I wrote this basically right after watching "Selfless, Brave, and True," which represented Hong Kong as one big western stereotyped fantasy of China, as well as representing the only black woman on the show (other than Cinderella's fairy godmother, who was killed after five seconds on screen) as a 'bad guy.' I think Once is pretty horrible with race as a rule, but this was just so blatant.

There are several amusing parts in this fic - including a Mean Girls reference, from which the title obviously comes - because it's a fic, not a blog post, and as such, I wanted to be as true to the characters as possible.

That being said, onward! I hope you enjoy, have something to think about, and - as always - reviews are a nice manifestation of love!

"Hey Moms? Can I talk to you both about something that's been on my mind a lot lately?" Henry shuffled on the balls of his feet somewhat nervously in their doorway.

Emma and Regina exchanged a look - and several conversations -

I told you we should talk to him!

Keep your shirt on, dear. I knew our son would ask us when he was ready.

- in the moment it took Emma to look up from the Sheriff's office budget reports she had splayed across the bed and Regina to close her well-worn copy of Out of Oz and take off her reading glasses.

"Of course, Henry," his older mother said calmly, patting the bed, "come sit down."

Emma tried to clear away her papers haphazardly, several dozen pages scattering out of order on the floor as she did so. "Damn," she muttered while Regina rolled her eyes affectionately and tsked.

"Language, dear," she chided playfully as she lazily swished her wrist to arrange Emma's papers, suddenly animated, on her desk. Henry sat on the newly-cleared space.

Regina took a deep breath; they'd known this conversation was going to happen sooner rather than later. Emma had insisted it shouldn't be one conversation, but naturally woven into the child's up-bringing, but alas, they hadn't had the opportunity to raise Henry together. Next time, Regina thought as she touched her lower belly warmly.

"Henry, the first thing you should know," she began, "is that you should never be ashamed of anything you may be feeling."

"Yeah, kid, and if you want to touch someone, you always have to get consent - "

"that means permission - "

"from him - "

"or her - "

"or neither - "

"or both - "

"or anyone, first. And - "

Henry tossed up his hands, stopping his parents cold.

Too much?

Damn, and we were just on a roll.

"Uh, Moms. I didn't even ask my question yet. And uh... it's not about that. I mean, I do have questions about that, and I guess we can talk about it, but... you know... friends... the internet..."

Emma slapped her forehead with her hands and Regina's lips formed a thin line. The Queen recovered first.

"Alright, Henry. Sorry we got ahead of you there. What was it you wanted to ask?" Emma looked at him from between splayed fingers.

Their thirteen year old child took a deep breath. "Why are there only white fairy tale characters?"

A silence fell as Emma's hand left her face and Regina regarded her son with new-found respect.

Oh my god, Henry, you can't just ask people why they're white. No, Emma. Inappropriate. He asked a serious question. And Regina's going to answer it.

"Well, we're not all white, Henry. In this realm, I'm considered Latina, and there's Sydney - "

"And Lancelot and Mulan!" Emma chimed in.

"Indeed."

The boy shook his head, clearly frustrated. "Yeah, but you can pass as white, Mom. That's the right word, right? But come on. There are hundreds of people in Storybrooke: it's not a good sign if we can name off the top of our heads the only not white people here and in the Enchanted Forest. And, the way my book tells it, Sydney's completely stereotyped as the genie, and my book keeps growing, adding and updating stories since magic came to Storybrooke. It has the 'Evil' Queen's happy ending now and stuff."

Regina smiled broadly at his use of air-quotes around "evil" and exchanged a very googly-eyed smile with Emma, who had taken her hand, that made him want to stick out his tongue and fake wretch. He resisted the urge, but couldn't help rolling his eyes as he continued.

"My point is, when August came back to town after the Curse broke, it added his whole story, and it made Hong Kong into this one big stereotype of 'Chinese culture'!" More air quotes.

Emma was confused. "Kid, August came back to town two years ago; why are you just asking this stuff now?"

"Because when I go to New York to visit Neal, everybody's different; speaking different languages, lots of different cultures and everything. In that world, you can't just name three or four people of color, make big cultural stereotypes about them, and be done with it... I mean, I guess people do, especially when we see cops beating up on black men and boys..." His eyes misted over a little, and Emma recognized the look of someone who had seen a symptom of an injustice and a systemic violence that ran much deeper than they knew how to fathom. "But at least it's not basically only white people there. What's up with Storybrooke?"

Emma - looking not upset so much as confused and uncomfortable, as she used to often when she was just learning to parent him - shifted to stare at Regina, who was considering Henry thoughtfully. She folded her legs up into her chest and rested her chin on her knees, evidently thinking hard.

After a moment's consideration, she said, "I'm so proud of you for seeing that, Henry; the hardest things to see are usually the things that surround us." She paused, beaming at him, as she thought about the rest of her explanation. She sighed.

"Firstly, Storybrooke is a small town, not a big city. I don't want you to think most of this realm is New York City! Many small towns in this realm are like this one, even the ones that aren't made up of fairy tale characters. Which leads me to my second thought: do you remember when I told you about how our realm - the Enchanted Forest - came to be? That this world and our own are magically connected, and have been for decades, even centuries? The dominant fairy tales in this world somehow leaked into our realm and became real, albeit with many variations."

Henry nodded impatiently: he knew all this already. Emma, on the other hand, had leaned back, eyes half closed, enjoying listening to her lover's teaching voice. Regina pressed on.

"Well, these dominant stories - the ones made into successful movies in this realm - largely became so popular because the dominant movie, television, and book industries are controlled by white people and institutions. You know about racism, don't you, Henry?" He nodded again, more slowly this time.

"Racism often penetrates the structure of societies, honey, whether it's economic systems or popular culture or the police system, like you see in New York, and that all includes popular fairy tales here, where people who aren't white usually are only represented as stereotypes. These beliefs and myths bled into the Enchanted Forest many years ago and constructed our reality. Your book reflects that, and so do the demographics of Storybrooke. Does that make any sense?"

Henry shrugged glumly. "I guess so."

His moms had shaken him out of many things his book had taught him - that princes have to marry princesses, for example - and it was disappointing for him to find another bad thing in his book - which he had once clung desperately to as his every hope and inspiration - now.

Regina read all of this as it washed over his face and reached out to stroke his hand gently.

"Hey, kid." Emma softly implored him to look at her. She guided his chin upwards in a loving gesture she'd learned from Regina. "You love that book of yours, and you're always reading. And your mom and I know you write your own stories, too, you're just embarrassed to show us what you've got."

"Which you needn't be," Regina interjected as Henry's face turned pink.

"Exactly. My point is, Henry, if you don't like the racism you're seeing and reading, why don't you create different stories, better stories? That's gotta be an okay start for an imaginative thirteen year old, huh?" She offered him a lopsided smile, hoping she would see it mirrored on his face. She did, and her grin broadened.

"Do you want to talk about what you've seen cops doing in New York, honey? I know it's hard to see people who might well otherwise be quite good doing terrible things," Regina promptly gently, not wanting to push too hard but knowing he wouldn't have mentioned it if he didn't need to process it.

Tears flickered in his eyes for a moment. He blinked, and they were gone: a trick he'd learned from his brunette mother, in the days before she was happy, before she let herself cry in front of him.

"Not now," he said, not ready, as he pushed himself gingerly off of his parents' bed and made his way to the door.

"Soon, though," he promised. He turned at the doorway.

"And then maybe we can talk about sex, too!"

Emma groaned with amusement and Regina laughed lightly as their teenager ducked out of their room and back into his own.