FanGirl
Author: Angel Lawson
Date: 2017-03-02 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Young Adult; New Adult; Contemporary; Romance; Horror; Humor
Description: Ruby Miller has her summer all planned out. Sitting by the pool. Babysitting for some extra cash. Packing for college. All of that changes when a fan video Ruby and her best friend, Iris, create goes viral gaining their little fansite a ton of hits and the attention of the big wigs in Hollywood. Ruby and Iris fall into the world of actors, movie sets, teen stars and elusive artists. Not only is their friendship put to the test when Ruby's cast in the lead role of the newest zombie flick, she must straddle the line between fiction and reality, love and lust, and being true to herself. Ruby Mill

By Angel Lawson

Text Copyright © 2012 Anna Benefield

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publication.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Lawson, Angel
FanGirl/Angel Lawson-1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1478180296

1. Young Adult-Fiction
2. Zombies-Fiction

Book Cover Samantha Marrs
Illustrations- D. Varnadoe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Knock it off, Iris.”

She jumps around the room, making my dresser mirror bang against the wall. She appeared unannounced five minutes ago, her dark braids tied in a cluster at her neck, and hasn’t stopped moving or talking since. I’m still in my pajamas working on my newest list for our website. I read aloud, “Five Little-Known Survival Supplies Found in Your Home.”

“Guess what?”

“What?” I say, unimpressed by her excitement. It’s all another day in the land of Iris. While she paces around my tiny room, I put away my notebook and give my best friend the undivided attention she’s demanding. “I need you to chill out and tell me what’s going on. Not act like a Stage 2 LD[1]. Sit.”
She drops into my desk chair. “I posted the video last night, around midnight, to hit different time zones.”

“Right. I know this.”

“I checked the hits and links and tweets and all that this morning and, eh, nothing special, but…”

“But what? Spit it out!”

Her green eyes flash. “Zocopalypse.com[2] picked it up!”

“The website?” I ask, as if there is something else.

“Yes!”

“Holy. Crap.”

“I know, right?” She smiles wide and crazy. “This is huge.”

Iris spins the chair to face the computer. She’s the brains behind all of this. I’m just a fangirl[3]. A fangirl that helped make a fan video that has now been seen by…

“How many hits now?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.

“20,459.”

…20,459 people on YouTube. Twenty-thousand people have seen me make a fool of myself for my best friend.

“In 12 hours? You’re kidding?!”

“Some of those are from the blog, but it spread like wildfire on Twitter and Tumblr once Zocopalypse linked it.”

I lean back into my pillow. After a quick sniff of Iris’ feet, my dog, James Brown, jumps on the bed and burrows his small body into my side. We worked so hard on the video, and for it to get such huge results for us and our blog is awesome. “How are the comments?”

Iris smiles. “They love you.”

“Stop it.”

“Girl, I won’t. You are now the face of Alexandra, zombie killer. Everyone wants you to play her in the movie.”

“Whatever,” I say, but inside I’m freaking out. Alexandra[4] is the most iconic female graphic novel character ever. She’s fierce and strong and kicks ass. Not just the ass of the Living Dead, but anyone who gets in her way. Including Wyatt.[5] She is a hero, a warrior – the savior of the entire remaining human race. There is no way I could ever fill the role of Alex.

Iris glares at me. “They do. That’s the big deal. No one could imagine Zocopalypse being made into a movie or TV show in the first place. You just brought it to life. Look,” she turns back to the computer, “Ruby channels Alexandra! Before I watched the video I was opposed to the novels being made into a movie. I’ve changed my mind!”

I sit up and try to see the screen. “Who wrote that?”

“I don’t know. The screen name is zombiemama.”

“Wait,” I lean closer. “There are over a thousand comments!”

“There are tweets also.” Her fingers move across the keyboard and she starts reading.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

QueenAlex

Check out this video @z.net Zocopalypse lives!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wyattsbabe

@z.net did you see? Did you see? DID YOU SEE??? @z.net

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net Alexandra was amazing! I cried!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Queenwannabee

@z.net What? Try harder.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zombieprincess

@z.net More! I want to see Alex and Wyatt’s first kiss! Make another!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zlover

@z.net perfect!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WyattluvsAlex

RT @z.net check out our fan video from Zocopalypse!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gabrielsinferno

Loving this fan video

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

Thanks for the support! We love hearing your feedback!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“That’s insane.”

“Dude. That’s what I’m trying to say! Viral. Our video has gone viral faster than that toxic case of food poisoning went through our cabin at camp last summer.” I scrunch my nose. Barf. Not a good memory. Iris is undeterred by thoughts of fever and vomit and the fact I will never eat an enchilada again. Ever. She sits back in the chair gloating a little. I don’t blame her. She deserves it. She made the video and directed it. It is her pride and joy. I just did what she told me to.

“I’m going to watch it again.”

“No!” I jump from the bed and lunge for the computer. Iris has watched the film a few hundred times. Minimum. I have seen it, of course, but watching myself on film is weird. She sees the flaws in her filmmaking. I see the flaws in myself. Like how my nose seems too flat or my ears are too big and how awkward my voice sounds when I speak. I reach for her hand, but she blocks me and clicks the play button. “Tell me when you’re done.” I get up and leave the room. I can’t do it again. Not now.

g

That night, after Iris leaves and my parents are in bed, I cave. I sit in my hot pink computer chair and plug in my headphones so no one can hear me.

There is no intro to the film, just a shot of the old barn. I try to see it the way a viewer would, through their eyes. A fan. I’m watching Alexandra and her mother fight for their lives. I want to pretend it’s not me play-acting behind my grandfather’s farm outside the city. I try, but it’s not possible. My hair is too long, too red, and I keep noticing how I squint because I’m not wearing my glasses. I push the criticisms aside and try to simply watch. The quiet, eerie intro music starts and the first images are from the inside of an old barn. A camping lamp lights the area. Otherwise the shelter is dark with shadows. It’s nighttime.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I think I hurt my ankle scaling the fence.”

“Do you need some water?” Alex rummages in a backpack and fishes out a plastic bottle. It’s empty. “I saw a house when we got here last night. There should be a faucet or a hose I can get to.”

“It’s too dangerous,” says her mother. She’s leaning against the wall of the barn, wearing old, dirty clothes. Her dark hair a mess. Alexandra’s in a T-shirt and jeans. The shirt has a retro-styled pussycat on it.

“We need water, Mom.”

She sighs and brushes back her daughter’s hair. She says, “Your father would have been proud of us.”

Alexandra bites her bottom lip. She picks up the water bottle and a hatchet. She hands her mother a gun and walks to the barn door.

“Back in a minute.”

The camera follows Alexandra crossing a wide, flat yard in the dark. An old blue truck sits in the background and the house is not far away. She fills the water bottle from the hose and quickly runs back to the barn. The barn door is ajar, not like she left it. She drops the bottle of water while fumbling for the hatchet hanging from a loop on her pants. She hears shuffling feet and low groans.

Alexandra bursts into the barn and sees them, two of them, zombies, rotten and decomposing, cornering her mother.

She’s behind the zombies now.

“Run!” her mom yells.

“No,” she hollers back, hatchet ready.

The zombies are distracted by their yelling, but only for a minute. Her mom uses the gun she’s holding and shoots one of the zombies point blank. Skin and blood fly everywhere. The older woman tries to escape, but a zombie lurches at her and attacks, biting her shoulder, tearing her shirt and flesh. Alexandra springs into action. She hits him across the head with the hatchet again and again until he lets go. With both zombies dead, her mother falls to the ground, bleeding from the arm and crying.

They stare at one another. They know. She’s infected and there is only one cure.

Death.

“Do it,” her mother says, wincing from the pain. “We had a pact. Fast. No hesitating.”

Alexandra says, “I love you,” but doesn’t hesitate. With the gun she shoots her mother and falls to her knees. A fat tear rolls down her cheek.

After a moment, Alexandra gathers her things, the weapons and her mother’s few possessions, and leaves the barn, taking care to look around for danger. She sees a rush of zombies lumbering toward her. Alexandra runs to the old truck, tries the handle and is relieved when it opens. She tosses her stuff and herself behind the driver’s seat. She slams the door and hears a groan. She scrambles and pulls the gun from her pants, cocking the trigger into the dark. A similar click comes from the opposite side of the cab and you see two guns pointed at one another, inches apart. Confusion washes over her face. Zombies don’t use guns. The interior light turns on and the film shows Alexandra and a boy face to face, guns pointed at one another.

“Where are the keys?” she yells, as a thump hits the back of the car.

He points the gun out the back window. “In the ignition! Go!”

Alexandra cranks the ignition, which sputters and whines. “Pump the clutch, don’t flood the engine,” he says. The truck starts to sway and rock. “Now!”

“I’m doing it!” she screams. The engine flares to life and the truck jumps forward. She turns on the lights to find the truck is surrounded by zombies. Alexandra takes a deep breath, glances at the stranger and presses the gas.

The screen goes black.

Credits roll. Iris’ name. My name. Blah, blah, blah.

I don’t know it, but the constant vibration of my phone as tweet after tweet comes in, and the growing number of emails, Facebook posts and comments on the website can’t be ignored. A shift has taken place and, whether I’m ready or not, that fan video represents the nine minutes and 38 seconds that change my life.

g

[1] The Living Dead (LD), or zombies, pass through different stages as they transform. 1. Infection; 2. Panicked but “healthy;” 3. Slowing of human movement; 4. Death; 5. Reanimation

[2] Official website for the Zocopalypse graphic novels.

[3] A girl obsessed with a fictional character or an actor.

[4]17-year-old Alexandra is a survivor of the zombie apocalypse and the heroine of the graphic novels.

[5] Alexandra’s 20-year-old, super-sexy sometimes make-out partner, all-time hunting partner.

Chapter 2

At school, we develop immediate, quasi-celebrity status. This is not as uncommon as you would expect. We’re not at a “normal” school, but seniors (three weeks until graduation!) at the local performing arts school, East Lake School of Art & Design, aka ELSAD. Iris has a focus on film and technology. Technically, I have a focus on visual arts, but my talent is limited. I take the minimum number of classes required to graduate, but basically I’m a floater. A film class, some drama – whatever I need to do. Many of my classmates dance or act outside of school. Our brush with fame isn’t earth shattering, but in the end, we’re still high school students – popularity counts.

For example, Jonah Roberts was the kid in the cell phone commercials. The “Are You There?” ones that were funny at first, but then became super-annoying. Bridgett Murphy tried out for the reality show “Dance Off” and made it through the first three rounds. Then there was Taylor Lyn[1]. She’s managed to get a recurring role as “Cheerleader Number 3” on the werewolf show, One of the Pack, that filmed outside the city. Iris and I hate her. Mostly due to the fact that she may have been a contributing factor in the Ruby-Reid[2] break up.

I’m nervous as heck when Iris picks me up the first day back, and it only gets worse as we drive to school. Both of our phones will not stop pinging and dinging, notifying us of hits, tweets and texts. By the time we arrive in the parking lot, my leg is shaking with nerves and I’ve bitten my nails down to the quick.

“I upgraded our server. It kept freezing because of the number of hits. I was tired of the complaints,” Iris says.

“Good. I hate it when that happens.”

“I saw your thank you post and tweets. Thanks for doing that. I couldn’t remember to do it while maintaining everything.”

“No problem. It’s the least I can do while you keep it all running.” Iris has been working night and day to keep our site updated. My phone buzzes again and I flip the off switch. I can’t take it anymore.

“Ready?” Iris asks.

“Yep.” I lie.

“Let’s go.” We both exit the car at the same time and run into the flock of waiting vultures.

The walk from the car to class goes like this:

Girl in a shirtdress that should have leggings under it but doesn’t. Jeez. She: “I saw your video! You were soooo awesome!”

Me: “Thanks.”

Nerdy guy, thick glasses, weird shoes: “What kind of camera did you use?”

Me: “Ask Iris.”

Pimply other guy: “How many hits did you get? The video game I designed, Cannibal Bloodlust, has 769,708,769,797 users.” (Okay, maybe I made up the number – who’s listening?)

Me: “Um, I don’t know.”[3]

Taylor Lyn: *Glare*

Me: Ha. Ha.

Reid[4]: “In Zocopalypse No. 1, Alexandra and Wyatt meet in a Chevy, not a Ford.”

