Note: I'm back. Let's keep it going.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Carstan's about to explain himself. Let's hear what he has to say.
EMERAY
"For a good part of my life, I have had the opportunity to view the Famoux from an outsider's perspective," Carstan van Horne tells us. "I know that might sound a little odd, considering that this group has been a part of my family since it's inception, but it's the honest truth."
Like someone who's been practicing their performance, Carstan has been regarding and making eye contact with numerous people at the table while talking. At the end of this particular sentence, his gaze goes to me. While my first instinct is to drop my eyes to the floor, I stand my ground, planting my feet firmly on the floor below my chair.
I'm here, I tell myself. I'm here.
Not in that small town Red back in Eldae. Not in my school. Here.
As easily as they fell on me, Carstan's eyes move on. He's not focusing on me anyway. He's focused on the speech ahead of him.
"As you all know, my grandfather, the great Lennix Dax, ran the first generation of the Famoux, and my uncle, Bendix, was one of those establishing members. As you also know, my mother here stayed behind the scenes, and she ultimately took on the role of manager after her father a few years ago, thus creating the new generation––you guys."
He takes a breath, a pause. "When she ascended that throne, I realized that my fate in the family business was basically sealed––that I would do the same that she did in a few decades time, and I'd make my own generation of Famoux members to watch and manage. So naturally, I rejected that fate. I decided that I didn't like the Famoux, and presented myself as so. The people I hung out with were people who shared that sentiment."
I wrack my brain for some kind of specific reaction from Carstan back at school––for some kind of indication that he might be connected to that glittering, distant world––but I can't recall anything special. For a moment I'm frustrated. How could he have gone for his entire life not boasting about his mother?
Chapter seems to read my mind. "If you don't mind me asking, how were your . . . um, friends not aware of your relation to Norax?"
While his words are diplomatic, his voice is distinctly cold. It makes Carstan wince. As he glances to his mother for security, Chapter hums a laugh. This is not too different from it was at the gala: Chapter being blunt and unapologetic, and Carstan sitting around trying to pinpoint what he did to make him so cross.
After all the dust of the Darkening settled and they met up again, I wonder if Carstan ever asked Norax about it, and what she might've told him in reply. Perhaps she offered some elaborate lie about Chapter actually being a jerk in person. Perhaps she made a quick excuse and dismissed the subject.
Or perhaps she told him the truth––that Chapter is my boyfriend, and that for this reason he hated him by default, because I'm not just Emeray, but also that sad little Emilee Parvenu he used to torment.
But I don't know that for sure. All I know is that Carstan is our new member, and that if his induction is anything like mine, he knows absolutely nothing about our pasts. Looking around the table, I'm stunned to realize just how little of these member's backstories I actually, truly know.
I'm taken out of my thoughts when Carstan speaks again, this time answering Chapter's question. He regards him with as much composure as he can manage.
"Well, I'm sure you can imagine the kind of dangers one could face if people knew his mother ran the biggest celebrity group in the world," he says. He seems to gain his confidence the longer he speaks. "There are too many people who might try to reap the benefits they'd hope to find in that kind of arrangement, so from a young age I was advised not to advertise my family's status. And so, when I decided to start hating the Famoux, no one asked any questions. I was able to assimilate myself into a group of haters easily."
My brow furrows. Assimilate into a group? My mind goes back to a number of different occasions in which he and Felix and all of their friends bashed the Famoux. Some of them date back as far as when we were nearly eight years old––long before Norax became the manager and created this new generation.
"Wait, wait you're lying," I say.
Norax's jaw drops. "Lumerpa––"
"You have had those friends for years, and you've also those hateful feelings toward the Famoux for years too. You didn't just decide to hate them. That's a––"
Right there, I stop, realizing that I'm actually saying this all out loud. I'm not sure what I expected to get out of this sudden addition to the conversation, but I regret my addition immediately.
A surge of adrenaline kicks in when the focus in the room is pulled from Carstan over to me. I'm met with six faces of both shock and confusion. The shock is from the other members. They seem to scream, WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT? and I can't blame them for a second since I'm shouting it all inside my head too.
The confusion, of course, is from Carstan.
