HAPPY FAMOUX FRIDAY!
I'm sorry about this being a little late today! I'm moving out right now so things have been a bit hectic! Thank you for your patience!
As always, thank you for your comments! I cannot wait to make so many of you characters!!! Ahh! Remember, comment your opinions on things. Tell me who you like, what you enjoy, what you're feeling. I absolutely LOVE hearing what you're thinking!
Like, for example, a stunning large subsection of my readers are... dare I say it... GENUINELY SHIPPING CARTNEY AND EMERAY?? In my attempt to fill the "fun dude" void Foster left us, I've accidentally created a monster, it appears. But hey, if you're commenting how you love Cartney in all his "cinnamon role" glory, I'll make sure your character is well aligned with him!
(Also, what would be their ship name be? It can't be Carmeray, since that might be confused for "Carstan" instead of "Cartney." This is what I get for making all these names too similar. Luckily we'll never confuse *~Chemeray~* with ANYTHING.)
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: After Till dropped some intense info about how she's gotten a DEFED note too, how she knows about Carstan, and how she knew of Emilee Parvenu, Emeray spent the whole day at Cartney's place. You were all smart in reminding me that Cartney attended the dinner where Carstan was revealed, and that my whole "Cartney being surprised by what happened at dinner" segment was OBSOLETE. Thank you for catching that! We ended the chapter with Norax confronting Emeray, and Emeray....... ALMOST confronting Norax about Carstan. Agh! We're really ramping up the tension! And you know me, I'll do everything in my power to make the release of said tension like nothing you'll expect!
emeray
Something I always wondered about, ever since I was little, was why we put so much effort into measuring things. Distance, height, time. I imagine it must've taken awfully long to gauge everything outââto sit down all together and decide the many ways in which we'll measure our existence. Did we all sit down together one day? Or did someone call the shots themselves and fill us all in?
I, certainly, was taught what I know. The circle trail adjacent to my old school, four times around, is what I was told to call one mile. The long, long ruler set up by the door of the nurse's office, she informed us, reached up to eight feet exactly. The lessons told my classmates and I that if we were to snap, then pause, that'd be one second exactly. And if all else fails, just watch the clock, the teachers said. If you don't want to count, it'll do the counting for you.
We never seem to consider the strangeness of this circumstance. It used to frustrate me. Who were these adults to tell me how tall I was? If I want to be eight foot eleven, then why can't I measure my feet and inches on my own, in some other way? It always felt like another way to be controlled.
But I guess it's all for good reason. Without ground rules, nobody would know how to communicate. My seconds would be longer than the next guy's. My years would be the mere second of a snap in comparison to the layman's, especially nowadays with the dating contract. I guess sometimes we need to accept the way our moments are measured, just so we can assure there's some sort of cohesive rhyme and reason to the way we live.
Everything feels like a second, a blink. But I know better.
It's been three months since the Darkening.
It's been four days since Carstan showed up.
There is one more day before my birthday, March 8th.
As much as these numbers seem wrongââas much as it seems as though it's been only days since the Darkening, nearly seconds since Carstan, and a thousand million years since I last celebrated my birthday, they're all correct. Time has not shifted in a new way I've yet to learn about. Rather, it beats on, ceaselessly, whether I'm ready for it or not.
Illuminated by the soft lights beneath the kitchen counters, Norax's silhouette is unmistakable. I make out her birdlike bone structure jutting out harshly from her blazer, the crisp cut of her dress pants, the tantalizing platform of her sky-high heels. Uniformity, familiarity. She is as I've always seen her, doing what she always does: Reading from a clipboard what I'm to do with my day.
"It's going to be a full-day affair," Norax states succinctly. "In fact, it's been a multi-day affair already, as you might have noticed by your increase in public appearances."