Me: (middle finger)

And so on and so on and so on.

g

Reid corners me in drawing class. He is, to put it nicely, a competitor. Oh yeah, he is also a stupid jerk. Even though he technically de-virginized us (and me personally) to the glory of Zocopalypse, we never saw eye-to-eye on the books. He focused on maintaining the integrity of the story and mythology on his own site, zombieface.net. His views border on mocking and he can take his criticism too far, which never sat well with us. Iris and I love to analyze the awesomeness of the characters and their relationships[5], the artwork and gory details. So after Reid and I broke-up (*cough* he cheated *cough*) and we implemented “Operation Destroy Reid,” Iris and I created our own website, Z.net, to explore our interests in the fandom and profile her films.

I cut him off before he can say anything. “I know, I know, a Chevy not a Ford. We couldn’t find one. We were lucky enough my grandfather lives on a farm with a barn. It’s not like we had a budget or anything.” I keep my eyes on my sketchpad.

“True, but you did an okay job as Alexandra.”

Huh. “Thanks, I guess.”

He hovers for a minute longer, fingers tapping on the table and causing my pencil to jump across the paper.

I sigh, big and dramatic, letting him know exactly how exasperated I am. “I need to get this done. What do you want?” I notice he looks a little sweaty under his Pac Man T-shirt. Cute, but sweaty. Is he sick? I inch away. “Spit it out.”

“Do you have plans to make another video?”

“No.” I’m sure he received a lot of hits on his site due to our hard work. He wants more. I focus on my drawing, but he doesn’t move. “What do you want, Reid?”

“I was trolling the other night and saw Iris tweet the link. It’s good, Ruby. Really good. You should do another one. Make a serial.”

He wishes. “How much traffic did you get?” I ask.

“A lot,” he says, a sly grin forming.

“Well, you can forget another one. My days as Alexandra are over. I already told Iris to forget making a second one.”

“Too bad. You were kinda hot.” Jerk. He’s lucky Iris isn’t here. I may still get emotionally and physically confused around Reid, but that’s not a problem she has. Thankfully, he moves before I can do more than shoot him a dirty look, but he stops short of his own desk. “You guys going to FantasyCon[6]?”

“Oh yeah, and we entered the lottery for spots in the Zombie Parade.”

“Me, too. They said the drawing would be this week.” FantasyCon was the week after graduation. Memorial Day weekend.

“Friday. I can’t wait. I hope we get chosen. I’ve been working on my costume.” I’d found the perfect face paint for my zombie costume and a method to make oozing sores online.

“Going as Alexandra?”

I scoff. “Like I said, that was a one-time gig. No more acting for me.”

Famous. Last. Words.

g

Later, I’m trapped in what I consider the Sixth Circle of Hell. German class.

1. Catching Reid and Taylor Lyn lip-locked at the midnight showing of Rocky Horror.

2. Talking to my mother about college.

3. That awkward moment when I shout, “Like during the zombie apocalypse” and everyone stares at me like a freak.

4. Stupid Taylor Lyn.

5. Drama class.

I compulsively check the clock, minute by minute, until I can escape. Frau Smith has us translating a paragraph from a novel, English to German, while she grades papers. Das Spiel verderben. Mid-word, my butt vibrates and I slip the phone out of my pocket. Iris.

Yr gonna die
what?
DIE!
OMGWHAT??
Meet me at the car after school. DIE!
I hate you
EMOTICON LOVE! <3

She did not just emoticon me. I have this deep hatred for the use (and overuse) of the emoticon. The following are all forbidden:

- Smilies
- Hearts
- Winky eyes
- Suggestive commas

The ban is primarily because the smiley is used to lessen the blow of a backhanded insult.Text: Your hair looked great today – good thing mullets are back in. : )

I mean, what? People think the smiley takes away from the insult. In my opinion, if you’re going to insult someone, just do it. Tell them their hair looks terrible. Do it. Even worse is the pity emoticon:

Text: O.M.G. Did you see Reid flirting with Taylor Lyn after soccer today? Did he dump you? : (

Iris and I determined that if we were in charge of emoticons they wouldn’t be : ) or : ( or <3, they would be things like: Rage or Bitchslap or Despair or Eyeroll. Since I refuse to use emoticons, instead we say:

EMOTICON FACEPUNCH!

She sent me that <3 trying to get a rise out of me, which is evil since I have 20 more minutes of hell before I can make my escape. When I do I find Iris, she’s waiting at the car, bouncing on her toes. Her braids shake with excitement. “Get in the car,” she directs.

I climb in the passenger seat. “What’s going on?”

“Read this!” she yells, shoving her phone in my face.

I grab the phone. “What is it?”

“Just. Read. It.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Out loud.”

“Iris…”

“Do it!”

“Fine. ’Hi, saw your video! It was great! Best fan video we’ve ever seen. We would love for you two to lead our Zombie Parade at FantasyCon later this month.’ Oh. My. God.”

“I know!” Iris beats her hands on the steering wheel.

I skim the rest of the email. The organizer of the Zombie Parade wants us to lead the parade. He requests that I wear my Alexandra costume.

“This is crazy!”

“I know!” Iris repeats.

A thought enters my mind.

“What?”

“You know who’s going to be so pissed about this?”

We both say his name at the same time. “Reid.”

g

Each Monday afternoon, Iris and I have a standing meeting at the Waffle Shop to discuss Z.net. It is our official “business” meeting where we put all other topics, gossip and general life issues aside and focus on the website. Plus, they make killer waffles and cheese grits. Yum.

“So, this week we talk about FantasyCon, answer questions about the video and discuss what is your list.”

I have a weekly list feature on Z.net. I am a list junkie. Mentally, on paper, ticked off my fingers, typed on my phone, whatever and whenever. I make lists about what to wear, my class work, the website, favorite books and almost anything else. Iris was smart enough to suggest this as a regular part of the website, where each week I establish a topic and make my Top Five. The Top Five can be anything fandom related.

Five Best Weapons for Fighting Zombies

Five Hottest Moments Between Wyatt and Alexandra

Five Ways to Decapitate a Zombie

Five Things We Want to See in Issue 4

“This week, in honor of FantasyCon, I’m thinking ‘Top Costume Essentials for the Zombie Parade.’”

“Excellent choice.”

“I agree – it’s going to be hard to narrow down.” I pick up my fork and take a huge bite of waffle. “Have you been answering the hate mail? I’ve been avoiding my half. My attitude is not in the right place.” With all the praise for the video, there is a portion of fans that hate the fact we made it. They’ve been sharing the haterade with anyone who will listen.

“A couple. I agree. It’s hard to be nice when you’re under attack. I’m starting to get a better idea of what it’s like to be famous, even marginally so,” Iris says. She stirs a pat of butter into her grits and spoons in some sugar. Despite her small, curvy figure, she insists she is on a diet (always). The actual food she eats implies otherwise. Sometimes I’m jealous of her figure and the pretty, dark brown skin she inherited from her Jamaican father and the green eyes from her mother. She’s grown her hair out for years, long and braided in rows across the top of her head, ending halfway down her back. She’s all natural, where I’m all straight lines occasionally enhanced by the wonders of a Miracle Bra.

“Anything else?”

She scans her notebook. “No.”

“Good. You will never believe what Taylor Lyn said to me today in chem.”

Iris’ eyes light up. “What? What did she say?”

“She called me a two-bit, actress wannabe and then went on and on about how her role as a background cheerleader in the wolf show made her a star. And to get over myself.”

“Pot meet kettle.” She rolls her eyes.

“Seriously.”

“Can we go home and spam her with the video? I can hack into her account.”

“Yes. When I finish this bacon.” I take a bite.

“Good plan. Bacon, then hacking.”

I pick up my pen and jot it down.

Iris leans over the table and pushes my pen out of the way. “Did you make a list for bacon and hacking?”

“Maybe.”

“So weird.”

“You love me.”

“I really do.”

g

With two weeks left in our senior year, things move at breakneck speed. In art school, everyone has some kind of performance or project due in addition to our normal exams. For every calculus test there is a dance recital or dramatic reading. Iris has been holed up in the computer lab for days and I’ve spent hours completing my portfolio for drawing. The good news is that everyone is busy enough to remove the focus from the video and, as a result, me. Finally.

I’m walking to the cafeteria when Iris calls my name.

“Ruby! Wait! Wait up!”

She pushes past a kid with a wild afro and two tiny, freshman-sized girls in legwarmers to rush up to me. I see the look of mania on her face. I don’t like this look. “Oh no, what now?”

“Remember how we thought the invitation to lead the FantasyCon parade was the best part of our senior year?”

“Yeah,” I say, and try to walk into the cafeteria. Before I can cross the threshold, Iris grabs my hand and drags me down through a crowd of students to a quiet section of the hallway. “Iris, I have 20 minutes to eat my lunch. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me is I was in the counselor’s office and I overheard Mrs. Lambert telling Mr. Jones that Mr. Long told him that we have a special guest coming to speak to our graduating class!”

I stare at her. “You couldn’t tell me that while I ate my PBJ?”

“No. Because I acted like I needed a pamphlet on teen pregnancy and found out that GABE FOSTER IS GOING TO SPEAK AT OUR GRADUATION CEREMONY!”

I drop my lunch bag. And my jaw.

“I know!”

“Here?”

“He’s coming back to speak to us.”

“Gabe Foster?”

“Gabe. Foster.”

Gabe Foster.

g

The auditorium is stuffy and hot. Well, it may be the cap and gown and dress underneath. More likely, it the fact that Gabe Foster is standing at the podium on the stage wrapping up his speech and I am in complete and utter fangirl meltdown.

Here’s the deal on Gabe Foster: He went to ELSAD three years ahead of us. He graduated by the time we were accepted into the program, but he is legendary among the students – especially the art majors. After high school, he moved to New York for art school and then dropped out to create his comic, Zocopalypse. Other important facts:

- Adorable in that nerdy, hipster way
- An amazing artist
- A groundbreaking writer
- Most Creative ELSAD 2008

- A certified genius 2010 Best Graphic Novel, The Stan Lee Best New Artist Award

The first year we went to FantasyCon, Gabe had an autograph signing right after his panel. Zocopalypse was new and had good reviews, but had not become the pop culture hit it is now. When I reached the front of the line, I gave him my book and, well, this is what happened:

Gabe: “Who would you like this signed to?”

Me: “wuthahouahaut?”

Gabe: “The autograph? What’s your name?”

Me: “R…R…R…uby. Ruby.”

Gabe: “Ruby, cool name. Thanks for being a fan, Ruby.”

Me: “Guhhhngahaogohalgj haohesssss.”

My fangirling of him is intense. I mean, before I “met” him, I thought he seemed cool. After the day he signed my book and asked me my name and looked me in the eye? HolyholyholyHOLY! That was the best day of my life. He’s so amazing as an artist and writer. Bringing the characters I love to life. Without him, I wouldn’t have Zocopalypse. I can’t even imagine.

As I sit the middle row of graduates (Miller, the eternal middle-of-the-alphabet name), I’m determined this will not be a repeat of The Great Fangirl Implosion of 2010. If I have the opportunity to meet Gabe after the ceremony, I won’t act like a moron. Swear.

I try to focus on his words and not the dark suit jacket he’s wearing, or the funny way his hair looks since he tried to tame it or something for the ceremony.

“I appreciate the administration bringing me back to speak to you today. Not to sound cheesy, but I owe a great deal of my success to my classes here. Mr. Waters, my drawing teacher, threatened to fail me for spending too much time on my comic and not enough time developing my skills in other areas. Due to his threat and my belligerent attitude, I entered the Young Artist Contest at Marvel. My assignment in class was to turn in a varied portfolio. I turned in the proof of my comic that won the award and was published later that year.” A couple students clap and yell praise from the crowd.

“My years at ELSAD prepared me for art school and work outside of an academic setting. Granted, those three forced semesters of dance and drama didn’t help much, well, maybe in Issue 3[7],” he smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose a little. “Immersing myself in an atmosphere where students strived for creative success helped me more than I could have imagined. Always remember to push yourself. Your dreams. Your goals. Get outside the box society makes for you and that you make for yourself. Go out there and create.”

He pauses and runs a hand through his hair, loosening it from its managed state. Again, he smiles. “Congratulations, graduates! Welcome to the real world!”

g

“Let’s go,” Iris says, nudging me in the ribs.

