The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter NINE

"I believe you've all met my son Carstan once before," Norax says. She reaches out to him, patting his shoulder with a smile. "At Bree's gala."

And before then, I think. And before then.

From my seat a few yards away from them, I can pinpoint a thousand things I want to do in this very moment. First, I want to scream. Then, I want to stand up, to push back my chair so roughly that it breaks in its descent to the floor. And then I want to grab the nearest object and hurl it at his head––to yell and throw and finally cause some damage for all of the damage he's caused me.

I want to do all of these things, but I can't move. Legs crossed with no sign of movement, I can't bring myself to respond in any way past paralysis. The only feeling I can remotely register is Chapter's hand gripping mine.

Luckily, I'm not the only one who can't quite figure out how to respond. The other members, though generally unaware of the lengths of Carstan's association with me, don't jump up and start cheering at this news. They, like me are silent, because if they had it our way, they likely wouldn't pick another member at all. Given how it turned out with me and my sudden rise to the top, why would they ever take a chance at welcoming in another new kid? And considering the way they've only regarded him as a passing joke since meeting him at the gala, no one here would really pick Carstan as their first choice for a new member.

Again, the empty space in front of me feels potent––the place meant for Foster. The other members watch wordlessly as Norax pulls up another chair, right in that spot, gesturing for her beloved son to take a seat.

"You can go right here," she tells him.

No one says a word. Not even Carstan. The formidable atmosphere around where he sits rises and falls at once.

If he tries to meet my gaze, it's glued to the table. I suddenly long for the metal surface to double in length––to put more distance between me and the boy whose way of breathing is enough to make me feel in danger all over again. To my chagrin, the table doesn't grow, no matter how hard I concentrate. I can't ignore the view of his hands in my eyeshot.

Norax starts saying something more, something about how, We've been coming up with plans . . . but I can't hear any of it. My head is pounding. My heart is pounding. Again, I get the urge to get up and scream, but my limbs feel like they're another part of the table, another piece of immovable metal. Why can't I get up? Why can't I be Emeray––the girl that Carstan has never had the upper hand with? Why can't I––

"Emeray?"

I recognize the voice to be Norax's, but I can't bring myself to look at her. That would mean having to face what's right in front of me. When I snap my head up, I turn it to my left, assuring that the first face I see is Chapter's. I keep my eyes on him while I answer.

"I'm sorry," I say. I don't want to apologize, but it's the first thing I can think of, and the only thing I can get out. Speaking is harder than I expected: I suddenly become aware of how hard I'm shaking, and how prevalent it shows up in my voice.

"You're fine, dear," says Norax. Again, her voice is cheery. Too cheery. "I was afraid you were daydreaming."

I wish I was. But instead of saying this, I just shake my head.

"Good," she says. "Because I would like all of your undivided attentions here. A new member––well, as you know, is a very big deal. I know you are going to expect an explanation for why I made this choice, and what plans we have for the future. Like always, there is a very good reason behind my decisions, and I promise you that you're going to adore the changes we're making."

There's a pause. She smiles wider, then continues.

"I want you to think of Carstan as the member of a new age. A––"

"What's wrong with the old age?"

This comes from Race. I'm not surprised to hear him speak up so soon; back when I joined, he was one of the only people who showed and expressed his uncertainty. This is the kind of person he is: Cautious, protective, vocal about it. Norax should know that more than anyone, yet she frowns at him like this is something uncharacteristic.

She takes a deep breath. "There's nothing wrong with the old age––"

"Actually."

With this one word, all eyes dart to the other side of the table––mine included, despite my best judgement. As the initial feeling of looking directly at him singes through me, I steady my posture and force myself to stay composed, to stay calm. I remind myself that somehow, even though there are high-stakes contracts against it, Chapter's hand is still in mine in this moment. Being next to someone I love––that alone is a drastic difference from how it used to be when I faced Carstan van Horne. And if anything, that's a good place to start.

"What was that, Carstan?" Norax asks.

His voice is crisp and cool. I can almost feel Clarus Creek again––the water, the ice. I have to breathe in deep to remind myself I'm not drowning.

"If you don't mind," he says, "I would like to explain things for myself."

There's a strange formality to their correspondence. Though mother and son, everything about they way they communicate feels strictly business, not personal. From her watchful stance, Norax has her hands folded in front of her in the fashion of a boss observing an employee's progress. Thinking about it now, that isn't all that far from the truth.

"Of course you can," she tells him. Then, to emulate a democracy, she asks us, "Would you mind if Carstan explained in his own words?"

Her question is met with shrugs. Carstan takes it as a yes, clearing his throat. Just as he opens his mouth, I can feel my pulse rise to tantalizing heights––the same heights I used to feel at the end of every school day back in my old life, in my old prison.

And then, with that same level voice he once used when ordering Felix to nearly drown me, Carstan van Horne begins to tell us why he is our newest Famoux member.

xxx

Read on. It's a double update kind of day.

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