FanGirl

by Lawson, Angel

  “There, done,” Iris says, tapping a couple keys and closing the laptop. “We had a bunch of hits overnight. Today though, we need a big one. Everyone was at the parade, so none of our shots are that unique. We need a photo of Gabe, up close, at least, an interview at best. What do you think?”

  “All he said was press seats. I have no idea what that means.”

  “You realize that if I had been there, I would have asked.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t get his photograph last night. Or ask him any questions!” Iris fixes her braids and applies makeup in the mirror. I work my hair in two tiny pigtails under my ears. We’re ditching our costumes for the panels today. Instead, we’re sporting matching black shirts with our website’s logo. Iris pairs hers with jeans and boots. I tie mine in a knot at the waist. Holding my pants, I waver for a second. Guys like skirts. Gabe is a guy.

  “What are you doing?”

  I’m standing in a knotted shirt and pink flowered underpants in front of my suitcase holding a skirt and a pair of olive cargo pants. “I can’t decide.”

  “Pants. We’ll be sitting on the floor.” She returns to her eyeliner and fishes out a tube of mascara.

  “But…”

  “I think Gabe got an eyeful of your assets last night. No need to overwhelm him.”

  Ouch. “I doubt my ‘assets’ did much for him other than make me look like a little girl playing in a big kid’s pond,” I say, but I drop the skirt anyway. Twenty minutes later, Iris is at the door.

  “Ready to go?” she says.

  “Yep,” I hand Iris my notebook, pen and a pack of gum. She stashes them in her bag. “Look, I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight all day.”

  She sighs. “Next time you meet someone famous do two things. One: text me. Two: get a picture.”

  “I know! I’m sorry! I know! I broke, like, five friend codes in one stupid fangirl moment!”

  “Well, at least now we know what happens to you under pressure.”

  “A total mind melt. Stupidity. Complete fangirl implosion.”

  She nods. “Pretty much.”

  “From now on, all famous moments will be experienced together. In fact, I’m implementing the Bat Signal[1] now.”

  “What’s the Bat Signal?”

  “The Bat Signal is the Bat Signal.”

  She stares at me. “Okay. I’m holding you to it.”

  After a pit stop at the hotel cafe, we each have a Coke, a coffee, two donuts and a bagel. We hover outside the conference room door considering our next move.

  “Go ask,” Iris says, nudging me with her elbow.

  “I feel stupid. What if he forgot?”

  “Then we get in line. Go, you’re wasting time.”

  I fight the urge to stick out my tongue. I hate asking questions and talking to people, especially grown-ups or people in quasi-authority with lanyards and badges and stuff. I start to protest once more, but Iris narrows her eyes. “You owe me. I want a picture. Go.”

  She has me there. The door attendant looks up from her clipboard as I walk up to her. “I think I may be on the press list?”

  “Name?”

  “Oh, um, Ruby Miller.” Gabe knows my name, right? Did he forget?

  “The name of your publication?”

  “Z.net.”

  She scans the page and I consider making a run for it – he must have been joking. “Yeah, you’re on here. I have two seats for you.” She hands me two stickers.

  Two seats! Just like he promised! I wave to Iris. “Here,” I say and put the sticker on her pass. It’s official – we’re official!

  Once inside, I ask, “How many people can fit in here do you think?”

  “No idea, maybe 5,000?”

  We’re 10 feet from the main stage at the front of the room. Several long tables and chairs fill the space. Big screens frame both sides of the stage and two more hang from the ceiling toward the back of the room.

  “Do you think he’ll talk about the new issue?” I ask, nervous and rambly while Iris adjusts her camera, angling it at the stage.

  “Maybe. Hopefully they’ll talk about the movie or TV show or something.”

  The lights blink off and on and everyone cheers at the empty stage. Iris grabs my hand and I feel my pulse accelerate. Part of me knows this is weird. This obsessive excitement that courses through me. But that’s what it is – an obsession. I love these books. I love the creator and the fansites and my fansite. And now, to top it off, we’re in the front row, counted as press. Nerdy girl dreams come true.

  The curtain ruffles and my heart seizes. I’m disappointed to see it’s only the moderator.