“Now?” Gabe is surrounded by a dozen faculty members and fanboys in the lobby. He looks smaller down here, off the podium, and I can see he’s wearing sneakers and jeans with his suit jacket.

“There is no time but now, come on.”

I follow Iris and her dark braids, pushing through the crowd of families and friends. When she gets to the circle engulfing Gabe, she grabs my hand and pushes through a break between two of our classmates. I hunch down and follow her, popping up on the other side. When Iris wants something, nothing, including rudely busting through other people, will stop her.

“I really love your work and used a portion of Issue 1 as an example on my graphic design final, comparing modern comic designs to earlier works,” Owen James says. He’s one of Reid’s best friends. Whatever. “I’m hoping to draft my own comic. I have this idea where this guy, an archeologist, is exposed to —“

“That sounds amazing Owen, but really, Gabe has like, 10 minutes or something and he’s not here to listen to your comic book pitch,” Iris interjects. She holds up her phone and takes an unflattering picture of a stunned and confused Gabe.

“Hey!” Owen argues, but she has inserted us in the limited space between Owen and Gabe.

“Hi, I’m Iris and,” she drags me closer, “this is Ruby, and we’re big fans. Huge fans. In fact…”

Mr. Long, our principal, appears. “Sorry Miss Johnson, but I need Mr. Foster to come with me.”

“But I was just telling him about…“

“Iris, the press are here and waiting for us.” Even the principal wants his five minutes of fame.

“Sorry,” he says. He narrows his eyes at me and frowns. “Z.net, right?”

Iris jumps up and down, “Right! Z.net!”

“This way, Mr. Foster.”

He offers us an apologetic smile and is taken away by Mr. Long. I know I’m standing like a deer in headlights. Gabe recognized me. From the video. He must have recognized me. There was no doubt.

“Ruby!”

“I know!”

“Gabe Foster knows who we are.” She’s about to go running after him but the crowd swallows him up as he goes across the room.

“He saw the video,” I say.

“I’m going to go blog this right now,” she says, her fingers already on her phone. “And tweet this picture. I can’t believe we didn’t get a photo with him. I just saw him and my mind blanked and, holy crap, I can hardly remember what happened.”

“Well,” I say, feeling a little dazed and confused myself. “We met Gabe Foster and kind of made fools of ourselves.”

“But he recognized us! He recognized you!”

I nod.

“This may be the best day ever,” she says, her smile huge and wide.

“It may just be.”

g

“Do you think he’ll sign autographs this year?” I ask Iris. We’re in a FantasyCon costume workshop we’ve created in my room. “Only we would get a chance to meet him up close and personal and blow it.”

“Look, that was out of our control” she replies, while shredding an old pair of jeans. She’s dressing as Chloe[8]. “I wonder if anyone will mention the video in the panel.”

“I’m sure everyone in the Zombie Parade has seen it. Right? Obviously the die-hards have. I still can’t believe we’re leading the parade!” The scene in our movie is early, before Alexandra developed her trademark look and picked her weapon of choice. A hatchet. I’m attempting her more iconic look this weekend. The jeans from the video are cut to shorts and frayed at the ends. Her kitty shirt is refashioned into a tank. Black boots that stop midway up my calves complete the look. Real weapons are not allowed into the Con, so I fashioned one out of paper mache.

My mom pokes her head in the room, James Brown slipping through her feet. “Ready?” My mom’s aware of my obsession. Supportive? I guess. She’s tolerant at least. Our families gave us this weekend as a graduation present. Other girls went on cruises and trips to Aruba, we chose FantasyCon.

“Almost, Mom. Just making sure these outfits work.” I shift my tank a little. “What?”

“She’s looking at your rack.” Thanks, Iris.

“Language, Iris. But yes, I suppose I am. I don’t recall them being so noticeable.”

My boobs are pretty awesome in my torn-in-all-the-right-places kitty shirt. “Victoria’s Secret,” I suggest.

“Do you have to wear that?”

Iris and I glance at one another and say, “Yes.”

My mother sighs, gestures for us to sit on the edge of the bed and takes the desk chair for herself. She smoothes her yoga pants and gives us both a hard look. Oh boy, here it comes. Iris and I brace ourselves for the lecture we know she’s prepared.

“I know you’re excited about this weekend.” (So! Excited!) “We trust you girls to behave at the convention and the hotel. The fact we’re allowing you to stay overnight, in a hotel room without an adult is pretty big.”

“We know. Thank you, Mrs. Miller.” I nod in agreement while Iris works her charm. “My mom told us the same thing.”

“No drinking. No drugs. No sex.” My mother ticks these off with her fingers. “No one in your room, male or female. Do not leave the convention center during the day and do not leave the hotel at night.” She stares us both in the eye. Years of working with children as a social worker makes her hard-assed. “I expect a phone call, from the hotel room, not your cell, at 1 a.m. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Totally,” I agree. People at the Con can be a little freaky. No need to be on the 11 o’clock news. “We’ll be ready in about an hour.”

“Let me know,” she says and walks out of the room shaking her head at us.

I fold my costume and place it in my suitcase. Then I pick up my favorite issue of Zocopalypse for Gabe to sign if we get the chance. The edges of the pages are dog-eared and there’s a Coke stain down the side. I can honestly say I love this book. I place it in my bag, between clothing for protection.

“Ready?” I ask Iris.

“You know it.”

g

[1] My arch nemesis.

[2] Reid. My first boyfriend. The one I loved. The one who cheated on me. I hate him.

[3] Lie: 60,000 and counting as of this morning.

[4] AKA: Jerky-Jerkface.

[5] Wyatt and Alexandra 4EVA

[6] Four-day, 100,000-person convention of comics, movies and video games held each year. Fanboy/girl heaven.

[7] Alexandra and Wyatt must convince a herd of zombies that they are also undead.

[8] Chloe, age 22, Cole’s sister. Alexandra’s nemesis.

Chapter 3

I’m face first and under two pillows when the alarm begins shrieking.

“What!?” Iris yells. She knocks the clock on the floor, but doesn’t actually turn it off. We’ve been napping since after dinner and now it’s almost 11 p.m. I’d be happy to sleep through the night. Who knew marching in a throng of zombies down the streets of Atlanta would zap my energy this much? Even the two Mountain Dews I had at lunch didn’t help.

“Make it stop,” Iris says. Her voice is muffled through the weight of the pillows.

My body feels like a brick. Like a brick weighed down by cement at the bottom of the ocean. “Want to keep sleeping.”

The bed shifts and the obnoxious noise stops. “Come on, let’s get dressed.” She pulls the pillows off my head and the bright light from the lamp next to the bed assaults my eyes.

“Uggghhhhh. I hate you.”

“I love youuuu.” she says, closing herself in the bathroom.

I roll onto my back and rub my face. Daytime at the Con was fun and informative. A nerd’s paradise. But nighttime? The stories are legendary. The amateurs go home and the die-hards stay the night. Tonight, we are die-hards!

“I made you something for tonight,” Iris says. There is a soft thud on the bed. I pick up the scrap of cloth. It’s a tank top, just like the other one except white. The kitty face is a black iron-on transfer. I pull off my shirt and tug the new one over my head.

“Um, this may be a little snug.” The white tank and black push-up bra have my boobs up to my chin. “Not to mention kinda whore-y.”

“Ruby, it’s nighttime at the Con. Every other girl out there will be dressed up like some slutty version of Tinkerbell or an anime sex goddess. Alexandra is a warrior, but she’s also sexy as hell.” She crosses her arms and defiantly sets her jaw. “Why do you think she’s every fanboy’s fantasy? You’re hot and cute and you need to work it.”

“I’ll wear it, but know I’m uncomfortable and I’m bringing a hoodie in my bag.”

“Of course you are.” She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile of satisfaction on her lips. I’m not sure, but Iris may have turned into my pimp.

An hour later, I strap my hatchet to my belt and we head to the elevator. In the shiny gold metal doors, I check out my makeup and hair. Iris managed to manipulate it into some kind of conflicting state of just got out of bed/just killed a dozen zombies mess. I admit it: I look pretty hot.

With a loud bing! the elevator doors open to reveal a Wookie, the Green Lantern and some guy wrapped in foil whose eyes go straight to my chest. Iris and I keep our eyes on the ground, refusing to make contact. A surge of laughter is one glance away. The doors shut and the Green Lantern, whose tights are too tight, says, “Hey, I know you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re Alexshhandra.” I eye his “water bottle” with suspicion.

“Yep. Zombie killer.”  I tug on my hatchet and pretend the tinfoil guy isn’t staring at my chest. “That’s me.”

“You kick ass.” The Wookie nods in agreement. Foil guy continues to stare at my boobs and I shift further away.

The elevator stops at the atrium. The second the doors open, Iris grabs my hand and the weirdoes are forgotten as we step into the most magical room ever.

“Holy. Nerdfest.”

The first words out of my mouth are, “Oh my God. Where is her shirt?” I point across the room to the girl in question since there is more than one semi-naked woman in sight.

“There isn’t one. I think,” Iris narrows her eyes, “that’s tape?”

Sure enough, those are tape-covered nipples. I palm my boobs in sympathy.

“Ouch. Okay, don’t look now but behind that column I can see two half-naked girls and a guy groping each other on the couch.” Iris turns before I finish the sentence.

“I said don’t look!”

“How do you not look at that?” She’s right. My eyes are glued to the quasi-orgy. Oh my God! I was at a quasi-orgy!

“He’s kind of hot.”

“You think everyone is kind of hot,” I say, tugging on her arm. “Let’s mingle. Maybe a couple of those zombies will be worth chatting up.”

“You and I could both use a summer fling. Well, I need a summer fling. You need a rebound. What better place to start looking than here?”

We stroll through the crowd, absorbing everything. Nothing I’ve heard prepared me for this insane, awesome, amazing freak show. Loud music pulses and we stop to take pictures of all the incredible costumes. Even with my plunging neckline, Iris and I have on comparably tame outfits, but we do see security talk to more than one person about their (lack of) dress and public affection. I learn more in three minutes about sex education than I ever did in school.

“There’s Reid. Let’s go make him jealous. Again,” she says. He’s standing with a group of zombies from the parade, including some kids from school. He has gobs of white/gray paint on his face. Personally, I think he’s using it to cover the green shade of envy that he’s worn since our video hit the web.

“Go ahead. I’m going to get a drink first. You want a bottle of water?”

She and I go in opposite directions. I manage to get about five feet into the crowd near the bar when I realize I’m trapped in a thick throng of people. It only takes a second to see that this is not where I want or need to be. One look at the faces around me and my Spidey senses flash on alert. The crowd behaves more like a storm than anything else. A storm of sex-starved, creeper geeks. In a panic, I push backwards, but the path I came from is blocked.

“Alexandra!” Oh God, they recognize me. Not just one guy, but several turn in my direction, leering smiles on their made-up faces.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to push through the guys without actually touching anyone. But then it starts. The pick-up lines.

Viking: “Do you have any zombie in you? Would you like some?”

Gross.

Spiderman: “Someone must have shot you with a phaser set on stunning.”

Eyeroll. That one’s not even a zombie joke.

Fabio-esque demon hunter: “If I told you that you had a great body, would you hold it against me and let me eat it?”

Okay, that one got a laugh. I’m the type of girl you can impress with zombie pick-up lines. But then they get a little too close and the room feels way too stuffy. A guy dressed like The Hulk grabs the back of my shirt and another pushes his hips into mine.

“Hey!” I warn, holding up my hands to push them back, but this only encourages them. I’m in a room of predators; pervy guys who spend more time online than they do in reality. It’s like the time Wyatt and Alexandra found themselves in the middle of a deserted school surrounded by a swarm of the Living Dead[1]. I reek of teenage sex and comic book fantasy and, from the looks on their faces, they can smell the fear on me.

“Once rigor mortis sets in I can go all —,” My eyes flash to the hand cupping his junk.

“Shut up, moron.” A strong hand clasps around my wrist.

“But, that’s Alexandra!”

“I know who she is.” The guy’s free hand pushes him out of the way and he whispers in my ear, “This way.”

