FanGirl

by Lawson, Angel

  “Sure, we’re excited he’s signed on.”

  The fangirls/boys will massacre him. Gabe and Andrew. “Uh huh.”

  Iris coughs behind me and I attempt to refocus. “And Alex? Who’s going to play her?”

  “We haven’t found the right girl for Alex yet,” Gabe says.

  “Any leading candidates?”

  Nick answers. “We’re narrowing it down.”

  “Have you decided on a location for filming?”

  Gabe’s eyes light up. “Here.”

  “In Atlanta? You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not. So much of the first part is based in this area. We decided to go ahead and shoot it here.”

  “That’s so great and really, really cool.”

  “I think so.”

  From the corner, Purple Glasses waves at me. “One more question!”

  Gabe smiles again and it is so genuine and he looks so excited and cute that my brain turns to mush and I throw out my last question. “Any chance a girl like me could get a part?”

  Again, the men exchange looks. “There’s an open casting call next weekend. I’ll send you the information and you can put it on your website. We’re also going to need a lot of extras.”

  “Exclusive?” Iris asks from behind me. She wants to be the first one to get this information out there. If we do, along with the Wyatt casting, we will move to the number one Zocopalypse fansite on the Internet.

  “Exclusive,” Nick says, and he and Iris share some kind of mental handshake made of eyes and head nods.

  g

  [1] Universal signal for help, need or attention.

  Chapter 5

  In the ninth grade, Iris and I convinced her older sister, Maya, to use her fake ID to buy us alcohol. We gave her $20 and, in return, she left two bottles of cheap wine in Iris’ tree house. I think she made a profit of $16.36. That wine was cheap, sweet and, as I learned, a one-way ticket to a nasty hangover. I spent that night drinking until I puked pink, syrupy wine out the window of the tree house while Iris rolled around on the second-hand, brown shag carpet laughing at me (until she joined me at the window). The next day, my brain felt too small for my head, my tongue too big for my mouth and my stomach like I swallowed a roman candle. After that, I thought I knew about hangovers. I was wrong. The morning after a cheap bottle of wine sucks, but the post-Con hangover is an experience all its own. For lack of better explanation:

  FantasyCon > 12 bottles of discount wine = a multi-day hangover. We managed to survive two days and three nights of absolute awesome. Meeting and interviewing Gabe was the highlight of my weekend. The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent on some kind of Gabe/Zocopalypse high. But like all things, what goes up must come down. This is why I avoid eye contact when Iris’ mother picks us up in her Jeep Wrangler at the hotel Monday morning. We look like hell, feel like hell and, in fact, are in some post-Con-related circle of hell. We toss our bags in the back and grunt hello. I think she dropped me off at home. I have no memory other than my mother waking me up at some point and shoving food in my mouth and suggesting I take a shower. From the looks of my hair, a mass of tangles and jacked-up bedhead, I must have.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” my mother says, passing by the bathroom door with a load of laundry in her arms. “Ms. Lewis called. She wants to know if you can babysit tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call her.” I splash water on my face trying to get my eyes to open and stay open. I earn money babysitting. Twelve dollars an hour. I’m good. The kids love me because I’m fun, carry a supply of comics with me at all times, feed them cookies shaped like bloody daggers (upside down Christmas trees) and make a special drink called Zombie Juice (lemonade plus cranberry). I work an average six days a week in the summer, on my own schedule. There’s no way I can make that much an hour working anywhere else. Today’s subject: Emma Johnson, 8 years old, cute. Afternoon at the pool.

  Emma and I arrive at the pool by 11, cooler on the table, magazine in hand, body reclined on a lounge chair. I’ve angled my chair perfectly to keep an eye on the lifeguard – my summer boy obsession. My plan is to park myself in this chair every day until I gain the courage to talk to him. I’m thinking this may happen by August.

  My skin has just become toasty warm when a shadow blocks the sun. Expecting Emma, I look away from the lifeguard. Instead, I find Reid.

