Note: So I'm on my way to New York right now. I'm seriously considering exhausting all possible means to sneak my way into Hamilton, because I just discovered the soundtrack and properly accepted the hype. I'd been listening to a playlist and I was like, "Oh my GOD, what is this fantastic new song????" and just before I could check my phone the song went, "HAMILTON FACES AN ENDLESS UPHILL CLIMB" and I started screaming.
But anyway.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Lex totally interrogated Emeray, hinting toward a secret relationship with Chapter. Hmmmmm. Also, the Classix and Fanatix have their interview with Ansel scheduled for, well, today.
emeray
As the van slowly make its way down the street, I'm able to catch a glimpse of one of the signs for Ansel's broadcast. Traffic at this time of evening is nearly in gridlock, but yet again, the streets are almost always in gridlock when the Famoux are traveling. We're not too hard to find; since there are so many of us now, we've graduated from big black car to big black van, and the overwhelming amount of police cars bordering us might as well be stamping the Famoux symbol on us with spotlights.
The signs for the interview tonight, like mine were, are generally obscure. Against a matte black background are six glossy, golden silhouettes for Sam, Sarah, Lacey, Lex, Elle, and Gerald. Beneath them, a statement:
FRESH NEW FACES, DIPPED IN GOLD.
COME MEET THEM, TONIGHT AT SIX.
ANSEL ON EIGHTEEN.
For the entire day we've been holed up in the Metropolix prepping for the interview, too busy going through test questions to selecting our wardrobes to get updated on how people are responding. The Classix and I were strictly advised not to visit the Analytix, for fear that a Fanatix member might follow us in and start asking questions.
Without that window into the world, we haven't been able to hear any direct feedback about the broadcast tonight. Being so totally disconnected from everything like that makes me feel bizarre. On the drive up to Ansel's studio, Norax plays Analytix for us and fills everyone in on how the world has been buzzing for the whole day about the propensity of new members.
According to several news stations, the possibilities for tonight's interview are endless. Some believe Foster is making a grand reappearance with Bree. Some insist, just as Kaytee originally assumed when we first learned about the Fanatix, that we're all getting replaced for a fresh set of members entirely. Others predict that we are simply introducing new additions into the Famoux, just as random as I was. This final rumor is the most popular, especially since the parents of Till's member Sarah, apparently too delighted and impatient to stay quiet any longer, went totally against their nondisclosure agreement and blabbed to a couple friends about how their daughter is becoming a Famoux member!!!! Their seemingly private announcement has since gone viral in Betnedoor, in Eldae, in Notness, everywhere.
"We're really lucky that the interview with Ansel is tonight," Norax tells Sarah, who cannot stop profusely apologizing from one of the backseats. "Otherwise this privacy breach would be a real issue."
Sarah sighs, exasperated. "Norax, I'm so sorry," she says for the thousandth time. I can see tears forming in her eyes. "I didn't ask for them to do that, they just––they have trouble keeping things in when they have something to brag about."
"Hey, it could be worse," Gerald tells her. He nudges my arm, smirking. "Remember how you were supposed to be announced to the world after Bree's gala? That definitely didn't happen."
I laugh, happy that Gerald's attempting to calm Sarah down. He was always good at doing that when I first signed my contract with Cartney and couldn't be around Chapter. I nod over to her. "Exactly. At least this leak is nicely lined up with our schedule!"
When you're first spending time with the Famoux, I found that their laughs are quite contagious. Sarah can't help but laugh too, dabbing the bottom of her eyes with her fingers to make any forming tears go away.
"You're right," she says. "Thank you, both of you."
"No worries," we tell her, nearly in unison.
The car slows to a stop at a dingy-looking metal door. Aside from the muffled roar of a crowd formed elsewhere, it's silent.
Norax claps her hands together assertively, bringing all attention to her from her spot in the front seat. "All right, team! Right now, Carstan is going to bring the Fanatix into the studio at this back entrance," she tells us, nodding to her son. He nods back firmly. "We want the big reveal of the new members to happen on television, instead of in photographs twenty minutes before the broadcast."
