The Famoux Read online

  Since no one can admit to Norax what’s going on, she perceives this sudden burst of activity to be the members’ first steps at moving on and returning to normal in a world post-Bree. She’s thrilled, since Lennix had suggested to her that she have the group lie low and mourn longer. For the members to be doing the opposite and succeeding at it is a personal victory on her end.

  But not everything has been quite as victorious for her. When Lennix was in Notness and caught word of my trip to Wes Tegg’s she got an earful about it. The entire time the Famoux was out making publicity appearances, Norax was fielding more angry phone calls from her father—he was livid.

  He had ample reason to be. As made perfectly clear to me in the way my name persists at the bottom of the Volx, me going out and getting coffee was a bit of a slap in the face to some of Bree’s biggest fans. How could I be parading around Waltmar in the midst of their mourning? And I didn’t even wear black.

  So as far as Lennix is concerned, he’s right. It’s far too soon. When he returns, three days after my outing to Wes Tegg’s, he insists that we cease all future outings for me until we make a proper game plan for my image. He refuses Norax’s idea for the new and naive angle, too, asserting it gets old quick. “Think Daisy Dolores,” he said.

  “Who’s Daisy Dolores?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Lennix wants to take extra time preparing me for the public before I step outside again, but how am I supposed to tell him that I don’t have that time to wait anymore? I’ve been part of the Famoux for ten days already—which means there are only twenty more until the next Darkening.

  This is the thing on my mind as I check the Volx this morning. Time is uncertain, which means time is everything. Ever since my coffee outing, all the talk I’ve been hearing is back to being about Bree, and how I don’t stack up.

  “Do you think she’s going to be there today?” someone asks their friend.

  “I doubt it.”

  “She’d better not show her face.”

  They’re right: I won’t be. Because the event in question is Bree Arch’s memorial service. They already had a private funeral for her last month that the paparazzi managed to snag photos of, but this is the big, public event. Hundreds of Betnedoor’s finest celebrities will be in attendance, not to mention all the newscast coverage. A part of me feels like I should be there, paying my respects, showing the world I care, but Lennix disagrees. He thinks it would be in bad taste, especially since there are rumors I killed her.

  While everyone is gone, I am to memorize a booklet of celebrity names and faces—Lennix’s orders. Unlike Norax, he still insists I should be someone who knows everything and everyone at a glance. I get through a few, but the faces all blend together after a while. No one can possibly stand out quite like the Famoux.

  After an hour, I head back toward the Analytix. I already checked it today, but my curiosity is too strong not to visit. At this point the memorial service has certainly begun, and I want to hear what people think of my absence.

  “Oh, of course the killer doesn’t show.”

  “No Emeray, hmm.”

  “She had enough time to get a coffee, but couldn’t make it to this?”

  Their words make me restless. Lennix was wrong. I should be there. I know it, but he wouldn’t listen.

  As expected, my name is still at the bottom of the Volx. A part of me expects Bree’s name, Tiffany, to rise above me on a day like this, but I think her name is dormant now. Just there to psych us out.

  1 – Roman

  2 – Odette

  3 – Scott

  4 – Quinn

  5 – Holden

  6 – Emilee

  7 – Tiffany

  There’s one lone, “I hope that Emeray girl doesn’t feel too much pressure,” that gives me a shred of relief. I decide to end here and rise from the stool.

  Rounding the corner away from the Analytix room, I notice my whole body is shaking. A few days ago, the world seemed to be full of only ease and excitement. Dress fittings and café trips. But now, when I think back on Wes Tegg’s, and the fans I met there, the lightness in my chest is now a heavy weight. I already know the next time I encounter fans, I’ll be examining every smile and squeal carefully, wondering if my name is rising on the Volx. While attention was once a free perk to this new life of mine, it has now become a vital currency.

