FanGirl

by Lawson, Angel

  “You will?” A smile lights up his face.

  “I will. Just don’t be disappointed when I suck.”

  “I have a feeling you would be hard pressed to disappoint me. Ever.”

  g

  [1]What? I like owls and, for real, it could have Hello Kitty on the cover so I’m not feeling too bad about it.

  [2] Because (I quote) “Unlike her neglectful mother, I’m willing to make sure you don’t show up in front of a judge with bad words written on your fingernails.”

  Chapter 7

  Z.net discovered that production for the TV miniseries (to be filmed this summer) has been set up in the Atlanta area. Gabe Foster, creator, and members of the Gencon Production Company are currently auditioning parts, including an open casting call. Andrew Xavier has been confirmed to play the role of Wyatt, the lead male part in the series, resulting in a variety of conflicting opinions. Speculation runs high about who will bring iconic Alexandra to life, as well as other important characters like siblings Cole and Chloe Chase.

  We hold our end of the bargain, posting only Nick-approved information. He gives us just enough specifics, including filming dates, possible casting news and tentative storylines to keep us one step ahead of the other media outlets. Iris says that by teasing our audience about casting news, traffic will increase. So far she’s right. Z.net has become the go-to place for filming and production news — our stats confirm it.

  Iris explains all this to Ashley in the Gencon lobby while I wait for my audition. Ten or so other girls also wait in the small room and another 15 linger outside, killing time before their turn. None of the girls spare me a glance because I’m convinced they haven’t figured out I’m part of the competition. Why would they? I look nothing like the other girls. One has on stripper shoes (does she even realize what this book is about?) and tries to flirt with a nerdy-looking guy who calls the girls to the back one by one. He gets understandably flustered, his brown eyes darting between her face and chest and legs, before running down the back hallway. I would find it all much more amusing if I wasn’t fighting off wave after wave of nausea. This feels like an impossible feat, but I refuse to vomit on the toes of a quasi-stripper. The fake diamond stud in her fingernail scares me. I attempt to distract myself by listening to Iris and Ashley talk shop.

  “All the major entertainment sites have picked up our posts. People, Entertainment Weekly, the fan and gossip pages. Andrew is the main draw. Everyone wants a piece of him.”

  Ashley hums her approval. “We’re getting a lot of calls in here, too. They all want to know about Alexandra.”

  When she says this, she looks at me. Stop it! I want to say, look at that girl (model) or that girl with the red hair,[1] or oh well, skip that girl because she looks nothing like Alexandra and the fans will massacre her. But don’t look at me. Just don’t. But she’s still staring, so I glance around the room and try to figure out why I’m here because there definitely seems to be a type and I don’t fall anywhere in the same category.

  “How did all these girls hear about the auditions?” Iris asks, which is a good question. I stop obsessing for a minute to hear the answer.

  “Gabe and Nick found them various places and invited them, like you. Most work on local projects. This film is tiny right now. Completely independent, no union. Even the production techs are indie contracts.”

  Ashley may have well been speaking alien. Union? Production techs? “So they all have experience? The other girls?” I say this and notice many of them have portfolios and magic-looking bags like Iris’. I should have one of these. Why don’t I have one? What I do have, I notice and discretely wipe on my pant legs, are sweaty palms. Gross.

  “You’re going to do great,” Iris says, avoiding my question.

  “You are,” Ashley says in a lowered voice. “Gabe’s been talking about it. He’s ecstatic you’re here.”

  I perk a little bit at his name. “Really?”

  “Definitely. We went out for drinks last night. He’s in your corner.” Iris raises an eyebrow at me. We’re thinking the same thing. Drinks. Because they are all older and adults — real adults. Not, “I had to fight with my parents to come here because I still live at home,” adult. A door opens down the hall and every girl in the room looks to see the last tall, thin, dark-haired supermodel walk back out. She exits the office with a smug little smile playing on her overly plump lips. A moment later, the nerdy assistant boy appears through the same door and calls out, “Ruby Miller.”

