Chapter 79: *chapter six*

Happy Sunday, Wattpad!

Wrote today's chapter while binge watching the new Stranger Things season in one sitting yesterday. I laughed, I cried, I full on WEPT. I had an existential crisis about growing up. I got overwhelmed by the masterful juggling of an ensemble cast. You know, the usual feelings you feel when writing!

Today's chapter is long as hell. I think 5000 words? FIVE THOUSAND! On a random Sunday! Don't say I never fed you well, bb!

Without further ado, let's get into this! ONWARD!!

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Carstan (or as some like to call him, CarSATAN) is here! He's gonna be a new Famoux advisor! But why? What purpose will he serve???? It's time for our Scooby Doo Gang to find out, huh?

emeray

On account of Eldae's lack of extensive, tumultuous history, most of the classes in my school were studies on the customs and cultures of our two neighboring nations, Notness and Betnedoor. I enjoyed these classes tremendously. It was a form of escapism––a mode of introducing myself to cities and towns that were different, nuanced. Betnedoor housed the Famoux in their glittering, bustling capital city. Notness apparently had more gorgeous natural splendors than all the rest combined. When my mother fled, she likely ended up in one of those places. And soaking up the pictures in my textbooks, I couldn't blame her. All I ever wanted to do was run away as well.

For every good and exciting anecdote, however, there were facets to these nations that made me uneasy. One of my least favorite lessons of all was the one on prisons––on the huge, gaping penitentiaries that stood on their outskirts of cities. The punishments lurking behind their cement walls used to make my skin crawl.

In Notness, the undisputed intelligence-capital of the world, torture is turned into a science. A criminal, upon sentence, is to become the newest case-study, and is thus made into a point of reference, a grasp at understanding the darker shades of a human being. And to really capture those shades, well, the tests aren't always the most humane. I've heard horror stories of burning, faulty surgeries, and purposeful drowning over lectures my fellow students blinked through with lackadaisical focus. The way they could become so desensitized to the terrors in their notebooks never ceased to astonish me.

But despite the eeriness Notness supplied, conditions were by far the cruelest in Betnedoor: Crammed living accommodations, infrequent meals, and a time stamp for execution on everyone, regardless of their crime. It could be murder. It could be theft. Either way, a date was always made, and the sentenced would have to live out their few moments left in those dark and desolate quarters knowing exactly what was going to come next. That was how they kept the peace in a nation so massive––through indescribable fear.

Eldae, unlike the others, is a place with very few structured systems at all, much less a real jail. But that was no matter. Perhaps it wasn't on a scale quite as grand as theirs, but for a long time I dreaded those lessons for the way they made me feel like I was trapped in my own sort of prison. Like those in Notness, I knew of burns, and cuts, and drowning. Like those in Betnedoor, I knew of unfair punishment. And like any convict, I knew of the endless dream of unreachable things––the dream of a second chance, a new life, a fairy godmother from an old nursery rhyme swooping in to save me from everything bad and scary in the world. And while I was busy dreading these classes whenever they came up, I knew more than a few people who relished in them––who treated the teacher's lengthy presentations like they were hearing a coach give pointers before a big game.

Those people, of course, were who they always were:

Carstan, Felix, and their gang of friends.

And the big game, of course, was what it always was:

Torturing me.

And so, after years and years and years of my life being detained by Carstan van Horne, I would be lying if I didn't say that when I first joined the Famoux it felt, in some ways, like escaping one of those high lock-down prisons. For the first time in my life, the dream was real, and it was happening.

I had a second chance.

I had a new life.

Norax Geddes, my fairy god mother from an old nursery rhyme had come around, and she'd saved me from him. From her own flesh and blood.

But how was I supposed to know that sometimes inmates are never really free? That sometimes they just get moved somewhere else? And how was I supposed to know that the one person who imprisoned me my whole life––the one person I'd been saved from––would someday willingly join my sentence? Become my warden once more?

"I believe you've all met my son Carstan once before," Norax says. She reaches out to him, patting his shoulder with a smile. "At Bree's gala."

