Note: This edit is actually one of, like, twelve edits of this photograph. So many people told me on Instagram and Twitter that they thought this picture screamed Famoux, so naturally I was like, The more edits, the merrier! I appreciate any person who takes the time to make edits because a picture reminded them of my story. Honestly, it is just so beautiful and overwhelming to know that this isn't simply something in my head anymore. We're at book two and I'm still not over it.
This chapter is late, I know. I'm kind of having one of those extreme doubt days. I kept reading through the sequels of popular books and going, "They just feel like better writers than you. Everything you're doing is wrong. Stop it." Sequels are difficult to manage. Self doubt, even more so.
That being said, I acknowledge that this is moving at a fast pace, but I really don't want this book to be a drag. I'm mostly talking to myself here, because for some reason I'm in this funk where anything exciting needs at least one hundred pages of nothingness before it can be unveiled. The Famoux is over 700 pages long because of that. I'm getting anxious about it. Don't mind me.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Cartney and Emeray visited the coffee shop because I don't know how to write a book and can't come up with anything better. You know that line from The City by the 1975, Get in the shower if it all goes wrong? I'd probably edit that lyric to be, Make Emeray get coffee if it all goes wrong.
emeray
Sometimes I find myself forgetting that I've been Emeray Essence, a Famoux member, for such a small frame of time. Although the world seems to have lifted and shattered a hundred times over, it's only really been around five months since Norax first picked me up out of my little town Red. Not even half of a year. But it's all too easy to get caught up in the whirl of how fast-paced my world has gotten.
Emilee's world used to move like molasses: The same sadness every morning, the same torment at school, the same damn tunnel with no light at the end. There were no new people to meet. There were no new chances to take. There was nothing new or old at all, reallyââjust the present, as present as it was, unchanging and unyielding.
Life in the Famoux dwarfs my past life in every aspect. The sadness around me is cogent and contagious. The torment is infinitely more intense. The tunnel has so many flashing lights along the way, I can't tell if there's an end to it at all. The sheer amount of stress and dismay and glittering grandeur I've encountered since becoming Emeray seems to be more than enough to encompass a century, if not more.
But for every groundbreaking, centurial instance in my life, there are a thousand little things I forget I've never experienced. For one, it's my first time getting through one of Colburn's famously volatile winters, not to mention my first time ever seeing a winter where it snows. My part of Eldae had been more in the south, so snow was something we spoke of, much like how a child speaks of exotic animals. We were always a little skeptical as to whether or not it actually existed.
By now, at the beginning of March, I have no doubts of snow's existence. I would've assumed the forecast would be much lighter and sunnier, like it used to be around this time in Red, but Colburn has yet to show any signs of slowing down. While Cartney and I dazzled the crowds in Wes Tegg's with our young love and vanilla lattes, Angad was busy calling in for a car to drive us home after noticing the blizzard that had erupted outside.
"Erupted?" I echoed.
"It's chilled, all right," he said, "but distinctly volcanic."
There was a very small turnout of paparazzi waiting out by the car for us, only the ones most dedicated to their craft. The others who weren't waiting to get us walking out were busy getting their incomes instead. They work at a near frightening paceââby the time our car turned the street, they'd already sent off most of their pictures from my little afternoon walk to a dozen tabloid sites.
I see a few of them now as we wait for the heaters to kick in and listen to the weather-induced static on the radio. Cartney shows them to me from a device, remarking on the headlines that grasp for any wow factor they can think of. Nobody wants to report on a somber, terribly regular day.
"Oh hey, this one claims we weren't in Notness for Onward Train," Cartney says, pressing the screen of his device with his index finger. His face contorts in a second. "Oh man. This one is really something, Ray."
"You sound thrilled."
"There's a lot to be thrilled about."
I lean back against my seat cushion, rubbing my forehead. Reading all about how little people actually know of me can get truly exhausting. "What do they think we were doing?"
He clears his throat, reading aloud. "Today, Emeray Essence and Cartney Kirk step out for the first time since a month-long trip to Brennan, Notness. Could it be that our charming couple, going on four months now, was in Brennan for much more than Emeray's movie? A source reports that they stopped stopped at many fertility doctors when they weren't on set. Readers, what do you make of this? Could this mean what we think it does?"
