FanGirl

by Lawson, Angel

  “Knife throwing,” he says and opens the case at his feet. Inside are a dozen thick-handled knives. He pulls one out of the case.

  “Awesome.”

  In a fluid, swift move he throws the knife across the field where the blade lodges perfectly into a tree.

  “Amazing!” I clap and hold my hand out for my own knife.

  “Not so fast. First you have to learn how to hold it. Then we’ll throw them.”

  “Why a knife? Alexandra uses a hatchet?”

  “The skill will be the same, but once you master using the knife we can move to the stunt hatchet. See this?” he says and offers me a smooth wooden handle. “The blades are dull. Throwing knives aren’t for harming others, but at the same time you have to learn control so you don’t brain someone for real. When filming starts, there will be a choreographer for the different stunts.”

  “You’ll teach Andrew this also?” I ask.

  “Not exactly. He’ll learn some, but he and I will work with the firearms more.”

  “Can I try?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, just to see?” I beg.

  Jason steps back and crosses his arms. “Okay. Take a step with your right foot — your foot always needs to be pointed in the direction you’re throwing the knife.” I do as he says and wait. “Next, hold the knife by the handle right above your ear. Yes, like that.” He steps forward and adjusts my arm into the angle he wants. “Now, slowly pull your elbow back and release the blade.”

  I follow his directions and let go of the knife. It flies through the air with zero control and spins into a bush 10 feet from the tree. “Oh well, huh.”

  “Not a horrible first try,” he says walking away from me to locate the knives. “But I think we have our work cut out for us, don’t you?”

  g

  [1] Cole, age 20. Army-brat survivalist. Crush on Alex. Rival of Wyatt.

  [2] Chloe, age: 23, Cole’s sister. Sexy, but tough.

  [3] AKA: Andrew Xavier.

  [4] Playing Deanna, age 20. Conspiracy theorist, believes that the government started the zombie apocalypse.

  Chapter 10

  “How short are we talking?” I ask the reflection in the mirror.

  “Not too short. Gabe requested that it look similar to the drawings. Luckily, your hair is pretty long so it will be easy to cut.” Edwin twists my hair into little bunches and clips them on top of my head. “Don’t worry, it will be cute. Plus, you can get rid of all these split ends.”

  I snatch a piece of hair. “I don’t have split ends.”

  “Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Once I get the weight off, we’ll dye it.”

  So far this may be the hardest part of the process. Alexandra has a short haircut and dark hair. Mine is too long and too light. The physical changes in boot camp were difficult, but the results are awesome. This just feels like I’m losing a part of myself.

  An hour later, Edwin has my hair up in these foil strips making me look like an alien. I take a picture of myself and text it to Iris.

  Nice look.

  Emoticon Hair Fail.

  Stop being dramatic. I’m sure it looks awesome.

  I’ve been here for hours. I’m about to rip the foil out and run through the streets.

  Take pictures when you do this. Kthanx

  I take a picture of myself flipping her off and press send.

  Nice. Oh that reminds me. I have a new favorite word. Cheiloproclitic.

  Ummm, what?

  Cheiloproclitic. Word of the day. We’re using it in our next fan fiction post.

  I can’t even pronounce this, and how does me flipping you off have anything to do with cheilooyoayholhahgic?

  It doesn’t. I’ve just been looking for an excuse to bring it up all day.

  What does it mean?

  Having an erotic attraction to a person’s lips.

  O.o I’ve experienced this.

  ORLY?

  Andrew Xavier.

  Right.

  The hair dude is waving me down! I think they’re going to unleash the locks!

  Emoticon Good Luck!

  g

  The Powers That Be give us a day off before filming starts. I choose to use mine lounging, with my ear buds in, cheesy 80s music on and half-dozing in a chair by the pool. I’m semi-involved in a dream about kissing Andrew[1] when chair legs scrape across the pool deck near my face. I peek with one eye. Iris.

