The Classix

*chapter fifteen*

"They are not replacements," Carstan says, stern. "They are mentees."

"Sure. Being mentored on how to replace the Famoux."

Growing frustrated, Carstan rifles through his suit pocket for a thin metal device. In his usual fashion, he pulls up a gaggle of charts to read from. "The Fanatix are serving a different role, Mr. Kirk. As you can see––"

"Wait, Fanatix?" I cut in. "They have a name?"

"Yes. Because they're not replacements. They're a subsection."

Cartney snorts. "So we're franchising the Famoux now?"

"We're spreading a new, positive message to our fans."

"By cherry-picking the attractive ones and making them celebrities?"

"You know what––"

As Cartney and Carstan bicker, I take a step back, feeling a little dizzy. There has been so much to take in today that it feels as though I've been nineteen for centuries. As if sensing my overwhelment, Norax puts a hand on my cheek.

"I know it's all jarring," she says. "But it would mean a lot to Carstan and I if you would help us introduce the world to this group."

"Why tonight?" I ask.

She looks at me so lovingly, strokes my cheek so gingerly, I feel as though I'm an ornate vase she's scared to drop and break.

"People see you as such a kind, selfless girl, my dear" she tells me. "Carstan has run the numbers in different cities, and it's unanimous. If there was ever right a way to reveal the Fanatix to assure people would accept them, it would be under your wing. You, graciously giving them the spotlight on a day that's supposed to be all about you."

I glance to the closed door behind her. "Who did you pick for me?"

Norax steps back, grabs the doorknob. A showy, cheerful smiles spreads across her face. "How about you meet everybody, and see for yourself?"

The first thing I notice when I walk into the room is the floor. Deep, dark blue, almost black, gleaming beneath the glow of a crystalline chandelier. It catches my eye immediately, near hypnotically. For a moment, I wonder if I could fall right into the floor and drown.

Perhaps the thought comes from my nerves. It's odd to me how nervous I feel. It's as if I'm the new member all over again, meeting an established little group that has no idea who I really am. Whatever the reason, my gaze locks straight onto the glitter of blue granite, and refuses to let up until I feel Cartney's hand slip in mine, and I remember where we are.

When I finally glance up, I meet their gazes one by one. Different eyes, different hair, different colors. The only thing they seem to share in common is the completely and utterly starstruck look that's painted across each of their faces.

Our new members. The Fanatix.

They stand frozen, shoulder to shoulder, waiting intently for us to reach them as Cartney and I move down the line, handing out our greetings like complimentary fruit baskets. As we shake their hands, Norax announces their name and which member will be their mentor. It feels like an auction, and we're the highest bidder. By the looks on the new members' faces, and the way their eyes widen and blink like a rapture, I can imagine this is the way I must've looked when I first met the Famoux.

It's all eerily reminiscent to that day, really. It was one after the other, how they approached me––Chapter first, then, Kaytee, Foster, Till, Race. An assembly line of Delicatum's closest equivalent to gods and goddesses. They didn't have to so much as say one word for me to feel like passing out on the spot.