  I stand, smoothing my shirt as I rise. Iris and I fussed over my outfit for an hour, finally settling on a plain black tank and jeans. They want Alexandra, so I’m giving them Alexandra.

  “Remember. Everything,” Iris mouths.

  Not flustered by me or my chest or my legs, NAB[2] has already walked away while I have a last-minute panic attack. Am I ready? No. Negative. Absolutely not. Never. I just want to go home. “Yes.”

  I steal a glance at Iris. She’s giving me a double thumbs up (what?), while Ashley has a huge, encouraging smile on her face. A moment later, NAB ushers me into a large room. On one side of the room, Gabe, Nick and two other people sit behind a tabletop littered with coffee cups, water bottles and soda cans. They look wary. I feel sick.

  “Good morning, Ruby,” Nick says. Gabe simply flashes me an adorable smile.

  I accept the paper NAB hands me and say back, “Good morning.”

  g

  “Nothing?” Iris asks. We’re on the sidewalk in front of the gas station getting popsicles.

  I shake my head. “No, not really. Everything’s a blur.”

  “I think I’m getting the cucumber lime one,” Iris says, staring at the chalkboard menu.

  “One blood orange,” I say to the guy waiting on us. He opens the door on top of his cart and frosty air meets the above-90 degree heat. I wish I could shove my whole head in that little freezer.

  We give the vendor our money and rip into the packaging. It’s too hot to wait. The sides of the pop are already melting, but the sticky sweet, natural orange flavor was perfect. We go back to Iris’ Honda, crank the air and lick our gourmet ice pops. Once her green, dripping pop was under control, she says, “Okay, let’s take this from the beginning.”

  “I followed NAB to the back, gave him my paperwork, saw Gabe and Nick and some other people — I can’t remember their names, and that’s it. I can’t remember anything else.”

  The entire audition has been lost in a haze of anxiety and nerves. I remember being shuttled out of the room and seeing Iris’ excited face in the lobby. She ushered me to the car and five seconds later yells, “King of Pops!” and cut off two lanes of traffic to get in line for a $3 popsicle. Thank God these are really awesome.

  “Who’s NAB? And how do you think you did?” she asks.

  “Nerdy Assistant Boy. The kid who walked me back? I was freaking out too much to hear his name.”

  “Uh huh. He was kind of cute.” I roll my eyes. Of course. “The audition?”

  “I think I did okay, but what do I know? I’ve never done anything like this. It could have been a total disaster, but it wasn’t, I don’t think. I don’t know!”

  She rubs her hand on my arm. “I’m sure you did fine. Oh! Nick texted me and said you can put your experience on the website. Do you think you can write it this afternoon?”

  “I guess.” That idea makes my stomach hurt even more than the audition. Well, almost. I shove the popsicle in my mouth again.

  Iris eyes me. “You don’t seem thrilled. What gives? Do you not want to write it?”

  I grimace. “I do. I’m worried about telling everyone about this.”

  “Why? A first-hand account of the audition process? Fangirls will be jealous, Reid will probably implode. Oh! We have to email this to Taylor Lyn, she will flip her shit.”

  This is exactly what I’m afraid will happen. The reaction. Not the way Iris described it, but the way it would truly happen. The critiques, the ALL CAPS YELLING, the rants and tir
ades, the tweets and Facebook campaigns[3]. The blogs that will now say, “10 Reasons Ruby Miller is Ruining Zocopalypse[4].” To put it mildly, payback sucks.

  I hedge. “I’m a little worried about the reaction – you know, from the community.”

  Iris starts the car with a jerk and pulls out of the parking lot, barely missing a bus. “I get that. I think it will be okay though. Everyone will want to hear about it – and it was just an audition, no one will begrudge you. Those were some hot chicks in there today. Not that you aren’t gorgeous in your own way.”

  “Dude, I know; it was a situation of one of these things is not like the other.”

  She giggles to the point she snorts, which distracts her and she almost takes out a phone pole. I double-check my seatbelt. “Seriously. Although, if they cast one of those girls the backlash will be huge – Alex is no supermodel. Anyway, be happy with this, roll with it and make the fandom green with envy.”

