Chapter Text
Frida Kahlo. Nothing about that chick made Cleo happy.
Frida was a girl Cleo would hate to be seen with. Someone as ugly as her next to someone as pretty as Cleo? It sounded like some sick joke. If it was still 2003 Cleo probably would’ve somehow got that bitch to make a fool of herself and would’ve bullied that poor girl into depression, switching schools, or something much worse…
But times were different, and Frida was the hottest and most popular girl in school. It’s been weeks, and Cleo was still in shock. Frida wasn’t hot, she was ugly! She has a unibrow for fuck’s sake, not to mention she was a flatchested art-freak! Cleo wore her resentment against Frida like a crown on her head, yet no matter how much Cleo hated and avoided her whenever she could, the other girl never seemed to catch the hint. Cleo would often catch Frida sneaking glances at her in class, in the halls, anywhere the two of them would be together. They had 3 classes together; Math, Science, and French. Any time they’d lock eyes, Frida would smile and wave. The former Queen Bee thought of the whole thing as a kick in the back, salt in a cut, soap in her fuckin eyes!
..Speaking of French class, that’s where she was now, and seated right next to her was:
“Yoo, wuzzup, Cleo?” Frida sulked into the desk next to her. Cleo scoffed. God, the way she spoke was infuriating. Cleo wanted to take one of her platform flip-flops and shove it so far down that Kahlo bitch’s throat, she wouldn’t be speaking for weeks, or months! Maybe never again!
“I’m fine.” She replied coldly.
“You look good today, did you do sumthin’ different with your makeup?” Frida’s head cocked, giving her a better view of Cleo’s face. It sounded like a half assed flirt, and it took Cleo by slight surprise.
Like you know shit about makeup!
“Quit talking to me.” Cleo snapped.
Frida snickered, a sly smile pasted on her face. “Aight, fine.” She twumps her pencil against her textbook. In a way, she reminded Cleo of that guy who got diagnosed with A.D.D., though she couldn’t remember his name.
As the teacher ready himself to begin the lecture, Cleo could feel Frida’s jitters invade her mind. Every gum bubble blown, every pencil twump, the repetition of her shoe tapping—GOD! Does she not know how to sit still??
The teacher cleared his throat. “The end of the semester is approaching, and I’ve decided on what your exam will be.”
The classroom groaned as the words ‘project’ and ‘exam’ were thrown in the air. Cleo rolled her eyes.
“This project will count for 40% of your final grade, I expect each and every one of you to put effort into it.” As he scribbled something on the chalkboard, he continued. “I already took the liberty of assigning you all partners.”
Catherine The Great was with Abe Lincoln,
Confucius was with Julius Caesar,
Joan Of Arc was with JFK, go fucking figure,
Sylvia Plath was with Topher Bus,
and Cleopatra was with Frida Kahlo.
WAIT, WHAT??
“Aw, sweet!” Frida grinned, “I know you can’t get enough of me!”
The thought of gutting her with a ruler flashed in Cleo’s mind. That bitch teacher did this on purpose! Instantly, Cleo raised her hand.
“Oui?” The teacher nodded his attention towards her.
“Is it possible to change partners? I’m afraid me and Frida aren’t..compatible. ” She barely took notice of the slightly disappointed look on Kahlo’s face.
The teacher cocked a brow. “You were once popular, right? I’d imagine you’d wanna work with someone who now basks in what was once your spotlight.”
Cleo felt her jaw drop as the classroom snickered. She looked over at Frida, who was pretending to look around the classroom. For once, Frida was too flustered to come up with some smartass reply. The silence from Kahlo was new, yet somewhat uncomfortable. Cleo scoffed to break the tension.
The project was simple; write and perform a scene in French and only French. Although Cleo sucked at speaking French, her plan was to get Frida to do most, if not all, of the work. It would take a lot of pitiful pleas and manipulation, but it was bound to work, Cleo always had a way of getting what she wanted. It was one of her few, if not only, talents.
She just hoped she could figure out a way to make it work.
======
The bell was quick to ring, signaling the start of lunch. Cleo had no desire to sit with her 'friends' (the rejects nobody would dare look twice at), for once, she sat by herself. It was embarrassing, but a lot more calming. She would’ve spent the rest of her lunch period mindlessly scrolling on her phone (because that’s what people do nowadays, she figured) but things had to go south. She knew from the moment she heard the familiar sound of sneakers squeaking towards her table that the bitch she hated most came to accompany her.
“Why are you sittin’ by yourself?” Frida folded her arms and glanced at the group of kids Cleo would normally sit with. She was still chewing that same piece of gum from last period. “You finally over ‘em?”
“Why are you bothering me? Go sit with those other freaks you’re oh-so fond of.” Cleo only realized how jealous she sounded. She wasn’t jealous, not at all! She would hate to be one of those weirdos that got to spend so much time around Frida..right?
“Pfft, nah, I’d rather sit with you.” She pulled out the chair across the table. “Sometimes, they're just too much for me.”
Or perhaps you're too much for them.
