Chapter Text
Frida's gaze has not left her canvas for quite some time. Her knee was bouncing impatiently as she scrunched up her face. She couldn't decide where to put Cleopatra in her painting. Principal Scudworth had commissioned Frida, though it was more like an order, to paint the class of 2003 as a welcome-back gift from being frozen. She would have thought it was a sweet request if it weren't for the fact that her principal asked her to paint him and Mr. B in the center of everyone.
Still, it was cool to have her work inside of the school for once; she was surprised no one figured out she was the one spraying the graffiti art around the school walls. Frida has managed to draw her friends from the past: Joan, Abe, and JFK. She also added a short guy with a piercing, supposedly he was the clone of Gandhi. No matter how hard she concentrated though, she could not draw Cleopatra. At least not in this painting.
The two of them did not talk much. It's not like Frida didn't want to, she had tried to initiate conversations with Cleo for some time but the two of them couldn't find anything in common besides being popular, the conversation would end awkwardly each time. That didn't stop Frida from forming a small crush on the tall girl. There were some things that Frida would notice about Cleo that others wouldn't. She sees how smart she is in class and not the nerd kind of smart, but the kind where she actively pays attention in class and scores well on her assignments. Frida knows Cleo plays with her self-image a lot and she knows Cleo has a good understanding of how to use her popularity to her own bidding. It was intimidating and fascinating, and it makes Frida crazy about her. Okay so maybe it was more than a small crush.
"Ay carajo," Frida said with a sigh as she stood up from her stool and threw her brush into a water cup.
Her art studio was just in the corner of her bedroom with a ton of sketchbooks stacked around like a tower, the oldest of them all being when she was 6 years old. Frida went to grab her latest sketchbook, which lay on top of one of the towers of books, and jumped onto her bed carelessly. As she got comfortable on her back Frida would flip through her sketchbook, many drawings of skulls and flowers filled her first few pages as well as drawings of her friends. Once she started getting to the end though, it was only Cleopatra.
Frida couldn't help but draw her, who could resist, she was a model walking in the halls of high school. Some pencil drawings were messy and smudged from drawing Cleo at school, getting the accurate pose while someone is moving is pretty hard. Other drawings that had color were portraits of Cleopatra from different angles. Her looking to the right, down, straight across, Frida experimented with it all. She tried to use different colors for each of her drawings to give it some uniqueness from the others, though there was one color that she had been picking up recurrently.
Though people might disagree with Frida, she believes that blue fits Cleopatra more than any other color. She had noticed anytime Cleo would enter a room the atmosphere would change, her appearance could move eyes instantly to her. Frida didn’t get any warmth from her, not including what she felt from the inside, on the outside she can tell that Cleopatra was cold. Refreshing. Frightening. Enchanting. A queen of ice. She found her aura commanding, Frida likes that about her.
“Why do you gotta numb my brain all the time,” Frida mumbled as she studied her drawings.
She eventually has to go back to her canvas to paint her fixation, she just needed to figure out how she would approach it. If it was up to her, she would put Cleo in the center, but Principal Scudworth made it clear that the spot was reserved for him and his robot staff. All the other clones were painted with their primary colors. The people that she couldn’t fit into the painting faded into the background, a little harder to see but not forgotten. Frida put her sketchbook down on her bed and gave herself a big cat-like stretch. She reluctantly sat up and stared at her paintbrushes that were inside her water cup with discontentment. “I can’t force myself to paint her normally. She isn’t normal,” Frida was sure Cleo would agree with her statement. Cleopatra was not normal because if she was normal that would mean she was average, and god knows Cleopatra will fight with anyone who would call her average. Frida was sure she would fight them too.
Frida got up from where she was sitting and walked back to her painting, choosing to stand this time as she thinks it would help her break from her art block. She grabbed her paintbrush from her cup and gently patted it dry onto a cloth she had nearby. Her eyes focused back on her work, they settled on the space where a special someone was supposed to be.
“I can do this. It will be all worth it in the end, I just need to focus.”
“What was I thinking…” Frida Kahlo groaned as she saw her painting up on display.