"How splendid," I say. "We're having a child."
"Trying to have a child," he corrects, pointing to something on his screen that I can't see. "Apparently your guard told them all about it."
"But earlier this week they were saying Gerald stole me away from you."
"And last week it was all about me and Kaytee's totally miraculous comeback. What's the truth here?"
"The truth doesn't concern anybody."
"You're right there." Cartney laughs, shifting in his seat so I can get a better view of his device. The multitude of bolded words against a white backdrop give me a headache almost immediately. "You've got to see the other things they're saying."
"I'll look later."
"This is a gallery of fine art, Ray."
"I hear all about the headlines in the Metropolix," I tell him. "We Famoux members have the worst tools to hear all the bad things people are saying about us."
"I'm intrigued," he says. "You Famoux members and your tools. Is it something like that gadget that gave you your makeover? The Fissa-whatever?"
My stomach drops, for whatever reason. Ever since Chapter and I revealed Cartney about how we used to be different people, Roman and Emilee, he's been perplexed by the way we workââthe roaring Famoux machine, and all its gritty details. If DEFED hadn't gifted him with the final clue before they took out Foster, I wouldn't be so open with things like the Fissarex. Even so, I'm never too keen on explaining it.
But keeping him in the dark isn't something I want to do. I've had more than enough of my fair share in the dark to know it's not the best place to be.
"It's sort of like the Fissarex, I guess," I answer, voice suddenly small.
Nowadays I avoid the Analytix at whatever cost. It doesn't show the Volx like it used to, before the Darkening, but I can't stop myself from getting anxious whenever Norax makes me step into it. There's always the tugging, ominous feeling that the Volx is going to suddenly come up again, comparing the surviving five of us all on an ever-moving scale. Some days I believe I can see it, even when I can't.
There are simply too many unanswered questions. When DEFED first told me their plan for the Darkening in the Analytix, they noted that they wouldn't stop their mission until there was only one of us left. So where's the Volx now? Is somebody else on the chopping block right now without even knowing it?
And why, oh why, was Bree's name on the Volx, right there among our names, like another living thing to be targeted?
Cartney prods on. "What's it called?"
"The Analytix."
"Clever. I'm guessing it analyzes?"
"Sort of," I say. "It produces lots of charts that Norax uses to track our likability. But mainly, it helps us hear what people are saying when they're saying it. If that makes any sense."
"And what do they say about me?"
I shake my head. "I only hear about you if it has something to do with me. You can only hear about yourself in the Analytix."
Just as he asks me how it works, the car slows down to a stop. His apartment. In the absence of cameramen outside his door, I don't have to leave the warmth of the car and kiss him for another photo.
"See you tomorrow," I say.
Cartney taps my nose. "Take care of the baby."
And then he steps out to brave the blizzard himself, and the car moves onward towards the Metropolix.
Only, the ride is a little longer than what I'm used to. The turn we're supposed to make comes and goes before I realize we're not going to the Metropolix at all.
By the time the car stops, the street outside the windows is foreign to me. The buildings are industrialââall monochrome and strangely ominous. Snow sheets down so fast, it looks fake. I get a bad feeling almost immediately.
Angad leads me into a building with a sleek glass door. There is no one at the front desk to greet us, only more Famoux guards keeping watch at the start of a hall.
"What is this?" I ask.
Angad shrugs. "Beats me. Since you were already in a car, Norax called and asked if we could take you to an evaluation."
"What kind of evaluation?"
"Some picture test. All classified." He chuckles. "Apparently, the people whose sole purpose in life is to be the barrier between you and a bullet aren't even allowed to know the details of where we take you."
"It's not personal," I say. "I don't get to know the details either."
"Well, aren't we special?"
He leads me down a dim hallway to a door made of metal. It's one of those tell-tale Famoux doors, with the control pad instead of a knob, and a dozen different secret codes. The same kind is supposed to block the Fissarex, the Analytixââthe important objects that we don't want being discovered.
A part of me expects some new scary contraption when Angad finally gets the door open, but all that's inside the room is a table. Three chairs on one side, two on the other. One at the head.
