The Classix

*chapter fifteen*

Cartney assumes his divine position among them like it's another leather jacket. Quick and careless. It's almost dazzling to me. The smug look on his face, the loftiness in his voice, the puffed up chest––I haven't seen this side of him in such force since the premieres and events before he found out about Race and Kaytee. Before he started pummeling more visibly with his self-doubt.

"So your name is Sam, huh?" he asks one of the members.

"Um, yeah," the boy squeaks out.

His full name is Sam Michaan––the brown haired, blue eyed boy who looks exactly like what Norax would consider to be a good fit for the Famoux. Strong bone structure, ideal height, the whole nine yards. Cartney didn't seem to have a problem with him at all until he was announced by Norax as Race's new member. At that, the animosity came out almost immediately, like the turn of a dime.

"Sam. How... creative a name for a Famoux member. I don't suppose they picked that name out for you, did they?"

The other members shift in their feet beyond us, perhaps envisioning their own interrogations; evaluating their own flaws Cartney could pick out. But just beyond their worry is a glimmer of excitement. To be surveyed by Cartney is somewhat of an honor. While he was still dating Kaytee became known for questioning interviewers just as much as they questioned him. The magazines and news channels always loved this about him––how he told it like it is. Perfect for the confessional pop hits he churns out.

Sam does something in between a cough and a laugh, unsure if he's just been told a joke or not. The look on his face, shifting from friendly to fearful, reminds me of the way Marlon York used to respond to Cartney's banter. I get a pang of missing him––of simply getting to be his friend. With the Marlon association, I put my hand on Sam's shoulder to calm him. But it seems as if contact with a Famoux member incites expressions that can only be defined as the exact opposite of calm. His immediate blush makes me smile.

"He's only kidding," I say gently. These members have probably seen this scene a thousand times over in interviews––Cartney says something sharp, and I swoop in as the voice of reason, the mediator. I can feel Norax beaming from behind me as I play it out, right here behind closed doors. "Famoux names don't have to be showy. After all, we have a Kaytee, and that's a pretty common name in Delicatum."

Sam's face softens as Cartney's hardens into a scowl. Bringing up Kaytee is the sure fire way to make him clam up.

"Of course, of course." Cartney feigns a humorous expression. "You could say I haven't been thinking too much about that name lately."

Everyone chuckles awkwardly as we move on to the next member. Her hand is already extended out for us––a girl with green eyes that are almost as striking as her bright purple hair. I recognize her immediately from Chapter's stack of polaroids. It all clicks together like building blocks in my mind just as Norax announces it behind us: This new member is his.

"My name is Ellison Rosemont," she introduces, her disposition more diplomatic than starstruck. In fact, I'm nearly taken aback by her confidence.

"It's nice to meet you, Ellison," I say.

"You can call me Elle. Like the letter."

"I think you beckon many letters with hair like that," says Cartney. "The whole keyboard smashed together, really. A one-letter title doesn't do you justice."

She smirks. "That makes me an element of surprise. Don't you just love it when people don't turn out to be how they seem?"

Something about the way she says this makes my stomach flip for a moment. Is it some kind of a threat? Some kind of veiled message? Or am I just being paranoid?