emeray
Light from within pours out onto the concrete. Objects of exorbitant pomp come into vision--a glistening copper chandelier, a polished hardwood staircase, a sleek steel table harboring a glass vase full of lilies; mourning flowers. It's only the foyer, and I'm already taken aback by the industrial grandeur of the Metropolix. If my school was nice, and my house was expensive, then this is a whole different category of nice and expensive.
I hear chatter from the room to the left, and my breath catches. Them, it's them. In what must be the living room, I assume. It has an open entrance, no door; if I walk any further forward they'll see me.
"Took you long enough to get home, Nor," one calls out. I can't identify which member said it, since I've never heard them speak. Nevertheless, the voice is angelic.
"Sorry," Norax says. "I got a little preoccupied."
I stay close beside Norax, but I'm already on her left, and she's already walking us forward. My heart beats faster than it did in the Fissarex, and I find myself almost longing to be back in that agony. At least I was alone, then. For a faltering moment, I begin to feel as I do when I don't want Carstan to find me.
"Who've you got there?" A girl's voice. I can't bring myself to look over at them just yet--instead I keep my gaze glued to the floor.
But no matter how much I bore my eyes into the hardwood, there's this glow casting shadows all over my view, as if the members have some kind of spotlight on them. I don't think I'd be surprised if this were the case.
"It's probably some reporter." This is from a boy. His tone is terse, which sends a shock through my spine. "Trust Norax to want us to make statements about Bree already. It's barely been a week."
I swallow. If they're upset about some columnist visiting in such a short time frame since the tragedy, I fear what they'll say or do when they find out that I am--no matter how many times Norax claims I'm not--the replacement.
"No, no statements tonight," Norax says. She gives my shoulder another squeeze, and I swear I must be visibly quaking. "This is Emeray Essence."
"Emeray Essence? Are we supposed to know her?"
"You will soon. Em, dear, do say hello. They're not going to bite."
Are they?
I remind myself that I'm not just a fan meeting them now--I'm one of them. There's nothing to be afraid of. I am one of them. Wiping my sweaty hands on the bottom of my dress, I force myself to look up.
And they are unreal.
Chiseled, prodded, and perfected through the reformation machine, the five Famoux members before me cannot possibly be human. I try to say something, but the words lock in my throat. My mind tells me to smile, idiotically, and nothing else.
I now completely understand the term starstruck.
"Hello, Emeray." This comes from Calsifer Race, who sits on a couch alongside Kaytee McKarrington. His voice is deep, comforting--almost thermal. Exactly how I imagined it would be.
"Hi," I say. It's all I can manage. I find myself feeling a little giddy, because Calsifer Race has just said my name. I try and stiffen my posture, regain composure. I'm one of them. No need to be giddy. No need to be giddy.
The others give their greetings. I can barely hear them over the pounding in my head, the thunderous rush of my blood inside me. My mind can't wrap itself around the fact that I'm here, meeting the members of the Famoux--being a member of the Famoux. I'm sure I look like a child, so overwhelmed and reverential, but I can't even remember to care about any of that. I can't even remember what I'm wearing.
Around eight squeezes on my shoulder from Norax is what it takes to shake me from my wonder and return me to a more normal state. I'm fully conscious and present again just as Till Amaris begins speaking.
"Not to be rude, but we're all a little delicate after yesterday's ordeal, and I don't think any of us are in the mood for visitors. What's she doing here?" she asks.
My eyes fall onto her; she's sprawled out on an elegant burgundy armchair that rests beside the coffee table in front of Calsifer and Kaytee's couch. And that expression on her face--she looks at me with the kind of interest which worry is sprung from. Those two emotions walk the same fragile line.
"That's exactly what I was about to explain, Till," Norax says with vigor. Too much vigor, it seems, seeing that none of the Famoux members seem to be in the mood for any. She plops down onto the armchair on the opposite side of the room. Chapter Stones probably would've been sitting at it, but he's standing, staring out the window. I haven't met his gaze, and he doesn't look interested in my arrival. He doesn't look interested in much of anything, I suppose.
"Explain, then," Kaytee pipes up. I notice the plethora of tissues and flower petals strewn out on the cushion beside her and taste bile in my mouth. It takes me all of a moment to decide it is too early for me to be here--far too early.
And now it's too late for me to leave.
Far too late.
Norax settles herself into the chair. "I want all of you to refrain from speaking until I'm finished." They give nods and muttered agreements.
She sucks in a deep breath. "Okay. Onward."
Speaking slow and concisely, she begins with cautious pace, the joy long since gone from her tone. "This is Emeray Essence, and she is going to be our newest member of the Famoux."
The words make me so nervous that the rest of her speech starts to sound like I'm trying to listen from underwater--like she's shouting from the entrance of a tunnel, with me on the far-away receiving end. My whole body shakes, like turbulence on the bumpier roads of our car ride here, as she presses on through the explanation, stressing how I am not replacing Bree; how she simply stumbled upon me outside the Fishbowl, and didn't physically go looking for me. She reminds them that I was in the same position they used to be in before they joined the Famoux, and that my arrival should be no different than theirs. As she presses on, she's sure to especially emphasize how they need to treat me with just as much respect as they do one another, because I am one of them, and they are one of me, and we are one of each other.
