FanGirl (13 page)

“Miller! Move your ass.” Oh my God. I hate her. So much. And that megaphone? I want to shove it up her…

“Now!” she yells, and I scramble to my feet, having already learned the hard way what happens when you slack off at Zombie Fight School.

“Lunges — to the third pole and back,” she orders. “She” was Cameron, our trainer. We spent the last week working with her and a team of torture experts four hours a day.

• Cameron: scary trainer; weighs approximately 110 pounds and 109 of that is muscle
  
• Jason: martial arts specialist
  
• Marcus: fight choreographer
  
• Janis: cardio
  

“What do you think she’ll do if I cry? Because I may,” I say to Vanessa. She lunges next to me. Vanessa in her matching sport bra/tiny workout shorts ensemble. Her entire look is in perfect contrast to my own. The stretched out, holey T-shirt I have on complements my frayed shorts. Why dress up to sweat? It’s 85 degrees outside and only 9 a.m. We’ve been at the park since dawn and all I want to do is go back to bed. I never realized being an actress would be so not-glamorous.

“She’d make you do it again,” Vanessa says, wiping a thin layer of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “And then mock you. And then make you do more.”

“My legs hurt so bad last night I dreamed I was in a horrible accident and had them removed,” Rochelle adds
[4]
.
Cameron has all the women working together, about eight of us in all. The men work in a different group and we rotate trainers every 30 minutes for a fresh version of hell.

“Do you see the guys?”

“Yes.” Rochelle says, a step behind me.

“I don’t want to do that.”

“You know we will.” We all peek at the guys vaulting over picnic tables. The trainers do not limit our cardio to running or the elliptical or Jazzercise. This is Zombie Fight Camp. We train like zombie hunters because after the zombie apocalypse, there will be no such thing as treadmills or air-conditioned workout rooms. The entire concept is equal parts awesome and horrible. The awesome part is they’ve embraced the spirit of the show. The horrible? Yesterday, I spent the afternoon chucking tires at Vanessa and dodging them in return.

“Miller! Over here!” Cameron’s voice booms through the megaphone.

“Ooooooh, you’re in troooouble.” Apparently, besides being a hot model, Vanessa also has the maturity of a 12-year-old girl.

“I didn’t do anything. Swear.”

“Miller! Stop chit-chatting and get your butt over here!”

“Coming!” I run across the field as fast as my exhausted legs will carry me. Cameron’s with Jason, who works with us on fight scenes and basic moves. There’s a black leather case at his feet.

“Starting today, Jason will train you in a specialized area.”

A mixture of hope and dread rush though me. “You’re not training me anymore?” I ask Cameron. Please say yes, please say yes!

“You wish,” she sneers. SHE SNEERS! Proof she loves torturing us. “Your work with Jason will be in addition to your regular workouts. Every morning for the next week, you will work with Jason first and then join your team. Andrew will switch with you.”

I look over at Andrew, who hangs with the other guys off of a chain link fence while Janis holds out a stop watch and counts down in 10-second increments.

“Yeah, okay, can you show me what we’re going to do?” I ask after Cameron leaves to go harass the girls again. I like Jason. He’s about my dad’s age and Asian and has the moves of Jackie Chan, minus the cheesy jokes. I’m a little scared he can break my neck in one fast snap.

“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

Chapter 10

“
H
ow 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 gestures 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.