I am not in a place to object, so I follow him, tripping over the feet of everyone around us. This guy could be as much of a creeper as the rest, but getting out of that situation is crucial. My savior (I’m calling him that until he proves otherwise) is on a mission and I let him drag me through the crowd. All I can see is the back of his head. He’s not in costume, but a baseball cap meets the top of his ears. His dark brown hair curls at his neck, and his hand pinches the skin on my wrist because he’s holding on so tight.

“Slow down,” I say, stumbling over a pair of red platform shoes stretched across the carpet by a girl sitting on the floor. “Sorry,” I call over my shoulder.

The wrist-grabber doesn’t stop until we’re in a quiet(er) corner. When we get there, I yank my arm away and step back. Although I appreciate his help, the last thing I need is to be alone with a psycho.

“Are you okay?” he asks. I stop short. I peer at him. I know his voice. And his face. And his favorite book, movie and birthday.

- Book: On The Road by Jack Kerouac
- Movie: Attack of the 50 Foot Woman
- DOB: August 11

“Oh my God. You’re Gabe Foster.”

“And you’re Ruby Miller.” He picks up my arm again and touches the red skin. “I’m sorry. I saw you in that crowd and you looked like you needed some help.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Um, you’re Ruby. I’m Gabe. Needing help?” I stare at him. Gawk really. And he stares/gawks back, kind of shuffling his feet in all the awkwardness.

To break it, because I’m smooth and all, I say, “I love your novels!” The pitch of my voice is two octaves too high.

He eyes me head to toe. “Yeah, I guessed as much.” Then he gestures to a red velvet couch near the glass-walled balcony that overlooks the second floor. “I’m sitting over there, watching the crowd. Want to join me or get a drink or something?”

“I’m not 21.” Damn compulsive confessor. His eyebrows raise and I realize he didn’t actually ask me that. He’s not 21 either, but he lives in New York and is famous so he must to go to bars and stuff. “I’m mean, I’m 18 and out of high school. So, technically not jailbait anymore but…”

“Good to know,” he says, and walks to the couch.

I follow him because Gabriel Foster, creator of Zocopalypse, my hero and inappropriately-out-of-my-league-crush, wants me to sit with him and there’s no way in hell I’m going to say no.

“How do you know my name?”

He laughs. “Everyone knows your name.” I must look skeptical because he adds, “Everyone in my world. We’ve seen your video. Plus, you know, I kind of met you at the graduation the other day. I feel bad about that. Mr. Long was really determined to get that interview. I think he’s hoping for some funding or something.”

“Right,” I say. Then ask, “So you’ve really seen the video?”

“Sure. A dozen times. Plus, your fansite is awesome. You guys do a great job.”

Um, what? I knew his website had linked it, but Gabe himself? Mind melt.

“The video has been really successful. We track all that kind of stuff. Fan pages, videos, artwork, posts on Twitter.”

“Oh,” I say, “Sure, I guess that makes sense. The video did okay. We were surprised.”

“Over 1,000,000 hits in a week. That is beyond successful, Ruby.”

He adjusts the brim of his hat, making me look at his face. Gabe is cute; I know this. He’s working a hipster look. The quasi-beard. Blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses and some kind of touristy trucker hat. I think there’s a cartoon pig dancing on the front. He’s wearing a red and white plaid shirt frayed around the collar. He looks a little bit like a frat boy, but I know better. He’s a successful art school drop-out. And he just admitted he watched our amateur video! Iris. Is. Going. To. Die.

Iris. I look around the atrium. I see her across the room waving her hands in Reid’s face. They’re arguing. Again.

“You know them?”

“The one dressed as Chloe is my best friend, Iris. She was with me the other day. She directed and filmed the video. The one she’s fighting with is Reid. He goes to our school and is a douche.” Yeah, I said douche in front of Gabe Foster. Awesome. Good thing my face is covered in enough fake dirt to hide the blush.

“Ah, okay, well, anyway, her costume looks good,” he says. “Did you guys make them?”

“Yeah, I took costume design in school. It was cool.”

“Oh, so design was your focus?”

“No, visual arts, but I kind of took a little bit of everything – drama, dance, all that.”

“Did you have Bowman for drawing?”

“Yeah, he hated me. Said I talked too much.”

“He loved me.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course he did.”

He smiles and again we slip into awkward. Somehow I’m sitting with this guy, this guy I have a fandom crush on, because he is so amazing and artistic. It’s too surreal that we’re casually talking about school and the video. What. The. Hell? “So you take drama classes?”

“Some. I’ve been in some plays. It’s kind of required – plus it’s what everyone does. You know, art school nerds.” I explain. “Acting isn’t my passion, obviously. Playing Alexandra was just for fun. The idea of seeing her in a movie or on TV would be amazing. The whole story is great – she’s so badass. We wanted it to come to life and give people something to watch, you know? So, Iris and I just decided to go for it. For the fansite. She can use it on her applications, too,” I say. “I know it’s kind of lame.”

Gabe laughs. “No, not lame at all. It’s pretty cool. I mean, it can be weird having people so into something I created, but I get it. If acting isn’t your passion, what is?”

“Ah, yeah, well, the jury’s still out on that one. College is the plan.” Also, did he call me cool? He did.

“College is fun.”

“Ha, you dropped out.” Abort! Stalker alert! “I mean, I read that.”

“True, but I found my passion and I dropped out to go to work. You’ll find what interests you I’m sure,” he says. “Anyway, thanks for making the film. I enjoyed watching it.”

“Thanks for inspiring us – and writing the most hardcore female comic character in the history of all graphic novels.”

“You’re welcome. You guys did an awesome job bringing her to life.”

Awkward moment of thanking. Could it be longer? Yes. Yes, it could. I add one more. “Thanks for getting me away from those losers earlier. I told Iris this shirt was too whore-ish.”

Gabe laughs again and he struggles to keep his eyes off my chest. Fail. I reach for my bag and pull out my jacket. “Alex wears a jacket in Issue 3: Winter Storm[2],” I justify. “I don’t know why she and Wyatt didn’t realize the zombies would reanimate once the temperature rose.”

“I think they had other things on their mind[3].”

Oh. Right. Sex.

And again, I walk right into the awkward. After 10 minutes, Gabe Foster:

- Saved me from a group of horny dorks
- Listened to my fangirl ramblings
- Checked out my boobs

- Watched as I fumbled around sex talk and my douche ex

OhmyGodmakemestop. I need to walk away now. I reach for my bag on the floor. “I guess I should go. Iris is probably wondering where I am.”

We glance at Iris. She’s moved away from Reid and is now in a very close conversation with a super-buff demon warrior of some kind. Is that a 12-pack on his stomach or mutant ribs?

“Or not,” Gabe says.

“Or not.” I slide off my chair anyway. “Nice meeting you.”

Gabe stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You, too.”

I give him a smile. For a brief moment, I consider hugging him and asking if he would sign my boobs before I leave, but that feels inappropriate, so I walk away.“Ruby!” He calls. “Are you coming to the panel tomorrow?”

Do zombies eat brains[4]?

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll get you and Iris press seats up front, okay?”

I can’t contain the smile. “Up front?”

He smiles back. All cute and scruffy faced. “Sure. You can invite the other kid too, if you want.”

“Oh, no. Not Reid. He’s not invited.” He will be so pissed. “Ever.”

“No douches. Got it.” Again, he’s all smiley and it makes me smiley which is dumb because he’s old and out of my league and, God, I’m a dork. “Stay out of trouble,” he says.

I zip up the front of my jacket all the way to my neck to prove I’m a good kid and walk away. I have one thought on my mind: Iris. Is. Going. To. Die.

g

[1] Screwed.

[2] Alexandra and Wyatt have a moment of reprieve when a freak ice storm hits and the zombies are frozen solid.

[3] Sex.

[4] Yes. Well, no. Not in Zocopalypse mythology, they just bite to infect. But in this case, yes.

Chapter 4

I’m right and wrong. Iris isn’t going to die. I am. She’s going to kill me. She’s more than a little annoyed at me for not calling her over during my meet up with Gabe. I realize what I’ve done the second I tell her. I may be the worst friend ever.

She makes all this clear after we get to our room. We go to bed exhausted and angry with one another. Now, Iris sits on the chair in the corner of the hotel room with a cup of coffee on the windowsill and her computer on her lap.

“Did you even sleep?” I ask, rubbing my hands over my eyes.

“A little. I want to get these images up from the parade. Almost done.” Her tone is stiff. She’s still angry. Despite this, I know she’s determined to get as much posted on the website as she can before we leave for the day. Zocopalypse is the first big panel, starting at 10 a.m. We plan on being in line at eight even though Gabe offered us the press seats. What if he forgets? Our conversation from the night before feels like a dream. By the time I walked (ran) over to Iris and pointed to the couch near the balcony, he was gone. Our space on the couch was filled by two very affectionate girls dressed like Sailor Moon.

“There, done,” Iris says, tapping a couple keys and closing the laptop. “We had a bunch of hits overnight. Today though, we need a big one. Everyone was at the parade, so none of our shots are that unique. We need a photo of Gabe, up close, at least, an interview at best. What do you think?”

“All he said was press seats. I have no idea what that means.”

“You realize that if I had been there, I would have asked.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t get his photograph last night. Or ask him any questions!” Iris fixes her braids and applies makeup in the mirror. I work my hair in two tiny pigtails under my ears. We’re ditching our costumes for the panels today. Instead, we’re sporting matching black shirts with our website’s logo. Iris pairs hers with jeans and boots. I tie mine in a knot at the waist. Holding my pants, I waver for a second. Guys like skirts. Gabe is a guy.

“What are you doing?”

I’m standing in a knotted shirt and pink flowered underpants in front of my suitcase holding a skirt and a pair of olive cargo pants. “I can’t decide.”

“Pants. We’ll be sitting on the floor.” She returns to her eyeliner and fishes out a tube of mascara.

“But…”

“I think Gabe got an eyeful of your assets last night. No need to overwhelm him.”

Ouch. “I doubt my ‘assets’ did much for him other than make me look like a little girl playing in a big kid’s pond,” I say, but I drop the skirt anyway. Twenty minutes later, Iris is at the door.

“Ready to go?” she says.

“Yep,” I hand Iris my notebook, pen and a pack of gum. She stashes them in her bag. “Look, I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight all day.”

She sighs. “Next time you meet someone famous do two things. One: text me. Two: get a picture.”

“I know! I’m sorry! I know! I broke, like, five friend codes in one stupid fangirl moment!”

“Well, at least now we know what happens to you under pressure.”

“A total mind melt. Stupidity. Complete fangirl implosion.”

She nods. “Pretty much.”

“From now on, all famous moments will be experienced together. In fact, I’m implementing the Bat Signal[1] now.”

“What’s the Bat Signal?”

“The Bat Signal is the Bat Signal.”

She stares at me. “Okay. I’m holding you to it.”

After a pit stop at the hotel cafe, we each have a Coke, a coffee, two donuts and a bagel. We hover outside the conference room door considering our next move.

“Go ask,” Iris says, nudging me with her elbow.

“I feel stupid. What if he forgot?”

“Then we get in line. Go, you’re wasting time.”

I fight the urge to stick out my tongue. I hate asking questions and talking to people, especially grown-ups or people in quasi-authority with lanyards and badges and stuff. I start to protest once more, but Iris narrows her eyes. “You owe me. I want a picture. Go.”

She has me there. The door attendant looks up from her clipboard as I walk up to her. “I think I may be on the press list?”

“Name?”

“Oh, um, Ruby Miller.” Gabe knows my name, right? Did he forget?

“The name of your publication?”

“Z.net.”

She scans the page and I consider making a run for it – he must have been joking. “Yeah, you’re on here. I have two seats for you.” She hands me two stickers.

Two seats! Just like he promised! I wave to Iris. “Here,” I say and put the sticker on her pass. It’s official – we’re official!

Once inside, I ask, “How many people can fit in here do you think?”

“No idea, maybe 5,000?”

We’re 10 feet from the main stage at the front of the room. Several long tables and chairs fill the space. Big screens frame both sides of the stage and two more hang from the ceiling toward the back of the room.

“Do you think he’ll talk about the new issue?” I ask, nervous and rambly while Iris adjusts her camera, angling it at the stage.

“Maybe. Hopefully they’ll talk about the movie or TV show or something.”

