The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter FOURTEEN

Note: This isn't a whole lot, but I've been editing lots of book 1 lately and I've been really caught up in the first book's zone. This and the chapter that follows will definitely become one chapter, but as of now, I'm giving you this because it's Friday and I need to have a SCHEDULE in my life, haha.

I love you. Thank you for staying patient. It's my first summer back from college, so naturally I'm freaking out about a year having gone by and I'm really letting all my existential questions get the best of me lately. The fact that you're here with me through it all means the world.

PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Norax is forcing Emeray to go to the Fissarex with the Famoux to watch Carstan become the new member. She'd been dodging Carstan left and right for the past few days, and Norax is a little fed up.

       

EMERAY

    "Things are going to change here, Emeray." Norax turns in her seat, regarding me with a stern expression. "Not only my son today, but the entire attitude of this group."

    Nodding absently, I look out the window. It's been two whole hours since we left the Metropolix, and yet the sun is barely a wink of orange. My brain yearns for more sleep, but any time I get close to dozing off, Norax's voice shakes me right awake. As it turns out, missing two days of Famoux meetings doesn't mean you're omitted from hearing every little note and speech––it just means you get to hear them all at once.

    Much to my surprise, there's not so much to be told as there are a thousand ways of saying it. So far, the plan is this:

    Carstan van Horne is going to somehow magically be the one true thing that brings the world out of its mourning for Foster, restores inter-Famoux harmony, and brings our approval ratings at an all time high.

    And that's it.

    For the entire two hours Norax has been reiterating these three points in new, inventive ways with little indication of how she'll do it.

    As much as I want to, I don't dare prod any further than she describes. A part of me is still thawing from the way she looked at me today––so cold . . . colder than I've ever seen her look at me before. Fearing the same kind of look might follow any slightly snide remark, I keep my mouth shut, relying on nonverbal replies for the duration of the car ride. So far, so good.

    "Do you understand that now, lumerpa?" she asks me. "How things around here are going to change?"

    I nod for the millionth time.

    She seems pleased. "Good. I'm glad."

    A moment passes. She turns away to her own window, squinting at the acres and acres of bare, untouched land that goes by. I get the urge to tell her that she hasn't missed anything good; since the Reformation Center has absolutely no neighbors for over two hundred miles, the view has looked the same for over an hour.

    "We are so careful, and yet it's never enough," Norax whispers.

    It's directed to no one, perhaps just a personal reflection. I consider it regardless: As far as authorities in Betnedoor are concerned, there is no record of anything out here at all. If you weren't a part of our staff, you wouldn't know this machine ever existed. And if you weren't one of the closest workers to the center of the Famoux, you wouldn't know how to get your hands on any technology to replicate it. This is why Norax is absolutely sure that the mole in our staff is someone close to us––as DEFED told us before, they have somehow managed to not only become aware of the Fissarex, but actually get their hands on enough information to make one of their own.

    And what they're doing with their own, we have absolutely no clue.

    Far off in the distance I can make out a small building that grows in size the closer we get. Ahead of me, Norax sighs with considerable relief.

    "This is where things change," she says firmly, with finality. I notice she's been saying things like this a lot other the drive. "This is where we win, not them."

    Maybe it's the way she's speaking, or the thought of DEFED and their own Fissarex, or the trepidation of how I'm about to see Carstan again, but my stomach twists up into knots as the Reformation Center takes its massive shape.

    "You can't tell me you're not a little excited about all of this. Don't you remember how exciting it was to become a Famoux member?"

    To escape your son, I think to myself. That was over half of the excitement.

    I shrug, nodding again. Norax seems pleased. She reaches out for me to grab her hand. After a moment of deliberation, I take it.

    "Before we go in today, I need to address something," she says. "I apologize for being so rude to you, lumerpa. Will you forgive me?"

    Of all things, that is the last thing I expect for her to say. I'm so surprised that I forget to stay silent. "What?"

    "I'm afraid that I've been so focused on how The Famoux needs to improve as a group that I haven't been taking your personal emotions into account." As she speaks, she traces the space where my wrist starts, grazing over my only blemish––the white scar in the shape of a C. I get the urge to pull my hand away and hide it, even though she's well aware of the scar's existence. She continues, "You are the brightest star in the whole group nowadays. I can only imagine how isolating that must feel."

    "It is," I mutter.

    "And I take the blame for that."

    My brows furrow. Just a few hours ago she was nearly yelling at me for being selfish. "Where is this coming from?"

    "I was being cross with you when I needed to be proud of you––you and Cartney made the world feel comfortable and cared for in your refusal to let Foster simply disappear into a distant memory." She moves her hand from my wrist to the start of my jacket, the same black one I always where. "While the other members were trying to make everyone forget and move on, you were giving fans the time they needed. That was an incredible move."

    "A move?"

     "If my son is going to need anyone's support in the beginning, it's yours. As of now, you and Chapter are the ones the people trust most. I know that you're adverse to the idea of a new member, but I promise you that if you accept Carstan into our group, the others will follow. That means getting us back to where we used to be: A happy family. Can you promise me you'll start accepting him?"

    Gravel crunches below us as the car slows to a stop. The view outside my window is now a huge slab of black matter. The Reformation Center.

    Looking at Norax, there are a thousand things I want to say, to ask, but they all stay lodged in my throat.

    After a while, she lets go of my hand, looking disappointed. "Well, I hope you take what I've said into consideration," she tells me. "Now, let's go in."

xxx

Like I said, more to come.

Love you.

sticks and stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. stay classy, stay classix.