"Lumerpa, you made it." Norax looks cheery, as always. "The other members and I have been waiting for you."
"What is this?" I ask.
"Just sit first."
She gestures to the open spot next to Kaytee, who I realize I haven't seen for a whole month. In fact, I haven't seen much of any Famoux member for a month, minus Chapter. It's almost weird to be around themââto watch them move and shift in their seats after so long of only seeing their faces when captured in a photograph. The candids from magazines have been my only mode of knowing where they are and how they're looking, even if the captions and articles attached aren't telling me any truths.
Kaytee gives me a small smile when I take a seat. I mutter a hello. Even though it's pretty toasty inside, she's still wearing her bright blue coat, all buttoned up like she has somewhere else to be. I recall how she lent that coat to me once, when I didn't have one. So little and so long ago.
I sit across from nobody. The space where a chair and a person should've been is potent; I feel my stomach turn just looking at it, even for a moment.
Norax clears her throat, drawing our attention to the front. "I fully understand that making all of you stop your day's activities to come to this building you've never visited is discerning, to say the least."
"This place is creepy, too," Till says.
"I won't disagree. The weather is doing a superb job of keeping all the electricity in tact, so the lack of lights is making this building all the more eery. For that, I apologize. We're not doing anything scary today. It's been a while since I've had the chance to get you all in one place, so I wanted to show you a few pictures."
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 initialsââ
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 all of us have received somewhat mysterious packages. Norax has to prompt us to open them again, 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, 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 disturbing in any way.
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 detailââthere'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 polaroidââno 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 that 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 himââthe 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 rubs her chin, looking anxious. I don't blame herââeverything 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," Norax starts. "At least, not all of them. I've been doing a lot of new research with the Analytix, andââ"
"Don't tell me this is what I think it is," says Race.
She purses her lips. "These are your fans, Calsifer. They're the people who we notice 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.
"In a sense. I segmented off a certain age group and weeded through those prospects until I found ones that seemed best. Some of our representatives visited them earlier this month to take those polaroids."
"Why would you do that?"
"I'm sure you're aware of how the tabloids have been painting you each of you in more of a negative light nowadays," she says. "Race, they are particularly accusing you of not caring enough about your admirers."
His jaw sets. "Everybody knows those are lies."
"Some might, but it's hard to manage every human being's thoughts. You could reach out to someone in a crowd, and their opinion could change before your hand has even touched theirs. I think it's very important for us to reconnect with the loyal peopleââthe ones who continually see the Famoux as something grand and beautiful."
"So what are we going to do with them?" Kaytee asks. "Parade them around for a day so everybody can take pictures?"
"I wasn't thinking a day, really."
"What were you thinking?"
My eyes fall back onto the space across me. I fidget with the corners of my polaroids as Norax starts her explanation.
"I don't think a day would do this justice. I fear that would backfire somehowââthe press always knows how to make the best intentions look sinister. Preferably, I'd like you to pick one or two of these fans who you feel you could connect with, like an advisor of sorts. Do you understand?"
Narrowing my eyes, I consider Norax's plan.
Choosing a fan, mentoring them.
But for what?
"Wait," I say. My mind fuzzes up almost immediately, feeling the pieces come together. "Do you . . ."
Chapter looks down at his polaroids, completing my thought. "You want us to choose a new Famoux member, don't you?"
"Not just one," Norax says. "One for each of you."
xxx
OKAY OKAY. GAHHHHH. THAT.
Tell me what you think. If you think this is happening too soon, please don't tell me that. I'm already thinking it in my head. I'm just trying to roll with it. ASDGFDHJKL.
I hope you're as excited about this as I am. Things are about to get so SO interesting, I promise you. I really just want to be able to hand you the whole book and sit there with you while you read it. I can't even handle how many ideas I've had about this. You need to know everything right now.
Chapter was looking at a purple haired girl back there, so I want you to go look at my favorite purple haired girl, ElleRoseBooks. If you want a perfectly paced story that puts all of my words to shame, read The Arottir. You will absolutely love it, I guarantee.
Okay, that's all for today. I hope you know how special you are. And remember this:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.