The Classix

(OLD) Chapter 12

Note: Happy Friday! I'm a few hours later than usual, but hey, better late than never!

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray and Chapter chatted about DEFED's threat. So basically, they could pull the engagement ring out at any time. Cartney and Emeray could probably convince Buchan and Norax that they really don't want to be engaged, but what if the ring shows up in public? Lots of explaining would have to be done. Imagine any celebrity couple encountering a ring in front of the paparazzi and then claiming they're not engaged. Also, DEFED hinted that they know about the new members coming up. So is one of these members going to be DEFED!?!?

emeray

Something I always wondered about, ever since I was little, was why we put so much effort into measuring things. Distance, height, time. I imagine it must've taken awfully long to gauge everything out––how the rest of the world should measure their existence. The circle trail adjacent to my old school, four times around, is what I was told to call one mile. The long, long ruler set up by the door of the nurse's office, she informed us, reached up to eight feet exactly. The lessons told me and my classmates to snap, to pause, and that's one second exactly. And if all else fails, just watch the clock, the teachers told us. It'll do the counting for you.

We never seem to consider the strangeness of this circumstance. It used to frustrate me. Who were these adults to tell me how tall I was? If I want to be eight foot eleven, then why can't I measure my feet and inches on my own? Perhaps it seems controlling, but it's all for good reason. Without ground rules, nobody would know how to communicate. My seconds would be longer than the next guy's. My years would be a snap in comparison to yours, especially nowadays with the dating contract. I guess sometimes we need to accept the way our moments are measured, just so we can assure there's some sort of cohesive rhyme and reason to the way we live.

Everything feels like a second, a blink. But I know better.

It's been three months since the Darkening.

It's been eight days since Norax left the Metropolix.

It's been one minute since she came back.

At least, one minute since I came home, peered into the kitchen, and found her stationed at the island, almost like she was waiting there for me.

Illuminated by the soft lights beneath the kitchen counters, her silhouette is utterly unmistakable. I make out her birdlike bone structure jutting out of her blazer, the crisp knee-length cut of a pencil skirt, the tantalizing platform of her sky-high heels. Uniformity, familiarity.

Just the sight makes my stomach drop.

Norax speaks clear. "Lumerpa? Did you bring somebody?"

I'm immediately thankful for Cartney's presence behind me. I'd brought him into the Metropolix to work out my calendar with Johnson. It's only a matter of time before Cartney has to start touring for his upcoming album, and Buchan has already composed a nice, long list of shows I should be attending that they want us to run by my people for any possible discord in our schedules.

He seems to understand the gravity of the situation, because he keeps quiet. Shifting slightly on his feet, the only noise that comes from him when we walk in is the squeak of his leather jacket.

"You're the first to come home today," she continues, distracted. My heart sinks lower––I'm not even a priority when I'm right in front of her. "The other members are still off doing their tasks for today. I didn't expect you to be bringing Cartney."

The two of us stand, silent and frozen. The rising and falling of my chest is the only part of me in visible motion. It makes her fidget, a clack against the marble.