Note: So basically, this week I was watching some of that new show on ABC, The Family, and I kept getting SO upset over things that would happen to the characters. There was one moment where my chest physically ached and I thought to myself, Maybe I should stop watching this because it puts me in so much pain.
I now understand everyone who is lamenting of how saddening this current book has been, and how awful those parts of book 1 in which Emeray started dating Cartney were. Happiness is imperative, even if it's just in some nice glimpses in distressing parts. I'm just an evil writer dictator who forgets that people actually feel connected to my characters and don't know their ultimate fates like I do. HAH.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Apparently Cartney is going to surprise Emeray on her birthday. Who else is really annoyed with the fact that we haven't heard from the other members in a while? Well, it's all for good reason. Glad you're feeling as disconnected as everybody in Delicatum.
emeray
On the eve of my birthday, the Analytix brought me news I've never heard of. The public, it seems, caught word of my plans before I knew I had them.
And some call for celebration.
". . . NO WAY! Do you think that's true? I hope it's true!"
". . . We bring you a very delightful and unexpected report today on Notness News . . ."
". . . Oh my gosh! If this is actually happening in a few days, I think I'm going to be the happiest person in the entire world!"
And a good few call for skepticism.
". . . It's definitely not true. I mean, come on. That is definitely not the logical next step that should be taken here. But yet again, The Famoux are never logical . . ."
". . . Yeah, it has to be a rumor. Everybody calm down!"
". . . So, is this news true? Unfortunately, Betnedoor Gossip can't confirm or deny yet. We're just going to have to wait and see . . ."
And plenty call for frustration.
"What kind of an idea is that? I don't get it."
"The Colburn Lampoon's report? This is one hell of a dive for public attention. Frankly, we don't even care anymore to find out if it actually happens tomorrow."
"Do you think that means the other Famoux members aren't even going to be a part of her actual birthday, then? Ugh, I don't even see the other members anymore. Honestly, when was the last time we heard about anything they're doing lately?"
"I'm so done with this. Why do they keep throwing them at us? When did the Famoux become the Emeray and Cartney show?"
But I don't call for celebration.
And I don't call for skepticism.
And I don't even call for frustration.
I only call for Cartney. For answers.
I'm in the car, on the way to Cartney's apartment, my leg bouncing up and down restlessly against the leather seat cushion. It's only the afternoon, and our fourth dinner out of five isn't supposed to start for another five or so hours. After my stop in the Analytix, however, I couldn't possibly wait for then. A restaurant with nosey waiters and onlookers is the last place to hold this conversation.
The paparazzi seems to be everywhere. As the car moves down the street, I notice they have multiplied since I left the Metropolix; an exponentially growing cult of sorts, dashing down the sidewalks to follow us to our destination and searching in earnest for a signââconfirming or denying their allegations, it doesn't matter. In the business of snooping into my life, a bad sign is better than no sign at all.
There have been plenty brief speculations as to why Cartney and I have been seen together at so many high profile restaurants this week, but nothing like the hailstorm of accusations I was hit with in the Analytix today. I tried to find Norax to ask her if the rumors were correct, but she was out with Race, working on some part of the promotional campaign for Algus & Alondra, which is set to release this month.
As far as my own confirmations or denials go, I end up with as few real answers as the paparazzi does.
The hailstorm only continues as I shield my face from the cameras, marching through the crowds that have gathered on the pavement. As Angad weaves me through the contorted aisle the other guards attempted to pave before I got here, I observe the looks on my photographers' faces. Same ferocity, different day. I begin to identify with the last set of voices I heard in the Analytix; the ones going on about how it's like the rest of the Famoux doesn't exist anymore.
Here, I am, making a stop at Cartney's apartment. How many times have I done this in the past months?
This is what being a Famoux member has turned into: A boring, tedious routine. Cartney and I go walking. Cartney and I get dinner. Cartney and I visit each other for a "night in." Turn the page, turn the page, and Norax's grand playbook for our relationship shows nothing else. Nothing new. Nothing more than the two of us faking smiles and clinking glasses of champagne that I'm too young to drink in Betnedoor, the only country of the Delicatum that has an age limit on things of the sort. It's the minuscule details like that which add up to a multitude of wrong. None of this makes sense, yet it keeps happening again and again and again.
Our relationship is not a trainwreck in the least, but an idle cartâânever leaving the station, never getting susceptible to the dents and the dirt of the real world.
The people from the Analytix are right: The Cartney and Emeray show is getting completely and wholeheartedly old.
I suppose this next move, this rumor I eavesdropped on earlier tonight, is supposed to spur excitement once more. But based off of the reactions I heard, it's only succeeding in making the world even more fed up with us.