  And the other members are striking it rich. It’s not fair. I’ve barely even seen them these past few days—they’re all gone before I wake and still out when I’ve gone to bed. The image of the Volx flashes across my mind again, and my knuckles clench. For the first time I feel anger, and the anger stays fresh in my mind when I return to my bedroom. I get another wave of fear like my first night—like Bree is here, somewhere, wishing to scare me. No amount of deep breaths will curb the paranoia.

  I crouch down to look underneath the bed. Nothing. I check in the closet. Nobody hiding. There’s no one lurking in the shower. No one squeezed behind the doors. Every plausible spot, I search, feeling both ridiculous and practical at once, and it all turns up as nothing. But no matter how many times I remind myself that Bree Arch is not a ghost, I can’t shake the fear. Because she is one, in a way. As long as people keep saying her name when they’re saying mine, she will continue to haunt me. All I can do right now is hope someday I escape it.

  It’s either that, or I join her, and it’s my funeral next.

  What am I even doing here? Norax promised me glamour and endless possibilities and adoring fans, and all I’ve seem to get so far is negative backlash, no matter what move I make. She’s letting Lennix keep me tucked away inside the Famoux fortress. And that could get me killed. I’m not in control. The world starts blurring. I am not in control. On my feet again, pacing, I glance in the mirror at my perfect reflection and surprise myself when I let out a frustrated screech.

  She promised me glamor, but she also promised me family. Family, kinship, solidarity in the Famoux—not these strangers. Not rivals. This thought tips my anger into sadness and releases discomfited tears. I thought I did, but I don’t really know the Famoux members. I don’t feel like one of them.

  Norax’s Famoux does boast competitiveness, and less unity and camaraderie than in those before them, but I don’t want that. I want the Kaytee who offered to go to coffee with me, the Foster who drafted photoshoot concepts with me, the Chapter who gave me his hat—not these cutthroat, silent rivals. I want to be able to stand next to them and comfort them at the memorial service of their loved one, and not be accused by anyone of doing it for show.

  And suddenly my head feels clear, and my body knows exactly what to do next as I rise from the floor to the closet and pick out a black dress.

  Gerald, who I find playing solitaire in the guards’ quarters, looks very surprised to see me.

  “Are we going somewhere?” he asks nervously, as though he was supposed to know and forgot. With one frantic swipe of his hand across the table, he gathers all the playing cards in one and stands up.

  Luckily for me, Lennix didn’t seem to tell Gerald I was forbidden to leave, and if he did, Gerald is too nervous to tell me no. Quicker than even I thought possible, we’re in the car en route to the service. Any nerves that try to rise up within me, I deny outright. I’ve made my choice, and it feels like the right choice, and that is that, I tell myself. This becomes a mantra as we pull up to the cemetery.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place. This completely surpasses the crowd around the Fishbowl in Eldae. People must’ve traveled from all over Delicatum to be here, And even with all these people gathered, I’m sure this broadcast will still be the most viewed non-Darkening broadcast of all time.

  “All right, we’re a little late, but I’ll get the crowd to break up so there’s a path to the other members. Then I’ll escort you through. You stay here,” Gerald says factually, as though trying to convince himself this is the right plan. He’s as flustered by the volume as me. He leaves to go talk to the security.

  Suddenly I am dizzy. I’m going to have to walk through the crowd. There’s no other way. The part of the broadcast I saw had the Famoux members centered in the cemetery, circled by press and fans. Making a scene is the only way.

  Before I can even think about finding Gerald and telling him to stop and have us turn around, he is already back. Out the window I see security guards herding people around and I lose the ability to exhale.

  Gerald reaches out his hand, maybe in sympathy, maybe just to prompt me to move, and I have no choice but to take it and get out of the car.

  The last time I stepped out like this, it was to a flurry of shouts and camera shutters. Today, it is so silent I can hear my shoes crunching the icy grass. It’s a true winter day, but the eyes of everyone on me makes me feel like I’m on fire.

  I am a member of the Famoux and I deserve to be here, I tell myself.

  I look up and see mouths agape and people leaning in to share whispers.

