FanGirl (6 page)

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?”

“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?”

“Sure, we’re excited he’s signed on.”

The fangirls/boys will massacre him. Gabe and Andrew. “Uh huh.”

Iris coughs behind me and I attempt to refocus. “And Alex? Who’s going to play her?”

“We haven’t found the right girl for Alex yet,” Gabe says.

“Any leading candidates?”

Nick answers. “We’re narrowing it down.”

“Have you decided on a location for filming?”

Gabe’s eyes light up. “Here.”

“In Atlanta? You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. So much of the first part is based in this area. We decided to go ahead and shoot it here.”

“That’s so great and really, really cool.”

“I think so.”

From the corner, Purple Glasses waves at me. “One more question!”

Gabe smiles again and it is so genuine and he looks so excited and cute that my brain turns to mush and I throw out my last question. “Any chance a girl like me could get a part?”

Again, the men exchange looks. “There’s an open casting call next weekend. I’ll send you the information and you can put it on your website. We’re also going to need a lot of extras.”

“Exclusive?” Iris asks from behind me. She wants to be the first one to get this information out there. If we do, along with the Wyatt casting, we will move to the number one
Zocopalypse
fansite on the Internet.

“Exclusive,” Nick says, and he and Iris share some kind of mental handshake made of eyes and head nods.

g

Chapter 5

I
n the ninth grade, Iris and I convinced her older sister, Maya, to use her fake ID to buy us alcohol.  We gave her $20 and, in return, she left two bottles of cheap wine in Iris’ tree house. I think she made a profit of $16.36. That wine was cheap, sweet and, as I learned, a one-way ticket to a nasty hangover. I spent that night drinking until I puked pink, syrupy wine out the window of the tree house while Iris rolled around on the second-hand, brown shag carpet laughing at me (until she joined me at the window). The next day, my brain felt too small for my head, my tongue too big for my mouth and my stomach like I swallowed a roman candle. After that, I thought I knew about hangovers. I was wrong. The morning after a cheap bottle of wine sucks, but the post-Con hangover is an experience all its own. For lack of better explanation:

FantasyCon > 12 bottles of discount wine = a multi-day hangover. We managed to survive two days and three nights of absolute awesome. Meeting and interviewing Gabe was the highlight of my weekend. The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent on some kind of Gabe/
Zocopalypse
high. But like all things, what goes up must come down. This is why I avoid eye contact when Iris’ mother picks us up in her Jeep Wrangler at the hotel Monday morning. We look like hell, feel like hell and, in fact, are in some post-Con-related circle of hell. We toss our bags in the back and grunt hello. I think she dropped me off at home. I have no memory other than my mother waking me up at some point and shoving food in my mouth and suggesting I take a shower. From the looks of my hair, a mass of tangles and jacked-up bedhead, I must have.

“Oh good, you’re up,” my mother says, passing by the bathroom door with a load of laundry in her arms. “Ms. Lewis called. She wants to know if you can babysit tomorrow.”

“I’ll call her.” I splash water on my face trying to get my eyes to open and stay open. I earn money babysitting. Twelve dollars an hour. I’m good. The kids love me because I’m fun, carry a supply of comics with me at all times, feed them cookies shaped like bloody daggers (upside down Christmas trees) and make a special drink called Zombie Juice (lemonade plus cranberry). I work an average six days a week in the summer, on my own schedule. There’s no way I can make that much an hour working anywhere else. Today’s subject: Emma Johnson, 8 years old, cute. Afternoon at the pool.

Emma and I arrive at the pool by 11, cooler on the table, magazine in hand, body reclined on a lounge chair. I’ve angled my chair perfectly to keep an eye on the lifeguard – my summer boy obsession. My plan is to park myself in this chair every day until I gain the courage to talk to him. I’m thinking this may happen by August.

My skin has just become toasty warm when a shadow blocks the sun. Expecting Emma, I look away from the lifeguard. Instead, I find Reid.

“What do you want?”

He sits, uninvited, on the chair next to mine. “How did you get that interview?”

The interview. Iris posted it on the website immediately. Not only had everyone in the fandom seen our write up, but major entertainment groups cited us as their source.

“You came here to ask me that?” He is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. No bathing suit. I, on the other hand, have on a bikini. Awkward.