  “Welcome!” the mod says. He’s big and has bushy black hair. Off the stage! I want to yell.

  Everyone continues to cheer, the room buzzing with pent-up nerdtastic energy. Iris bounces her knees. Normally, I would tell her to knock it off, but I don’t care because somewhere back there, behind the gaudy gold hotel curtain, Gabe Foster is waiting. Gabe with his scruffy beard and blue eyes and ironic baseball cap. Gabe who saves damsels (me) and watches fan videos and is a genius. Will he see me? Will he acknowledge us?

  “Welcome to the Zocopalypse panel,” says the guy with the afro. “We’re excited to have Gabe Foster and his team of artists and writers with us today.” He starts ticking off names. Four guys and a girl walk across the stage to their seats. Nick Parker was the name of the third guy. The minute he emerges, Iris grabs my hand. “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know.” The young, African-American guy settles in his chair. He’s good looking. Coffee-colored skin and darker eyes. Very good looking.

  “And, last but not least, Gabe Foster.”

  “Thereheisthereheis,” Iris chants. Because. There. He. Is. His beard is a little bit thicker than the night before and his shirt is different (maybe – still plaid). But it’s Gabe and he’s adorable. Dark hair curls from under his cap and he’s tall and lanky. Skinny, but not too skinny. He has that pale-skinned, comic book nerd thing going on, but his eyes are so blue I can see them from my seat. He pats the other panelists on the back, pulls out the seat next to the moderator and sits down, all while the crowd claps and cheers. He smiles and waves and takes a deep, exaggerated breath while everyone settles back in their seats. His eyes travel the audience and my cheeks burn for a second when our eyes meet. It’s only for a second, a blip, then he’s laughing and whispering to the guy next to him.

  “So,” the moderator says, “who wants to talk about zombies?”

  g

  “Okay, if you have any questions, make your way to the microphone in the middle aisle. No personal questions (guess Iris won’t find out if Nick is married) and be fast about it so the next person can ask.” The moderator says all of this and dozens of fans rush to the mike.

  “Will Wyatt survive the attack?” (Like they’re gonna answer that.)

  “In Issue 3, did the government secretly leave water and food for the survivors?” (Duh. Obviously.)

  “If you made a movie out of Zocopalypse, who would you cast as Alexandra and Wyatt?” (OMG WHO?!)

  “Who do you see Alexandra with at the end of the series, Wyatt or Cole?” (I can’t believe someone asked that.)

  “So should we tell them?” Gabe asks Nick. Tall, dark and handsome hasn’t spoken much on stage. When he introduced himself it was simply as “a producer.” Iris and I exchanged a look. Partially because we don’t know what that means. Also, because when he turned his head we could see a dark tattoo on his neck.

  Nick smiles, showing his straight, ultra-white teeth. “I think we should.”

  This chatter makes the crowed get a little twitchy. Some people shout encouragement from the back of the room. For no rational reason, my palms start sweating. “We wanted to announce this here, since you guys are our biggest fans and we owe our success to each one of you. Zocopalypse would be sitting in the discount comic bin if you all hadn’t pushed it to become mor
e.” His forearms rest on the table, the sleeves on his flannel shirt are rolled to the elbow and I can see him tense the muscles in his arms. “Nick is from Halo TV, we’re making a pilot of the comic together.”

  What’s that saying? And the crowd goes wild? Exactly.

  g

  Once the moderator thanks and releases the panel from the stage, I turn to Iris and say, “That was amazing!”

  “I got it all on film,” Iris says, grinning with excitement. “I’m going to run to the room and upload.”

  I have one eye on her and one on Gabe. “Wait. We need to go to the signing. He should do a couple interviews and then go to the exhibition hall for autographs.”

  I tweeted during the panel, keeping followers informed, but the video would bring people to the website. She thinks for a minute. “We have a lot of good pictures from just being in here.”

  Gabe and Nick walk off the stage. Right before he ducks behind the curtain, he looks down at me and raises an eyebrow, then he’s gone.

  “Iris,” I say, jabbing her with my elbow. “He looked at me.”

  “Who?”

  “He did. He looked at me.” I jerk my thumb at the empty stage. “Twice.”