  “I’m not working today,” I tell her. Iris never stops. Ever. In her world, there’s no such thing as a day off, and I’m a moon orbiting the planet of Iris, sucked into her gravity system whether I want be or not. But not today. Today, I’m resting my tired muscles and blistered hands.

  “Fine, fine, but I have something you may want to see,” she pulls her tank over her head and drops it on the ground. “Wait. Where are your glasses?”

  “I’m wearing these contacts the wardrobe people gave me. Weird, huh?”

  “Yes. I don’t think I’ve seen you without glasses since we were 10 years old.”

  “I know. These contacts suck. They’re tinted also. And this hair.” I touch the new haircut. “It’s shorter and weird. I keep feeling like I’ve lost something.”

  “Well, then maybe you won’t mind what I have to show you.”

  “What?”

  “You and I both know from watching too much E! that working in Hollywood has several parts. Welcome to the invasive, creepy, tabloidy part.” She tosses the magazine at me. “Page 36.”

  I roll over and flip through to the correct page. “What the?”

  “I bet you wished you’d smiled in that senior class photo,” she laughs. “And listened to me when I told you to wear your hair back. Remember that?” Now she’s just being snarky.

  “Why would they print this?” I stare at a photo of myself. My senior class photo, in fact, the one where I chose a smileless pose and ignored Iris when she told me to wear my hair back. The one I informed my mother (in a high-pitched, whiney voice) that if she sent to the relatives or framed or displayed in any room of the house, I would never speak to her again. “How did they get this!”

  Iris shrugs. “Yearbook? As soon as I saw it mentioned online, I went to the store and bought it.”

  I read the caption underneath the photo. “A source close to Ruby says she is excited to have this part since she’s so inexperienced. She realizes how lucky she is to get the role of Alexandra, when at her competitive school of the arts, so many other students are better qualified. Our source, a former classmate, happily shared Ruby’s class picture with us.”

  “Ahhhh,” she says.

  Taylor Lyn or Reid.

  I tell this to Iris and she nods, “Reid would have focused on Zocopalypse. Taylor Lyn’s jealous. It’s Taylor Lyn.”

  “Probably. What a complete slore[2].” I turn the page. “Is that Andrew?”

  Iris lowers herself in the chair. “Yep. Running in the park. Shirtless. Unf.”

  “Unf is right. I didn’t know one person could have so many ab muscles. I think I counted eight rows.”

  “Just think, you’ll get to touch them.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say, closing the magazine. I need to stop drooling over Andrew. It’s an unhealthy, useless pastime. “So, what should we do about Taylor Lyn? Do you really think it’s her?”

  “Oh, I know it’s her.”

  Sure enough, this theory is confirmed an hour later as we stand on Taylor Lyn’s front porch and she says, without remorse, “Celeb Weekly was very interested in my interview. Plus, I have to return a call to Hollywood Informer.”

  It was at that moment that I realized this could go down two ways:

  1. We can negotiate with Taylor Lyn

  2. I can begin collecting money to bail Iris out of jail for assault

  “What do you want?” It takes everything I have not to add, “besides my boyfriend.”

  “Some kind of part. Not a zombie either. I don’t want all this,” she g
estures to her face, “covered in fake blood and guts and stuff.”

  “You have a job!” Iris says. “Did they whack off your cheerleader or something on the wolf show? Did you fall off the pyramid?”

  “No. We’re off for the summer and I need something to do. This show sounds perfect for me.”

  “Taylor Lyn, I don’t have that kind of pull on the show. Plus, I think all the parts are cast.”

  She places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s up to you. You have a week. And whatever the part is, please make sure it’s on the same days as Andrew Xavier, because otherwise I’ll have to sit at home and troll through my old photos from middle school. Remember when you had braces?”

  g

  Five days later, I’m in the middle of a make-believe abandoned coffee shop. The set is silent, other than David’s pacing feet and my labored breaths. Arthur, the director, is perched behind his camera. Bright lights surround us and I feel the trickle of sweat start down my back. I grip the handle of my knife tighter, hoping it doesn’t slip. The scene around me is a mess. Tables are overturned, papers litter the floor, and a group of brain-hungry zombies are pushed against the store’s front window in an attempt to get to me and the other humans. The current problem isn’t the crush of zombies pressing against the windows, or the lack of food, or the fact none of our characters know how to get out of the building alive. No, the problem is trust. Who can be trusted and who can’t. Because of this, Alexandra has her hatchet held to Wyatt’s throat.

