The big double gates of Roosevelt Academy Middle School swung open wide, and with them, pandemonium was all but certain.
Sofia Roosevelt led the charge. A sleek black limousine pulled up, its door opening as if she were a princess. Sofia emerged from it in her designer school uniform, her hair styled with ribbons that cost more than most teachers earned in a year.
Two bodyguards escorted her schoolbag as though it were the Crown Jewels. She smoothed out her crown-like headband with a regal flourish, sweeping the yard like a monarch staking out ground.
She raised her chin high and proclaimed, loud enough for the whole schoolyard to hear: "Make way. Queen Sofia has arrived!" Her voice boomed off the bricks, attracting a combination of wide-eyed stares and nervous snickers from freshmen.
The kids stood transfixed, some in awe, some scared out of their wits. A girl leaned over and whispered, "Is she real?" A boy nodded: "Totally. But hot damn, those ribbons glimmer."
But their wonder was precisely twelve seconds.
Because out on the street, the sound of a motor broke the peace of the morning.
Louis Astor rolled up in his dad's bright red sports car, music blaring at an illegal decibel—some head-banging rock ballad that shook windows.
He swung the door wide, glided out in slow motion as if he owned the world, and dropped his backpack over his shoulder with a swaggering spin that almost bonked a passerby.
"Bow down, peasants. King Louis has arrived." He posed as a superhero, fist raised overhead, beaming as if he'd just climbed Everest.
The students had no idea whether to laugh, applaud, or take cover. One boy leaned over and whispered, ".Are they both crazy?" The crowd hummed: "This is gonna be epic. or a catastrophe."
The verdict: yes. Purely yes. And the school bell hadn't even sounded yet.
Scene 1: The Grand Entrance Showdown
Sofia glared over the courtyard at Louis, her eyes shrinking to laser-cut slits, ribbons streaming behind her like battle pennants in the wind. "Really? Imitating my dramatic entrance? Pathetic."
Louis grinned, swaggering nearer with over-the-top strut, car keys clinking like a challenge. "Sweetheart, I was born dramatic. Yours was a funeral procession—black limo and all. Rest in peace, your vibe."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Ooooh, burn!" a child jeered. Phones came out for the face-off.
Sofia marched ahead, her bodyguards tagging along like shadows. "At least my vehicle wasn't borrowed from Daddy's midlife crisis. Compensating much?"
"Ohhh!" the children chirped, applauding like a rap battle.
Louis grabbed his chest theatrically, stumbling backward in fake pain. "You hurt me, Roosevelt. Don't be envious my car goes quicker than your sluggish hearse. Bet it would lap your limo twice before you get your lipstick back on straight."
"Faster?" Sofia scoffed, tossing her hair back with a venomous toss that sent the ribbons flying. "It's making up for your personality." The crowd went wild; a teacher stumbled over her own feet charging in.
Another gasp. A teacher—Ms. Hargrove, flushed and clipboard-wielding—hustled forward, dripping with perspiration. "Kids, please, it's the first day—" She gesticulated like a traffic cop in a tornado.
Too late. The battle of words had broken out. "This feud's older than dirt," grumbled a seasoned student. "Welcome to hell, newbies."
Scene 2: Classroom War
By some cosmic twist, or perhaps the devil's own amusement, Sofia and Louis ended up in the same class. The seating chart? An evil joke. Front row: enemies seated side by side.
The teacher, Ms. Bennett, pushed up her glasses nervously. She'd been cautioned about them. She had even prayed the previous night. Apparently, it hadn't worked. She glared at the pair as if they were live bombs, muttering to herself: "Lord, give me strength. or a transfer."
"Okay, class," she started, voice trembling.
"Anyone can get this math problem?" She indicated a monstrous equation on the board.
Twenty hands were raised. Well—nineteen hands, with one arm so aloft it was almost dislocating itself.
Sofia Roosevelt. "Me! Clearly me!" she bellowed, jumping onto her chair like a revolutionary leader, skirt flying out wildly.
But from the next row over, another hand went up. Louis Astor. He sprang up from his seat, spilling a pencil case. "No, me! Everyone knows I'm the genius here. Watch and learn, class."
"You can't even spell genius!" Sofia retorted, turning on him, cheeks burning with indignation.
"Yes, I can. G-E-E-N-Y-U-S." He spelled it with self-satisfied finger-guns, winking at the class.
The whole class facepalmed. Giggling spread; one boy wheezed, "That's. not right." Ms.