Oh, I've noticed. Ever since I blabbed about my birthday being on March 8th during my first live interview with Ansel on Eight, the world seems to have set their calendars before the words even came out of my mouth. To live up to the grandeur expected, Buchan, Norax, and Carstan decided it would be great if Cartney took me on several very well documented dinner and club dates every night for four nights straight leading up to it. While any other time I'd probably be vexed by all this, I'm not exactly in the position right now to oppose any opportunity that gets me out of the Metropolix.
When I nod, she continues. "Good. You'll have your final Cartney dinner tonight, of course, before the big day."
"What are you planning?" I ask.
Another voice splices itself into the conversation like a dagger. At least, that's how it feels in my chest when he speaks.
"You're booked from dawn to midnight," Carstan van Horne tells me. Though I don't dare take a look at him, I wouldn't have to. I can already tell that he's reflecting his mother from the blazer to the big black clipboard. "First you'll be headed to brunch with Miss McKarrington and Miss Amaris. Next we have a small media blitz lined up before you do your usual coffee with Mr. Kirk. Then you'll be back here, prepping for dinner and the party."
As I sit back in my chair, I can't help but think about the last birthday I had. It had been one of the colder, pre-spring days in Trulivent. I'd missed all my classes that day, instead hiding in the school locker room and holding my breath whenever anyone came inside. All I wanted to do was disappear into the walls so that Carstan van Horne wouldn't fish me out and do something horrible in honor of the day I was brought into this world, dreadful as I was. Of course, he found me, like he always did. He and his gang shut me into the locker room's storage closet, and I wasn't found until the next morning.
And somehow, this year, he's throwing me a party.
"What do you mean, media blitz?" I ask Norax.
"Ask Carstan that question, lumerpa. Not me."
I look down at my own nails, turning in the general direction of him. The hint of his glinting leather shoes in my peripheral view make me nauseous.
Holding strong, I parrot, "What do you mean media blitz?"
He rakes in a deep breath, obviously annoyed by my blatant refusal to look at him. But he doesn't explode. "A series of interviews, mostly. A few trips to radio stations, news stations, places where people would want to hear from you."
"But why?"
"You have a lot of things coming up," Norax points out. "The premiere for your film with Chapter, the drop of Cartney's album... You can think of all of these things as gifts you want to remind the world about on your birthday."
"Will I be doing these interviews alone?" I ask.
"That is correct, yes."
"But if I'm telling people about Onward Train, don't you think Chapter, my co-star, should be accompanying me?"
As Norax's glare hardens, the corner of my eye catches Carstan jabbing at his printed schedule. "If we're going down that route, we'd need Cartney accompanying you too. Since you are going to be talking about the single he's releasing, 'Emeray'."
"That's fine," I say. "They can both come."
"That seems unwise," Norax says. "These are interviews happening on your birthday. It's all about you. Might I also remind you of the contract you signed?"
I gawk at her. "You can't be seriously pulling out the contract with this. It's a public interview. I'm not asking you if I can go to the end of the hallway."
Although I wish I could. Since the Darkening, Chapter's young son Callan has still been living with us in the Metropolix, but if it wasn't for his noisy piano practice, I wouldn't know it. I've only seen him a handful of times. It makes my heart yearn for the day when I used to be allowed to sit in on his lessons and practice a bit myself.
But of course, Chapter's not allowed near my room, and I'm not allowed near his, and every request I've made to put a piano in my room has mysteriously gone unheard.
"We don't need to be having a fight about this, lumerpa." Norax puts a hand to her forehead, feigning sudden exhaustion. "It's a single afternoon of interviews. You can must through them alone."
"But I just thinkââ"
"I actually like Emeray's idea."
I can't stop myself from looking straight at him. For the first time today, Carstan's gaze meets mine. His brown eyes strike the usual fear within me, but this time it's slightly numbed from my complete and utter confusion.
Norax and I speak at once: "You do?"
He shows Norax a chart within his stack of papers. "Look at the numbers. These interviews will only get more people watching if Chapter's present. People who might not like Emeray will certainly show up if they know he's there. Same can be said for Cartney. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, the more, the merrier."