"So what about us?" asks Till.
"Simple. The driver's going to circle back and take the Classix back to the front where the paparazzi and the fans are. It'd be rude of us to ignore them when they've been standing in this horrific weather for the entire day. But the Fanatix––they don't even have fans to meet yet!"
The doors to the van slide open by aid of bodyguards at the entrance. The Fanatix start undoing their seat buckles, a murmur of nerves erupting across the car. Lex turns toward me, shaking her shoulders like she's just been dipped in an ice bath. She asks, "Okay, how do I look?"
"So pretty," I reply. I bite my lip. "But . . . don't you think the hat's too much for your first television appearance?"
Lexington Bukow is wearing a pink, velvety dress that accentuates the pinkness in her whitish blonde hair. When choosing accessories, I would've assume she'd choose a rose gold necklace, or a few thin bracelets, or something of the sort. Chapter's black and gold Key cap has to be the last accessory I'd expect her to pick. The other members didn't say anything about it when we got into the van, but the long, confused look Chapter gave me as we sat down said enough.
She puts her hand on her head, looking up at the hat with distress. "Do you think it's too much for today?"
"Perhaps," I say. "We want people to get to know you."
"But, this is my favorite movie. And you gave it to me."
Remembering the way she interrogated me last night leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I end up convincing her that she can wear the hate when we get lunch sometime this week, which completely changes her temperament from upset to absolutely ecstatic at the idea of having her own candid pictures. To her, getting pictures taken by the paparazzi is still a thrilling, glitzy idea. I wonder how long that might last.
One by one, the Fanatix step out of the car. They ooze apprehension, smoothing out their new dresses, musing with their hair, turning to each other with meaningless questions about their makeup and shoes. I give Gerald a consoling look when he turns back to me, eyes wild with contained panic. He's escorted me to plenty interviews, but he's never had to be one of the focal points until now. It's different.
Carstan gives us a grin and farewell that gets cut off short when Chapter shuts the van door. Immediately, Norax scolds him.
"I don't understand your inability to accept him," she says. "Carstan is trying his best to keep up with all the elements of this life, including you, and you have to at least make an effort to cooperate."
The car pulls away from the back entrance, and the Fanatix become smaller and smaller in my window view until we make a lefthand turn. Meanwhile, Norax's claim makes Chapter snort.
"Why should I have cooperate?" he asks. "You should've seen the way he was acting in my room. The polar opposite of cooperation."
I already heard an earful from Gerald this afternoon at lunch about his, Chapter's, and Carstan's interesting first night under one roof. He claims Carstan complained about basically everything––from the temperature to the size of the couch he slept on. Telltale signs, Gerald tells me, of somebody who was spoiled as a child. Although I don't outright say it, I can definitely contest to his statement.
Norax continues, "It's in your character to be accepting of everyone, Chapter. That's what the whole world admires about you. If you remember, you were quite quick to cooperate with Emeray when she arrived."
"That's a very different scenario, Norax," he informs her. "You see, I'm not attracted to your son Carstan."
Beside him, Till bursts into laughter. I try to contain a grin, heat rising to my cheeks in a blush. When I glance over at Chapter, he winks.
In contrast, Norax's lips purse, irritated. "I don't appriciate the attitudes all of you have been having as of late."
"What about your son's attitude? You may not know, but he's the worst."
"And what did he ever do to you to make you say that?"
"Not to me."
Race rolls his eyes. "Oh, of course it's not about you. Chapter and his 'concern,' saving the day once again."
Chapter rubs his chin, amused. "Hero complex, maybe."
"What happened, Chapter?" Norax presses.
His gaze centers on me for a moment, long enough to catch my terrified expression. I scream it a thousand times in my mind: Don't say anything! Not when we're about to go into this interview with Ansel––the time is too inopportune. If there's ever going to be confrontation, it can't come today.
He sits back in his chair, looking frustrated. "You know what? I'm actually the worst. Never mind."