  “What do you want?”

  He sits, uninvited, on the chair next to mine. “How did you get that interview?”

  The interview. Iris posted it on the website immediately. Not only had everyone in the fandom seen our write up, but major entertainment groups cited us as their source.

  “You came here to ask me that?” He is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. No bathing suit. I, on the other hand, have on a bikini. Awkward.

  “I brought my brother to swim practice. You happened to be here. So, how’d you get it?”Such a nosy jerk.

  “It was a fluke.”

  “He saw the movie didn’t he? That’s how he knew who you were.”

  “Some of it, I guess. I ran into him the night before the panel and he recognized me and knew about the website. He gave us press passes. You saw the rest.”

  “Ran into him,” he says. I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

  I sit up and shade my eyes from the sun. “Yes, Reid, ran into him. Perhaps you would have had the chance if your face wasn’t suctioned to Taylor Lyn’s all night.” Before he can protest, I add, “Not that I care.”

  His jaw flexes. He’s pissed, but I’m tired of playing this game with him. Only part of this is about our relationship, or not-relationship. Whatever. The other is about the rivalry between our fansites. It’s not enough for him to break my heart, he has to beat me online also.

  “Why the hell did they cast Andrew Xavier?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea. I saw your blog about it.” Reid immediately posted a blog titled, “10 Reasons Andrew Xavier Is Ruining My Life[1].” A tad dramatic, plus a list of 10? Wonder where he got that idea.

  “Did he give you an exclusive for filming?”

  No, but I’m not telling him that. A shadow crosses us. Uh oh. I smirk at Reid. He thinks he can come after me, but the beast has arrived wearing a pink flowered bikini and sequined flip-flops.

  “Beat it,” she says, dropping her towel and bag on the chair next to mine. “What’s he doing here?”

  Reid stands, flustered. I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to being caught talking to me or from seeing Iris half-naked. She’s small, but curvy. Her exotic skin looks even darker next to the pink strings on her bathing suit top. Boys like her. Except Reid.

  “Being a pain in the ass. Same as usual,” I say.

  “I want in on the Zocopalypse filming. Let’s work together. The two of you can’t do this alone.”

  He has a point, but this isn’t my call. We have a plan to get an exclusive contact for casting and filming Zocopalypse. We will need help, but working with Reid is dangerous territory. Zombieface.com borders on mean. Neither of us wants to be affiliated with that. Iris spreads her towel across the lounge chair and situates herself. Pushing her oval-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head, she says, “I think we’re doing fine on our own. If we need your help, which we won’t, we’ll give you a call. We have your number.” She slides the glasses back over her eyes and leans her head back.

  “I can’t believe you won’t let this go.”

  I ignore him because if I don’t, it will cause a fight I don’t want to have. I scan the pool for Emma, hoping perhaps she’s drowning or something so I can escape. I find her playing Marco Polo in the shallow end. Damn her self-reliance.

  “I can’t believe you betrayed Ruby with Taylor Lyn. Taylor. Lyn!” Iris screeches. I grip the rails of my chair. Like Reid, I’m ready to move on, but she isn’t. Reid may well have cheated on Iris, too.

  Reid groans and rubs his hands over his face. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Too. Late.”

  “Do
n’t act like I don’t know how you did it,” he says, glancing at me. “Ruby ‘ran’ into Gabe Foster with her tiny shirt and sexed up hair. I saw you walking around the atrium. Even I got a boner. He only gave you that interview because you mesmerized him with – those.” He gestures at my chest while his face flames red. “Plus, you’re free advertising. He’ll want something more next time. Hope you’re prepared to give it.”

  Iris jumps out of her seat before I can even think of a response. “You did not just say that to Ruby.”

  “Oh, I did.” Feeling self-conscious, I reach to adjust my top. “Screw you both!” Reid says, and storms across the pool deck and out the gate. I’m a little scared for him as Iris shouts expletives, chasing behind him. She garners looks from the moms and a whistle warning from the lifeguard.