Cartney's apartment is at the penthouse of his building. With each floor the elevator rises up to, I feel my heart sink an inch lower. When we finally get to the top, Angad halts at the door, his hand rested on the knob.
"I'll patrol out in this hall," he tells me. "You go in there and get out whatever's making you look so terrified."
"So you noticed," I say.
"All of you Famoux members get terrified when they leave that room."
The Analytix. I nod. "It's not the happiest place ever."
"Wouldn't expect it to be."
My eyes fall on Cartney before Angad has the chance to get the door completely closed. He's sitting on an indigo couch, doing absolutely nothing. The massive television set plastered to the wall is turned off. There are no magazines or books or devices lying around the cushions beside him.
Witnessing his inactivity gives me a spectral feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a ghost passing through my body and leaving a ripple of chills. The only thing within Cartney's reach is a powder blue box with a silver ribbon.
"Ray?" he asks. He rises, scratching the back of his head. "Whatââ"
"What the hell are you up to?" I snap, cutting him off.
He coughs, suddenly alarmed. His bright, famoux-style eyes widen immediately, like he's a puppy and I've kicked him. "Pardon?"
I move toward the couch, grabbing him tersely by the wrist. There's no one around to speculate the aggression in my actions, but fall into old habits and I regress anyway, my movements and words going from razor-sharp to butter-knife. I make him sit, attempting to make my breathing a bit slower before I go on.
"Cartney," I start, keeping my voice quiet. It teeters like a top. "What is your surprise going to be on my birthday? Are you doing something stupid?"
"Something stupid?" Cartney whistles. "C'mon, Ray, my track record clearly proves that I never do stupid things."
"Your sarcasm today really isn't helping anything," I say. "Did you hear what the people have been saying about your surprise? The rumors going around about it?"
"Are you panicking over rumors? Ray, I haven't heard anything today. My label's been toying with some ideasââmaybe someone leaked one or two. But don't worry about it. There's nothing set in stone."
"Well, is there anything set in silver? Like, maybe a diamond?"
His brows raise. "What?"
I lean forward, getting close to his face so I'm sure he hears me loud and clear. Just speaking out the words, here and now, makes my head spin. "Cartney, people have been talking about how you're might be proposing to me tomorrow. They think we're going to get engaged."
There's a moment of silence as my words sink into his skin. Cartney attempts a chuckle, perhaps hoping to lighten the mood for me. When my expression remains darkened, he backpedals, coughing again.
"They've been saying that for months, though," he points out.
His nonchalance irks me. If he heard what the Analytix said, instead of the strictly positive news Buchan fishes out of the pile and feeds to him, maybe he'd understand my panic a bit better. Perhaps that's what I need to doââtake him over to the Metropolix and make him sit in that daunting silver stool himself. That is, if the Analytix works on non-Famoux members.
"But now there's an occasion for it, and everything," I explain. "It feels like something Norax and Buchan would do to spur more excitement. But I've noticed that people are getting annoyed with our relationship. It's only been one afternoon, and they're already annoyed with this rumor. If you're planning on proposing tomorrow, you can't. Everyone's only going to start hating us if that happens."
"Buchan and I have only talked about recording you a crappy song. Jumping into a full on engagement hasn't come up once."
"But people aren't talking about a song, Cartney."
"Why do you suddenly care so much about what they're talking about, or whether or not they like us?"
My chest constricts, as if my lungs can't possibly fathom all the air I'd need to get out everything I want to say in this moment. Because everything they're saying is about to infest the Metropolix through our new members. Because the world is getting sick of us being so lovey all the time. Because I've only really been in the same room with the other four Famoux members maybe twice in the past three months.
Unable to figure out how to say it all cohesively, I settle for the easiest answer: The personal, selfish one. The answer that offers no deeper elaboration.
"I . . . I don't want to be stuck with you," I tell him.
That makes him genuinely chuckle. "Can't say I haven't heard that one before."
"Cartney, I mean it."
"I know you mean it." He leans back, staring at the ceiling. "And I mean it when I say that I haven't heard one thing about proposing to you tomorrow. You'd think that maybe, as the man who'd be getting down on one knee for that, I'd be let in on the plan much sooner than one night before your birthday."
"Norax didn't tell me I was going to be dating you until I walked into the room to sign the contract."
"That was a really volatile time, though," he states. "Everything was falling apart so suddenly."
"And right now it isn't?" I ask. "Any time another member does something, a million people criticize it. Now, the other members don't want to do anything, because there's no winning anymore. The only thing getting into the magazines these days are pictures of our boring daily walks. Norax is acting like she wants to replace every single one of us with new members. This is an extremely volatile time, Cartney."