The lights blink off and on and everyone cheers at the empty stage. Iris grabs my hand and I feel my pulse accelerate. Part of me knows this is weird. This obsessive excitement that courses through me. But that’s what it is – an obsession. I love these books. I love the creator and the fansites and my fansite. And now, to top it off, we’re in the front row, counted as press. Nerdy girl dreams come true.

The curtain ruffles and my heart seizes. I’m disappointed to see it’s only the moderator.

“Welcome!” the mod says. He’s big and has bushy black hair. Off the stage! I want to yell.

Everyone continues to cheer, the room buzzing with pent-up nerdtastic energy. Iris bounces her knees. Normally, I would tell her to knock it off, but I don’t care because somewhere back there, behind the gaudy gold hotel curtain, Gabe Foster is waiting. Gabe with his scruffy beard and blue eyes and ironic baseball cap. Gabe who saves damsels (me) and watches fan videos and is a genius. Will he see me? Will he acknowledge us?

“Welcome to the Zocopalypse panel,” says the guy with the afro. “We’re excited to have Gabe Foster and his team of artists and writers with us today.” He starts ticking off names. Four guys and a girl walk across the stage to their seats. Nick Parker was the name of the third guy. The minute he emerges, Iris grabs my hand. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know.” The young, African-American guy settles in his chair. He’s good looking. Coffee-colored skin and darker eyes. Very good looking.

“And, last but not least, Gabe Foster.”

“Thereheisthereheis,” Iris chants. Because. There. He. Is. His beard is a little bit thicker than the night before and his shirt is different (maybe – still plaid). But it’s Gabe and he’s adorable. Dark hair curls from under his cap and he’s tall and lanky. Skinny, but not too skinny. He has that pale-skinned, comic book nerd thing going on, but his eyes are so blue I can see them from my seat. He pats the other panelists on the back, pulls out the seat next to the moderator and sits down, all while the crowd claps and cheers. He smiles and waves and takes a deep, exaggerated breath while everyone settles back in their seats. His eyes travel the audience and my cheeks burn for a second when our eyes meet. It’s only for a second, a blip, then he’s laughing and whispering to the guy next to him.

“So,” the moderator says, “who wants to talk about zombies?”

g

“Okay, if you have any questions, make your way to the microphone in the middle aisle. No personal questions (guess Iris won’t find out if Nick is married) and be fast about it so the next person can ask.” The moderator says all of this and dozens of fans rush to the mike.

“Will Wyatt survive the attack?” (Like they’re gonna answer that.)

“In Issue 3, did the government secretly leave water and food for the survivors?” (Duh. Obviously.)

“If you made a movie out of Zocopalypse, who would you cast as Alexandra and Wyatt?” (OMG WHO?!)

“Who do you see Alexandra with at the end of the series, Wyatt or Cole?” (I can’t believe someone asked that.)

“So should we tell them?” Gabe asks Nick. Tall, dark and handsome hasn’t spoken much on stage. When he introduced himself it was simply as “a producer.” Iris and I exchanged a look. Partially because we don’t know what that means. Also, because when he turned his head we could see a dark tattoo on his neck.

Nick smiles, showing his straight, ultra-white teeth. “I think we should.”

This chatter makes the crowed get a little twitchy. Some people shout encouragement from the back of the room. For no rational reason, my palms start sweating. “We wanted to announce this here, since you guys are our biggest fans and we owe our success to each one of you. Zocopalypse would be sitting in the discount comic bin if you all hadn’t pushed it to become more.” His forearms rest on the table, the sleeves on his flannel shirt are rolled to the elbow and I can see him tense the muscles in his arms. “Nick is from Halo TV, we’re making a pilot of the comic together.”

What’s that saying? And the crowd goes wild? Exactly.

g

Once the moderator thanks and releases the panel from the stage, I turn to Iris and say, “That was amazing!”

“I got it all on film,” Iris says, grinning with excitement. “I’m going to run to the room and upload.”

I have one eye on her and one on Gabe. “Wait. We need to go to the signing. He should do a couple interviews and then go to the exhibition hall for autographs.”

I tweeted during the panel, keeping followers informed, but the video would bring people to the website. She thinks for a minute. “We have a lot of good pictures from just being in here.”

Gabe and Nick walk off the stage. Right before he ducks behind the curtain, he looks down at me and raises an eyebrow, then he’s gone.

“Iris,” I say, jabbing her with my elbow. “He looked at me.”

“Who?”

“He did. He looked at me.” I jerk my thumb at the empty stage. “Twice.”

“Awesome,” she’s distracted and rummaging through her bag, handing me a roll of gaffer’s tape and some cables. “Okay, go to the signing without me. I’ll…”

“So how did you two manage to score these seats?” Reid interrupts, dropping in an empty seat. “Steal those press stickers?”

“Right place at the right time, I guess,” I tug on Iris’ arm. I wasn’t about to discuss strategy in front of Reid. “Ready?”

“Ruby got press access from Gabe Foster himself,” she says. Hands on her hips, smirk on her lips.

“How?”

I shrug. I’m not tainting this day by letting Reid make me feel like crap.

“Shouldn’t you be uploading to Zombieface?” Iris asks. I frown. He shouldn’t be talking to us and wasting time.

“Oh, it’s already posted. I sent it all to Joshua, who’s at home with the flu. Too bad for him – lucky for me.”

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

[1] Universal signal for help, need or attention.

Chapter 5

In 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.

“I brought my brother to swim practice. You happened to be here. So, how’d you get it?”Such a nosy jerk.

“It was a fluke.”

“He saw the movie didn’t he? That’s how he knew who you were.”

“Some of it, I guess. I ran into him the night before the panel and he recognized me and knew about the website. He gave us press passes. You saw the rest.”

“Ran into him,” he says. I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

I sit up and shade my eyes from the sun. “Yes, Reid, ran into him. Perhaps you would have had the chance if your face wasn’t suctioned to Taylor Lyn’s all night.” Before he can protest, I add, “Not that I care.”

His jaw flexes. He’s pissed, but I’m tired of playing this game with him. Only part of this is about our relationship, or not-relationship. Whatever. The other is about the rivalry between our fansites. It’s not enough for him to break my heart, he has to beat me online also.

“Why the hell did they cast Andrew Xavier?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea. I saw your blog about it.” Reid immediately posted a blog titled, “10 Reasons Andrew Xavier Is Ruining My Life[1].” A tad dramatic, plus a list of 10? Wonder where he got that idea.

“Did he give you an exclusive for filming?”

No, but I’m not telling him that. A shadow crosses us. Uh oh. I smirk at Reid. He thinks he can come after me, but the beast has arrived wearing a pink flowered bikini and sequined flip-flops.

“Beat it,” she says, dropping her towel and bag on the chair next to mine. “What’s he doing here?”

Reid stands, flustered. I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to being caught talking to me or from seeing Iris half-naked. She’s small, but curvy. Her exotic skin looks even darker next to the pink strings on her bathing suit top. Boys like her. Except Reid.

“Being a pain in the ass. Same as usual,” I say.

“I want in on the Zocopalypse filming. Let’s work together. The two of you can’t do this alone.”

He has a point, but this isn’t my call. We have a plan to get an exclusive contact for casting and filming Zocopalypse. We will need help, but working with Reid is dangerous territory. Zombieface.com borders on mean. Neither of us wants to be affiliated with that. Iris spreads her towel across the lounge chair and situates herself. Pushing her oval-shaped sunglasses to the top of her head, she says, “I think we’re doing fine on our own. If we need your help, which we won’t, we’ll give you a call. We have your number.” She slides the glasses back over her eyes and leans her head back.

“I can’t believe you won’t let this go.”

I ignore him because if I don’t, it will cause a fight I don’t want to have. I scan the pool for Emma, hoping perhaps she’s drowning or something so I can escape. I find her playing Marco Polo in the shallow end. Damn her self-reliance.

“I can’t believe you betrayed Ruby with Taylor Lyn. Taylor. Lyn!” Iris screeches. I grip the rails of my chair. Like Reid, I’m ready to move on, but she isn’t. Reid may well have cheated on Iris, too.

Reid groans and rubs his hands over his face. “I said I was sorry.”

“Too. Late.”

“Don’t act like I don’t know how you did it,” he says, glancing at me. “Ruby ‘ran’ into Gabe Foster with her tiny shirt and sexed up hair. I saw you walking around the atrium. Even I got a boner. He only gave you that interview because you mesmerized him with – those.” He gestures at my chest while his face flames red. “Plus, you’re free advertising. He’ll want something more next time. Hope you’re prepared to give it.”

Iris jumps out of her seat before I can even think of a response. “You did not just say that to Ruby.”

“Oh, I did.” Feeling self-conscious, I reach to adjust my top. “Screw you both!” Reid says, and storms across the pool deck and out the gate. I’m a little scared for him as Iris shouts expletives, chasing behind him. She garners looks from the moms and a whistle warning from the lifeguard.

By the time Iris comes back, the seed Reid planted has started to take root. Were we being used? Did my boobs lure Gabe in? Iris drops back in her seat and picks up her copy of Celebrity Weekly, grumbling.

“How dare he say that? Right? About you of all people,” she says.

“Do you think he’s right? That all Gabe saw was my body and what we can offer him?”

“Look, he’s a guy. Of course he noticed your rack. That bra and the white tank made them hard to miss. But he also knew who you were and he was professional in the interview. I think he likes you.”

Wait. What? “Likes me?”

“Not likes you likes you. He likes you.” She puts her magazine down and faces me. “You’re smart and cute and you did a great job in the video. I’m not surprised it got his attention. You brought Alexandra to life.”

“Stop. Your film was amazing, not me.”

“True,” she laughs. “It was a partnership, don’t forget that. But do forget Reid because he’s a jealous jackass.”

“Definitely.”

She opens her magazine. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Andrew Xavier.” She turns the page so I can see the picture. Sure enough, it’s a photo of Andrew on the red carpet somewhere with a stick-thin blonde girl.

“The news about Andrew’s casting as Wyatt in the edgy graphic novel miniseries of Zocopalypse rocked the entertainment and comic book world last week,” she reads. Andrew had been a child star and had his own show on Disney when he was 13. Iris and I were in love with him when he was younger. Since his show was cancelled, he has been trying to transition from teen films to leading man. Speculation that Zocopalypse will either make or break him runs rampant online. I’m still not convinced he can play the ultra-sexy, hot, violent Wyatt, but I have to admit he looks right for the part.

“I like his hair that way.” I lean closer. “Who’s that with him?”

“Not sure. Some model, I think,” she says, peering at the magazine to read the small print. “Last time I saw, he was dating that Tiffany girl.”

“Yeah, me too. Do they mention the TV show?”

“Just that he signed on for the miniseries. That’s all.”

“I wonder who they’ll cast as Alexandra.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I say. “I still hope they pick someone unknown or random. Alex is so epic. A Disney tween queen won’t cut it.”

“Me too, babe. Me too, but the casting of Andrew doesn’t make that likely,” she says, “They seem to be leaning toward bigger names.”

“True. I guess we’ll know sooner than later.”

g

A couple of days later, I’m sitting on the kitchen counter pouring milk into my Frosted Flakes. My mom stands across from me, talking about her favorite subject: college.

“Either way, you have to pick by the end of July.”

“Yeah.”

“What you choose now can make a difference in the long run. It’s definitely better to get your core classes over now.” She can talk about this for hours. Core classes, majors, dorms, dining hall plans, sororities (shudder). The University of Georgia is the school in question and is about an hour or so from home. By the grace of the scholastic Gods, I’ve been accepted for fall semester. “I made the mistake of saving economics until my senior year. I barely scraped by with a D.” She holds her fingers an inch apart. “Everyone went out to celebrate graduating and I had a rock in my stomach. I was convinced I had failed.”

“Gotcha, don’t hold econ off until senior year.” I shove a spoonful of cereal in my mouth.

“Your father held off everything until his final year, which is why he had to go an extra semester.”

“Failed biology,” he adds, walking into the room with James Brown at his heels. James has wet leaves stuck to his ears. He’s a fancy dog, like one of the ones you see on the dog shows, a King something-something-spaniel-something. We didn’t buy him, of course; he was a rescue. My dad swats my knees as he passes. “That class was a disaster.”

My mother rolls her eyes. “You were a disaster.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Although to be fair, I asked the professor if it was even possible for me to pass the class. He said yes. That was a complete and utter lie.”