  Alexandra: Where do you think you’re going?

  Wyatt: What the hell, Alex? I’m just looking in the back for supplies.

  Alexandra: Two rules! We. Have. Two. Rules. You just broke a big one.

  Wyatt: So I split up. What’s the big deal? I was still here — just back in the other room. It’s not like you were alone.

  Cole watches the two fight from the sidelines.

  Alexandra: You never go out of sight. Do it again and you may have a blade to the head, not just your throat.

  Cole: Drop the hatchet, Alex.

  She looks between the two men and lowers the knife.

  Wyatt: You know I’m not leaving you, right?

  Cole: Whatever man, she’s scared.

  Wyatt: I don’t need you to tell me how she’s feeling.

  Cole: Really? Because obviously you don’t get it.

  Alexandra: Shut up! Both of you! I can’t do this anymore. I’m out of here.

  Cole: Come on… Alex!

  Alexandra walks across to the shop and picks up her backpack from the counter. She runs out the back door.

  “Cut!”

  I’m behind a fake wall, separating myself from the main stage. The set went from completely silent to a rush of noise. People talking, machines moving, David laughing. I press my back to the wall and take deep breaths, trying to steady my nerves. I listen for my name, for someone to call me to go back and do it again (and again and again), but it never comes and I slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Just when I think I’m in the clear, I hear a low curse and something fall to the floor.

  “There you are,” Andrew says, climbing over some thick cables. He pushes a box with his foot to get closer to me. “You okay?”

  “Uh huh.” He looks skeptical and holds out a bottle of water. I take it while he sits down next to me. “Thanks.” After a long swallow I say, “Why are you back here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  I shrug. “No reason. Hiding. It’s hot in there.”

  “It is. I never get used to the lights. Sometimes I get headaches.”

  “Really?” I’d had a splitting one two days ago.

  “Yeah, not today though. That scene went pretty well. I love it when we get out early.”

  “This is early?” I ask.

  “Yeah, sometimes it goes way late — like 2 or 3 a.m.” He checks his watch. It’s only 9.”

  “I feel like I’m holding everyone back,” I say, dropping my head back against the wall. I do. I have no idea what any of the terminology means. Arthur has been patient, but I feel stupid.

  “Nah, only a little maybe,” he smiles that megawatt smile and nudges me with his rock-hard shoulder. “Kidding.”

  “No, you aren’t. It’s a disaster.”

  “No way. It’s fine. Everyone has their first week. Some of us have it when we’re 12; can you imagine how many times I messed up then? I was so hyper and excited! My mom had to give me an extra dose of Ritalin just to get through the day.”

  “Stop.” Andrew doesn’t seem hyper. If anything, he’s completely focused.

  “You’re doing a great job. You survived your first week of filming, which makes you officially an actress.”

  “I may be working, but official is a stretch.”

  Andrew looks at me and it makes me so nervous. He’s so attractive and confident. It makes me shrink in reaction. “I don’t know how to explain it, but you get this part. Like there, you seemed so vulnerable underneath a determined, powerful girl. She’s fierce. I believed all the trust you’d placed in Wyatt was gone — like that,” he snaps his fingers.

  “Alex has a hard time trusting these guys. She doesn’t have any experience with boys or anything. I think she’s afraid to be with them as much as she’s afraid to be alone.”

  “I can see that. But then Wyatt and Cole? They’re both young and confused. Cole feels responsible for his sister and then he meets Alex, and falls for her, all while Wyatt has already staked his claim, even if it’s unspoken.”