  “Awesome,” she’s distracted and rummaging through her bag, handing me a roll of gaffer’s tape and some cables. “Okay, go to the signing without me. I’ll…”

  “So how did you two manage to score these seats?” Reid interrupts, dropping in an empty seat. “Steal those press stickers?”

  “Right place at the right time, I guess,” I tug on Iris’ arm. I wasn’t about to discuss strategy in front of Reid. “Ready?”

  “Ruby got press access from Gabe Foster himself,” she says. Hands on her hips, smirk on her lips.

  “How?”

  I shrug. I’m not tainting this day by letting Reid make me feel like crap.

  “Shouldn’t you be uploading to Zombieface?” Iris asks. I frown. He shouldn’t be talking to us and wasting time.

  “Oh, it’s already posted. I sent it all to Joshua, who’s at home with the flu. Too bad for him – lucky for me.”

  Iris doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the rage boiling just beneath the surface. Her twitching eye says it all.

  A man in a yellow FantasyCon volunteer shirt walks up to us. “Excuse me, are you Ruby Miller?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Foster has requested you come to the back room with the press.”

  Iris shoves me aside, her massive bag hitting me in the stomach. “He did?”

  “What?” Reid asks.

  “Follow me,” he says and walks away.

  “Are you punking me?” Reid says, throwing his hands in the air.

  We look at each other as the smiles grow on our faces. Iris mouths, “Holy shit,” behind his back and grabs the stuff out of my hand, shoving it all back inside the bag. Reid stands and follows us following the volunteer to a door next to the stage that leads to a narrow, gray-walled hallway.

  Before we enter, Iris stops and faces Reid. “This invite is for Ruby. Not you. Leave.”

  “I didn’t hear him say your name.”

  She shakes her head and Reid steps back. “I’m invited because I have this pass, which has my name on it, which Ruby so nicely shared with me when she had the good fortune of meeting Gabe Foster last night. You didn’t notice because you were too busy sucking face with Taylor Lyn behind the stairs.”

  “Whatever. Look, let me go with you. I’ll source Z.net on my page.”

  “Hell yes you’ll source Z.net. After we get the interview and post it ourselves. First. Go away little boy, these are the big games and you aren’t invited.”

  Reid looks like he may cry and clenches his fists in tight balls by his side. “Ruby?”

  I stare at him for a second. “You made your choice, Reid. You don’t get to use us just because you feel like it.”

  “Let’s go,” Iris says, pushing the door open and dragging me through it. “I can’t believe him.”

  “Forget it,” I say, taking a deep breath, pushing the drama back. “We’re going backstage, at Gabe Foster’s request. Who cares about Reid?”

  Iris laughs. “Not me! Do you think Nick will be there?”

  “Dude is like 25. Knock it off.”

  “Gabe’s 20.”

  “Yes, but I have a stupid fangirl crush. It’s not like anything would ever happen. You would totally go for it.” We have had this discussion a million times. Truth is, I can’t even comprehend the idea of making a move on Gabe. My mind won’t even go there. At best, I would love to sit and talk to him. To be his friend, to learn all about his work, maybe watch horrible B movies and eat junk food with him.

  “Yeah, but that was before you met him!” Her voice raises and I shush her. She lowers her tone and says, “He looked at you in there and got us in back here, maybe he digs you.”

  “Yeah, right.” The staffer pushes through a door at the end of the hall and I stop Iris. “Maybe he’s just being helpful to two ELSAD alums who promote his books for free. Maybe that’s all he’s getting out of this. Which is awesome and win-win. Shut up and let’s go.”

  On the other side of the door, Gabe and Nick sit on a gray couch in front of a large FantasyCon banner. A woman is across from them, in her own chair, asking questions. There is a camera guy behind her.

  We are so unprepared.

  A frazzled looking woman with purple glasses and a clipboard rushes up to us. “You have the next interview. Five minutes, so make sure you’re ready as soon as I give you the signal.”

  Iris hands me her bag. “Hold this.” She digs in with both hands and extracts three small microphones. She also fishes out four new batteries that she pushes in the back of a receiver. One clips to my shirt. I watch, fascinated, as she tests the batteries before moving on to focus her camera. She fusses a bit more before she’s satisfied. “Okay, you ask the questions, I’ll film.”

