The Classix

(OLD) Chapter 10

    "Why wouldn't it be a victory?" I asked. But I already knew.

    He tugged nervously on the lapels of his leather jacket. "Well, if they could put the ring in my room a million times before dinner, they probably could've put it in my hand without me noticing. Don't you think it's a little weird, Ray?"

    Instinctively, I glanced down at my wrist. I could see it peeking out of my coat with every step, the white curve of a C.

    DEFED was once able to have me and some of the other members actually branded in the middle of the club with only a minimal stir from onlookers. To put a ring somewhere in the party would've been a cake walk. Every turn, every glass, every gift––they were all perfectly viable options to plant a ring without anyone noticing.

    Of course I think it's weird that it didn't show up. It should've.

    "What do you think that means?" I asked.

    "I think they're saving it for later. We were expecting your birthday, right? That's probably what they wanted. Now the ring can show up any day without a warning, just when we start to think they've forgotten about it or something."

    My voice went flat. "That sounds wonderful."

    After that, our walk was silent, discounting the two dozen cameramen barking at us the whole way home.   

    As I approach the Analytix this evening, I meet Till at the door. She looks calm at first, but her entire disposition gets darker when she looks at me. Since we established at the birthday breakfast that my gift from DEFED was the only minatory one in the bunch, the other members have been looking at me me like they'd look at an animal getting loaded on a truck to a slaughterhouse.

    I'll admit that Till does a better job at hiding her emotions than the others. I'm sure it's from personal experience; as the member who spent the longest time at the bottom of the Volx, and for a while seemed to be the assumed member who wouldn't make it past the Darkening, Till Amaris has seen her fair share of pitying looks. She's too self-aware to let herself look at me the way me and the others used to.

    Despite, she can't help but flinch. "Oh, hey Emeray, you surprised me," she says, pretending I've caught her off guard.

    "Hey," I say. "Anything new for you in the Analytix?"

    "Just the ongoing rumor that I'm somehow secretly dating Race." She hums a laugh. "Apparently a t-shirt I wore a couple days ago looked too masculine to be mine. Reporters were going off about how they talked to Kaytee, and she's livid!"

    "Livid," I remark. "That's a new word."

    "Indeed. Looks to me like they're trying to expand their vocabulary past betrayed! and blindsided!"

    "Those are always the most popular words." I picture the headlines I've been seeing on my walks with Cartney. "Seems like we're reportedly betrayed and blindsided all the time nowadays, doesn't it?"

    Till cocks her head. "Just reportedly?"

    I feel in my chest a quick strike of grief. My speech turns to sputters. "DEFED might've blindsided me, sure, but I wouldn't really say it counts as a betrayal . . . you know, since they weren't really on anybody's side at first––"

    "No, no," she interrupts. "I'm not talking about DEFED. Do you think I'm that insensitive to your feelings?"

    "Then who were you talking about?"

    She shrugs, and then I get it. Norax. Her disappearance for the past few days can certainly be seen as a betrayal, a blindside, but I don't see it that way yet. Betrayal is promising to be there and breaking that promise. A blindside is slipping away and never, ever returning.

    I tell her that. She shrugs again. "Hasn't Norax done more than enough betraying and blindsiding these past few months?" she asks.

    "Well, I don't know."

    "Oh, come on. You know."

    "Why do you hate Norax?"

    Till puts her hands up. "The dating contracts? The busy workload? The constant forceful compliance? Why don't you hate her?"

    "I . . . I can't," I say, and it's true. No matter how many times she gives me a reason to, and no matter how many times I consider it and consider it over in my head, I can't. "I just think there are positive things that outweigh it all."

    "Like what?"

    "Well, she saved us," I point out. "She made us better––"

    "Better? Like I wasn't already good enough?"

    My lips purse. A month or so ago Chapter told me that, as Famoux members, we are all glass people––glass cups, if you will, filled at different levels like fishbowls. From this theory I gathered my own thinking: I am a naturally sensitive person, so I'm more prone to over-analyzation, and over-thinking, and overflowing my glass. Kaytee, on the contrary, panics when the water hits. She feels like she's under attack the moment something disrupts her peace, and so she pours most of the water out.

    But Till is different. She isn't overflowing, and she isn't shallow. She is full––full like somebody who knows the top of her glass, and how much she can handle. Full like somebody who is so level-headed, she doesn't always understand the way I teeter. Sometimes this means we don't mesh. Sometimes this means it's hard to take her words without taking them to heart like I do.

    She takes in a sharp breath. "Norax took me in telling me I was perfect just the way I was, only to lead me to a room and change me. My bone structure, my skin, my name. I'm sure she told you the same thing. But I get that you don't hate her––I wouldn't hate her if she loved me like she loves you. You're the youngest, the freshest. I was the first person she took in, out of all of us. She's as done with me as I am with her."

    This has been the running assumption among the Famoux members for a while now––that I'm Norax's favorite. I'm the only one with a special little nickname like lumerpa. I'm her little bright thing.

    My brother Dalton was always my mother's favorite. This meant crushing pressure on his end to be the best, the brightest. She expected him to be perfect, perhaps because I was so flawed by default, and he bent over backwards making sure he fit her image. Her praise was enough a prize––it made him happy, whole. Being this person for Norax, I can't help but follow right in my brother's footsteps.

    In my silence, Till clears her throat, gesturing to the door for the Analytix. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

    When I return to the kitchen an hour later, Norax's coat hanger is still empty.

xxx

Wow. Till exists.

I'll be updating again this week, because this one was short and hella boring. (Ah, gotta love slang. I started saying "hella" as a joke and frankly, I can't stop.) I hope you liked it regardless!

I promise I'm planning this book as fast as I can. All my plans for this one in the past have been horrible. I feel like I'm back to square one with this, and it's totally terrifying. GAH.

Please comment the name of yourself AND your story. Now that I'm a published author (!!!!!!!) I would love to give you my totally unqualified published author opinion. In other words, I'd love to comment all over your story, "WHY ISN'T THIS WINNING PRINTZ AWARDS OR SOMETHING?????" I've read so many stories you've recommended here, and I honestly have no idea why you waste your time with my little novel when you are SO GOOD AT WRITING. It's astounding. I am thankful for you.

Have a lovely Tuesday, Wattpad. I'm wishing myself a Happy Publishing Day with a cake pop. Any excuse to eat a cake pop is a good one.

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