I have a feeling I will be more like my dad than my mom in college. She knew exactly what she wanted to study and had declared a major by her sophomore year. My dad was a little less structured. Way less. He didn’t even become a teacher until several years after he graduated.

“I’m trying to encourage Ruby to go ahead and submit her class schedule.”

“Oh?” He extracts a bagel from the bag on the counter. I watch as he spins the plastic bag around and ties it in a knot. “That time already?”

“Yes,” my mother answers before I can. “I don’t think she understands how important…”

“I do!”

This time she rolls her eyes at me. Welcome to the Miller house. Average age of maturity: 13. “Then register. I know you hate making decisions, but you have no choice.”

I can. I should. There is no reason for me not to go upstairs and do it right now, except the action seems so final.

My phone buzzes on the counter. “I should get this, it could be work.” I hop down and walk into the living room. I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“I’m calling for Ruby Miller?”

“This is Ruby.”

“Oh, great. This is Ashley Stevens. I’m Nick Parker’s assistant.”

“Who?”

“Nick Parker from Gencon Production Company.”

“I think you may be calling the wrong person.” My dad walks in the room and raises his eyebrows. I shrug in return.

“I don’t think so. You’re Ruby Miller. The one that made the Zocopalypse video?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Oh! Nick! From the panel!”

“Yes, he wanted me to ask you to come in for a meeting.”

Nothing this woman says makes sense. “A meeting?”

“Would Thursday work?”

“I don’t know. What meeting?”

“Sorry. My job is to make the appointment. I’m sure he’ll tell you when you get here,” she says.  My dad’s petting James Brown, who’s burrowed into his lap, but I can tell he’s curious.

“I, uh, can I call you back? I need to look at my schedule. I have to work and stuff.”

“Sure.” She rattles off a phone number and asks if I could try to come around 2 p.m., but they could work something else out if needed. I shut my phone.

“What was that?” he asks.

“That was the assistant of the producer of the new Zocopalypse TV show. He wants to meet with me.”

He pushes the dog off and props his bare feet on the coffee table. “Did he say why?” Another side effect of an educator/parent: questions. So many questions.

“She. And no, not really. I guess it could have something to do with the film or the website? Maybe they’ll let us do another interview.” Why did they call me and not Iris? She would handle this like a pro.

“Sounds interesting.”

“It does. And nerve wracking. I should call Iris.”

He picks up his book. “Wouldn’t want to make any decisions without her.”

“Daddy.”

“Let me know if you need any help with this, okay?”

“I will.” I walk over and give him a pinch on the arm before leaving the room.

g

[1] 1. Andrew Xavier is a tool.

Chapter 6

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Ruby, get your ass out of the car.”

“I’m coming.”

“Hurry, it’s hot as hell out here.” Iris stands at the front of the car, fanning herself, glaring at me through the window. She’s nervous, which is weird because she never gets nervous. Excited maybe, but nervous? No. This doesn’t help the warring butterflies in my stomach and I feel a little bit like puking.

We’re in the parking lot of the Steel Lofts, a converted warehouse that has offices and retail space on the bottom and studio apartments on the second level. My dad worried about us coming down here alone. The area had once been kind of rough, I guess, but now it’s kind of rejuvenated. The good thing about being 18 is my dad can express his concerns, but in general they let me do what I want. So here we are, nervous and nauseous in a semi-bad part of town to meet some guy about a zombie movie. Suddenly this feels like a bad idea.

A blast of hot, humid summer air hits my skin the instant I step outside the car. Reid’s words about getting Gabe’s attention because of my looks bug me so I play it safe, wearing a plain black and gray striped shirt and gray capris. I’m here for my website. Nothing more.

A few sweaty strides later, we step into Gencon’s air conditioned office. The small room only has a couple of chairs and a sofa. “Amazing that I can sweat like a pig walking 10 feet from the car,” Iris says.

“Ridiculous,” I agree, fanning myself.

“Ruby,” I turn when I hear my name. Nick appears in the doorway wearing shorts and a vintage T-shirt, a fine layer of hair growing on his bald-ish head. He looks so cool. “Oh, and Iris.”

When I called his assistant back to schedule the meeting, she didn’t tell me to bring Iris. She didn’t say not to bring Iris either, but she’s half of the website and the driving force behind much of it. There is no way I can do this without her. “I brought Iris with me if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Great.” He waves for us to follow him. We enter a short hallway with boxes lining the wall. “My office is back here. Sorry for the mess. We moved in over the weekend.”

“Two girls found murdered in a crappy office in Atlanta,” I whisper to Iris in my best news anchor voice. “Film at 11.”

Her shoulders shake from laughter and she slaps my arm. “Stop.”

Nick ducks into a doorway and we enter a large room with a desk, chair and leather couch pushed against one wall. Posters and plans hang over the cluttered desk. Iris tsks quietly under her breath at the mess. She’s like that, neat and organized, but he doesn’t notice. He pulls a rolling chair out and sits, gesturing for us to do the same on the couch. “Ashley went to get us some drinks from the coffee shop next door; she’ll be back in a minute.”

Iris opens her bag and extracts a pen and a blue-covered note pad. She shoves it in my direction and I take it. The notebook, my notebook, has rainbow colored owls across the front[1]. She dives in again and pulls out another for herself (plain black, no flash). I say a silent prayer of thanks for Iris and her bag of tricks. God knows what all she has in there. I never carry a purse, I make her tote my stuff for me or put it in my pockets.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you down here.” He smiles in my direction. Uncomfortable with the attention, I shift in my seat, which makes the leather squeak under my butt. Awesome.

“We figured it was about our website or something,” Iris says.

“Not the website exactly. And not to make things awkward, but I really wanted to talk to you, Ruby.”

Iris stiffens, her pen hovering over the pad. “Ruby?”

Me?

“Should I go and wait out there?” Iris asks.

Nick looks as though he’s about to say yes, so I jump in. “No. Stay. What do you want to ask me?”

“Okay, to get to the point, we were impressed with your performance as Alexandra in the video you two made.”

Iris beams and I nod. “Okay?”

“Your take on Alexandra is exactly what we’re looking for.” He says, scratching his neck and revealing the edge of his tattoo. It’s a tail of some kind that leads into the top of his shirt. Maybe a dragon? He’s so badass. “For the miniseries.”

“My what?” I ask.

“Your performance in the fan video. That’s what we want for the miniseries. Gabe and I have watched it a dozen times at least. We’d like to test you for the role of Alexandra for the TV show.”

Iris sucks in a breath beside me while my palms become damp with sweat. “I’m not an actress.”

“Could have fooled us,” he laughs. “We think you are. Gabe wants someone who understands the role. There’s no question you ‘get’ Alexandra. You fit the look and the age range and you’ve already proven you can do this.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about acting, I mean, not for real.” I had participated in plays at school, but it was mandatory. This is real. Real acting, on a real film, with other real actors. Portraying Alexandra.

“Just an audition,” he says. “Do that for us.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Iris’ hand clamps around my arm. “You can do that, right? See how it goes?” she says. She’s smiling when I try to squirm away, but she holds on tighter. Her eyes say it all: Don’t screw this up.

I want to say no, but Iris sees this as an opportunity. I know her. I know how her mind works. She wants on this set and right now it’s up to me to get us there. I take a deep breath. “Sure. Yes. I can do it.”

Iris and Nick both smile in relief. “Great,” he says, swiveling in his desk chair. “We’re getting situated in the office and Gabe’s in New York wrapping some things up for his next novel. The open casting is next week, but we’re having an invite-only audition on Saturday morning. Can you make it?”

“This weekend?” I ask. “Yeah, I can come on Saturday.”

We’re interrupted by several taps on the door, and a girl pops her head in the office. “Excuse me, but I’ve got iced coffee and juice if you guys want.”

“Ruby, Iris, this is Ashley,” Nick says. She doesn’t look much older than us. She’s pretty, with long, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Casual was the dress code apparently. She’s wearing a short jean skirt, flip-flops and a tank top.

She places the drinks on the desk after Nick clears some space. “Nice to meet you.”

Iris accepts an iced coffee, but I decline in an effort to get out of here sooner. “So, Saturday?” I prompt, making a face at Iris that it’s time to go.

“Sounds good.”

“Should I prepare anything? Do I need a script or something?”

“No. We’ll just do a reading and you’ll get the scene that morning. It’s not like you don’t know the material.”

“Ha,” Iris snorts. “Seriously.”

I shoot her a look and nudge her with my elbow. “I guess we’ll see you Saturday. What time do you want me here?”

He reaches for his phone and touches the screen a couple times. “Auditions start at 10.”

“Great.” Iris raises her eyebrows while he continues to focus on his phone and makes a jerking motion at herself. Ohhh. “Can Iris come?”

He looks up and smiles. To which she beams back and, oh, jeez, get a room. “Sure.”

“Thanks. I’m interested in all aspects of this. The casting and filming and everything you do.” She stands and leans over his desk.

“I’d be happy to show you around.” I watch the interaction between the two. The smiles and interest. Oh God, he may be as interested in her as she is in him.

I try my best to get everyone toward the door and, when we finally reach the lobby, Nick pauses, “Just to be clear, I need you to hold back on the specifics of all this on your website for now.” Iris’ smile falters. Knowing her, she’s already writing the post in her head. “But, once we get some of this settled, I’ll happily give you an exclusive on casting.”

“We need to be on top of it,” Iris says. “If we ignore the speculation, we’ll look like idiots. We’ve covered every moment in the Zocopalypse fandom for the last two years.”

Nick considers this for a moment. “Alright, let me write up a couple things and email them to you. You can use those as a basis for your information.”

Overwhelmed, I stop listening while they negotiate. After forever, Iris finishes talking and gives Nick a hug. Okay, one meeting and they’re hug buddies. How did this happen? We step into the oppressive summer heat. The door barely shuts behind us and Iris jumps around like a maniac.

“Alexandra! This is huge!” She settles down and unlocks the car because it’s hot as Hades and we can discuss this in the air conditioned car. “This is so great. You’re going to get this part and I’m going to be your assistant or manager or biographer or something. I’ll film the whole thing and we can diary it on the website. This. Is. Amazing.”

Iris continues planning while she cranks the car and backs out of the parking lot. I half-listen, sharing her giddy excitement, but my nerves flare, allowing doubt to settle in my stomach. Despite Iris’ plans for our future, I have no idea if I can do this or if I should even try.

g

There’s a Moon Pie in the pantry downstairs and it’s all I’ve thought about for the last hour. Chocolate, graham cracker, 6,979,696,797 calories of pure lard and a piece of edible heaven. I want it, but I’m too chicken to leave my bedroom. Things have been tense since I came home and announced the purpose of my meeting with Nick.

“No,” my mother said the instant the idea left my mouth. Big surprise. She always says “no” first. It’s like her mouth refuses to say the word “yes” on instinct. Some motherly dream-blocking gene I don’t possess yet.

“Why not?” I challenged. Bad idea. She listed the reasons, ticking them off her fingers one by one:--College.- I’ll be throwing away my four years of high school and all my hard work.- I’m not an actor. - I know nothing about acting. - I have a job and obligations over the summer. - Did I want to turn out to be like Lindsay Lohan?[2]

My mother opens her mouth to continue, but my father shoots her a look and she clamps it shut. He then says to me, “You know we support you, always, but this doesn’t sound like something you would want to do. Remember the class play in fifth grade?”

Little Red Riding Hood. Me in the role of Red. Epic failure.

This riles me up a little. Am I pigeonholed for the rest of my life because I puked on stage when I was 11? What if I want to do this? I’m 18 and an adult. I can make my own choices. (Right?) Can they tell me I can’t even try?

Apparently, my mother thought so because again she said no. But then she softened her look and said, “We know you love these books and everything surrounding them, but this movie thing? Zombies aren’t real and college and work are. It’s time to grow up.”

Stunned and hurt that she would go there, I stomp up the stairs and slam my door, proving how adult I can be. Now I sit, hungry, craving a Moon Pie, but unwilling to cave enough to go get one. The other crappy thing is, while holed up in my room, I have time to think. They’re right. There is a bizarre, thin line between reality and fantasy in my life and sometimes it merges together. I like living in the story — where nerdy girls kick ass and hot boys beg them for kisses. But I also know, sometimes, I take it too far and, at some point, I do have to (gulp) accept I can’t live in the fantasy forever.

