“Hi,” he says, leaning against the wall.
“Hey.”
“Nervous?”
“A little,” I hold up the script Ashley gave me when I arrived. He raises an eyebrow and I cave. “Okay, a lot.”
“You’ve got this. You’ve channeled Alex before and nailed it.” His voice lowers. “I need you. Zocopalypse needs you. These other people will totally fuck up my vision.”
I have no idea if this comment is supposed to be reassuring, but all I feel is panic.
A smile breaks on his face. “No pressure, huh?” He opens the door and gestures for me to walk ahead of him. Right as I pass him, he whispers, “I’m serious. These other girls are idiots.”
I gulp and do a quick sweep of the room. The long table from before is still in place. The same faces from last time sit behind it, although this time NAB sits at the end of the table with a stack of papers in front of him. Gabe is already back in his chair with a blasé, innocent expression. Then I see him. He’s opposite NAB, at the far end of the table, as though the atmosphere of NAB and Hottest Upcoming Star 2011 should not mingle.
Andrew Xavier.
AKA: the best-looking person I’ve ever seen. No, really. I thought I had a solid concept of a handsome or beautiful or attractive person.
For example:
Taylor Lyn: Homecoming queen; Cheerleader Number 3 on “One of the Pack;” blonde, blue-eyed, Southern beauty
Iris’ father: creamy dark skin, perfect teeth
Hot lifeguard at my pool: genetically superior, arms made of steel, wingspan of a giant
But I’m wrong. This boy-man standing in front of me may be the most beautiful person ever. Even the glamazons have nothing on him.
“Hi, I’m Andrew,” he says, half standing to shake my hand. His hands are so soft. Do men normally have soft hands like this? Self-conscious, I rub my wet, sandpapery hands on my skirt after he releases mine.
“Ruby.” Yeah, that’s all I can manage.
“Okay, Ruby, we’re hoping to get a read on how you and Andrew work together. The scene you were given beforehand is one between your two characters. We’d like to see you act it out together,” Nick announces from his spot behind the table.
I immediately recognized the scene when Ashley gave me the script. It’s a section of Volume 1, when Alex and Wyatt decide to travel as a team.
Andrew moves from behind the table to stand next to me. He’s not as tall as I expected, but his eyelashes are a foot long and I think he could cut someone with the sharp angle of his jaw.
“Ready when you guys are,” someone says from the table.
“Ready?” Andrew asks. Are his eyes blue or green, I wonder, resisting the urge to shield myself from their glory.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you’re ready?”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. Ready.”
Alexandra and Wyatt rummage through an abandoned, picked-over convenience store, looking for food and other supplies. Both are dirty, weary and on edge from being so exposed during the daylight. Although they’ve traveled from the farmhouse together, they’re in an uneasy and undefined alliance.
Wyatt shoves random packages from the auto parts section into a large, hiking-style backpack, one-handed. A shotgun is in his other hand.
Wyatt: How long were you and your mom on your own?
Alexandra picks through the remaining bottles of aspirin, medicines and soap. She fights back tears.
Alexandra: Long enough. You?
Wyatt: Since the outbreak. I lived on my own anyway. I just packed a bag and got out of there.
Alexandra: Where’s there?
Wyatt: Durham.
They both shift around the store, moving to a different section. Wyatt glances over his shoulder and at the doors occasionally. It’s eerily quiet.
Alexandra: You’re a student?
Wyatt: Am. Was. Whatever.
Alexandra: I looked at Duke. Pre-med.
Wyatt: Eh, college sucks. You’re not missing anything.
Neither laugh at his lame attempt at humor.
Alexandra: My dad is the one who wanted me to go there. He was a huge basketball fan. One year he even got to go to the Final Four… basketball. Afterward, he said he would have rather watched it at home, on the TV with instant replay. What a stupid concept, you know? Running around shooting a ball in a hoop. Does it all seem crazy to you? Was that real? Did we spend time and money and energy on games?
Wyatt says nothing. He’s just watching her. Listening as she tells her story.
Alexandra: I mean all those boys are dead, right? Unless they’re one of them. Faces rotting. Brains oozing. Can you imagine being eaten by a seven-foot center?
Wyatt: They don’t eat you.
Alexandra: Sure they do! I’ve seen it.
Wyatt: They don’t eat. They’re dead. They just want to spread the virus.
Alexandra: How do you know this? Did you hear this somewhere?
Wyatt shrugs and moves behind the counter. Alexandra doesn’t press and the two pick over the rest of the store. They seem to know there’s nothing left to scavenge and they stand across from one another.
Wyatt: Look, you’re nice and all but I’ve been on my own this whole time. I don’t need anyone slowing me down out there.
He looks her over, as if to suggest she is weak.
Alexandra: You’d rather be on your own.
Wyatt: Yep.
A groan comes from the back of the store and a zombie comes into view. He lumbers in their direction. Wyatt reaches and pumps his gun, loading the cartridge. Before he takes aim, Alexandra pulls her hatchet out of her pants and hits it square on the forehead. Direct hit. Wyatt, shaking, looks at Alexandra in amazement.