Norax doesn't seem convinced, but she drops it anyway. The van makes its second stop for us––this one, much more bustling than the back of the building. I can already see the lights, hear the yells, before we've even had the chance to fully break.
It's no surprise that Cartney's waiting outside for me. The public has come to expect that much from him every time we get together. Just like usual, he holds another bouquet of flowers, his young-and-in-love face perfected like makeup. I can't picture anybody in their right mind actually believing this relationship to be real.
"Hey there, love of my life!" he exclaims, pulling me into his arms. I can't even form a word before he dips me backward, right in front of the other Classix members, and kisses me in a style I've only seen in films or in photographs.
Right on cue, applause sounds in screams and swoons from the crowds outside. When we pull back and my eyes open, the world is a flurry of flashing lights. I force a loving look, pressing my cheek against his neck. "Unnec––"
"Don't say it," he whispers, cutting me off. "I am well aware of how goddamn unnecessary that was. But it was that or getting shot."
"Huh?"
"Keep a calm expression, please, or I'm going to die."
How he expects me to be calm, saying something like that, is beyond me. I fight off my erupting alarm, digging my fingers into the skin on his shoulders.
He returns me to standing posture, fake delight all over his face. I mimic it twofold, praying it doesn't look as bogus as it feels.
"It's D-E-F-E-D," he says, spelling it out through gritted teeth. "Maybe an empty threat. But I'm not taking my chances. Don't ask any questions."
"Cartn––"
"Act normal, please."
We move wordlessly toward the fans to sign magazines. All the while my heart is beating faster than I can keep up with.
DEFED.
Threats.
Inside the studio, a guard leads us into a room to hang up our coats. My hands feel light, almost numb, and I try to blame it on the weather. DEFED hasn't sent the Famoux anything since before my birthday, and the general agreement between the other members was that they appeared to be trying to make peace with everyone but me; I'm "no longer their favorite," as they informed me in my letter. Just the thought makes me want to explode with frustration––somehow, after they killed Foster, I fell from their grace enough for them to prefer everyone over me. They already brought Cartney into this once with the engagement scare, but now he's getting his own threats at home? Death threats?
"What did you mean out there?" I ask Cartney, leaning in close so nobody else overhears. The rest of the Classix tend to ignore him by default, anyway.
He chooses to ignore me, pretending to be occupied with the zipper of his moto jacket instead. I wave my hand in front of his face, but he doesn't bulge.
"You can't terrify me out there and say nothing about it," I whisper, stiffer. "Tell me what's going on."
"I'm a dead man, that's what's going on."
My skin erupts with chills. He says it so gently, yet so frightened at the same time. It doesn't feel like a joke. "Cartney, what does that mean?"
"It means I'm going to die." When he looks at me, it almost looks like he could cry at the drop of a hat. I realize then just how badly his hands are trembling. "Can we talk about this later?"
"Absolutely not. Tell me right now."
He focuses on his zipper once again, ignoring my plea. I sigh, flicking his fingers away and undoing the jacket for him. It's suffocatingly apparent that the rest of the Classix have turned their attention toward us.
"Not with everybody around like this, Ray," Cartney murmurs. "Later." When considering the context in which the other members might be hearing this statement, it's wonted of me to go pink. But I can barely focus on anything else in the room.
"I've got you, friend," I tell him, taking his words from yesterday.
His face softens. "All right. After your interview. I don't want you getting worked up right before you speak to everybody in Delicatum."
As a guard leads him out of the room to find his seat in the studio audience, all I can think to myself is that it's too late––I'm already worked up.
xxx
Tell me your thoughts.
I promise we're getting somewhere here. We're basically going as slowly as book 1, so stay with me!! And waIT FOR IT (*full choirs barrel roll into the update* WAIT FOR IT!!!! WAIT FOR IT!!!!!!)
All right, I'm gonna stop now. I'm actually suffocating with the weight of everything stressing me out right now but hey, no big deal. Just gotta remember that:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.