While I do everything in my power to lock in my jaw and keep it from dropping, Norax refers to his charts. When she glances back up to him, there's a sudden glint of wonder in her eyes. It's so saccharine, I have to consider for a moment whether or not it's real.
"You're absolutely right," she tells him. "You're a natural-born manager, son!"
He seems a bit embarrassed. "It's just the charts."
"Give yourself more credit!" she insists. "I'll go make a call to Buchan. You can adjust Chapter's schedule."
With that, I'm dismissed from the meeting to get ready for my dinner. As I walk down hallways and staircases back to my room, I can't shake the dumbfounded look off my face. Of all people to grant me the opportunity to spend a day with Chapter, the last person I'd expect to do this is Carstan.
Despite the winter storms Colburn has endured these past few months, every single dress my designer, Teah Stollberg, has designed for me is short. A note attached to the garment bags explains that since the public was initially drawn to my legs, and since I've only been wearing dark black pants as of late, the photos of these excursions will be all the more valuable.
Tonight I choose the one that seems the longest. It's a dark black number made of this close-fitting elastic material, almost like a bandage rolled around my bodyââa very chic, designer bandage, of course. The neckline drops a little lower than I'm comfortable with, but after going through the painstaking effort of shimmying into the tight thing, I decide that taking it off may take an hour, at least, so I keep it on.
Thanks to the Fissarex cosmetics that nearly do the whole job for me, putting on makeup is a mindless activity. I use the time to think about other thingsââabout the Polaroids of potential members, about how drastically life is going to change when the ones we choose arrive at the Metropolix. As spacious as the apartment is, I'm not sure how we'll be able to house five more people without it becoming crammed.
But I suppose that's the point. By making it so crammed inside, no secrets can be hidden. Just thinking about it makes my stomach drop. Everything is going to have to be concealed. Even worse, it'll have to genuinely look like there's nothing hidden behind the curtainsââthat there aren't any curtains at all.
As I button up a dark blue corduroy coat and don a new purse filled with absolutely nothing, Gerald leads me to the front door, where Cartney and the paparazzi alike are awaiting my arrival.
He wears a grey suit and a smile, a bouquet of lilies in his hand. Our greeting is a picture perfect moment, as per usual. An excited look from me, an outstretched arm from him, an embrace, a quick kissââlong enough for the photo, but not too long so as to look just as scripted and fake as it is.
"Happy almost birthday," Cartney whispers in my ear. He extends the bouquet out to me cordially. I accept it like a kiss on the hand as he points to the car. "Shall we?"
The drive is quiet. I can't get my mind off of the new member I'll have to pick so soon. According to Norax, the Famoux has to have decided which person they'd like to mentor by the day after my birthday. Barely another day, and we'll have to know with confidence.
Time, again, feels as though it's unhinged. It can't have possibly been enough days since we were given the packet of Polaroids and told to pick new members. I thought for sure that I'd have more time to put off looking at them, making a choice, changing a life.
But time, as always, beats on.
xxx
THERE IT IS TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS.
That's right. I heard you were missing Chapter! And shipping Cartney and Emeray! So why not spice things up by putting them all in a room?? And spice it up even further by letting Carstan be the one to enable that???
Which potential member (if you remember their descriptions) do you think Emeray will pick??? What do you think is gonna go down AT HER BIRTHDAY PARTY?!?
Again, thank you for being patient with me posting late. Next time I'm late, use your Friday to catch up on THE AROTTIR by hannahgrowe!!!!
Please comment your name for me if you've been tuning in weekly. I see your comments, but some of you have different names listed on your profiles and I don't want to get it wrong!
What are your plans this weekend? Anything fun? I'm moving out of my place and seeing the new Fast and Furious movie. Maybe I'll try to see Once Upon A Time In Hollywood again too, because I can't get that movie out of my head!!
Have a wonderful weekend, Wattpad. And remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.