CANADIAN READERS: I'm going to be IN CANADA from next Thursday (May 26) to next Sunday (May 29)! Wattpad invited me and a few other writers to their headquarters to do a lot of amazing exciting things, and I would love to know if you're in the area!
On the first day I'm in Canada, Thursday (May 26), I'll be at the Indigo Bookstore in Yorkdale Mall at 7PM for a little meet and greet with a few other writers in Imagines! If you can make it, you'd also be meeting some amazing people like Anna Todd and Kevin Fanning, and I promise you that we can hug for a solid five minutes if you want to.
Other than that, I believe I'm going to have some downtime to wander around Toronto, so if you want to run into me somewhere and discuss the Famoux or something, I couldn't imagine anything better! This trip is honestly the coolest thing that I've ever gotten to do, so I want to make the most of it!
Okay, I've held you long enough and I'm already late. LET'S GET TO THE CHAPTER!
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray met the new members! Guess who's one of them . . . GERALD! It was pretty surprising to me that there was a substantial amount of comments that said, "Wait, who?" when everyone seems to remember names like Finley week to week (and Finley hasn't even actually appeared in the book at all!) It's okay, though. I forget about my characters ALL THE TIME. Consider that why sometimes in book 1 it felt like I hastily tied up certain subplots. I just totally forget.
emeray
I was afraid the room would burst. Into flames, into tears, into something. But the windows don't shatter. The furniture doesn't topple and sizzle like velvet purple embers. The people don't stumble and brace themselves against the wall for cover.
Gerald and I stare at each other, and the room stays put. The bomb is a dud. No flames, no tears, no movement.
"The other members should be here any moment," chirps Norax. "I think it's best if we sit them down for their meeting with their new friends. Angad, could you be so kind as to set up the living area for tea?"
In my peripheral view I can make out Angad nodding. "Of course, ma'am." And just like that, my new guard strides right out of the kitchen, leaving me here to stare wordlessly my old one.
My fingers fidget against Cartney's hand. What is Gerald doing here as my new Famoux member, when I had two different, perfectly viable options to choose from? It seems like the last thing Norax would let happen; after all, the handful of rumors and articles about our supposed relationship was the reason why she replaced him with Angad in the first place.
I thought she'd fired him, and Angad thought so too. But Gerald wasn't missing from all the other guard positions because Norax was having him dismissedââhe was missing because she was having him promoted.
As Norax ushers everybody toward the living room, Cartney forces out a cough, removing his hand from mine to scratch the back of his neck.
"I actually think I should get going," he announces to no one in particular. He then looks down at me. "You good?"
I want to scream No! but refrain. Everything about the room has suddenly shifted, almost like I'm standing outside of my body. Meeting new people at premieres and clubs is uncomfortable enough, but everything surrounding these members and this situation feels like it's painted in every dreadful color combination to make a person feel ill-at-ease. Some of these people hate us. Some of them might be a part of a group that's killed us. And one of them . . . one of them used to escort me to coffee-shops and rushed into a bullet-infested Fishbowl to save me from certain death.
When Cartney leaves, I leave too. Norax and the new members are so wrapped up in deciding what kind of tea to serveââ"It's your choice, dears! Joining the Famoux means always getting your choice! Chamomile or peach?"ââthat I'm almost positive Gerald is the only one who notices me slip away toward the stairs. I feel his eyes on me the whole way up.
It appears I dismissed myself from the kitchen at exactly the right time. Just as I shut my bedroom door behind me, I faintly hear a chorus of gasps, similar to the ones that ensued when Cartney and I arrived.
I rake a hand through my hair, moving through my room quickly. I can only imagine the kind of surprise and outrage going on in the other members' heads right now.
When the whole world seems to shift off the railroad tracks, sometimes all you can do is hit the breaks as hard as possible, place them again, and keep going forth. But right now I need the breaksââthe stop.
Settling into my hiding spot in the closet, I squeeze my eyes shut. Much to my dismay, the last thing I'm greeted with is darkness. About a dozen visions of what's just happened flash like a slideshow. I see their faces again, one by one.
Sam, Elle, Lex, Sarah, Lacey, Gerald.
Gerald.
A around a month after the Darkening, he'd had given me a piece of advice that I can't help myself from recalling today:
"Try not to focus on the weight of everything," he'd told me. "Hone in on details instead. Meaningless things. You might be hurting right now, but heyââlook at the color of that car we're about to walk by. Look at that girl's backpack. Look at that piece of gum on the sidewalk."
I open my eyes into the fabric of a dress I've never worn. It's satin, soft against the tip of my nose. When I breathe in I can smell flowers, like purfume.
I try hard to concentrate on itââwhat color it is, how long it'd be if I wore itââbut those little details do nothing to calm the sporadic beating in my chest. How am I supposed to concentrate now?
The vision of Gerald standing in front of me comes to mind once more, and pauses there for my consideration. I dissect it like a detective.
His eyes . . .
How did I never notice before that Gerald's eyes were green? Before becoming a Famoux member I used to pride myself in being observant; watching and noticing were the only things I could ever actually do in peace. But when the world flashes a spotlight on you, you lose your peripheral vision. In the months I had with Gerald, his eyes never once made an impression on me.
For a moment this gets me discouraged, but then I realize that even racking my memory right now, I can barely make out the color I just saw. Green or brown or red or orange. One or the other (or the other or the other). Perhaps a little bit of all four, like a wink of autumn in the middle of March.
His clothes . . .
A pink button-up. Black pants. Seeing Gerald in anything other than the traditional Famoux guard uniform is like seeing somebody you know in a dream. There they are, doing something outrageousââdoing the impossible. I pinch the skin on my arm to check, just in case. Not dreaming.
His hair . . .
Gerald's hair was never that blond before. Norax must've done somethingââadded a highlight, a tint of gold. But yet again, the only time I used to seeing his hair was when it peeked out of his uniform cap. Maybe it always was this way.
Maybe it wasn't.
Eyes, clothes, hair.
All different, but all Gerald.
"Didn't find any new hiding spots, huh?"
The skin on the back of my neck prickles up. I bore my eyes into the dress ahead of me, fingers fidgeting in my lap.
"Emeray?"
So much different about him, and yet so much is still the same. His voice isn't greener or blonder or out of uniform. His voice is his voiceââdeep, leveled, harmonious with something that can't be heard.
The seconds tick by, and the silence grows thicker.
"Emeray, you know you're visible in that spot, right?"
And so the hiding comes to a halt.
"Who the hell is F. Gerald Hobby?" I whisper into satin.
"Come on out of there and I'll tell you all about him."
xxx
Shortest chapter ever, I know, but another is coming soon! Maybe later today or early tomorrow. Today was my last official day of high school, and I'm positively sick with a sinus infection, so this Friday was all kinds of overwhelming, emotional, and tiring.
REMEMBER TO MESSAGE ME IF YOU'RE IN CANADA AND WANT TO SAY HELLO NEXT WEEK. WE CAN MAKE SOMETHING WORK!
YEAHHHH CANADA.
I hope you're having a wonderful day. And if it isn't a wonderful day, that you know how much I love you and want nothing more than for all your days to be wonderful. Remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.