"Then why would they make us get engaged?" he asks. "Wouldn't they make Kaytee and her horrible choice of a boyfriend get engaged so people start looking at the rest of the Famoux instead?"
"Everybody hates Kaytee and Race together. That would backfire."
"According to you, everybody's starting to hate us together too. Why would Buchan and your people make us get engaged if they knew it would make people even more annoyed with us?"
"That's the confusing part." I grab the light blue box from the coffee table, poking at the ribbon. "What's this? Why is it shaped like a ring box?"
"It's a necklace," Cartney says, enunciating the word with dramatic syllables. Neck-ah-luss. "Because only giving you a heartfelt song isn't nearly as sufficient as a tangible, very expensive piece of metal."
"Did you pick it out?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And did you put it in the box yourself?"
He exhales a laugh. "Ray, come on. You're taking this rumor a little too seriously. Where was all this panic when we were supposedly having a baby the other day?"
"Can I open it?"
"It's part of your surprise!"
I rip off the ribbon anyway, lunging backward to the other side of the couch. Paranoia pulsing through my fingertips, I lift the lid, seizing the velvet box inside just as Cartney reaches over to snatch it from me. I've managed to pull it open to reveal its contents just as he takes it in his iron grip.
"You're ruining the suââ"
But he halts, expression changing from dismay to horror. He lets out the loudest curse I've ever heard, letting the velvet boxââthe ring boxââfall out of hands.
"THAT IS NOT THE NECKLACE I PICKED OUT FOR YOU."
Witnessing my hypothesis be proven tastes like salt in my mouth. It's true; all the rumors from the Analytix are true. How long Norax and Buchan might've been planning this one, it's tough to say.
But they weren't going to tell Cartney, nor I, until it was too late?
"Cartney," I say. "I was going to open that in the middle of the restaurant, with all of the waiters and people inside watching us."
He blinks incredulously. "Buchan was actually about to let me hand that gift to you without telling me that they switched out the necklace for a ring."
It's as if he's never been let down before by the people who are supposed to be lifting him up. His disbelief makes my heart hurt all the more strongly.
"They know you wouldn't do that if they asked," I say.
"Of course I wouldn't. You're only turning seventeen years old. I'm twenty-three. Just kissing you sometimes makes me feel like a total creep." Cartney grabs the gift box, fishing through black and gold tissue paper. "Do they have a wedding band in here too? Are we going to go through the entire ceremony tomorrow night?"
I'm about to answer him with a form of gallows humor, but my throat constricts when I notice the tissue paper. Black and gold. Not the most cohesive color choice, seeing that the box and ribbon were blue and silver.
Where have I seen black and gold on a package before?
Cartney takes out one of the golden pieces, squinting. "Hey, there's something written on this one."
I close my eyes before the room has a chance to spin. "No."
Norax is smart. She may not always have the best judgement, but she knows enough about public opinion to know that the last thing Delicatum wants to see is any more of Cartney and I. It wouldn't be her or Buchan spurring this rumor, or replacing a necklace with a massive diamond ring.
They know better.
When I muster the strength glance over at Cartney, he's holding the paper out for me to look at. His sunken cheeks look almost ghostly against his stiff, understanding frown. "Don't tell me this is what I think it is."
The first thing I see is a poem. I recognize the tune from my nursery rhyme bookââa section about Playground Songs. The melody plays in my head as I read it:
Emeray and Cartney,
Sitting in a Tree.
Follow D-E-F-E-D.
First comes love,
Then comes marriage,
Watch your step,
And you won't perish.
Emeray, we liked you. You could say you were our favorite Famoux member. However, we don't appreciate the way you (and everyone else) have handled our late Foster Farrand's death.
We thought killing off a modest fan-favorite was perfect bait to draw attention and sympathyââthings we need if you're going to be of use to us. Not only did you succeed in annoying the entire world with your mourning processââthe all-black clothes for months, the perpetual sad face in photographsââbut you also annoyed us.
You could say you're not our favorite anymore. To prove this to you, we took it upon ourselves to shake up your birthday celebration in a way that will make everyone as sick of you as we are.
Can't wait to meet your new members.
(And they can't wait to meet you.)
Much love,
DEFED
xxx
Hey hey hey. Tell me your thoughts.
So Cartney almost mistakenly proposed to Emeray? So DEFED hates her now? And in the epilogue of the last book, DEFED was starting the Fissarex? And DEFED just said that the new members (which they seem to know about despite the news not being public) can't wait to meet her? HMMM?
Don't worry, we're getting into the swing of things soon. You should remember it took until about chapter 8 in Famoux for Emeray to BE Emeray. That beginning was the slowest one I've ever seen. I seem to have trouble with gripping beginnings. GAH.
I hope you have a lovely Friday, Wattpad! Remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.