  By the time Iris comes back, the seed Reid planted has started to take root. Were we being used? Did my boobs lure Gabe in? Iris drops back in her seat and picks up her copy of Celebrity Weekly, grumbling.

  “How dare he say that? Right? About you of all people,” she says.

  “Do you think he’s right? That all Gabe saw was my body and what we can offer him?”

  “Look, he’s a guy. Of course he noticed your rack. That bra and the white tank made them hard to miss. But he also knew who you were and he was professional in the interview. I think he likes you.”

  Wait. What? “Likes me?”

  “Not likes you likes you. He likes you.” She puts her magazine down and faces me. “You’re smart and cute and you did a great job in the video. I’m not surprised it got his attention. You brought Alexandra to life.”

  “Stop. Your film was amazing, not me.”

  “True,” she laughs. “It was a partnership, don’t forget that. But do forget Reid because he’s a jealous jackass.”

  “Definitely.”

  She opens her magazine. “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “Andrew Xavier.” She turns the page so I can see the picture. Sure enough, it’s a photo of Andrew on the red carpet somewhere with a stick-thin blonde girl.

  “The news about Andrew’s casting as Wyatt in the edgy graphic novel miniseries of Zocopalypse rocked the entertainment and comic book world last week,” she reads. Andrew had been a child star and had his own show on Disney when he was 13. Iris and I were in love with him when he was younger. Since his show was cancelled, he has been trying to transition from teen films to leading man. Speculation that Zocopalypse will either make or break him runs rampant online. I’m still not convinced he can play the ultra-sexy, hot, violent Wyatt, but I have to admit he looks right for the part.

  “I like his hair that way.” I lean closer. “Who’s that with him?”

  “Not sure. Some model, I think,” she says, peering at the magazine to read the small print. “Last time I saw, he was dating that Tiffany girl.”

  “Yeah, me too. Do they mention the TV show?”

  “Just that he signed on for the miniseries. That’s all.”

  “I wonder who they’ll cast as Alexandra.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I say. “I still hope they pick someone unknown or random. Alex is so epic. A Disney tween queen won’t cut it.”

  “Me too, babe. Me too, but the casting of Andrew doesn’t make that likely,” she says, “They seem to be leaning toward bigger names.”

  “True. I guess we’ll know sooner than later.”

  g

  A couple of days later, I’m sitting on the kitchen counter pouring milk into my Frosted Flakes. My mom stands across from me, talking about her favorite subject: college.

  “Either way, you have to pick by the end of July.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What you choose now can make a difference in the long run. It’s definitely better to get your core classes over now.” She can talk about this for hours. Core classes, majors, dorms, dining hall plans, sororities (shudder). The University of Georgia is the school in question and is about an hour or so from home. By the grace of the scholastic Gods, I’ve been accepted for fall semester. “I made the mistake of saving economics until my senior year. I barely scraped by with a D.” She holds her fingers an inch apart. “Everyone went out to celebrate graduating and I had a rock in my stomach. I was convinced I had failed.”

  “Gotcha, don’t hold econ off until senior year.” I shove a spoonful of cereal in my mouth.

  “Your father held off everything until his final year, which is why he had to go an extra semester.”

  “Failed biology,” he adds, walking into the room with James Brown at his heels. James has wet leaves stuck to his ears. He’s a fancy dog, like one of the ones you see on the dog shows, a King something-something-spaniel-something. We didn’t buy him, of course; he was a rescue. My dad swats my knees as he passes. “That class was a disaster.”

  My mother rolls her eyes. “You were a disaster.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe. Although to be fair, I asked the professor if it was even possible for me to pass the class. He said yes. That was a complete and utter lie.”

  I have a feeling I will be more like my dad than my mom in college. She knew exactly what she wanted to study and had declared a major by her sophomore year. My dad was a little less structured. Way less. He didn’t even become a teacher until several years after he graduated.