It was the next day and they had hung Frida’s artwork near the principal's office, she figured it was there so Scudworth could praise himself every morning. There was a crowd surrounding her art, mostly students of the year 2003. She stood there behind the crowd and listened to her fellow classmate's comments about her drawing. A lot was positive feedback like: “This is really well made” to “The blending of colors is really cool.” These comments, though not all were nice, were enough to ease Frida from her troubles. Until she heard it, “Why is Cleopatra blue?”
“Maldiciones,” Frida whispered as she fidgeted with the cross pendant that she wore as a necklace.
Her eyes did not leave Cleos painted ones. She wasn’t painted fully blue, she still had her skin color, black hair, and signature red lips; other than that though had different shades of blue. Her shadows were on the darker side, denim and navy mixed together, while her highlights and lighting were a shade of Columbian blue and light cyan. If the group of clones wasn’t busy trying to find themselves in the painting, they could definitely tell which student stood out more, it was like a cool breeze was blowing at only Cleopatra in the painting.
Frida stood there in a trance with her own work until she felt someone stand behind her, a wave of familiarity and assertiveness crashed into her body. Chills ran up her spine and Frida slowly turned her head behind her, expecting to see a face but was instead greeted with someone's cleavage. Frida’s ears turned red and she quickly turned her eyes up to meet the gaze of the actual Cleopatra, though she wasn’t looking at Frida, she was looking at her painting. Frida felt like she was going to explode.
“So… what do you think? I think I did a pretty good job getting most students on there, maybe if I had a bigger canvas everyone could have fit,” Frida said with her best-relaxed voice.
She might have been dying inside but that doesn’t mean people need to see that side of her, especially Cleo. After a moment of silence, Frida broke her eye contact and looked the other way, her ears and cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Did she mess up? Should she have painted Cleo just like the others? Did her painting show favoritism? Of course it did, Cleopatra was more distinct than the others, her blue colors made her primary colors pop off. In a way, it was like she was in the center of the painting. Frida was about to walk away in shame before two of Cleopatra's fingers hooked into the inside of her shirt collar and pulled Frida close to her, enough to where there was a short gap between them. Now Frida’s face was hot and she was unable to return the stare of her tall crush, she was busy trying not to focus on how Cleo’s nails were scraping around her neck. Frida definitely did not enjoy the sensation. Definitely.
“I really love your artwork. I think you drew me perfectly,” is what came out of Cleopatra's soft lips.
Frida’s eyes were almost stuck on them but she needed to return eye contact, did she hear that correctly? Did Cleo like her project?
“I’m interested in you Frida… what other things like this do you have?” Asked Cleo as she let go of Frida’s collar and grabbed at her necklace instead, rubbing the pendant with her thumb.
Frida was at a loss for words. Her throat was dry, her palms were sweaty, and her ears felt like they were going to melt off. Cleo’s hand was close to her chest and Frida thought that Cleo could probably feel her heartbeats without getting near her skin. Frida needed to act right away or she will forever be ruled by this goddess. Doesn’t sound too bad honestly but freedom doesn’t sound bad either. She wiped her hands on her jeans and crossed her arms; she tried her best to relax and go back to the persona that she is known for, being chill.
“I’m relieved you like it so much Cle-Cle, I didn’t think you were a fan of art, especially mine,” Frida replied to Cleo’s first comment. Where did that nickname come from? No matter, so far she was doing good. “I have a lot of sketchbooks filled with art from years ago. If you want, I can bring one to school and lend it to you. It’s no biggie.”
Frida saw how Cleo’s lips formed a gentle smile and butterflies erupted inside her stomach. She couldn’t get a break from this woman.
“I think that sounds nice, maybe then we finally have something to talk about together,” Cleo talked sweetly to Frida this time instead of her usual confident voice; It felt merciful.
Cleo had let go of Frida’s necklace and slid past her before she could say anything. It left Frida to stare at Cleo as she walked away unbothered and detached. Frida went to fidget with her cross again, there was no doubt in Frida’s mind that blue was Cleopatra’s color.