And before then, I think. And before then.

From my seat a few feet away from Carstan, I can pinpoint a thousand things I want to do in this very moment. First, I want to scream. Then, I want to stand up, to push back my chair so roughly that it breaks in its descent to the floor. And then I want to grab the nearest object and hurl it at his head––to yell and throw and finally cause some damage for all of the damage he's caused me.

I want to do all of these things, but I simply won't budge. Legs crossed with no sign of movement, I can't bring myself to respond to the situation at hand in any way past total and utter paralysis. The only feeling I can remotely register is Chapter and Cartney's hands gripping on mine in tandem.

Luckily, I'm not the only one who can't quite figure out how to respond. The other members, though generally unaware of the lengths of Carstan's association with me, don't jump up and start cheering at this news. They, like me, are silent. Confused. Considering the way they've only regarded him as a passing joke since meeting him at the gala, no one here really expected to see much of him ever again.

I keep my eyes glued to the table, concentrating on the slender silver butter knife in front of me. I suddenly long for the metal surface to double in length––to put more distance between me and the boy whose way of breathing is enough to make me feel in danger all over again. To my chagrin, the table doesn't grow, no matter how hard I concentrate. I can't ignore the view of his hands in my peripheral eyeshot.

Norax starts saying something more, something about how, We've been coming up with plans . . . but I can't hear any of it. My head is pounding. My heart is pounding. Again, I get the urge to get up and scream, but my limbs feel like they're another part of the table, another piece of immovable metal. Why can't I get up? Why can't I be Emeray––the girl that Carstan has never had the upper hand with? Why can't I––

"Lumerpa?"

I recognize the voice to be Norax's, but I can't bring myself to look at her. That would mean having to face the faces at this table. When I snap my head up, I turn instantly it to my left, assuring that the first face I see is Chapter's. I keep my eyes on him while I answer.

"Sorry," I say.

I don't want to apologize, but it's the first thing I can think of, and the only thing I can get out. Speaking is harder than I expected: I suddenly become aware of how hard I'm shaking, and how prevalent it shows up in my voice.

"You're fine, dear," says Norax. Again, her voice is cheery. Too cheery. Can't she see my panic, even just a hint? "Were you daydreaming?"

I wish I was. But instead of saying this, I shake my head.

"Good," she says. "Because I would like all of your undivided attentions here. I'm sure you're wondering why I called in for backup like this. I know you are going to expect an explanation for why I made this choice, and what plans we have for the future. Like always, there is a very good reason behind my decisions, and I promise you that you're going to adore the changes we're making."

There's a pause. She smiles wider, then continues.

"I've been talking to Carstan, and he knows just the thing to bring you all together. You see, he's been thinking about you all for a while, and––"

"Actually."

With this one word, all eyes dart to the other side of the table––mine included, despite my best judgement. As the initial feeling of looking directly at him singes through me, I steady my posture and force myself to stay composed, to stay calm. I remind myself that somehow, even though there are high-stakes contracts against it, Chapter's hand is still in mine in this moment. Being next to someone I love . . . that alone is a drastic difference from how it used to be when I was forced to face Carstan van Horne. If anything, that's a good place to start.

"What was that, Carstan?" Norax asks.

His voice is crisp and cool. I can almost feel Clarus Creek again––the water, the ice. I have to breathe in deep to remind myself I'm not drowning.

"If you don't mind," he says, "I would like to explain things for myself."

There's a strange formality to their correspondence. Though mother and son, everything about they way they communicate feels strictly business, not personal. From her watchful stance, Norax has her hands folded in front of her in the fashion of a boss observing an employee's progress. Thinking about it now, that isn't all that far from the truth.

"Of course you can," she tells him. Then, to emulate a democracy, she asks us, "Would you mind if Carstan explained in his own words?"

Her question is met with shrugs. Carstan takes it as a yes, clearing his throat. Just as he opens his mouth, I can feel my pulse rise to tantalizing heights––the same heights I used to feel at the end of every school day back in my old life, in my old prison.

