The Classix

(OLD) Chapter 23

    My jaw drops. An early breakup.

    Before I can answer him, he puts his hand on the doorknob.

    "Just think about it," he says, then pushes the door open.

    We're greeted by Angad standing rigid, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's time to leave, now," he says. He glares at Cartney. "And no visitors tonight. Just Emeray. Norax wants to have a word with her."

    Cartney salutes dramatically. "Understandable, sir."

    On the drive back to the Hideaway, I consider Cartney's offer. As much as I want to disregard his idea, he's onto something. When DEFED threatened The Famoux the first time, they wanted each of us to do everything in our power to become the most popular member of them all. Back then, likability was the only way to secure our lives and make it through the Darkening in tact. But as they told me in their letter before my birthday, I'm not their "favorite" anymore. They don't want to see me become the most popular Famoux member this time around, they want to see the whole world united against me.

    Cartney shows up at the Hideaway early the next morning, bringing with him a bouquet of lilies and a flock of paparazzi. Guards escort him into the massive front hall, calling me down from my room to meet him.

    As I go down the stairs, I examine his outfit: Black jeans, fingerless gloves, moto jacket––the jacket he bought when he noticed me wearing so much of one color.

    "I get the black clothes," he'd told me then. "You guys were good friends."

    Foster.

    When dealing with Foster, DEFED cheated their own game by getting involved. They broke up his relationship with Marilyn on purpose, only to find Kaytee and Race running themselves into the ground the next week. It didn't matter that they became more hated than Foster in the end––they'd already made up their minds. They always had it planned that their "Doctor Foster" would be the one who'd perish in the Fishbowl. Even if he'd fought back, he still would've lost.

    But what if fighting back wasn't the point at all?

    What if the best way to win a game is to not only follow your opponent's rules, but to take complete control of them?

    When I reach Cartney at the ground floor, I reach out and touch one of the lilies. Its petals are soft, like silk.

    "You brought mourning flowers," I note.

    He smiles. "For the death of our careers."

    "I can't believe we're going this."

    "So we are doing this?"

    I nod toward the hallway. "Would you like to join us for breakfast?"

    For the next two weeks leading up to my return to the set of Onward Train, Cartney and I play DEFED's game like pros. Our keyword unnecessary goes completely out the window. From now on, everything is necessary in overabundance.

    We become inseparable: Every morning he visits the Hideaway with a fresh bouquet of flowers, sitting in on our group breakfasts like an honorary Famoux member. We then leave the house together for a packed day of heavily documented shopping trips, romantic lunches, visits to his studio––anything we can be seen doing together. The more variety we can add to our day, the better. That way, there's always a new activity for the magazines and newscasts to touch upon.

    It becomes a daily question: What did Cartney and Emeray do today?

    At least two hours of every afternoon is dedicated to walking around different parts of the city, gazing lovingly at one another with the paparazzi hot on our heels. To add a little more dialogue to our relationship for the tabloids, we've decided to actually answer all of their questions as we go by.