  I am a member of the Famoux and I deserve to be here.

  I finally make it to the center and the seven of them are stunned. Norax looks nervous, Race and Kaytee confused, Foster intrigued, and Till almost disgusted. Chapter doesn’t seem to be wearing a lot of emotion on his sleeve today but he is definitely surprised. And Lennix just looks angry, like an explanation is due immediately. I should say something, justify myself.

  When I open my mouth, the world leans in, and I realize that in explaining myself, I’m going to have to give an impromptu speech.

  “I … I know how much she meant to you,” I utter, my voice wavering. “And how much she meant to me, as someone whose Darkenings were made brighter by her.”

  My voice catches because I realize, as ridiculous as that just sounded, it is true. While the encounters were brief, Bree was a part of my life for two years, part of the phenomenon that allowed me to escape. Kaytee must see this realization play out across my face because she reaches out and grabs my hand.

  I try to channel Norax and her composure as I address the members. “I’m aware that I didn’t know her like you did, but I felt like I needed to be here. I needed to pay Bree the respect she deserves.”

  This is all I can manage. As I bow my head to pay respect, Gerald scrambles over with an extra fold-up chair in his hands, and I quickly sit down in it, head spinning. Kaytee gives my hand a squeeze, and for a moment, it’s like we’re outside Wes Tegg’s again.

  I guess my entrance interrupted the Famoux members’ own speeches, and they resume with Race rising toward the podium. Even as the other members take the spotlight, the feeling of eyes on me never lessens, never subsides. But it doesn’t matter, because it means I’m here. I brought myself here. I’m in control.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The service is long. It isn’t until late afternoon that the speeches end, the condolences wrap up, and the feverish camera clicks finally rest.

  I expect some sort of fire and brimstone rage from Lennix, but what I get instead is even more unsettling. The walk back to the cars is silent and I’m thankful that Gerald and I get to ride back to the hideaway alone, but I know it is just delaying an inevitable blowup.

  And yet when I walk through the door, there are no explosions. The other Famoux members seem to have disappeared to their rooms, and I find Lennix in one of the lounge areas,

  Instead of running, I stand in the doorway, almost like I want to be yelled at, or at least have what I did be acknowledged. Behind me, Norax appears.

  “Emeray, come with me, we need to check the Analytix immediately.” Her tone is not stern per se, but certainly angrier than she’s ever been at me. I look at her, then back at Lennix, as if to give him a chance to say something before I go.

  Norax grows restless. “Come on, lumerpa, we have to—”

  “Do you know who she is?” says Lennix suddenly.

  Both Norax and I are bewildered as he gestures to the photo of a young girl with brown hair and wispy bangs.

  “She was at the service today,” he adds. Then with more force than the first time, he repeats, “Do you know who she is?”

  I hesitate, then offer, “A … golfer?” I offer.

  “What is her name?”

  He stares me down for an uncomfortable amount of time as I stand, answerless. Norax’s nervous energy isn’t helping either. I finally break. “I don’t know,” I say. “Who is it?”

  “Her name is Ritter Hare,” he says. “And she’s not a golfer. Come on. Only one of the biggest up-and-coming actresses.”

  “I haven’t seen any movies,” I sheepishly admit.

  “Of course you haven’t.”

  Another silence falls over us. I make a bold decision to step into the room fully. As I open my mouth to say something, I’m not even sure what, Lennix beats me to it.

  “You were not welcome today.” He looks up from the booklet for the first time, directly into my eyes.

  “I—”

  “You were not welcome today,” he repeats sharply.

  I think back to Wes Tegg’s—the long line they formed. For some reason I can’t help but bring it up. “But Kaytee’s fans liked me at the café,” I point out, instantly feeling silly. “They took photos with me.”

  “People also take photos of natural disasters,” Lennix asserts, not quite a roar but definitely louder. “It doesn’t mean they liked you, and it certainly doesn’t make them your fans. What have you done to make anybody your fan?”

