The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter FIVE

NOTE: I'm SO SO SORRY for being gone for so long!!

If you've checked my profile lately, you might know the reason why: I was just recently commissioned by 20th Century Fox to write a little something for their upcoming film A Cure For Wellness!!! I wrote a psychological thriller type thing, just for youuuu!!

Please check my profile and take a look at that story. It's called Not Too Well, and it's full of diary entires from a girl who visits the wellness center for a break from her job. Things obviously get creepy really fast. Also, the film itself looks genuinely awesome. If you're one of those people who likes eerie, suspenseful movies (aka the only type of scary movie I can handle) then I highly recommend you see it. We can talk about it together.

Other than that, I've just started getting into the hang of this double-major I've chosen. Your favorite Slytherin is currently making a silent film AND handling the social media for the school's story review magazine (which I'll give you more information about soon, since I'm pretty sure a few Wattpad people would perhaps like to submit their stories so I can shower my whole campus with printed copies).

Okay, let's get going, shall we?

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray was bombarded by Norax, who had her go to the Analytix. As it turns out, everybody loves Emeray. Woo! The problem? Norax believes Kaytee might be trying to sabotage her with a similar jealousy that Till had for Bree. Chilly. Now, where to go from here but Wes Tegg's, am I right?

EMERAY

    He swings our heavily-gloved hands in the space between us to a certain rhythm I've gotten used to these few months. It's the beat of the song in our headphones––something soft and chilling by Kaytee that's been a staple for for these brutal Colburn winter months.

    I listen to the lyrics as they slip by:

    Don't know why I bother,

    'Cause I know you're so much farther . . .

    I let the words sink in, feeling a sense of both sadness and relief. With everything that's happened these past few months, I've slowly begun to understand why Cartney listens to Kaytee's songs so much: It makes her feel closer again, even when she's ignoring the both of us. Just hearing her voice makes me think we're okay.

    But apparently, we aren't okay. As Kaytee sings on, I can't ignore what Norax just told me back at the Metropolix. Your life looks exactly like the one she'd been complaining about months ago––the life she'd probably do anything now to get back. I don't want to believe Norax, but considering the way she's been treating me lately, it's difficult to give Kaytee the benefit of the doubt.

    As we walk on, a mixture of rain and snow embellishes my coat, a new black one that once belonged to Chapter. Despite Norax's disapproval, there's no real risk to wearing it––any passerby who's brave enough to face the weather out here will assume it's Cartney's without a second thought. Paired with the glistering faux-leather pants I found in my closet, I am a dressed like a little dark onyx with bright blonde hair.

    According to the tabloids, my usual dark clothes are quite respectful. It seems that without a new member popping out of the woodwork to distract them, the public likes to take things slow. Either way, I don't mind wearing black so often. I never got that punk photo shoot with Foster––the one he always wanted––so it's nice to have one happen everyday, in all the walks outside the Metropolix with Cartney.

    It doesn't take much for these walks to become photo shoots in their own right. No matter how cold it is, or how brutal the snow gets, there is always a new picture of Cartney and I in the next magazine. Just as we pass by a barber shop, a man in a black parka slips out the door, walking backward so he can face us as he grabs something out of his backpack. The item turns out to be a massive, wide-lensed camera.