  “Not to mention Wyatt is all secretive.”

  Andrew rubs his hands together. “I can’t wait for his past to be revealed.”

  “You really did read these books.”

  He frowns. “Of course I did. I’ve got a brain in here, Ruby Miller. I’m not just a pretty face.”

  “But you do have a very pretty face, you know.”

  “Yeah, baby. This thing pays the bills.”

  I roll my eyes. “By the way, did you call me fierce?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Nothing. I like being called fierce, that’s all. That, and now I know you watch Tyra.”

  “Shut it.” He bumps his shoulder against mine again. He is so cute. And hot. Why does he have to be so hot?

  “Does it always feel so exhausting? Exhilarating?”

  “Yeah, plus frustrating and annoying sometimes. But usually, after a good week of work like this, I just feel pumped. I’ll probably go run a couple miles.”

  “Now?” He’s crazy.

  “Sure, before dinner. I need to work out some of this energy.” Okay, maybe he is hyperactive. All I want to do is sleep.

  He stands and helps me off the ground, his big, giant muscles flexing. “So you’ll be at dinner?”

  Nick announced before the last shot that we’re meeting for dinner to celebrate the end of a successful first week. As much as I want to just go home, Iris and I plan on going.

  “Yeah.”

  “Great, see you then,” he says and gives me a big hug.

  “Thanks, Andrew.”

  He winks and leaves me and my accelerating heart in his wake.

  g

  I’m sure the rest of the cast would prefer to celebrate at a bar, but since I have the lead part and I’m embarrassingly underage, Nick suggests we return to the restaurant we went to last time. This is fine by me; one more new thing this week and I may explode. I wasn’t lying to Andrew. All I wanted was to snuggle up in some pajamas, eat some ice cream and sleep for days.

  “Congratulations,” Iris says, and holds up her martini glass of not-martini for a toast. The bartender slid us some dark red, not-drinks when we walked in. “To you! And to me! And to us! It was an epic week. We had record high hits. And!” a huge smile crossed her lips, “I got a call today from US News. They want to do an interview with me about the Zocopalypse phenomenon.”

  “That’s great! When is it?”

  “Sometime next week. They’
re going to call me.”

  “Did you tell Nick?”

  “No, not yet. Once I do, he’ll figure out a way to turn this into a PR moment for him. He’s obsessed with using social media and different types of platforms to push this movie. Which is great, but we’ll see. I may keep it on the DL.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Also, I want to talk to you about something. For the website.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay? I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help more.”

  “No, it’s fine. But I’m putting in a lot of hours and we’re getting amazing traffic, so I had an idea.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “I’m thinking about opening the site to advertising. That way, I can make enough money to at least pay the maintenance and stuff.”

  I make a face. “You know what happens when fansites start taking money.”

  “I know! People start posting what’s popular and not what they feel is important. It happens all the time. But, really, I need some help here and maybe if it generates some cash, I can pay someone to help me.” I hesitate and she adds, “But, I won’t do it if you don’t agree. Promise.”

  I can feel the hope vibrating off of my friend. I know Iris works like crazy keeping the site updated and current. Nick gives her a lot of information from filming, which puts us ahead of other sites, like Zombieface, and I suppose it’s not fair for me to hold this back. “Okay, do it.”

  “Yay!” she throws her arms around me. “Thanks!”

  “Just keep things the same, okay. Don’t sell out.”

  “Me? Sell out? Don’t even. So, how was it? I barely got to see you, but that costume? Smokin’.”

  “You barely saw me because you spent the week following Nick. It was fine. Hard. Sometimes I feel stupid and like I’m delaying everything while they describe what blocking means or how not to get in the way of the lights or trying not to trip over all the equipment or sandbags or something.”

  “First of all, I’m following Nick around because he’s showing me the ropes. He knows a lot. Arthur, too. He’s letting me watch a lot of the filming and directing process. And just so you know, they all think you’re doing awesome. I think everyone is pleased so far.”