I’m going to college. I want to go to college. I have a job I enjoy and the money is good. Why would I risk that for some brief stint on television?

My battered copy of Zocopalypse lies next to me on the bed, providing me with familiar comfort (James Brown is also next to me, but he kind of smells and hogs the bed). In a lame attempt to distract myself from the Moon Pie and my parents, I pick it up and settle on chapter two.

Miles down the road, Alexandra stops the truck. Both still have their hands on their guns. Neither releases their weapon. Wyatt finally says, “S#*&@!! Where the hell did you come from?”

“The barn. Are you going to kill me?”

“No. Are you going to kill me?”

She shakes her head. “Are you going to rape me or torture me or anything? If that’s your plan, just tell me now so we can get it over with.”

Wyatt runs a hand over his sweating forehead. “Sweetheart, sex is the last thing on my mind right now. You can put down the gun. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She does, but keeps the weapon on the worn leather seat. She slumps against the headrest and her shoulders shake as she begins crying.“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“What? No.” She wipes her eyes. “I’m just losing it.”

He reaches for her face, and she flinches. “Hold on a second. I think you’re hurt. There’s blood on your cheek.”

Alexandra pushes his hand away and she shakes her head. “It’s not mine.”

“Guts? From one of them?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically. They both know what that can mean.

“No. I just killed two of them. Back there,” she jerks her thumb in the direction of the barn.

“You sure they didn’t get you?” He has to ask, but even so, he fumbles under the seat and comes back with a cloth, a handkerchief. “Here,” he says, but he doesn’t hand it to her. He wipes the spot from Alexandra’s cheek.

“No, they didn’t.” Fat tears roll down her cheeks, making the blood gooey and easier to remove. “The blood is my mother’s. They got her, not me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”Wyatt grimaces and looks out the back window. Even in the darkened truck cab, his good looks are obvious. “Do you want me to go back? Do I need to…”

“No.” She shakes her head and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “It’s done.” His eyes flick to her gun and then to her face. He pretends not to notice her brushing tears from her cheeks. He pretends he isn’t either.

I toss the book on the floor with a thud, waking James. “There’s no way I can be Alexandra,” I tell him. “I mean, like I can sit there and get all weepy in front of Andrew Xavier! The minute he touches me all tender and hot, I’ll melt into the cab of the truck like a stupid little fangirl!” Before I chicken out or continue on a tirade directed at the dog, I hop up and dig the business card Nick gave me out of my pants pocket. Pushing James Brown over, I sit back on the bed and dial his office number.

g

Moon Pies are delicious. And gooey. I’m busy trying to lick the marshmallow off my fingers when the doorbell rings.

I open the door and pull my thumb out of my mouth. “Um…”

“Hey, Ruby.”

Gabe Foster is at my house. Gabe Foster is at my house. Gabe Foster is at my house.

“Sorry to show up like this but,” he narrows his eyes. “I think you have some chocolate or something right here,” he points to his cheek. Good grief.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Moon Pie,” I say through a mouthful of graham cracker deliciousness. I haven’t moved. Or said anything else. Gabe Foster is at my house.

“Can I come in? Can we talk?”

“Sure? Yeah. Yes.”

I step back and allow him space in the door so he can come in the kitchen. I shut the door and face him. Gabe Foster is in my kitchen.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I thought you were in New York.”

He rubs his hand through his hair. “Just flew in a couple hours ago. I probably smell like airplane.”

“So,” I gesture to a chair at the kitchen table and sit down across from him.

“Okay, well, I know you called Ashley and told her you didn’t want to audition. I’d like you to reconsider.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I can’t play Alex.” This was easier over the phone. “I don’t know. This isn’t me. I’m not an actress. I’ve got college and registration and dorms and all that. And Alexandra? Those are shoes I’m not sure I can fill.”

He sighs and leans his elbows on the table. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I mean, I want you to play this part. There’s something about you that feels right for this. You’re young and maybe a little naïve.”

“Hey!” I interject, having heard enough about my maturity level today.

“Hold on,” he raises his voice. “I’m trying to say, you’re young and naïve, but you also exhibit a kind of confidence and strength. All qualities Alex has. Not only that, you get it. You get her. I can trust you with the part.”

Holy mother of all guilt trips. “I know you want this done right, but I don’t think I’m the right girl.”

“How can you not be the right girl? You know everything about Alexandra. I’ve seen your blog posts, the discussions about the characters, the forum questions and tweets. I’m not sure there’s a fan out there who can help me get my vision across better than you.” He leans closer. “I’ve worked on parts of Zocopalypse since I was 14 years old. I can’t let this go to just anyone.”

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

[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 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

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.

“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 put 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.

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.”

“You better be or we’re both screwed. It’s not that different from our current arrangement. Getting approval for posts and news. No personal stuff about the actors or writers or crew.”

“But what if Andrew starts sleeping with the makeup woman? Or man?” Iris reads way too many gossip rags.

“Maybe you can get an exclusive. Anyway, you have to sign the contract before you can come with me. It’s no big. We all had to sign nondisclosure agreements.” I grab the papers off my desk and toss them to her. “Dad said to show your mom, but the lawyer cleared them all.”

Iris stares at the papers for a minute, flipping through them. “Wow. So this is real, huh?”

“As real as when Alex told Wyatt she didn’t love him, and spent the night in Cole’s tent, pretending she wasn’t a liar.[2]”

“Exactly.”

g

[1] Minus NAB who doesn’t seem to get to make decisions.

[2] Really, really, real.

Chapter 9

The restaurant is small, but cute. Filled with funky paintings and mixed-up lights hanging from the ceiling. Comfortable couches and armchairs surrounding coffee tables take the place of traditional chairs. Iris and I wedge ourselves in a flaming red cushioned chair together, drinking Cokes and watching the parade of suspected cast and crew members file in the door.

I have never felt so young, naïve or silly. My ruffled black dress seems childish compared to the strapless sundress of the girl by the bar. The sandals I’m wearing pinch my toes and scream last year, and my blue toenail polish that seemed like a good idea 20 minutes ago is wrong. All wrong.

“Do you know any of these people?” Iris asks. She, of course, looks perfect in her mismatched skirt and lacy tank.

“No. Well, NAB is over there running in circles.” I point to him. He is dressed nicer today (everyone is), in dark jeans and a button down. An attempt has been made to tame his hair, I think. The front has been patted down, but the sides threaten to revolt.

“There’s Ashley.” She floats by in a yellow sundress carrying a box. Yes, floats. I have a deep-seeded internal battle over my thoughts about Ashley. She’s friendly and smart. She’s also gorgeous and 22 and oozes a level of confidence I could never possess. If we went to school together, I would hate her. But we don’t, and I don’t.

I’m about to propose a bathroom escape when a guy, around Gabe’s age, holding a glass of something brown, steps in front of us. “You must be Ruby.”

“That’s me.”

“I’m David, I’ll be playing Cole[1].”

“Oh! Wow. Cole, huh?” He fits. Blonde and a little rough looking. He’s good looking, but his nose has an awkward slant. Slight; much smaller than Andrew, but this is appropriate. I can buy that he has gone a round or two with a zombie. Or against a bully. I approve.

Iris coughs beside me. “I’m Iris.”

“Hi, Iris.” He smiles a perfect row of gleaming white teeth. I run my tongue over my not-perfect teeth.

“You look familiar,” Iris says. Her eyes narrow, studying him. Or she’s hypnotized by those teeth. Either one.

David shrugs his wide, wide shoulders and says, “I’ve been on some shows. Guest stuff mostly.” He doesn’t offer more.

“Know anyone else here?” Iris asks. The room fills up and a crowd forms at the bar. “I’m trying to match people to their possible parts, but nothing clicks.”

“Nah, not really. That chick over there? Her name is Vanessa. We auditioned together.” He tips his glass and swallows the remaining liquid in one gulp.

“Chloe?[2]” I suggest to Iris.

She nods. “I can see it.”

“Come on,” David says, “I’ll introduce.” He walks off and leaves us little choice but to follow.

“She looks a little small for Chloe,” Iris says, and I agree. Chloe is the opposite of Alex in many ways. Tall, strong and a natural born fighter, whereas Alexandra is the nerdy girl turned zombie hunter. Vanessa is tall, but stick-thin, and doesn’t look like she could fight off James Brown. Her coloring is right, though, pale and blonde. Plus, she’s beautiful. The fanboys will love her.

“Vanessa,” David says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She tilts her head for him to do so. Cheek kissers? Have we entered the world of cheek-kissing? Once again I question the validity of my place here. While I’m having my cheek-kissing panic attack, Vanessa eyeballs the two of us. David makes introductions. “Ruby and Iris — this is Vanessa.”

“So, you’re Ruby. Fangirl turned heroine.” Something about her tone tells me this is not a compliment. I feel Iris bristle next to me.

“I guess so.”

“And who are you?” She directs her ice blue stare on Iris.

“I’m Iris.”

Vanessa glances at David. “I don’t remember a part for an Iris.”

“No, I’m Iris. That’s who I am. I’m not part of the cast.” Oh crap. Iris has on her bitchface. It’s like they smelled each other from across the room.

“I see.” Her eyes flick behind us and her expression changes. “Pleasure to meet you,” she says and abruptly leaves.

“Rude,” Iris says. We both turn to watch her go, and David does the same. Vanessa makes a beeline to the front door. Gabe is just entering, accosted immediately by NAB and three other people.

“Kiss-ass. Models always think they can sleep their way to the top,” David says.

They do?

“You can, of course,” he continues, “but it’s not a road you want to take.” With that gem of advice he leaves us for the bar. The door opens behind Gabe like a parted sky and in walks an angel[3] looking perfectly perfect.

“Dear mother of all things beautiful,” Iris says, taking in her first sight of Andrew in person. “I knew, but I didn’t know.”

“I know.” On TV or in magazines, Andrew is gorgeous. But here, in person? He’s freakishly beautiful. Unreal. “It hurts to look at him.”

“Wow.”

“Uh huh, wow.”

“I think he may Hulk out of that shirt at any minute,” Iris says. His biceps are enormous and strain the fabric on his sleeves. The image of him in a tattered, ripped-to-shreds shirt isn’t exactly unappealing.

“We can hope.”

David appears holding three glasses between his hands. “Drink?” He hands us each one, and I eye the brownish liquid. Huh. Maybe we don’t look so young after all.

“Thanks,” Iris says. She takes a quick sip and tries to hide her grimace after swallowing.

“So, Ruby, from my research it seems like our characters are close,” David says.

“I guess. I mean, Cole has a crush on Alexandra, but she’s focused on Wyatt for a relationship.”

“Wyatt? Nah. I kind of got the vibe the Cole-Alex thing was going to be the bigger story.”

Iris and I look at each other and burst out laughing. Iris shakes her head, “Nope. Not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why?” she says and looks at me to explain.

“Because Wyatt and Alexandra are one of ‘those’ couples. You know, Romeo and Juliet, Buffy and Angel, Snow White and Prince Charming.”

“Spiderman and Mary Jane,” Iris adds.

“But what about Cole? Don’t tell me there isn’t chemistry.”

Iris rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Gabe wrote that in as a deflection. It’s not going anywhere. There always has to be a love triangle.”

“Always,” I nod.

“Well,” he says, sipping his drink, “I’m going on the record as saying now, I think Cole and Alexandra end up together.”

If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s trying to pick a fight with us. Everyone knows Wyatt and Alexandra belong together. He’s lucky I don’t pull out my notebook and show him the list entitled: 20 Ways Wyatt and Alexandra Have the Most Epic Love Story Ever. It’s slated to go on the website next week.

“Oooo,” Iris says. Her attention drifts back to the door where Nick stands next to Gabe. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, Rube.” A massive arm flings over my shoulder and I turn to find the prettiest eyes and mouth and jaw and hair. Andrew.

“Hi.”

“Dave.”

“Andrew.”

I observe the two boys perform a strange handshake ritual of clasps and fist bumps. Here’s the weird thing: If a normal boy did this in front of me, I would immediately reject him for being a lame dorkwad. But it’s not a normal boy, it’s Andrew Xavier, and watching him act like a lame dorkwad is endearing. And hot. Really, really hot.