And all the while, no one speaks. No one even turns to look at me; they stare directly at Norax, eyes glimmering with emotions that range from surprise to acceptance to confusion to sadness. I don't dare say a word. All I can manage is remembering the essential movements: blink, breathe, swallow, blink, breathe . . .
"All I need to know from you kids is one thing," Norax says. She prompts, "Is everyone okay with Emeray staying?"
I hold my breath, and without realizing, close my eyes too.
It's all silent for a moment. No movement, no noise--not even the static in the air. My heart gets a second chance to leap straight from my chest, but just before I can completely fall apart something touches me. A pair of warm, slender, noticeably trembling arms wrap around my also noticeably trembling shoulders. When I open my eyes, all I see is big, curly blonde hair.
It's Kaytee McKarrington.
Her little stature reaches barely my chin. I always liked how short she looked in the photos, in comparison to the other members. It was one of those details about a person that you notice right off the bat and fall in love with, and you can't put your finger on why you like it so much, and you can't for the life of you put it to words.
I found those sorts of details for anybody who deserved it, which, subsequently, meant few. My mother claimed she never wore perfume, yet every day she smelt like peonies, and I would breathe it in like it was oxygen I so vitally needed. My father used to shift his weight from the left to the right before he told a joke. Before she graduated from school, Brandyce always left pencils tucked behind her ear, and could forget about it for hours. I always wanted to be the one to remind her. And Dalton--he had the whitest hair, and it reminded me of snow, which I've only ever seen in pictures, but always imagined in a lovely kind of way.
As I'm hugging Kaytee, taking in the smell of her ringlets in my face, these glimpses of my family fall down on me all at once, like a roof caving in on top of me. I expect to feel some kind of sadness, longing, remorse, but it feels like release.
"Of course, Nor. Of course we're okay with her staying," she hums into my shoulder. Her words fill me with snug consolation.
"We?" Calsifer Race raises an eyebrow. "Don't speak so fast, Kay--"
Kaytee puts a hand up, and the rest of his words hit the back of his teeth. She takes my hand in her two.
"Norax, you said it was because of her exterior?" she asks. "That's why they picked on her in school?"
When Norax nods, Kaytee squeezes my palm, digging her nails into the skin. I don't tell her that it actually kind of hurts, because nobody's ever cared to hold my hand since mother. Also, they're Kaytee McKarrington's hands--I hear kids at school talk about her outrageous manicures at least once a week.
"Race," Kaytee starts, "when's the last time someone judged you for your outward appearance, because it's not what they wanted?"
A sour, conscious look of defeat splays across his face.
"Kaytee," Till warns. "You know better than all of us how it was for Race."
Kaytee holds her stern expression firm, crossing her arms over her chest. "And how about you, Till? Have you ever felt victimized by the rest of the world because of the way you look?"
It takes all of an instant for Till's eyes to well up with glassy tears. I have to rip my gaze away once they begin to spill. Race puts his arm around her
"That's a low blow for the both of us, Kay," Race says.
"It's an even lower blow not to accept her, just because you think it's too soon to add somebody to the Famoux."
Foster Farrand rises from his chair with a shrug, like he's just woken from a nap. "I think I'm gonna have to side with Kaytee on this one," he says. "Too early or not, this is a real person we're talking about--a real person who's suffered like we used to. I don't see any problem in letting her in, what's the problem with that?"
"Thank you, Foster," Kaytee says. "Thank you for actually having some sense."
"We have actual reasoning for thinking this way, Kaytee," Till defends. "We're not just being nonsensical."
"No, I'm fairly sure you are."
"Kaytee, we're not."
"You are."
Watching the Famoux members bicker back and forth at each other, I can't help but be reminded of the ancient myths of which I spent a profane amount of time at profane hours of the night trying to just vaguely grasp concepts of for tests the next day. They look a little like them, too--like those primeval gods with the immeasurable power, and the flawless skin, and the booming personalities that shake the room. Lightning bolts in their hair and oceans in their eyes, the power to stop time with but a single word perched upon their pretty rosy lips. And yet, in the midst of the sleek armor and the ambrosia in their wine glasses, they are so utterly human. They stoop to mortal levels of frustration to toss arguments around to one another. To waste their precious breath, their airy, eloquent thoughts on a simple topic such as myself--well, I ought to feel honored for such a fortuitous opportunity.
"We just think it's too early, Kay," Race says. "Bree had so many fans, and I'm sure they'd think it's too early as well."
"She doesn't have to publicly appear until after the gala." She looks over to Norax for consolation. "We'll have a lot of time to prepare her then, right Nor?"
"That's what I was planning," she answers.
"See, Race? By the time the gala passes, she won't be too early anymore."
"Yeah, not for the fans. What about us?"
"Stop, right this instant," Norax orders, tone severe, as if she was their mother. "I didn't have to introduce her to you kids so early, but I thought you would've wanted to be introduced. I told you loud and clear that she's not a replacement for Bree--she's a new member who happened to be found in the wake of a tragedy. You're acting like children who're unhappy with the new baby in the family."
