The Famoux

Chapter 10

emeray

There's no time to waste. The Famoux get straight to formal greetings, each taking turns walking up to me, introducing themselves (as if they thought I actually wouldn't know their names), whispering some trick or tip or comment about fame and the new life being thrust upon me, and ambling out the foyer, on their merry way to someplace else. It is at this moment where I get to gather my own opinion on these people I've heard so much about. Essentially, it is at this moment where I finally get to genuinely hear these people I've heard so much about. I try my best not to ask for autographs and photos, which feels utterly tempting every time one approaches.

First comes Kaytee, who I already graciously like. She's all smiles and giggles--real, true, exuberant giggles, which I not even for a second find annoying.

"My name is Kaytee McKarrington," she says.

"Emeray," I say. "You're a singer, right?"

"I am." With a near boyish look on her face, she teases, "You better not become a recording artist though, Emeray, because I will without a doubt never sell another album again if I've you as my competition."

"I don't think that'd be the case," I laugh. A compliment from Kaytee feels something like the stars in the sky zipping about to rearrange themselves into my name: improbable, impossible, and immeasurably flattering.

"Oh, no. You wouldn't even have to sing well to sell records. Damn."

As I just grin and form some sort of head shake, I decide to ask Norax later about working on my reactions toward kind remarks. I don't even know how to react toward negative ones, and I've received much of those all my life. My go-to retort is no words, just fleeing the situation. Running. Taking after my mom, in the worst of ways.

This reminds me of how long it's been since I saw my family. Do they wonder where I am? They're always going to be looking for me, thinking of me with such disdain for running away like mother. They're never going to know why I've done what I've done; I don't even think I will know why, myself. But I've no time to luxuriate myself in my rash, selfish decisions in the last week before I notice Foster Farrand walking my way, which promptly captures all my attention--dissolves all worry or conscious notion into a fizzling, fading whisper in the back of my head.

"Why hello, babe," he says, extending out his arms. I've no free moment to respond before he wraps those arms around my waist, pulling me right against his chest.

And it all happens so quick. My heart isn't given enough warning before there's contact. Forehead against my forehead; nose against my nose; and then, suddenly, lips against my lips. Lips against lips.

The moment he pulls away to tell me his name, my head spirals like a top about to fall clean off my neck, and my lips burn from the impact, and my veins swoosh with a paralyzing burst of adrenaline to the crux of my chest.

"I'm Foster Farrand," he says. "It's nice to meet you."

I open my mouth, and nothing comes out. What are words?

"I-I-hi."

The rest of the Famoux members burst into laughter, but it all sounds like echoes from the other side of a tunnel from here. My mind won't stop re-feeling it. I've never been kissed before this. Foster Farrand was my first kiss. This is the pipe dream of near every girl in the Edification Tower. I get the childish, fantastical sense that I must be the luckiest girl in the entire world right now, at this exact moment. What a feeling.

"Fos, don't be such a tease," Kaytee says, a twitter in her voice. "You'll only end up giving her the wrong idea."

He smirks. "Just wanted to express my acceptance that she's here."