Popular Clone by M.E. Castle

disguise?”
    Half an hour later, a short boy walked toward the King of Hollywood restaurant. A strangely puffy plume of long hair spilled out of his pulled-up hood, and he was wearing tropical-themed souvenir sunglasses with little palm trees on the frames.
    It was not, Fisher admitted, the most brilliant disguise he could have imagined. All the same, it was a good use for the extra hair Fisher had accidentally engineered during the early stages of the cloning process, which had looked kind of creepy just sitting on the floor of Fisher’s room.
    The remains of the marshland made a strangely prehistoric-looking setting for the restaurant, as if a herd of Iguanodon might emerge at any moment to graze on spicy fries and milk shakes. Fisher could see a crowd gathering in the parking lot already, many hoisting signs in the air. He really hadn’t expected that many to turn up against the popular chain. Maybe the ducks had really earned a place in people’s hearts.
    When Fisher got closer, he took a look at some of their signs: LONG LIVE THE KING; TWO BILLS IS ONE TOO MANY; I BET YOU DON ’ T EVEN KNOW WHAT BILIOUS MEANS .
    The big crowd had formed to protest against the protest.
    Fisher elbowed through the crowd, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, and finally broke free of the tightly knit pack.
    In front of the King of Hollywood restaurant were Amanda Cantrell, a handful of Wompalog kids he recognized but didn’t know, and … a giant duck.
    Or rather, somebody in a human-sized double-billed yellow-bellied bilious duck costume.
    Amanda had handcuffed herself to the front-door handles of the new restaurant. The other kids looked nervous, probably because the only people watching their protest had joined the counter protest. The only member of the protest who seemed really enthusiastic was the giant duck, who was walking back and forth shouting various pro-duck statements.
    â€œDucks don’t knock down your houses for bread crumbs!” it shouted in a voice that was muffled, but very familiar. “This marshland is their only habitat! You are bringing them to their doom! Do you really want a doomed duck on your conscience?” Very, very familiar. “We can coexist with this peaceful species! Live in harmony! Their double-billed quacking really is quite harmonious!”
    The giant duck paused for a moment, breathing heavily. “Man, this thing is hot,” it said, before reaching up and pulling off the duck head. Fisher gaped.
    â€œDad?” he gasped.
    There was no doubt about it. There was Mr. Bas, wearing a giant duck costume in front of the entire town. Fisher buried his forehead in his hand and wished he could rocket himself into a new solar system. This would make things even worse for him than they already were. The other kids at Wompalog would mock and push him around even more. …
    No. They would push Two around even more. He knew that he had created his clone just for this purpose, but rather than feel triumphant, he felt a little sickened by the idea. But maybe, at least, Two would start to realize how things worked at Wompalog: it was best to lay low.
    Fisher retreated a little farther into the jostling crowd as his dad took off the rest of the duck suit. The counter-protesters began chanting “Holl-ly-wood! Holl-ly-wood!” until someone shushed them to silence and stepped forward.
    Two.
    The clone walked back and forth in front between the two groups, raising his hands to the much-larger counter protest to get their attention.
    â€œThis fine establishment is not the great invader that they’re making it out to be!” he said, affecting a heroic tone. “Don’t be fooled! The ducks aren’t the big victims here, but our taste buds will be if they get their way!” The counter protesters shouted and waved their signs in response.
    â€œFisher?” Mr. Bas said, tossing the second huge duck foot aside. “How could you