"I beg your pardon?" he asks me. "How can you so confidently say that I'm lying, Miss Essence?"
And suddenly I can't speak. "I . . . um . . ."
All I want to do at this point is sink into the floor and never return, but at it's too late to dismiss my statement. I backed myself into this one all on my own.
"I'm––I––I just . . ."
I scratch the back of my neck, trying to find a way to cover my tracks. I finally decide to fold, accepting defeat.
"I was . . . making a snap judgement," I say. "And I apologize. I guess you just seemed like you would have always hated the Famoux, you know, given the way you grew up with it and everything. I don't know what I was saying there."
There is no indication on Carstan van Horne's face the that he even remotely believes in the lie I just told him. He looks at me for a long moment before speaking again––long enough to make me feel terribly uncomfortable.
"You apology is accepted," he says blankly. "Now, could I carry on?"
I nod, looking back down at the table.
"Okay." He rakes a hand through his hair, clearing his throat once more. "As I was saying before, I became friends with others who also hated the Famoux, and for a while I felt very content with having this group of likeminded people. But Norax over here––well, she started taking notice of my behavior. She didn't have the ability to see me everyday, but she advised my father to do what he could to make me respect her family's business again. And what my father did was this: He told me that he didn't care who I hung out with. He told me that if I didn't want to be a part of the business, I didn't have to. He told me I was allowed to hate the Famoux, because hell, he did too."
Carstan stops, a bitter smile spreading across his face. He glances over to Norax again, and she nods. He continues.
"I know she doesn't reveal much of it to you guys, since it's not something we discuss a lot, but you should probably know that my father and my mother don't have the best relationship. But even though she wasn't around for as much of my childhood as I would've liked, I have always loved my mother best. Hearing my dad say all of that too me . . . it just solidified it. I knew I had to take my rightful part in the family business, and I intended to make myself useful in doing so.
"And so, over the last few months I took what I learned from that group of friends and I wrote everything down––everything they ever told me. Every comment on a rumor, every detail they loathe. I wanted to know exactly what the critics with the most unwavering opinions on this institution had to say, because if we could be able to make changes that even they enjoy . . ." He takes a moment to marvel at the idea. "Well, the possibilities to what we could do with that kind of impact are limitless."
"Whoa, whoa, slow down," says Chapter.
In a flicker, Carstan's eyes go from friendly to fuming. My heart drops at the familiarity, at how easily I've seen this switch be made.
"What is it?" he asks.
"What the hell do you mean when you say the possibilities are limitless? What kind of plan do you have––"
"Chapter," Norax warns. "Don't––"
"I mean exactly what I said," Carstan interrupts. "If we have control over those who particularly dislike us, we have control over anything––over anyone. I intend on harnessing that to the fullest. Is there something wrong with that?"
"A lot wrong, yes."
His nose crinkles. "What is your issue with me, Chapter? We have met a total of two times, and in both of them you have treated me with no respect."
"You don't get my respect so easily."
"So you respect absolutely no one until they earn it, is that right?"
"That's incorrect, no."
He inhales sharply. "So like I said before: What is your issue with me?"
Chapter shrugs. "You're just special, I guess."
The chair gives an awful shriek against the floor as Carstan pushes it back, standing up with a burst of aggression. He moves away from us, pacing the open area around our table as silence settles like dust.
"Inconsiderate," he mumbles. "Inconsiderate."
As far as I know, Carstan van Horne is only used to dealing with people who let him have the power––people who are too insecure to do anything about it. That's how it used to be with him and his friends, who blindly followed his lead. It's how it used to be with him and I, when fighting back proved to be impossible. None of my attempts at retaliation stuck any better than the wrong side of a magnet.
I turn to Chapter, whose eyes are trained firmly on Carstan. I notice how his anger is kept inside, tensed up in his muscles. In comparison to the sudden rupture of energy from our newest member, he is contained. No big outbursts or yelling fits, no punching at the air or throwing the blame on others like I've seen happen with Race or any of the others.
"Just cool off, buddy," Chapter says, amused.
"The amount of insensitivity in this room––"
"Do you really want to preach about insensitivity?"