"For a good part of my life, I have had the opportunity to view the Famoux from an outsider's perspective," Carstan van Horne tells us. "I know that might sound a little odd, considering that this group has been a part of my family since it's inception, but it's the honest truth."

Like someone who's been practicing their performance, Carstan has been regarding and making eye contact with numerous people at the table while talking. At the end of this particular sentence, his gaze goes to me. While my first instinct is to drop my eyes to the floor, I stand my ground, planting my feet firmly on the floor below my chair.

I'm here, I tell myself. I'm here.

Not in that small town Red back in Eldae. Not in my school.

Here.

As easily as they fell on me, Carstan's eyes move on. He's not focusing on me anyway. He's focused on the speech ahead of him.

"As you all know, my grandfather, the great Lennix Dax, ran the first generation of the Famoux, and my uncle, Bendix, was one of those establishing members. As you also know, my mother here stayed behind the scenes, and she ultimately took on the role of manager after her father a few years ago, thus creating the new generation––you guys."

He takes a breath, a pause. "When she ascended that throne, I realized that my fate in the family business was basically sealed––that I would do the same that she did in a few decades time, and I'd make my own generation of Famoux members to watch and manage. So naturally, I rejected that fate. I decided that I didn't like the Famoux, and presented myself as so. The people I hung out with were people who shared that sentiment."

I wrack my brain for some kind of specific reaction from Carstan back at school––for some kind of indication that he might be connected to that gleaming, distant world in Betnedoor––but I can't recall anything special. For a moment I'm frustrated. How could he have gone for his entire life not boasting about his mother? Someone like him?

Chapter seems to read my mind. He clears this throat. "If you don't mind me asking, how were your . . . um, friends not aware of your relation to Norax?"

While his words are diplomatic, his voice is distinctly cold. It makes Carstan wince. As he glances to his mother for security, Chapter hums a laugh. This is not too different from it was at the gala: Chapter being blunt and unapologetic, and Carstan sitting around trying to pinpoint what he did to make him so cross.

After all the dust of the Darkening settled and they met up again, I wonder if Carstan ever asked Norax about it, and what she might've told him in reply. Perhaps she offered some elaborate lie about Chapter actually being a jerk in person. Perhaps she made a quick excuse and dismissed the subject. Or perhaps she told him the truth––that Chapter is my boyfriend, and that for this reason he hated him by default, because I'm not just Emeray, but also that sad little Emilee Parvenu he used to torment.

But I don't know that for sure. All I know is that Carstan is our new advisor, and that if his induction into this world is anything like mine, he knows absolutely nothing about our pasts, and it might take him a while to, if he ever will.

I'm taken out of my thoughts when Carstan speaks again, this time answering Chapter's question. He regards him with as much composure as he can manage.

"Well, I'm sure you can imagine the kind of dangers one could face if people knew his mother ran the biggest celebrity group in the world," he says. He seems to gain his confidence the longer he speaks. This is yet another speech he's practiced. He's in his element again. "There are too many people who might try to reap the benefits they'd hope to find in that kind of arrangement, so from a young age I was advised not to advertise my family's status. And so, when I decided to start hating the Famoux, no one asked any questions. I was able to assimilate myself into a group of haters easily."

My brow furrows. Assimilate into a group? My mind flashes back to a number of occasions in which he and Felix and all of their friends bashed the Famoux. Some of them date back as far as when we were nearly eight years old––long before Norax became the manager and created this new generation. The timing doesn't add up.

"Wait, wait you're lying," I say.

Norax's jaw drops. "Lumerpa––"

"You have had those friends for years, and you've also those hateful feelings toward the Famoux for years too. You didn't just decide to hate them. That's a––"

Right there, I stop, realizing that I'm actually saying this all out loud. I'm not sure what I expected to get out of this sudden addition to the conversation, but I regret my addition immediately.

A surge of adrenaline kicks in when the focus in the room is pulled from Carstan over to me. I'm met with six faces of both shock and confusion. The shock is from the other members. They seem to scream, Why did you say that? Why would you KNOW that? and I can't blame them for a second since I'm shouting it all inside my head too.