  I scrape the final icy pieces off my popsicle and fold the stick in the wrapper. “I can do that.”

  “Of course you can.”

  g

  In the end, I do exactly what Iris suggests. I write about my experience. All of it, from meeting Gabe dressed as a slutty version of Alex, to the now-fuzzy audition. I talk about my parents being upset that I would consider something that could jeopardize my college career. I describe the supermodels and how I felt like a little girl in a world of Amazons. Not only does the process feel liberating, but the article also receives a surprising amount of positive feedback. Our stats shoot through the roof.

  The next day, I get up and babysit a neighborhood kid for a couple hours. Eli, age 8, possible spawn of the devil. I only agree to the job because it’s for a maximum of two hours and they pay me twice my fee. The fact they agree on this rate makes me think I’m not the only one who thinks he’s evil.

  Currently, I have him occupied with sorting a pile of rocks from one bucket to the next, biggest to smallest, in the front yard. For some reason he hasn’t caught on to the fact that this is a scam.

  “I think that one goes in the small bucket,” I say, nudging one with my foot. His grubby fingers toss it in the right one. The things I do for money.

  “Your phone is buzzing,” Eli says, and he lunges for it. I reach for it first and snag it off the driveway. “Nice try.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “Hello.”

  “Ruby! It’s Ashley.”

  “Hey, Ashley, hold on a second.” I glance at Eli. “Go wash your hands. I’ll come in when you’re done and get you a snack.” With a whoop, he runs into the house. “What’s up?”

  “Not much. Finally got all those girls out of the office,” she says with a chuckle. “The Amazons.”

  “Ha, good one. They gave me an inferiority complex,” I say.

  “So, anyway, the guys want you to come back in for another meeting. Can you come in tomorrow?”

  My stomach bottoms out. “Um, sure. What for?”

  “They want you to meet with some of the other cast members – see your chemistry – if you gel and all that.”

  “Wow, okay, that sounds scary. What time?” She gives me the specifics and I text Iris immediately after hanging up.

  What r u doing?

  reading chloe/wyatt fanfic[5].

  ORLY?

  it’s terrible. i can’t stop. you?

  with devil spawn.

  ha. good luck. watch your purse this time

  soooooooooooooo

  so what?

  I have news.

  do tell. omg wyatt and chloe are making out on alex’s bed. that is so wrong.

  EMOTICON PAY ATTENTION!

  Okay go:

  I got a callback. For Z

  EMOTICON ZOMG!

  Tom, 10 am.

  holyholyholyholyholy%*$&%*%$&)_$!

  IKR? Crap, Eli just ran out the door w/o his pants. TTYL

  g

  [1] Fake.

  [2] Nerdy Assistant Boy.

  [3] Like the current one to have Andrew Xavier removed as Wyatt, currently up to 17,000 signatures. (I may or may not have signed that one under an anonymous account).

  [4] Really, the list should be more than 10.

  [5] A broadly defined term for fan-written stories about characters or settings based on the original work.

  Chapter 8

  During the last 18 years, I’ve been many things:- Thumb-sucker (age 0-3)- Bed wetter (3-6)- Ace Frehley, lead guitarist of Kiss (Halloween, third grade)- Girlfriend (fifth grade - three days; eighth grade - three months; first kiss - 10-11th grade; Reid - first don’t-wanna-talk-about-it)- TV show auditionee (current)

  The exception? Liar. Especially to my parents. It’s not out of any sense of moral obligation or anything. Apparently, I have a “tell.” My father has said that since I was a small child, when I lie, my lips curl into a smirk, making me look guilty as the devil. Eventually, I just stopped lying, opting for the truth or avoidance if necessary. The circumstances surrounding my audition and callback remain touchy (and frankly, unclear), so I hedge. Mom is still upset about my initial audition. Dad decided to stick with mom (damn him). They know the details of my audition, the first one, but thought it wouldn’t go any further. Neither did I.

  Avoidance is my only option.