Carstan shakes his head, missing the point. But how could I expect him to know it? "I have done nothing to anyone here that merits this sort of unwelcoming reaction, especially from you. In spite of your less-than-kind greeting for me at Bree Arch's gala, I was still told that you were one of the most accepting members of this group."
He glances over to Chapter, to me. He gestures sourly.
"The two of you have been so quick to question my integrity. Me, a new member of whom you should be graciously welcoming, is immediately seen as someone the world might, god forbid, prefer more than you."
"Hey, wait," Chapter says. "That's not what we're worried about––"
"According to the files I've been shown, you both are in the best standing with the general public at this time. In that sense, I can see how a newcomer might be a little threatening, but that is where this group's biggest fault lies."
Carstan stops pacing when he reaches his chair, choosing to stand behind it and regard us all at a taller height. He looks directly at Chapter as he carries on.
"Like I was trying to say before––I am your outsider, and what you believe isn't wrong with this group is what's legitimately tearing it apart from the outside. As I've been told, DEFED managed to feed on your insecurities a few months ago. They fostered an environment of being secretive, conniving, and backstabbing with the stakes of self-preservation. They turned you against one another, and you turned willingly. They made you believe you had no option if you wanted to live, and you believed them. But the thing is, DEFED always had their target in mind. We're not sure why, but according to all analytics and evidence, there's absolutely no reason for Foster Farrand to have been killed. To be truthful, if they were following their threat, Kaytee McKarrington wouldn't be with us at this table."
A rush of ice fills the air in his pause. Kaytee shifts in her seat, perhaps to remind herself that she's at this table, alive.
"DEFED messed with this group with the soul purpose of ruining it from the inside. By succumbing to the competitive nature they want you to succumb to, you are letting them win. Because while you all might believe you're putting up good facades in public, the world can see right through the insincerity in your interactions as a unit. They can tell that you all hate each other behind closed doors. And the image that my mother has spent years promoting––that portrait of group so glamorous, everyone would die to be in it––is quickly fading. In your endless attempt at being better than one another, you have lost the genuineness in your actions. Even your most dedicated fans are starting to feel like all you are is a group of fake people doing fake things for money." He shakes his head, putting a hand to his forehead. "Frankly, I can't let you carry on this way."
I have absolutely no idea what to think of all this. Here he is––the boy who spent his entire life hating the Famoux, hating me, trying to cut into my new life and tell me that everything I've been doing is wrong. Maybe some of what he's saying is true. Maybe we do need to make changes. But it doesn't––it doesn't just erase everything he ever did to me in the years leading up to this very moment, and I refuse to believe, after so fatefully escaping the prison he built my life to be, that he could be my only solution to make things better.
It's impossible.
"Kids, Carstan has many great plans to improve our image," Norax tells us. "While under any regular circumstances I would make him an assistant to myself, we are in the market for another member. He'll be a very good addition to this group, I promise you."
For what feels like the thousandth time, a still quiet falls over everything like a blanket. There's little anyone can say at this point. To protest would only become another example of why we so desperately need his help.
After a few minutes, Till pipes up to ask a question.
"But . . . what about his look?"
"What about it?" asks Norax.
"It's––it's different."
"Of course," Carstan replies. He gestures to his face, and while he's answering Till's question, he looks to each of us individually. "The blonde hair and blue eyes is customary to the group, so naturally, I'll have to make changes."
His eyes meet mine for a second, and my blood goes cold.
"Don't worry," he says. "I will happily step into the Fissarex like you did."
xxx
So. What does this mean??!? Does he know?!? Tell me your thoughts.
I'm already so excited about editing this. When I'm not doing school stuff, I'm editing book 1, so these imperfect Classix chapters have been bringing me so much pain!!!
I just wanted to let you know that I love you so much, and I will never take for granted the love you've given me.
In the past I've been told that Friday is something people have looked forward to when they had nothing else going for them, and I want you to know that take that very seriously. We as people need a place we can count on, and I am honored to be that place for you. That being said, missing some weeks tears me apart inside. I want to be here for you, and I don't want you to feel like I've left.
Stay golden, friends. Be famoux. We've got each other here, and that is a good place to start.
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.