The Classix

*chapter four*

I flip through a few of them now as we wait for the heaters to kick in and listen to the weather-induced static on the radio. Cartney shows them to me from a device, remarking on the headlines that grasp for any wow factor they can think of.

"Oh, look. This article here claims we actually weren't in Notness for Onward Train last week." He presses the screen of his device with his index finger to read more, and I watch as his face contorts. "Oh man. This one is really something, Ray."

"You sound thrilled."

"There is a lot to be thrilled about." He leans toward me, putting a hand on my stomach. "So much to be thrilled about."

My jaw drops. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely, young mother."

I rub my forehead, exhausted. "What does the article say?"

He clears his throat, reading aloud. "Today, Emeray Essence and Cartney Kirk step out for the first time since a month-long trip to Brennan, Notness. Could it be that our charming couple, going on four months now, was in Brennan for much more than Emeray's movie? A source reports that they stopped stopped at many fertility doctors when they weren't on set. Readers, what do you make of this? Could this mean what we think it does?"

"Norax will be so thrilled," I say. "I've got my movie, you've got your album, and now we're having a child."

"Trying to have a child," he corrects, pointing to something on his screen that I can't see. "Apparently your lovely guard Gerald over here told them all about it." He looks up at Gerald, giving him a wink. "If your name keeps coming up in the press like this, pretty soon you're gonna boot me out of my contract."

As Cartney laughs at his own joke, Gerald shakes his head. He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing." Gerald shrugs, but I can tell he's still bothered. "I guess . . . It's just odd to know people are writing about me. Not really my usual thing."

A pang of guilt shoots through me. "I'm sorry. The other members go through different guards, but I always request you. It's on me that the public recognizes your face."

"It's not your fault," he says. "They could've picked any guard in the lineup."

I go to say more, but Cartney cuts me off, shoving his device in my face. The multitude of bolded words against a white backdrop give me a headache almost immediately. "You've got to see the other things they're saying."

"I'll look later."

"This is a gallery of fine art, Ray."

"I hear all the headlines, all the time," I say. "Whether I like it or not I always know what people are saying about me."

"Wow, I didn't think you'd be one to search yourself."

"I don't. It's . . . a tool we use. It tells us."

"You Famoux members and your tools. Is it something like that gadget that gave you your makeover? The Fissa-something?"

For whatever reason, my stomach drops. Ever since Chapter and I revealed Cartney about how we used to be different people, Roman and Emilee, he's been perplexed by the way we work––the roaring underground life of the Famoux, and all its gritty details. I don't blame him for being so curious––even though I'm a part of it, I still am.

If DEFED hadn't gifted him with the final clue before they took out Foster, I probably wouldn't be so open with things like the Fissarex. Since they chose to get him involved, I think it's only fair he's not completely in the dark about everything. I've had more than enough of my fair share in the dark to know it's not the best place to be.