With a smile, Frida continued. “Besides, I wanna talk to you about this project.”
That peaked Cleo’s attention. “What about it?”
“Yeah, so, I was thinkin’ after school, you could come by my house ‘n we could work some kinda script out.” She knocked the table repeatedly with her knuckles.
The thought of being alone with Frida…
…
…
“Hard pass.”
“Aw, c'mon, man! I don’t wanna get a bad grade on this!” She was practically whining, begging, something people do when they get desperate. “I’ve got a bunch of ideas already!” Kahlo flashes the other girl her best attempt of puppydog eyes she could manage.
Hearing Frida plead was something Cleo would’ve never imagined she’d hear. It sounded almost foreign, but it was something she definitely wouldn't mind hearing again. (“C'mon, Cleo, don’t be a bitch!”) It gave her a sense of importance, it was refreshing to be seen as a higher power, even if it was the instance of going over to Kahlo’s house to work on a project for a mutual class they shared.
“Alright, fine. Jesus, you don't know when to quit.” Cleo was secretly flattered that she was invited to Frida’s house, but she'd never voice her flattery out loud.
“Sweet!” Frida’s façade dropped. “Hopefully we can at least get a C on this.” There seemed to be a hint of authentic happiness in her voice. “The last time I brought home something lower than a C, my foster mom totally flipped!”
“That’s great, Frida.” Cleo’s attention was back on her phone.
Frida frowned. “You don’t have to act so unimpressed, I see how you look at me.” She laid her head down on the table. “I know you want a piece of me.”
Cleo blinked. What the fuck?! What kind of self absorbed, sick fantasies does this bitch have to even suggest that Cleo wanted anything to do with her??
“You're such a goddamn weirdo! Jesus, just because you’re popular doesn't mean everyone wants to bone you!”
Frida smirked. “I bet you've heard those words before, huh?” She stood up. “I'll catch ya later.”
Just like that, her squeaking shoes found their way back to her table, eagerly continuing her former conversations with Joan, Harriet, and JFK. It didn't make sense to Cleo how fuckin’ smooth Kahlo was with her words. The wordplay pissed her off, totally, but in a way, it was charming. Obviously, Cleo had no interest whatsoever in being swindled in cheesy, stupid, half assed pick-up lines, but she admired the boldness Frida had for throwing them in Cleo’s direction. Her boldness, is that what Cleo found amusing about her? Or was it her looks?
It was something, whether both of those things or neither of them at all. Cleo had all the time in the world to figure things out. What mattered the most right now? Figuring out how the hell she was gonna survive the afternoon with Kahlo..alone.
If there was a God, Cleo sure as hell hoped He’d help her out.
========
“Why were you talking to Cleo? I thought you two didn’t get along.” Harriet’s voice was the first to greet Frida. Kahlo felt a smirk forming, for once, she had a reason to talk about the girl she was in l–
“I’ve got no problem with her, I think she’s dope..”
-the girl she thought was dope. Yeah, that works..
Harriet wasn’t satisfied. “Uh huh, yeah, but she obviously doesn’t–”
Being bothered about her fascination with (“Yeah, umm..”) Cleo wasn’t something that was on the menu. Frida liked to think of herself as a chill, laidback person, but (“..uhmm..”) when it came to being questioned about things, especially Cleo, Kahlo’s anxiety would instantly spike.
“Uh, uhm, uhhh? ” Harriet was mocking her. Bitch.
“Shuddup! We got assigned as partners for this dumbass French thing.” In Kahlo’s eyes, this felt like the luckiest dice roll ever.
“Uh huh..” Tubman looked skeptical. For a brief second, Frida wondered if her facade was slipping, and her best friend could see through her immediate, yet truthful, excuse. If there was a God, Kahlo sure as hell hoped He’d help her out.
“I wish you luck, Frida.” Joan butted in. “She’s not easy to satisfy, trust me, I had to live with that bitch for a while.”
“Satisfy? I’m not gonna sleep with her for fuck’s sake!”
Oh, wrong interpretation.
Frida cringed as Joan’s boytoy cackled. At least he was amused, the others sure as hell weren't. She felt like a jackass for letting her mind sweep the gutter that roughly. Kahlo scratched the back of her head as she sulked into the seat next to Harriet.
“..Well..irregardless if you sleep with her or not, I hope she doesn't give you a hard time about the project..” Joan narrowed her eyes. “..more than she already has.”
Frida shook her head, a foolish attempt to wipe away any flustered feelings or embarrassment this conversation has already caused. “Nah, man, she ain’t gonna give me a hard time.”
“She asked to switch partners.”
“She’s just bein’ an ass, I can handle it! I just hope you can handle your own project, ‘Arc.”
Joan scoffed, her eyes shifting between Kennedy and Kahlo. “I’ll–I-I mean, we’ll be fine!”
This might’ve been the most awkward and tense lunch period they’ve ever gone through..or, it was a hard tie between this one and the first lunch the other clones have had since being unfrozen. Fuckin Lincoln..