Alexandra: Sure you’d rather be alone?
The scene stops there, but it doesn’t matter. The entire room, from Andrew to Gabe to NAB, stare behind Andrew’s head, focused on the still-quivering handle of my hatchet protruding from the wall.
“What? Was that wrong?” I ask, hands resting on my hips.
Andrew breaks the silence with a loud laugh. His palm is up and he waits expectantly. “That. Was. Amazing!” He presses his hand in the air. Oh! High five! Nerds don’t high five. I hold my hand up for him to slap. “Let’s do something else,” he says, looking at the table.
The men at the table[1] put their heads together to talk.
“Where’d you get the idea to bring the hatchet?” Andrew asks while we wait for further instruction.
“It’s Alexandra’s signature weapon.” I fight the urge to call him a dumbass. Or to kiss him. One or the other.
“Oh, yeah.”
“You should have brought a shotgun. Wyatt always has one with him. Always.”
“I know,” he says. “I read the books.” Ha. I bet. Once, out of obligation.
“Ruby,” Gabe calls my name and I walk over to him. Nick waves Andrew over also and speaks to him separately.
“Okay, we want you two to arm-wrestle.”
“Me? Arm-wrestle him? His biceps are the size of my face.” I know this because I have been observing how tight his shirtsleeve is across his upper arm.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not arm-wrestling. Alexandra is. How would she win? How would she beat Wyatt?”
How would Alexandra beat Wyatt, who is bigger and definitely stronger than she is? Alexandra is fast and smart, but neither of these helps in arm-wrestling. I cross the room and pull my hatchet out of the wall. Chunks of plaster fall to the ground. I ignore them and sit down across from Andrew at one of the chairs NAB has set up with a small table. I put my hatchet down and position my elbow to match Andrew’s on the table, palm open.
Nick counts down, “Three, two, one. Go!”
Andrew allows me to struggle for a minute, which is silly because he can finish this at any point. No matter how hard I push, his arm will not budge. For a brief moment, I close my eyes and attempt to channel Alexandra. My elbow slides and my eyes pop open. The hatchet. I pu
t my hand over the handle.
“Not so fast,” Andrew says, using his free hand to wrap around my wrist. His lip curls into a smirk and I know he’s won. With one swift move he yanks my arm off the table and pulls me across the empty space. He drops both hands and cups my chin, leaning in for a kiss.
My mind blanks. It goes numb. Nothing processes through my brain but the feeling of soft lips and warm mouth, and the fleeting thought of how this is so much better than kissing the laminated poster over my bed on a dare from Iris in the sixth grade.
“Shit,” Gabe says, breaking the moment.
We break apart and see an overturned cup pouring brown, milky coffee all over the stack of papers in front of Gabe. Andrew releases me and I feel my face burn from embarrassment. Everyone tries to clean up the mess and I’m thankful for the distraction.
“Sorry about that,” Andrew says, handing me the hatchet. “Couldn’t let you one-up me again.”
I slip it back in my belt. “No problem.”
“Ruby,” Nick calls me over once the coffee-spilling crisis is averted. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you giving me the chance.” NAB opens the door for me to leave.
“We’ll call you,” Gabe says. I search his face, but his expression betrays nothing.
I nod and step into the hall as the door closes behind me. Immediately, I hear a whoop and loud laughter coming from the audition room. Hoping they’re laughing with me and not at me, I escape down the hall, relieved the whole thing is over.
g
What happened next ties evenly for “biggest surprise ever” and “like I didn’t see this coming.” I got the part. Just like that. Gabe calls me on my cell and tells me the news. He says, “Ruby Miller, will you be my Alexandra and show the world that female zombie hunters kick ass?” He may have tried to say some other things, but Iris, sitting in my kitchen eating a strawberry Pop-Tart, activates the speaker on my phone. I’m midway through getting schedule information when she starts screaming, making me miss the rest of the call. It doesn’t matter though, since I am in a state of shock.
“Iris! Good lord, I thought you were dying. Don’t do that. Ever. Never. You’ll give me a heart attack.” Iris stops screaming the minute my mother runs into the kitchen, her hand clutching her chest.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller. But,”
“Iris.” I say in my super-bossy, authoritative, shut-up-now voice.
“But what?” My mother looks between us. She’s no dummy.
“Tell her,” Iris says and shoves half a Pop-Tart in her mouth, nodding at my mother. “Tell her, or I will.” Or something like that, I’m not sure. Crumbs fall out of her mouth when she speaks.
My mother, used to the dramatics between the two of us, sits on the stool by the counter. “Okay, what’s going on with you two?”
I take a deep breath and try to think of the right approach. Direct? Positives/negatives? A letter? A long, rambling story that will lull her into sleep, therefore missing the crux?
“Wait. I need my camera.” Iris dashes out of the room and down the hall to the foyer where she hangs her bag. “Don’t start without me!” she yells. Her feet slap on the hardwoods and a loud bang sounds from the other room. “Ouch! Stupid chair. I’m okay, I’m okay,” she says emerging with her camera open and its red light blinking. “Ready. Go.”