"I beg your pardon?" Carstan asks me. "How can you so confidently say that I'm lying, Miss Essence?"

And suddenly I can't speak. "I . . . um . . ."

All I want to do at this point is sink into the floor and never return, but at it's too late to dismiss my statement. I backed myself into this one all on my own.

"I'm––I––I just . . ."

I scratch the back of my neck, trying to find a way to cover my tracks. There's no way to explain this without telling him who I am, and there's not a chance in hell I'll do that. I finally decide to fold, accepting defeat.

"I was . . . making a snap judgement," I say. "And I apologize. I guess you just seemed like you would have always hated the Famoux, you know, given the way you grew up with it and everything. I don't know what I was saying there."

There is no indication on Carstan van Horne's face the that he even remotely believes in the lie I just told him. He looks at me for a long moment before speaking again––long enough to make me feel terribly uncomfortable.

"You apology is accepted," he says blankly. "Now, could I carry on?"

I nod, looking back down at the table.

"Okay." He rakes a hand through his hair, clearing his throat once more. "As I was saying before, I became friends with others who also hated the Famoux, and for a while I felt very content with having this group of likeminded people. But Norax over here––well, she started taking notice of my behavior. She didn't have the ability to see me everyday, but she advised my father to do what he could to make me respect her family's business again. And what my father did was this: He told me that he didn't care who I hung out with. He told me that if I didn't want to be a part of the business, I didn't have to. He told me I was allowed to hate the Famoux, because hell, he did too."

Carstan stops, glances over to Norax. She nods. He continues.

"I know she doesn't reveal much of it to you guys, since it's not something we discuss a lot, but you should probably know that my father and my mother don't have the best relationship. But even though she wasn't around for as much of my childhood as I would've liked, I have always loved my mother best. Hearing my dad say all of that too me . . . it just solidified it. I knew I had to take my rightful part in the family business, and I intended to make myself useful in doing so.

"And so, over the last few months I took what I learned from that group of friends and I wrote everything down––everything they ever told me. Every comment on a rumor, every detail they loathe. I wanted to know exactly what the critics with the most unwavering opinions on this institution had to say, because if we could be able to make changes that even they enjoy . . ." He takes a moment to marvel at the idea. "Well, the possibilities to what we could do with that kind of impact are limitless."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," says Chapter.

In a flicker, Carstan's eyes go from friendly to fuming. My heart drops at the familiarity, at how easily I've seen this switch be made.

"What is it?" he asks.

"What the hell do you mean when you say the possibilities are limitless? What kind of plan do you have?"

"Chapter," Norax warns. "Don't––"

"I mean exactly what I said," Carstan interrupts. "If we have control over those who particularly dislike us, we have control over anything––over anyone. I intend on harnessing that to the fullest. Is there something wrong with that?"

"A lot wrong, yes. We already have the Analytix. We're trying to sway audience reactions as much as possible. Frankly, I don't think you understand how unpredictable people can be. You can't just control them."

His nose crinkles. "What is your issue with me, Chapter? We have met a total of two times, and in both of them you have treated me with no respect."

"You don't get my respect so easily."

"So you respect absolutely no one until they earn it, is that right?"

"That's incorrect, no."

He inhales sharply. "So like I said before: What is your issue with me?"

Chapter shrugs. "You're just special, I guess."

The chair gives an awful shriek against the floor as Carstan pushes it back, standing up with a burst of aggression. He moves away from us, pacing the open area around our table as silence settles like dust.

"Inconsiderate," he mumbles. "Inconsiderate."

As far as I know, Carstan van Horne is only used to dealing with people who let him have the power––people who are too insecure to do anything about it. That's how it used to be with him and his friends, who blindly followed his lead. It's how it used to be with him and I, when fighting back proved to be impossible. None of my attempts at retaliation stuck any better than the wrong side of a magnet.

I turn to Chapter, whose eyes are trained firmly on Carstan. I notice how his anger is kept inside, tensed up in his muscles. In comparison to the sudden rupture of energy from our newest member, he is contained. No big outbursts or yelling fits, no punching at the air or throwing the blame on others like I've seen happen with Race or any of the others.