"We're not trying to be rejecting," Till insists. She locks her eyes down on mine, which makes my pulse race. "We don't reject you, I hope you know that. There are just some of us who were closer to Bree than others, and it's a little harder to let go so quickly and welcome someone new in."
"Oh, you're all full of bullshit, you know that?"
Everyone's attention turns to the corner of the room, where Chapter Stones stands slant beside deep maroon curtains. His blue eyes are electric, pulsing with a heated kind of sentiment as he scans the lot of us, from Norax to Till to Race to Foster to Kaytee and finally, to me.
"Chapter," starts Race. "You know how much we care about--"
He flicks his wrist, cutting Race's words short. I notice a shift of friction in the room; a shift in power. Everyone's knees seem to have a gravitational pull to the floor when it comes to Chapter Stones' dissatisfaction. Calsifer Race, who not eight seconds ago was bent on refusing my early arrival, seems eager to adhere to any request.
"Save it, you asshole," Chapter says. As he continues, he keeps his gaze locked down on me, though my eyes have already retracted back to the floor. "I know the stunt you're all pulling. I'm not stupid."
"What stunt?" Till asks. "Chapter, we're only thinking about Bree."
"Oh yeah?" He sounds amused. "Because you two were such great friends, right? What was that you just said? 'Some of us were closer to Bree than others'? Were you talking about yourself?"
She starts to stammer on her words. "I-I just--look, Chapter--"
"Till Amaris, tell me one time you ever gave a damn about Bree Arch. Last time I checked--in fact, last time the entire world checked--you and Bree have never been on friendly terms. She was always a threat to you, because she could do your job eight thousand times better than you could. She got the better roles for the bigger movies, and you hated her for it. You freaking despised her with every piece of you. And what, you've suddenly seen the light ever since she did?"
My head snaps up, a gasp escaping from my throat. Sure enough, he's still looking at me, eyes afire with a sort of mirth I'm unable to comprehend.
"Chapter!" Norax scolds. "You are incredibly disrespectful."
"Oh, please. I'm the only one here who gets to talk like that and get away with it, and you know that. I'm the only one who gets to care whether or not somebody's going to replace Bree, because I'm the only person here who cared about her."
This comes as news to me. I never overheard anything from people at school about Bree Arch and Chapter Stone being together. Last I recalled, Chapter was the resident playboy, and Bree was the girl of whom nobody was worthy enough to date. It occurs to me that they could've been in love this whole time, behind the scenes, and us all of Delicatum had no idea such thing was going on.
"Come on, man," says Foster. "I know how you must be feeling right now, but Race and Till are only trying to help you out. Till may've not liked Bree, but she cares about you. We all care about you."
"I get it," he says. He points at the two of them with a long, slender finger. "You're both trying to make sure I don't go mad. You think that bringing in a new girl so soon's going to make me angry. And you think I'm going to abandon ship with Cal and my franchises and all my other obligations, and you think I'm going to spiral out like before I joined the Famoux. How low you must think of me, if you actually believe I'd fall apart so fast."
"We're not trying to make any judgements, Chaps," Race tells him. "We're just worried about how you're coping, that's all. This is still so raw for everybody here, and especially for you."
Till nods. "We didn't want to all agree so quickly and make you assume we think Bree was someone who could just be replaced."
All at once, Chapter's eyes gutter. He rakes a hand through his hair, recapturing his composure before forming a reply.
"There's a whole lot of confusing stuff in the world," he says, "but I'll tell you all what, I'm very sure of four things. The first is that we were all replacements of an entire generation of celebrities before us. It took a while, but we proved ourselves to be more than what the first Famoux used to be.
"The second thing is that just a little while ago, my best friend was murdered in a house I just had to stay a week in, with the whole world watching and breathing down my neck. And though we've got every single officer and investigator in Delicatum looking and researching, the third is that somehow nobody has managed to find her killer. And the fourth thing is this. . ."
Chapter hesitates, looking as if he may say something, do something. As if in a spur of the moment kind of impulsive, he moves over to my side and places his hand on the small of my back. The feeling of his fingers against the thin fabric of my dress makes me feel slightly lightheaded, like I may faint right here. It takes everything in me not to lose my balance and fall to the floor.
"I'm very sure that this girl--what's your name again, love?"
After a resounding chorus of I, um, uh, I, uh, I manage, "Emeray."
He smiles, and all I can think about is dissolving into thin air.
"I am very sure that Emeray is a member of the Famoux," he proclaims. "So, if we could all move on from babying me already, that would be wonderful. We've already a thing or two to baby. If you don't mind, I'll be checking up on that."
And with that, Chapter quite exasperatedly turns on his heel, retreating from the room, footfall steady and clear on the pristine floors as he makes his way out. I watch him as he goes, wondering so many things, and coming up with so little explanation.
We're all silent for a while. Chapter's absence becomes a tangible presence in the room, his words hanging thick in the air like a humid summer day in Red. The end of my back is still sending shocks through my body, as if he was still beside me.
Foster says, after a long stretch of silence, "Well, guess you're in, babe."
Well, guess I am.