Bennett attempted to quiet them, but it was futile. Louis snapped a bit of chalk against the floor, hitting Sofia's exquisitely curled hair. It powdered her like snow; she screamed, "My curls!"
She gasped, scooped up the blackboard eraser, and hurled it back. THWACK. Dead hit to his forehead. White dust flew everywhere, making him into a chalky phantom. "You'll pay for that, Roosevelt!" Louis growled, coughing theatrically, wiping his face with a ghostly flourish.
"You already look like one—a genius ghost, maybe? Boo!" The class erupted in howls; erasers and pencils flew in solidarity pandemonium.
Pandemonium erupted. Half of the class cheered for Louis, half for Sofia.
Ms. Bennett muttered to herself, "Retirement. Early retirement. Please." She leaned forward in her seat, fantasizing about peaceful suburbs.
Scene 3: Lunchtime Duel
The cafeteria should have been neutral ground. It turned into a war zone. The air was thick with pizza grease and hostility.
Louis banged down his tray onto the largest table. "This is the king's table. My table." He throned himself, fork held aloft like a scepter.
Sofia strolled in, red apple clutched in hand as if it were a prop. She took a crunchily loud bite, gaze pinned on him. "Correction. That's the queen's throne." She set down her tray next to his, uninvited, pushing his chips over with a smirk.
"You can't sit here." Louis hunched in close, inches from her face, breath minty-fresh for fight.
"Watch me." Sofia sat down, crossing her legs haughtily.
And then—it blew out of control. Louis threw a grape at her. It smacked against her shoulder with a juicy splat. "Take that, fruit enemy!"
Sofia speared mashed potatoes back.
Straight splat on his shirt, gravy dripping like war paint. "Potato power, peasant!"
"Food fight!" someone yelled. Trays went over; the lunch lady took cover behind the counter.
That was enough. Carrots went airborne. Bread rolls were tossed. Juice cartons burst in mid-air like small grenades. Splat-splat-splat—the air was filled with hurled fries and screams. "Incoming!" kids cried, covering faces. In minutes, the cafeteria resembled a battle scene. Kids took cover under tables, others employed trays as armor.
Sofia stood on her chair, brandishing her spoon as a sword. "For glory! Charge, my subjects!"
Louis jumped onto his table, a fork held like a dagger. "For victory! Taste defeat, mashed menace!"
They charged—spoons clashing in mid-air—until the cafeteria doors burst open. The principal stormed in. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF SANITY—"
Splat. A pudding cup landed on his tie. Brown goo dripped; he froze in horror. The deafening silence that followed. Food floated in mid-air, then splattered. Eyes bugging on Sofia and Louis, who high-fived each other guiltily.
Scene 4: Aftermath & Parents' Arrival
An hour later, the two sets of parents stood in the principal's office. The air was thick with detention and denial.
The principal massaged his temples, tie still crusty. "Mr. Astor, Mr. Roosevelt, your kids are out of hand."
Astor senior folded his arms. "Louis was just standing up for his honor. Obviously, he won." He puffed out, ego expanding.
"won?!" Mrs. Roosevelt barked. "My Sofia's got better aim! That potato struck straight on target!" She simulated the flick, almost knocking over a lamp.
"Oh please," Astor senior scoffed. "Your daughter's just a drama queen."
"And your son's a delinquent!" The fight brewed, voices mingling like lunchroom mayhem.
Sofia and Louis remained condescendingly seated in their chairs. Sofia whispered, leaning over with a disarming smile, "Next round, cafeteria king. Library lockdown?"
Louis smiled back, eyes sparkling with wickedness. "In your dreams, cafeteria queen. But bring it—loser buys tater tots." A small, involuntary fist-bump confirmed it, unnoted.
The principal hid his face in his hands. "I'm switching schools. Effective now." But while the parents argued, a janitor came rushing in: "Uh, principal? The food fight. it overflowed into the kitchen. And someone superglued the arch-enemies' lockers shut. With glitter."
Sofia and Louis shared "oops" looks. The actual war? Just beginning.
-----
SOFIA: PLEASE SUPPO—
LOUIS: HEY! THAT'S MY DIALOGUE, PINK MONSTER!
SOFIA: SHUT UP!
LOUIS: NO, YOU SHUT UP!
WITH EXHAUSTION,
AUTHOR: YOU BOTH JUST SHUT UP!
(Sofia and Louis pouting, but grinning secretly)
PLEASE SUPPORT,
CHAOS GUARANTEED FROM,
🤜SOFIA AND LOUIS🤛