"Just cool off, buddy," Chapter says, amused.

"The amount of insensitivity in this room––"

"Do you really want to preach about insensitivity?"

Carstan shakes his head, missing the point. But how could I expect him to know it? "I have done nothing to anyone here that merits this sort of unwelcoming reaction, especially from you. In spite of your less-than-kind greeting for me at Bree Arch's gala, I was still told that you were one of the most accepting members of this group."

He glances over to Chapter, to me. He gestures sourly.

"The two of you have been so quick to question my integrity. Me, someone who is coming into your lives to make them even better than you could ever imagine. Someone you should be graciously welcoming in."

Carstan stops pacing when he reaches his chair, choosing to stand behind it and regard us all at a taller height. He looks directly at Chapter as he carries on.

"Norax has told me before that there is a lot of animosity in this group. I can see it in the way you have all been so quick to judge me. But I am a forgiving man. I won't hold this against you in the future."

He looks away from Chapter, starting up again with his speech.

"As I've been told, a fringe group called DEFED managed to feed on your insecurities a few months ago. They fostered an environment of being secretive, conniving, and backstabbing with the stakes of self-preservation. They turned you against one another, and you turned willingly. They made you believe you had no option if you wanted to live, and you believed them. But the thing is, DEFED always had their target in mind. We're not sure why, but according to all analytics and evidence, there's absolutely no reason for Foster Farrand to have been killed. To be truthful, if they were following their threat, Kaytee McKarrington wouldn't be with us at this table."

A rush of ice fills the air in his pause. Kaytee shifts in her seat, perhaps to remind herself that she's at this table, alive.

"DEFED messed with this group with the soul purpose of ruining it from the inside. By succumbing to the competitive nature they want you to succumb to, you are letting them win. Because while you all might believe you're putting up good facades in public, the world can see right through the insincerity in your interactions as a unit. They can tell that you all hate each other behind closed doors. And the image that my mother has spent years promoting––that portrait of group so glamorous, everyone would die to be in it––will fade if you are not careful. Even your most dedicated fans will begin to feel like all you are is a group of fake people doing fake things for money." He shakes his head, putting a hand to his forehead. "Frankly, I can't let you carry on that path."

I have absolutely no idea what to think of all this. Here he is––the boy who spent his entire life hating the Famoux, hating me, trying to cut into my new life and tell me that everything I've been doing is wrong. Maybe some of what he's saying is true. Maybe we do need to make changes. But it doesn't––it doesn't just erase everything he ever did to me in the years leading up to this very moment. And after so fatefully escaping the prison he built my life to be, I refuse to believe that he could be my only solution to make things better.

It's impossible.

"My plan moving forward is simple," Carstan says. "I am going to be fulfilling my duties exactly as planned for me." He looks to Norax, who's now holding a stack of files in her arms. "You can pass out the photos now."

She moves around the table, setting down five yellow manilla folders one by one in front of us, like placemats. On the tab of each is our initials––

EE, CS, TA, KM, CR.

We don't open them immediately. Not only has it been a while since all of us were in the same place at the same time, but a long while since most of us have received somewhat mysterious packages. Norax has to prompt us to open them, and I make the mistake of catching her eye as she says it. Now I have no choice but to be the first one to open up my file.

Peering up at the empty space for a chair across me once more, I brusquely dump the contents of my folder. If Norax wanted me to be gentle with the contents her son so carefully compiled, she should have told me. She should tell us a lot of things.

All of my pictures slide out flipped over. They're polaroids. I can feel the other members watching me as they slowly start opening their own folders. Their fingers move at glacial paces, as though they don't want to fully open their files if the contents of mine are at all disturbing.

I'm not sure what it is I was expecting to see on the front side of the first polaroid I choose to flip, but it's not what I expect in the least.

A boy's face. The camera flash reveals a great amount of detail––there's a ring of fire around his pupils that slowly fades into a clean shade of olive.

Hazel eyes. I don't see hazel too often.