  The night before the big day I stay with Iris, attempting to sleep on her soft, incense-smelling futon. Dim, star-shaped lights that we bought at Ikea hang from her curtains, giving the room a warm glow. Tucked into Iris’ familiar bed, I figure that if I stay away from home, I don’t have to lie, therefore solving the problem. I do not want to explain something that may not be a reality. Why have the same argument again if no one, including Gabe, thinks it will happen?

  I am on my back, staring at the fading, glow-in-the-dark stickers on Iris’ ceiling when I feel her roll toward me and not-whisper-whisper, “Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” I say back in the same hushed, unnecessary tone.

  “Nervous?”

  “A little.” I am not sure what to feel. Nervous, excited, anxious, nauseous, exhausted.

  “I’ve been thinking about the audition,” she says. The bed shifts as she props herself on her elbow. “Do you think you’ll get to kiss Andrew?”

  Um…

  I sit up in the bed. “I never even thought about that! I can’t kiss Andrew Xavier! He’s all perfect, with perfect boy hair and perfect muscles. Plus, I’m a little mad about him getting the Wyatt part, so it would be really awkward and strange — beyond, you know, the general awkward and strangeness of kissing a guy you’ve never met, yet used to have posters of on your wall. Then there’s the fact it would be like a fake-fake kiss, since I’m holding a grudge for his casting.” I take a deep breath. “That’s it. I can’t go. I’m not ready for this level of moral dilemma.”

  Iris stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’d consider giving this whole thing up because you’re afraid to fake-fake kiss Andrew Xavier? And because you’ve suddenly developed an irrational moral compass? Exactly how does kissing a hot actor for work make an ethical dilemma?”

  “It just does,” I say, completely serious. Kissing boys was more Iris’ sport than mine. I like to kiss boys, when I know them, not because they’re famous. Or have hot tattoos on their necks. Not for the first time, I think about how our roles should be reversed.

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?” I flop back on the bed. The room is dark enough that it’s difficult to make out Iris’ features. I’m glad because it means she can’t see my face either.

  “What else are you afraid will happen?”

  “Failure. Mocking. Andrew Xavier,” I list. She settles down next to me. “The future, my parents, school, Gabe. General fears of making an ass out of myself.”

  “The plot thickens. I know you’re not the risk-taker type, and really, do you think I would encourage you to do this if you were horrible? I directed you in that video. I watched it a million times.” She rolls over and faces me. “You have what
it takes. Will you get it? I have no idea. Depends on if they want one of those glamazons or not, but you have every right to be there if you want. Gabe asked you himself.”

  Iris and I have been best friends since our parents signed us up for a horrific year of gymnastics together when we were 6. She and I got into a scuffle waiting in line for the trampoline. To this day, she maintains that I cut in line. Likewise, I maintain she was a bossy brat. The result? One pulled pigtail and one kick in the shin. After being dragged from the gym floor, our mothers made us apologize and forced us into a play date. We’ve been BFFs ever since, but at any time I may kick her in the shin and she may pull my hair. It’s how we show affection. Her little speech kind of touches me.

  “Aww. You really do love me,” I say.

  “Shut up.”

  “You do.” I snuggle into the bed at little tighter. “I also think you lace your words with sleeping potion.”

  “It’s the voodoo,” she said in a clipped, island accent.

  I close my eyes. “Then cast a spell that I go in tomorrow, say all my lines, kiss Andrew Xavier on the lips, wow Gabe with my skills and become the most kick-ass zombie fighter in the history of zombie-fighting ass-kickers.”

  “Done.”

  g

  “You can go back,” Ashley says, pointing me down the hall away from the safety of Iris, the couch and the handful of other girls who have returned.

  “Ruby, wait!”

  I stop in the doorway and feel Iris’ fingers in my belt. “Take this.”

  She hangs a hatchet from my belt loop, a real one, just like Alexandra’s. The metal is heavy on my waist, but the twisted handle at the top hangs secure over the top.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  NAB isn’t here to escort me like last time. I reach the meeting room and the door swings open. Gabe steps into the hallway.