Note: I know. I'm sorry. I'm here.

PREVIOUSLY ON THE FAMOUX: The interview with Ansel is happening like right at this moment.

emeray

An hour later, the first face I see when I exit the stage is Carstan van Horne's. He's in a stance almost identical to one I've seen Norax in countless times before––his shoulders steady, a clipboard in his hands. The similarity makes me as overwhelmed as it does ridiculously fearful.

"You did an amazing job, Emeray," he says, giving me a thumbs up. "Nothing like making coffee with Delicatum, right?"

Before our grand show on Ansel on Eighteen aired, over a dozen production meetings ensued in preparation. The offices in this studio are yet another place Norax was when we weren't sure where she'd gone––along with fetching us the Fanatix members, she'd sat through countless conferences deciding the best way to introduce so many people with a minimal amount of disarray from the audience.

Disarray, they decided, would be inevitable. Bringing in six new faces into the Famoux so as suddenly as Norax was planning would, without a doubt, cause a frenzy among some of the fans. So many people, so little time. For Ansel to extensively interview all six of them, divulging into all the details of their personal lives, would take far too long for an hour broadcast. Other arrangements would have to be made.

Lucky for the Fanatix, they're more accessible than Famoux members have ever been. With the members of the Classix, like myself, a trip to Fissarex obliterates nearly every aspect of your old life in regards to public knowledge.

But the Fanatix––they are real people, unchanged, with hometowns, and friends, and families the world can come in contact with. They don't need a whole hour to tell a fake story about how their family is now unreachable and that the world should totally drop the subject. Regardless of whether or not they say a word on Ansel's show, detailed stories of their lives will likely end up in magazines by the end of the week.

Thus, our host Ansel Anders, in fear of either boring or overwhelming with a dozen interviews, called for various activities instead. Ice-breakers, he claimed, for the entire world. And in his planned fashion, each and every one of us broke ice, answering a couple lighthearted questions while having a dance lesson, or baking a cake, or other homely, distracting things. The goal was to make it seem like we, the Famoux, could be right there with the viewer, helping around the house while having a small conversation.

All the colored doors for the Classix members swung open at once at the beginning of the show. We're all here, it seemed to beckon. Stay with the program for another hour.

Ansel, after newly introducing us as the Classix, had each member welcome in their own new members to Delicatum. We went one by one down the line, and when the names were called they would step through whichever member's door and onto the stage. Truly, literally following in our footsteps and into the public eye as Famoux members. It was a spectacle to behold of subliminal metaphors.

When the introductions were settled, everyone left the stage and were put into a holding area to wait for Ansel's call. Till's member Sarah went first.

Following every interview and activity with a Fanatix member was another with the Classix. We didn't need to do the same level of introducing as they did, but rather were here to serve as yet another subliminal message. Not only was our presence a brief refresh for the audience with a more familiar face, but also, as Norax put it, an establishment of the equality among our two groups.

Equality––that was a recurring word of the night. Throughout the broadcast it was forced, and then reenforced, and then reenforced once more, a little louder for the people in the back of the studio audience.

"The Famoux and their fans have always been an unbreakable unit," Ansel would remind us, completely disregarding the amount of breaking that unit's been doing since Foster's death. "The Fanatix and the Classix are a representation of that unit. Think of the Fanatix as your favorite people's favorite people."

Just watching it awed me: So much effort was getting put into making something so blatantly stratified look like it's totally equal.

I came back out for my activity with Ansel just after Lacey Dean showed a book full of pictures of her children. The plan for me didn't come too much as a surprise; if there's one thing I've found to be a trend for celebrities, it's their fans establishing a specific quirk or attribute to embody them. This can be anything––perhaps a specific outfit people seek to replicate, like Chapter and his Stones t-shirt. It can also to a behavioral stereotype they grow to expect, like the idea that Race is soft-spoken.

For me, my quirk is coffee.

Similar to my last time on Ansel on Eighteen, two mugs and a coffee machine was brought out for Ansel and I just as I walked onto the stage. Going through the motions of brewing, Ansel asked me how I've been adjusting to my two new members, and I told him exactly what I knew he wanted to hear.

How's it going? Couldn't be better!

Excited about the new members? It's exactly what the Famoux needed!

"I hear one of your new members used to be your bodyguard." Ansel tilted his mug back for a final sip. With that, I gathered this to be our final question of the day. "How did that come about?"

"Gerald is one of my best friends," I answered. "We get along so well, I guess Norax decided to give him a promotion."