  “What should I ask first?” Why didn’t I prepare? Where is my “Things to Ask Gabe Foster When I Meet Him” list? My mind becomes a black hole of information.

  “Ask about the show. Where it’s filming, who’s being cast? Is Nick single?”

  “Ha, ha. You wish.” I take a deep breath. “I can do this.”

  The woman with Gabe and Nick completes her interview. After a quick handshake, a volunteer escorts her out of the room. Purple Glasses runs over and gives each of the guys a bottle of water. Gabe catches my eye and winks. For the love of God, I can only hope not to barf on his shoes.

  Iris watches my mental struggle and says, “Stop.”

  “I can’t help it!” I whisper/shout, but it’s too late to calm down now because Purple Glasses has pushed me into the chair and Iris has already started introducing herself. I steady my nerves as she clips microphones on Gabe and Nick.

  “I’m Iris Johnson, from Z.net.” I swear her fingers linger on Nick’s hand.

  “Hi, Ruby,” Gabe says.

  “Hey.” I sit down before my knees buckle.

  Purple Glasses comes back and barks, “Five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I glance back at Iris, but she’s already filming. “Thanks for having us here. It means a lot.”

  “Ruby and Iris made the fan video that’s all over the Internet,” Gabe explains. “And they run the fansite Z.net.”

  Nick tilts his head trying to place me. “Okay sure, yeah.”

  “Yep, that’s us.” I swallow and steel some nerves. “So, TV? Are you excited? Will the show follow the comic? When do you plan on shooting?”

  “Um, excited, yes. Follow the comic? I hope so. Issue 1 at least. It’s going to be a miniseries. Which, if things go well, maybe they’ll ask for more. Filming? Soon. Over the summer,” Gabe answers.

  “Oh, wow. That’s fast.”

  “These things seem to work fast. I mean, we’ve been in negotiations for a while, but suddenly everything just clicked.”

  “How many episodes will there be in the series?”

&nb
sp; “We think about six.” Nick answers this one. “Depends on how the screenplay breaks down.”

  “Are you writing the screenplay?” I ask Gabe.

  “Definitely. That’s why the negotiations took so long. I’m controlling the adaptation with an iron fist,” he laughs, but I can tell he’s not joking. “Zocopalypse is my baby. I don’t think I have to explain to you how important it is for me to get this right.”

  It’s like he knows what I need him to say. It’s perfect. “Fans will be happy to hear that. No one wants this screwed up.”

  “Trust me, I don’t either. If I’m going to get one shot at this, I want it to happen my way. I’m lucky Nick feels the same way.”

  “Have you cast the parts yet? Alexandra? Wyatt?”

  He looks at Nick for some kind of approval. “We’ve cast Wyatt.”

  “You have? Can you tell us who?” Wyatt is drawn and written as an extremely handsome, 19-year-old boy. He has blond hair and bright blue eyes. He has the body of Adonis. Broad chest, wide shoulders, washboard abs. Everyone has their Hollywood ideal for who they want to play his character. It’s a constant source of speculation on the fan boards. Personally, I’m trying to keep an open mind – it’s doubtful anyone can live up to my expectations.

  “Can I?” he asks Nick.

  The producer hums a little and shakes his head. “Come on,” I nudge. “Give me the scoop. Think about Z.net delivering this news directly to your fans.”

  Nick laughs at me, but says, “Okay, tell her. It’s breaking in the next 24 hours anyway.”

  I look at Gabe and he holds my eye. He knows I am aware of how big this news is. “Andrew Xavier has agreed to play the part of Wyatt.”

  No. What?

  “Excuse me?” I say. I feel Iris grip the back of my chair.

  “Andrew Xavier,” Gabe repeats.

  “Andrew Xavier.”

  “You know him?” Gabe asks. He seems genuinely surprised, but he isn’t a teenager. Or a girl.

  “From Drew’s House?”

  He nods. “Yeah, exactly.”

  Andrew. Child actor turned gorgeous wannabe leading man. He’s perfect, but absolutely wrong for Wyatt. “Wow, really?”