The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter FIVE

    "I get the black clothes," he said, voice low. "Chapter told me you and Foster were good friends. So, if you can listen to Kaytee's songs on repeat for me, I can wear this jacket for as long as you need me to."

    "Chapter told you that?"

    He shrugged. "If not friends, we are perfect allies."

    The list of nice things Cartney Kirk has done for me is a short one, but it doesn't diminish how much those nice things mean. He's worn the jacket nearly everyday since.

    By now, the weather has taken its toll on the poor thing. It might be durable, but it definitely wasn't built to outlast the sort of snow Colburn gets. From the corner of my eye, I peer at the leather: What was once glossy and dark has been gnarled to a faded grey. I believe I almost like it better this way.

    "Aw, Ray, are you admiring your boyfriend?"

    Cartney's grin makes me blush. "Oh, shut it."

    The number of cameramen start to die down as fresh snow begins falling. It takes only a minute or two before the last trickle of them give up and duck into new storefronts. Without the pressure to pose for more pictures, I burrow my face further into the collar of my jacket, feeling the temperature dip significantly.

    "Um, Ray?" Cartney says. His teeth are audibly chattering over the music. "Do you think it'd be possible for us to stop in someplace where warmth exists?"

    "Why don't we get some coffee then?" I offer. "Wes Tegg's?"

    This makes him chuckle. "What is with it with you and that coffee shop? Do they, like, pay you to go there?"

    "I just like the staff," I say. "It's all young people."

    "Probably the same young people who've been torturing your fellow Famoux members on all avenues of communication."

    I give him a look. "Don't pretend like they don't torture us too."

    "Oh, come on now. They work to our advantage, Ray."

    "By posting all those horrible lies? It feels like they're only getting more brutal the more people like us."

    "Which only makes our fans more ardent and defensive." He taps his head. "They know what they're doing with those headlines. They know how many devotees are going to purchase copy just to get it off the shelf. People like saving the heroes, and that's what we are right now. As for Kaytee and . . . well, you know . . ."

    I nod. "Do you think we'll ever be the villains?"

    "If we stop doing our jobs right," he says. "That's why we're out here, walking in below freezing temperatures like this."

    There are very few patrons to meet inside Wes Tegg's due to the cold weather, so we get our drinks quickly and continue on our way. As I greet a few of the staff members I've come to know well over these months, Cartney takes the liberty of ordering us two vanilla lattes––his favorite drink.

    Gerald insists it's too cold for the walk back, so a car is waiting for us outside the cafe. There's a very small turnout of paparazzi waiting for us to exit––only the ones most dedicated to their craft. The other cameramen who aren't waiting here are probably busy getting their incomes instead. They work at a near frightening pace––by the time our car turned the street, in fact, they've already sent off most of their pictures from our little afternoon walk to over a dozen tabloid sites.

    I look at a few of them now as we wait for the heaters to kick in inside the car. 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 a somber, terribly regular day.