The Classix

*chapter twelve*

    Just before he steps back, his mouth hovers beside my ear. His voice is low enough so that no one watching us can overhear or read our lips.

    "Hey, Sticks."

    When I get a good look of his face, I beam. It's more admiration than I plan to give Cartney for the crowd, but I just can't help it.

    "Hi, Stones."

    We take our seats on two of the three stools set out along a large control panel. The way things are set up, we'll be seated just like the last dinner I had with the Famoux––Chapter on one side, Cartney on the other.

    "I'm sure I'm not the first person to wish you a happy birthday today," he says, "but happy birthday. I'm... Concerned about you, just so you know."

    I match his smile twofold. "I'm concerned about you too."

    "Good, glad we agree about the concern."

    The faint sound of music playing wafts from a pair of speakers on the control board ahead of us. Before I even hear his voice, I already know what it is: "Emeray", Cartney's new song for me. It was released the very second my nineteen birthday began, and not a moment later. In between all that tumultuous gossip about our potential engagement I heard many a glowing review of this song from fans in the Analytix this morning. Apparently, it's a pretty big deal for a number of reasons: Not only is it a painfully blatant song about me, the title's eponymous Emeray, but it's also the first song Cartney Kirk has released in months since "Seashore", a single that he just so happened to share with both me and a one Kaytee McKarrington.

    The oozing, lovey-dovey violins kicking in are far too much for me to handle after everything I've heard this morning. I can feel a headache coming on, so I put my fingers to my temples, pressing down deep.

    "Do you think they could mute that?" I ask.

    Chapter grins. "Not a fan?"

    Before I dare say anything incriminating, I glance to the glass wall separating us from the lobby with caution. We may as well be a two-man show, the way the employees have all camped out to get a peak at two Famoux members conversing. But Chapter shakes his head, nodding to the microphones in front of us.

    "These are turned off."

    "Are you sure?"

    "I unplugged them myself."

    Of course, that's no guarantee that there isn't some other kind of recording device in the room, and Chapter knows it. He adjusts his posture, clears his throat. "For the record, I think it's a... Fantastic song. I mean, calling it 'Emeray'... You've really got to give Cartney a hand for being subtle."

    As the chorus swells into a long note nearly yelling my name over and over, my smile dissolves into slumped shoulders. I sigh, exasperated. Chapter goes to reach for my hand, but stops himself, hovering it over my arm for a moment before quickly pretending to adjust the microphone in front of me.

    "Okay, now I'm concerned concerned," he says. "What's wrong?"

    "Haven't you seen the pictures?"

    "Pictures of you?"

    "No, Cartney."

    Chapter gives me a look. "Oh no. What did Cartney do this time?"

    The way everyone outside is looking at us, I fear they can at the very least read my lips. I try to keep my words as short and concise as possible as I explain the situation to Chapter, forcing my disposition to stay as carefree as I can muster. I know the drill––we ought to look as though I'm telling him some lofty, easygoing plans for my birthday. Chapter, ever the actor, plays his part just as well, nodding and faking chuckles.