My mother wisely ignores Iris and focuses her attention on me. She knows us too well. “So, remember the Zocopalypse audition? It was crazy, all the girls — supermodel types and actors and wow, it was just wow.“
“RUBY GOT THE PART!” Iris yells focusing the camera on both of us.
And there it is.
“What the hell?” I throw my hands in the air. She smiles and zooms the camera in on my mother.
“You got the part?” she says.
“I got it. Alexandra. They want me to play her for the miniseries. Gabe just called.”
“But…”
I beat her to the punch. “The whole thing films this summer over break. I won’t miss school. I get paid, although I don’t know how much, but I do, so I’ll still be working.” She wasn’t arguing, so I keep going. “Plus, Gabe doesn’t think this will go very far. I mean, who wants to watch zombies on TV?” I ignore Iris’ raised hand. “Other than us, that is. I’m going to do it.”
My mother frowns, but she’s not yelling, so I take this as a positive sign. It is a little creepy how she stands without warning, opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water. Iris and I exchange glances (although she never stops filming), waiting for a response.
“Promise me one thing,” she says after untwisting the cap and taking a gulp of water.
“Okay.”
“Don’t bail on school.”
“I won’t. I won’t bail on school. I promise.”
Another gulp. “Iris, are your batteries charged on that?”
“Yes. Always.”
“Good, let’s go tell Ruby’s dad.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
QueenAlex
@z.net to people who don’t like Ruby because she’s new: Give her a shot! Everyone deserves a chance!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Colesgirlz
@z.net who’s playing cole??!!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Wootyeahboys
@z.net erm… Andrew is gay. End/.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Wyattsbabe
@z.net Alex is an icon. No way a N00b can pull off this role. We all saw what happened with @deathception #fail
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Hatchetlover
@z.net Between Andrew X and this new chick zoco=disaster
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Zombieprincess
@z.net Gabe supports her and I support Gabe #gabeiloveyou
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Andrewspants
@z.net Can’t wait to see Andrew in chaps. #postapocolypticromance
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
WyattluvsAlex
@z.net Ruby is too short, too wide, too ugly, too tan, too NOT ALEXANDRA for the part
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Z.net
Andrew and Ruby both auditioned and won their roles. Whatever they did behind closed doors was enough to win them over.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
AlexkicksZass
@z.net did you just call me a whore?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Z.net
@AlexkicksZass EMOTICON SORRY!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“That’s just the first page,” Iris says, scrolling past the endless number of tweets @z.net.
“Stop.”
“You better get thicker skin. You know it’s going to get worse.” She closes the Twitter page and opens our website. She had to upgrade our server again due to the increase in traffic since the announcement. “Damn it. I should have taken Reid up on his offer. I could use his help. Too bad he’s busy ridding himself of whatever nastiness he caught from Taylor Lyn.”
God. She’s never going to let this go.
“We met with the lawyer today,” I say, redirecting the conversation.
<
br /> This news distracts Iris away from the computer and her ever-loving hatred of Reid. ”I still can’t believe you gave your mom Taylor Lyn’s phone number.” She tosses her head back and cackles her evil she-devil laugh.
“It pained me, but my parents drew a line. A big, fat, wide one and Taylor Lyn was my only hope.” Taylor Lyn, of Cheerleader Number 3 fame and my current arch-nemesis, oddly helped me talk my parents into letting me take the role. She’s the only link I have to the world of TV and movies and my only hope of deciphering the 20-page contract Nick couriered to our house. “My dad took one look at that contract and was prepared to say no. I had to figure something out or forget the whole deal. I sucked it up and gave mom the phone number.”
“Classic. What happened with the lawyer?”
“Well, I had to raid my savings to pay half of his fee. To ‘prove I was serious about this.’” Yes, air quotes.
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it. But I think it was a good idea. We agreed on the schedule and some promotional obligations. Morality stuff. Like, I won’t get pregnant or embarrass the backers or anything. Oh, and my dad pushed that I not be naked. Thank goodness. No one needs to see that. I know it’s television, but it’s also cable, they like to test the boundaries.”
“Good call.”
“Annnnd.”
“And what? What?”
“I added you in and Z.net!”
“Me?” She jumps up and claps happy claps. “How? What?”
“Yep. You’re part of my package. Mom and Dad worry about me hanging out alone on set, so you get to be my chaperone/assistant/record keeper.”
“No way.”
“Yes. Way.”
“Good thing my summer is clear. When do we start? What do we do? Can I have Nick? I kind of want him.”
“We start on Monday. Filming the four episodes should take about five weeks. Nick invited everyone to this get-to-know-you thing at some restaurant near their office tomorrow night. After that we have to go to “Zombie Survival Camp” or something. Oh, and because you’re getting access to the set for the blog, there’s a whole list of rules for you.”
“Uh oh. I’m not good with rules.”
FanGirl Page 8