"Quite the promotion indeed."

Ansel then smiled his trademark smile, thanked me again for my time, and dismissed me from the stage. I was lead off right through my copper door.

And that leads me to right here, right now, standing awkwardly with Carstan as he compliments my coffee making abilities.

"He didn't ask you too many questions, did he?" he continues. I haven't quite yet contributed to the conversation, but he keeps at it regardless. "I mean, nothing really personal or anything."

I shrug, my eyes locked onto a specific tile on the backstage floor. "It wasn't the time for a personal interview."

"Bet you're glad they didn't do that question session like last time. You know, when they took a question from viewers."

"I remember."

I remember far too well. Of all the people in the world who could've made it on the broadcast to ask me a question, I just had to get one from the the only friend I ever really had as Emilee Parvenu. Cora Loress––the girl who hated the Famoux more than anybody I'd ever known.

I recall her looking different when she asked her question on the show. It was as if she'd died her hair a little darker, or maybe put in colored contacts. Unlike myself, she'd always wanted to be different than anyone else.

And it was no surprise when she asked me a question about that.

"Do you think it's okay for people to be different?"

"You managed to handle that girl's question pretty well, at least," says Carstan, reading my mind.

"Well, thank you."

I notice his feet shifting aimlessly in my peripheral view. "You know . . . even though you were sort of lying to her."

There's a distinct split second in between me meeting his gaze and responding in which I shrink into the floor and threaten to never surface again.

"Pardon?"

"Come on, you have to see it too."

"See what?"

Carstan stretches his arms in front of him, yawning with boredom. "Of all the people in the world, the Famoux members are the last ones who should be parading about messages of self love and being different. Trends, insecurities, unrealistic expectations––the Famoux is the group making all of those things. That means you."

"What?" Any collectedness I had before this moment washes away like a passing wave. "That is absolutely untrue," I state.

"Is it?" He gives me a look. "Is it, really?"
My hesitation lasts all of a second, and my speech comes back in stammers. The expression he dons is one of complete triumph.

"I mean, sure, celebrities can do that to people, but––but––"

Carstan van Horne leans forward, that triumphant look on his face getting more and more potent by the second as he waits for me to continue. I absolutely hate it––that look he's got. I get the urge to slap him straight across the cheek.

"You know, not every person in Delicatum follows us," I tell him. For a moment my voice wobbles, but I find the strength to continue on even firmer. "There are plenty people who ignore the headlines and don't even turn on their televisions to watch us during the Darkenings. But those people still struggling to fit in, Carstan. They're still insecure. It's not the Famoux making that happen––it's their classmates. It's their peers."

"But you have to admit that you're at the center of it," he says. "People wouldn't have to fit in if you weren't giving them ground rules on what is and isn't cool."

I can feel my blood boiling just beneath my skin.

The Famoux had absolutely nothing to do with me being unconfident, and self-conscious, and suicidal, and miserable.

You did, Carstan van Horne.

But explaining that, expressing it in a way that doesn't make me Emilee Parvenu again, is next to impossible impossible. My shoulders slump, sensing Carstan's defeat over this conversation. His triumphant smile returns again, even bolder.

I thought I was long past the days of him getting to win.

"We do good things too," I say, small. So much for that firm, strong voice. "If you ever looked at the mail we get on a daily basis you'd see how many lives we've been able to save with the things we do."

"You should take a look at the real mailboxes, while you're at it."

"Huh?"

"You know, the one with all the death threats and negative notes that assistants have to weed out and burn." He pulls his clipboard closer to his chest. "Did you know about that mailbox, Emeray Essence?"

I feel cheeks going red with anger, with embarrassment.

"No," I tell him. "I didn't know about it."

"You may be surprised how much you don't know about what goes on behind the scenes of your life."

But I'm not surprised.

It doesn't surprise me at all.

xxx

I've been through at least eighty-seven existential crises in the past week and I'm sorry for not posting last Friday. I'm so so so so sorry. I'm gonna make it up to you.

This gif of Hamilton truly depicts how life's been going for me as of late. It's a PARTAYYYY.

Yesterday I realized my post for the Wattpad Block Party was the worst thing ever and had to write an entire new 5,000 word thing yesterday about a character you actually like. So now you're actually gonna hopefully like that first-draft of a post when it comes. I'm also editing the Famoux so I can, you know, try to get that mess published. That'd be great.

I'll be back soon with another update. In the meantime I'm getting on my 5th flight this month. Can you say NONSTOP?

Remember: Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.