FanGirl (9 page)

I realize Gabe basically wants me to take care of his baby. How can I say no? How can I say yes? “What if I do it and I’m terrible? What if I ruin Alex? What if I kill your baby?”

“My what?” Can you hear eyes rolling? I swear I heard his roll out of his head and down the street. “Do you think I would let you do that? Just come in for the test. If things go badly, then at least you tried and you have a great story for your website, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Here’s the other thing. I hope this goes somewhere – the show, but how many zombie programs are there on TV?”

“None.”

“None,” he says. “It’s a crap shoot. The odds of us getting a slot in the fall lineup, even on cable, are slim.”  He’s right. The idea is ridiculous.

“You’re telling me to do it because in all reality
Zocopalypse
, in television form, will never succeed?”

He laughs, kind of nervous and tense. “I’m telling you that I’m taking this huge risk, putting my creation out there for the world to see and have it shot down before it even gets off the ground. I want you to be part of that colossal, probable failure.”

“You’re offering me the chance of a fangirl’s lifetime, which could end up being a critical failure, and you think I should say yes.”

“Pretty much.”

James Brown lets out a loud, prolonged snore of approval from his bed in the corner. I make a face. “Hush, dog.”

“That was a dog?

I laugh. “Yeah, James Brown snores like a 250-pound man, not a 15-pound dog.”

“I thought it was some kind of monster attack – and wait, your dog’s name is James Brown?” He reaches down and calls James. After a bit of stretching, he ambles over to get his ears scratched.

“Yeah, my parents have this thing for naming their animals after dead musicians. The last cat’s name was Marvin. His life came to an equally violent end.”

“Marvin, as in Gaye?”

“Yeah, before that we had two dogs named Buddy and Kurt, and another cat named Hutch.”

“Who’s Hutch?” he asks, scratching James behind the ears.

“My mother had a major crush on some dude name Michael Hutchence.”

“Oh, INXS – suicide. I love this. It’s like zombie dog names.”

“Don’t tell my mom that!” I laugh. “Anyway, if you knew my parents, you would realize this is completely typical.”

The quiet stretches between us. It’s less awkward since my rambling stories of dead famous guys and our silly pet names lightened the earlier moment. In the most sincere voice I’ve ever heard, Gabe says, “Ruby, please be my Alexandra.”

“Okay.” I feel lightheaded, which is partially from the way Gabe’s looking at me. His sincerity is overwhelming. I swallow. “I’ll do it. I’ll audition.”

“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

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 tirades, 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