  Nothing! I think. Because you haven’t let me do anything! I wish I was the kind of person who fights back to get what they want, who could just lash out and say what I think … but I’m not. The power I felt when I decided to go to the memorial service has shriveled up. My strongest urge right now is to get up and run out of the room. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Emilee Laurence always fancied flight.

  “Norax!” It’s Kaytee’s voice, trailing down the hall. “Swanson hasn’t brought me my dress yet!” She peers into the room and blushes, realizing that she’s interrupted something.

  Norax turns to us. “You two continue without me.”

  “No,” Lennix asserts. To Kaytee, he prods, “What’s going on?”

  “Race has an art show tonight,” Kaytee says quietly, a forced attempt at her usual cheeriness. “It’s … a small thing for Bree.”

  “Can I come?” I hear myself ask.

  Lennix cackles. “Absolutely not.”

  Norax tries to take this moment to flee with Kaytee, but is not quick enough. All Lennix has to do is put his hand up and she stops right in her tracks. It’s strange to see her like this, just as she was when my name got leaked to the public. So frantic, timid, human. And to think she seemed anything but when I first met her.

  Lennix is swift in his verdict.

  “Norax,” he starts, stern as ever. “You can’t control your Famoux. As this is my creation, I refuse to let you soil its reputation any longer. I will be comanaging Emeray Essence’s career. Actually, no. I will be managing her completely. You will report to me. She won’t move a single muscle without my approval. Do you understand?”

  All she says is, “Okay.”

  It does and doesn’t surprise me that she puts up no fight.

  “Now,” Lennix directs his icy attention to me. “You. You’re no exception. You will do nothing and go nowhere unless I authorize it, okay?”

  The intensity in his eyes makes me know he means it too. No more stunts like the one I just pulled. Or else. The reality of unknown consequences strikes a spark of fear in me reminiscent of the DEFED message. This is serious.

  Just like Norax, I say, “Okay.”

  He surveys us both, as though he is looking for a trace of a bluff. Finally he declares, “Okay. Good. You both may go.”

  As we scurry away, Norax grabs my forearm and gives it a quick squeeze in comfort but doesn’t say a word before disappearing down a different hallway.

  I know Lennix is probably right. I can’t go to the art show. I’ve shown my face enough today. And yet I still feel irritation rise in me. I took a stand today and what did it get me? I’m even more trapped than before. On my way to one of the staircases I see the other members in the kitchen, dressed up, waiting for the car to arrive. It makes me want to scream.

  As I climb the stairs I bite my lip so hard, I’m scared it’ll bleed. I can’t stand Lennix. Like Westin, going out of his way to make me feel inadequate every day. And after the memorial service mistake, I know he’s not even the genius he claims to be. Why is my life in his hands? Once I think I’m all alone in a long hallway I let out a frustrated yelp.

  My yelling has startled a guard, who turns the corner at the wrong time. She’s got a pager in her hand, which she points to with a slender, glove-clad finger.

  “Miss Essence, they want you formally dressed and downstairs as soon as possible. The car is leaving soon,” she says.

  “They what?” I ask. “Who said this?”

  “The members, Miss.”

  I blink, not sure if I’ve heard her correctly. The members got Lennix to budge? So quickly? I try to ask her what they said, how it happened, but she tells me she only knows her orders, then leaves.

  Back in my room, I scour through my closet, trying to piece this together. The only person who saw me show interest in going tonight was Kaytee, which means she had to have been the one who requested I come. I know she has a way with people, but to convince Lennix to let me out right after he declared my detention? Is she really that good?

  It’s hard to remember what the members were wearing when I passed them. I barely looked in my anger. I find a dark gray, tea-length frock that I think is understated enough. And close enough to black to show I’m mourning still. But yet again, should I be dressing more outrageously, as per Norax’s naive angle? Certainly not on a night like this, right?

  When I surface in the kitchen, the members are all looking at me, eyes gaping. I instinctively look down at my outfit.

  “You’re going to need to change,” says Foster.