Confucius socialize with each other about how they were going to continue running Cleo’s campaign under CJ’s management for the next two-ish days. She unlocked her phone and let her laptop sit idle, ignoring it in favor of scrolling through social media, unconsciously in search of updates from someone that was not Abe or Confucius. She inhaled deeply and clicked onto JFK’s profile with the intention of just seeing what he had posted for the day. Clips of him and Joan. Gross. He reposted Topher’s video of her and Cleo. Great. She immediately closed FlipFlop and entered a safer social media application—one of just images (mostly just images) and fell into the same trap that she set for herself. She frowned slightly at JFK’s recently posted images throughout the week of him enjoying himself with his friends. She found herself wishing she were there. Kind of. Slightly. With him and his friends because they seemed to have been having a grand time even if it might have been for the picture only.

She cleared her throat after being addressed in the conversation and being interrupted from her confusing thoughts. “Yeah, erm, it’s Cleopatra, she doesn’t typically give people that much thought, as shown by Lincoln’s tale. So, I can’t say that I’d actually want to do this again, but an experience is an experience.” She swallowed hard. She knitted her eyebrows and stared at her phone. She scrolled up and down on the posted that she paused on, lingering on JFK’s profile. “But if you want to do it again, you can.”

#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 12

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