The Famoux

Chapter 1

She says it so smooth: fame-ex. Like famous, with the S substituted for an X.

"A Famoux publicity stunt." Brandyce's eyes widen. "Oh, you're so right, Dal."

"Imagine it. We're all supposed to mourn with the Famoux, and they'll be able to look good for caring about each other, and then she'll probably make her big reappearance after that ceremony. Everyone will be so amazed––we'll never stop hearing about the Famoux member who alluded death."

They groan in unison.

"I am so not looking forward to that," Brandyce mutters. "I hear enough about them at the Stash, from those stupid girls who gossip more than they actually work."

Dalton rolls his eyes. "Tell me about it. The Famoux is all anyone talks about at school. Isn't it terrible, Em?"

I look back at the screen, where Norax is tearing, and the other members are clinging onto one another in such a way I can't possibly imagine is fake. I've seen some of them act in their movies, and they usually aren't any good. This is beyond their level. This is far too raw for it to just be fake.

But I choose to agree with my siblings instead of trying to defend these celebrities I don't even know. "Yeah, it's the worst."

"And my friends will be talking about this little special all day now," he says. "Damn, I wish they didn't like the Famoux so much."

"Don't you kind of wish you were like little Emilee right now?"

Both I and Dalton give Brandyce questioning looks.

"You know, so you wouldn't have any friends you'd have to listen to?"

I frown, and they both laugh. 

"You're living the dream, Em," Dalton coos.

I force a nod. "Sure, I am." I swallow a spoonful of grainy cereal although I have no appetite, thanks to this whole Famoux situation. 

It happened only a week ago, and it happened so fast. We were a whole week into our latest Darkening, and then bang! Bree Arch was dead, murdered. It seems like being a young star, part of the most selective clique of celebrities, might grant you a few enemies.

When I try to wash out my bowl, Brandyce yelps.

"I spent my earnings on that cereal, and you want to put it all down the drain? What do I look like, your slave?"

I fumble on my words. "No, Brandyce, I'm just not hungry. I'm sorry, I'll finish it right now––"

"Oh no, by all means, do what you please," Brandyce says, annoyed. "My work means nothing to your appetite. You think you're some kind of royal now because you look so different from the rest of your age, huh?"

"No, she doesn't think she's royal," Dalton says. "She thinks she's the next Famoux member."

Brandyce chuckles. "A Famoux member, huh? That's a riot."

Dalton bows formally towards me. "Oh, please, Emilee. Forgive us for being so inferior to your splendor. We are not worthy."

"Stop that," I tell him.

He snatches my bowl from me. "You're not eating because you're on a massive celebrity diet, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just not hungry––"

"Would you like me to wash this for you? Famoux members mustn't get their hands dirty cleaning things."

"They just dirty everything up for the maids," states Brandyce.