Looking further, I notice spots of acne on his forehead, light hairs surfacing on his upper lip. He isn't smiling or frowning, just staring intently, as if he was once pulled aside and taught that undivided attention is important.

There's no writing at the bottom of the polaroid––no name to the face. The rest of the polaroids follow suit.

A girl, blue eyes and blonde hair, cheeks ruddy like her full lips. I feel as though I've seen them before, though I know I haven't. Her facial structure makes me remember that cheekbones exist; I hadn't realized they could be prominent.

Another girl, smooth skin, eyes the color and shape of an almond. Her hair is cropped by her ears, which reminds me of Till.

Lastly, a boy who, if he's from Eldae, must be my brother's age. My heart lurches the moment I see him––the white hair, the light eyes. There's a split second where I believe it really is Dalton, and that Norax has found him like she told me she would.

But it isn't. She hasn't.

"Who are these people?" Kaytee asks. "Did we get the same ones?"

I show her my polaroids. They're different from hers.

Till runs a hand through her hair, looking anxious. I don't blame her––everything about this member meeting feels off. "Well, have we met them before? Like, maybe at Ace or an after party for something?"

"I feel like I would remember this hair," Chapter says. He turns the polaroid in his hands to reveal a girl with green eyes and bright, almost electric purple hair, smirking at the camera like she knows all of its secrets.

"You haven't met them before," Carstan starts. "At least, not all of them. I've been doing a lot of new research with the Analytix, and––"

"Don't tell me this is what I think it is," says Race.

Norax purses her lips. "These are your fans, Calsifer. They're the people who we noticed talk about each of you the most."

"So, they're our biggest fans?"

I look back down at my photos. The hazel I never see, the prominent cheekbones, the almond shaped eyes, the boy who looks like my brother.

"Your biggest fans . . . In a sense," Carstan says. "We segmented off a certain age group and weeded through those prospects until we found ones that seemed best."

"And some of our representatives visited them earlier this month," Norax adds. "To take the polaroids."

"So what are we going to do with them?" Kaytee asks. "Parade them around for a day so everybody can take pictures?"

Carstan hesitates. "I wasn't thinking a day, really."

"What . . . were you thinking?"

"I'd like you all to pick one of these fans who you feel you could connect with," he says. "I know I will be their main advisor, but I would like you to be advising this group of budding stars as well. I'd like you to mentor them."

"Wait," Chapter says. "What do you mean, you'd be their advisor?"

Carstan's lips flicker up into a wicked, wicked smile. "As I've told you all, it is my destiny as a member of this family to be the future manager of the next Famoux generation. While I could wait for you all to lose your momentum, I am grabbing my torch early. I am creating the new age, right here, right now. Today."

xxx

THERE YOU GO TELLL ME YOUR THOUGGGGGHTS!

So yes, we're combining drafts a bit. Carstan is not a new member, the new members of the past are back! Of course, they're going to be a bit different. We went off the rails with some of them last time. BUT GET PUMPED! IT'S ALL COMING TOGETHER NOW!

Currently I'm at around page 60 in my Word document. If we were pacing this like a TV show, the end of chapter 5 would've been the end of episode 1! ONE! Granted, it would've been a PACKED first episode, but episodes of television are often quite packed as is. It feels strangely correct to be pacing the book this way. I might mess around and start adapting this series to television. Even though I only ever write sitcom scripts, I'm so fired up and excited after Stranger Things yesterday that I'm thinking, hell YEAH, why not write a drama series???

If I feel like my scripts actually have something to them, would you want me to post them here? Episodes of The Famoux? Better yet, could Wattpad pick that up as a TV show? (Dream BIG lol.)

I love you so much for being here. I'm feeling so nostalgic and excited about life right now, as I usually do when I finish watching shows or movies. Life is just so exciting and I'm so glad you've chosen to join mine in this way by showing up for these chapters. You have so many better things to do, and the fact that you're here... I do not ever take that for granted.

I hope you have a wonderful Sunday, Wattpad. See you on Friday? Cool. See you then. Remember:

Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.