  “I’m trying to encourage Ruby to go ahead and submit her class schedule.”

  “Oh?” He extracts a bagel from the bag on the counter. I watch as he spins the plastic bag around and ties it in a knot. “That time already?”

  “Yes,” my mother answers before I can. “I don’t think she understands how important…”

  “I do!”

  This time she rolls her eyes at me. Welcome to the Miller house. Average age of maturity: 13. “Then register. I know you hate making decisions, but you have no choice.”

  I can. I should. There is no reason for me not to go upstairs and do it right now, except the action seems so final.

  My phone buzzes on the counter. “I should get this, it could be work.” I hop down and walk into the living room. I don’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m calling for Ruby Miller?”

  “This is Ruby.”

  “Oh, great. This is Ashley Stevens. I’m Nick Parker’s assistant.”

  “Who?”

  “Nick Parker from Gencon Production Company.”

  “I think you may be calling the wrong person.” My dad walks in the room and raises his eyebrows. I shrug in return.

  “I don’t think so. You’re Ruby Miller. The one that made the Zocopalypse video?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Oh! Nick! From the panel!”

  “Yes, he wanted me to ask you to come in for a meeting.”

  Nothing this woman says makes sense. “A meeting?”

  “Would Thursday work?”

  “I don’t know. What meeting?”

  “Sorry. My job is to make the appointment. I’m sure he’ll tell you when you get here,” she says. My dad’s petting James Brown, who’s burrowed into his lap, but I can tell he’s curious.

  “I, uh, can I call you back? I need to look at my schedule. I have to work and stuff.”

  “Sure.” She rattles off a phone number and asks if I could try to come around 2 p.m., but they could work something else out if needed. I shut my phone.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “That was the assistant of the producer of the new Zocopalypse TV show. He wants to meet with me.”

  He pushes the dog off and props his bare feet on the coffee table. “Did he say why?” Another side effect of an educator/parent: questions. So many questions.

  “She. And no, not really. I guess it could have something to do with the film or the website? Maybe they’ll let us do another interview.” Why did they call me and not Iris? She would handle this like a pro.

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It does. And nerve wracking. I should call
Iris.”

  He picks up his book. “Wouldn’t want to make any decisions without her.”

  “Daddy.”

  “Let me know if you need any help with this, okay?”

  “I will.” I walk over and give him a pinch on the arm before leaving the room.

  g

  [1] 1. Andrew Xavier is a tool.

  Chapter 6

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Ruby, get your ass out of the car.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Hurry, it’s hot as hell out here.” Iris stands at the front of the car, fanning herself, glaring at me through the window. She’s nervous, which is weird because she never gets nervous. Excited maybe, but nervous? No. This doesn’t help the warring butterflies in my stomach and I feel a little bit like puking.

  We’re in the parking lot of the Steel Lofts, a converted warehouse that has offices and retail space on the bottom and studio apartments on the second level. My dad worried about us coming down here alone. The area had once been kind of rough, I guess, but now it’s kind of rejuvenated. The good thing about being 18 is my dad can express his concerns, but in general they let me do what I want. So here we are, nervous and nauseous in a semi-bad part of town to meet some guy about a zombie movie. Suddenly this feels like a bad idea.

  A blast of hot, humid summer air hits my skin the instant I step outside the car. Reid’s words about getting Gabe’s attention because of my looks bug me so I play it safe, wearing a plain black and gray striped shirt and gray capris. I’m here for my website. Nothing more.

  A few sweaty strides later, we step into Gencon’s air conditioned office. The small room only has a couple of chairs and a sofa. “Amazing that I can sweat like a pig walking 10 feet from the car,” Iris says.

  “Ridiculous,” I agree, fanning myself.

  “Ruby,” I turn when I hear my name. Nick appears in the doorway wearing shorts and a vintage T-shirt, a fine layer of hair growing on his bald-ish head. He looks so cool. “Oh, and Iris.”