“You know each other?” I ask in an attempt to speak and not just drool. Andrew turns away from us to go to the bar.

David shrugs, “Sure, we’ve worked together.”

With a green bottle of beer in hand, Andrew returns to the group. He takes a fast swallow and says, “Yep. Dave and I have auditioned for the same parts for the past 10 years. Some he got, some I did.”

“Hollywood is a small town. Six degrees and all that. You’ll see,” Dave says. “So, Ruby, did you really pull a knife on Andrew?”

Again, Andrew’s arm lands across my shoulders and he squeezes. I may have lost consciousness. Maybe. Just for a second. Because I think they’re talking about my audition, but all I smell is yummy boy and I can feel hard muscles and my mouth feels dry and cottony, so I take a sip of my drink.

“Arg.” Sour-tasting liquid burns down my throat. I force it down and cough.

“You okay?” Andrew asks.

I nod-cough again, and search the bar for my soda from earlier. I find it and take a large gulp to wash down the taste of alcohol. “Went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

“Double-fisting it tonight, Ruby?”

Andrew and David laugh and I hold my two glasses up in mock cheer for Gabe who appears by my side. He takes the glass of alcohol out of my hand, sniffs it and takes a drink. “Can we talk?”

His voice has an edge and his eyes are on Andrew’s arm, still draped over my shoulders. “Sure.” I untangle myself and follow Gabe to a set of unoccupied chairs not far away.

“Having fun?” he asks, repositioning the cap on his head. This one is black with a single Z on the front.

“Trying to, yeah.”

“You’re not 21.”

Thanks for the reminder, Gabe.

“I know. I didn’t even have any.” Was he my dad or my boss or what? “Wait a minute, you’re not 21 either.”

“Just a couple more weeks. I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you have to use some common sense. These guys play the Hollywood game hard. It’s not your world and I’d hate for you to get sucked into it. You told me yourself you know who Andrew is. You know the press follows him everywhere. See that guy over there?” he points to a tall man by the front door, standing near the hostess station.

“Yeah.”

“That’s Dre, his bodyguard. The guy next to him is his manager, Derek. His fans and the paparazzi are relentless. One photo of you standing next to Andrew holding a drink and that will be all over the tabloids.”

“What do you want me to do? Stay away from him?”

“On the contrary. We want you seen with him as much as possible, but just make sure you aren’t doing anything illegal when it happens. You’re underage. Plus, I get the feeling your parents wouldn’t approve.”

That’s the truth. “What makes you the expert? You’re not that much older than I am. You haven’t been in Hollywood.”

“I got my first job at a comic when I was 16. Zocopalypse came out when I was 18. I had to grow up fast, Ruby. The first thing I learned was that I had to look out for myself. I’d like to spare you some of the mistakes I made.”

“How do you know it would be a mistake for me? I’m not you.”

“When I signed on to make this movie, I found out everything I could about the actors. This is a tough group. Everyone is rich, beautiful and entitled. They aren’t like you.” I wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or insult. I wouldn’t mind being a little like Vanessa. “Andrew, for example, carries a lot of baggage, but it’s outweighed by his skill and popularity.”

I shake my head. “The fans aren’t pleased you picked him. I mean, a lot of them are pissed you picked me.”

He leans back in his seat and laughs. “Of course they are. You know I respect the readers, but I can’t please everyone. I had to pick the best people for the job.”

The impact of that statement isn’t lost on me. “And you think I’m the best person for Alex?”

“I know you are.”

A loud peal of laughter comes from across the room and we both turn. Andrew and David make wild gestures, keeping a group of guests entertained. Iris being one of them. From here, I can see her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. I can also see her hand on Nick’s shoulder. One drink and she is wasted — and bold.

“So, the lecture you just gave to me goes for Iris as well, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let me take care of that.” I stand and smooth out the ruffled layers of my dress. “You may want to remind Nick she’s only 18. She’s choosing to ignore the fact he’s what? 25?”

“Eight. 28.”

I sigh. “Exactly.”

He places a hand on my arm. “This will be an amazing adventure – but if you ever need help, let me know. Things may get a little crazy.”

Crazier than being cast in a TV show created by my favorite artist, co-starring the hottest man in America? What’s the worst that could happen?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

Our sources from the set say the Zocopalypse cast is spending the week in zombie survival camp!

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Z.net

Check out our new pages devoted to the cast members!

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AlexkicksZass

@z.net spent the day in zombie survival camp. I may never walk again.

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Z.net

@alexkicksZass if they catch you, you def won’t walk again. Keep fighting girl.

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alexkicksZass

EMOTICON PAIN!

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“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

[1] Cole, age 20. Army-brat survivalist. Crush on Alex. Rival of Wyatt.

[2] Chloe, age: 23, Cole’s sister. Sexy, but tough.

[3] AKA: Andrew Xavier.

[4] Playing Deanna, age 20. Conspiracy theorist, believes that the government started the zombie apocalypse.

Chapter 10

“How 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.

Cole watches the two fight from the sidelines.

Alexandra: You never go out of sight. Do it again and you may have a blade to the head, not just your throat.

Cole: Drop the hatchet, Alex.

She looks between the two men and lowers the knife.

Wyatt: You know I’m not leaving you, right?

Cole: Whatever man, she’s scared.

Wyatt: I don’t need you to tell me how she’s feeling.

Cole: Really? Because obviously you don’t get it.

Alexandra: Shut up! Both of you! I can’t do this anymore. I’m out of here.

Cole: Come on… Alex!

Alexandra walks across to the shop and picks up her backpack from the counter. She runs out the back door.

“Cut!”

I’m behind a fake wall, separating myself from the main stage. The set went from completely silent to a rush of noise. People talking, machines moving, David laughing. I press my back to the wall and take deep breaths, trying to steady my nerves. I listen for my name, for someone to call me to go back and do it again (and again and again), but it never comes and I slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Just when I think I’m in the clear, I hear a low curse and something fall to the floor.

“There you are,” Andrew says, climbing over some thick cables. He pushes a box with his foot to get closer to me. “You okay?”

“Uh huh.” He looks skeptical and holds out a bottle of water. I take it while he sits down next to me. “Thanks.” After a long swallow I say, “Why are you back here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I shrug. “No reason. Hiding. It’s hot in there.”

“It is. I never get used to the lights. Sometimes I get headaches.”

“Really?” I’d had a splitting one two days ago.

“Yeah, not today though. That scene went pretty well. I love it when we get out early.”

“This is early?” I ask.

“Yeah, sometimes it goes way late — like 2 or 3 a.m.” He checks his watch. It’s only 9.”

“I feel like I’m holding everyone back,” I say, dropping my head back against the wall. I do. I have no idea what any of the terminology means. Arthur has been patient, but I feel stupid.

“Nah, only a little maybe,” he smiles that megawatt smile and nudges me with his rock-hard shoulder. “Kidding.”

“No, you aren’t. It’s a disaster.”

“No way. It’s fine. Everyone has their first week. Some of us have it when we’re 12; can you imagine how many times I messed up then? I was so hyper and excited! My mom had to give me an extra dose of Ritalin just to get through the day.”

“Stop.” Andrew doesn’t seem hyper. If anything, he’s completely focused.

“You’re doing a great job. You survived your first week of filming, which makes you officially an actress.”

“I may be working, but official is a stretch.”

Andrew looks at me and it makes me so nervous. He’s so attractive and confident. It makes me shrink in reaction. “I don’t know how to explain it, but you get this part. Like there, you seemed so vulnerable underneath a determined, powerful girl. She’s fierce. I believed all the trust you’d placed in Wyatt was gone — like that,” he snaps his fingers.

“Alex has a hard time trusting these guys. She doesn’t have any experience with boys or anything. I think she’s afraid to be with them as much as she’s afraid to be alone.”

“I can see that. But then Wyatt and Cole? They’re both young and confused. Cole feels responsible for his sister and then he meets Alex, and falls for her, all while Wyatt has already staked his claim, even if it’s unspoken.”

“Not to mention Wyatt is all secretive.”

Andrew rubs his hands together. “I can’t wait for his past to be revealed.”

“You really did read these books.”

He frowns. “Of course I did. I’ve got a brain in here, Ruby Miller. I’m not just a pretty face.”

“But you do have a very pretty face, you know.”

“Yeah, baby. This thing pays the bills.”

I roll my eyes. “By the way, did you call me fierce?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing. I like being called fierce, that’s all. That, and now I know you watch Tyra.”

“Shut it.” He bumps his shoulder against mine again. He is so cute. And hot. Why does he have to be so hot?

“Does it always feel so exhausting? Exhilarating?”

“Yeah, plus frustrating and annoying sometimes. But usually, after a good week of work like this, I just feel pumped. I’ll probably go run a couple miles.”

“Now?” He’s crazy.

“Sure, before dinner. I need to work out some of this energy.” Okay, maybe he is hyperactive. All I want to do is sleep.

He stands and helps me off the ground, his big, giant muscles flexing. “So you’ll be at dinner?”

Nick announced before the last shot that we’re meeting for dinner to celebrate the end of a successful first week. As much as I want to just go home, Iris and I plan on going.

“Yeah.”

“Great, see you then,” he says and gives me a big hug.

“Thanks, Andrew.”

He winks and leaves me and my accelerating heart in his wake.

g

I’m sure the rest of the cast would prefer to celebrate at a bar, but since I have the lead part and I’m embarrassingly underage, Nick suggests we return to the restaurant we went to last time. This is fine by me; one more new thing this week and I may explode. I wasn’t lying to Andrew. All I wanted was to snuggle up in some pajamas, eat some ice cream and sleep for days.

“Congratulations,” Iris says, and holds up her martini glass of not-martini for a toast. The bartender slid us some dark red, not-drinks when we walked in. “To you! And to me! And to us! It was an epic week. We had record high hits. And!” a huge smile crossed her lips, “I got a call today from US News. They want to do an interview with me about the Zocopalypse phenomenon.”

“That’s great! When is it?”

“Sometime next week. They’re going to call me.”

“Did you tell Nick?”

“No, not yet. Once I do, he’ll figure out a way to turn this into a PR moment for him. He’s obsessed with using social media and different types of platforms to push this movie. Which is great, but we’ll see. I may keep it on the DL.”

“Gotcha.”

“Also, I want to talk to you about something. For the website.”

“Sure. Is everything okay? I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help more.”

“No, it’s fine. But I’m putting in a lot of hours and we’re getting amazing traffic, so I had an idea.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I’m thinking about opening the site to advertising. That way, I can make enough money to at least pay the maintenance and stuff.”

I make a face. “You know what happens when fansites start taking money.”

“I know! People start posting what’s popular and not what they feel is important. It happens all the time. But, really, I need some help here and maybe if it generates some cash, I can pay someone to help me.” I hesitate and she adds, “But, I won’t do it if you don’t agree. Promise.”

I can feel the hope vibrating off of my friend. I know Iris works like crazy keeping the site updated and current. Nick gives her a lot of information from filming, which puts us ahead of other sites, like Zombieface, and I suppose it’s not fair for me to hold this back. “Okay, do it.”

“Yay!” she throws her arms around me. “Thanks!”

“Just keep things the same, okay. Don’t sell out.”

“Me? Sell out? Don’t even. So, how was it? I barely got to see you, but that costume? Smokin’.”

“You barely saw me because you spent the week following Nick. It was fine. Hard. Sometimes I feel stupid and like I’m delaying everything while they describe what blocking means or how not to get in the way of the lights or trying not to trip over all the equipment or sandbags or something.”

“First of all, I’m following Nick around because he’s showing me the ropes. He knows a lot. Arthur, too. He’s letting me watch a lot of the filming and directing process. And just so you know, they all think you’re doing awesome. I think everyone is pleased so far.”

“Aww. You lie to make me feel better. Thanks bestie.”

“Whatever, I’m not lying — oh my God, don’t look!”

“What?” I ask, looking across the room. And that’s when I see her. Taylor Lyn. “WHAT THE WHAT?”

“Yep. It’s her.” Iris moves back and forth trying to see.

“Why is she here? Why! Did you talk to Nick or something?”

She snorts. “Hell, no.”

“Me neither. I’ve tried to figure out when to ask.”

“Wait, wait, wait, do you see who that is with her?” Iris shakes her head, but I swear I hear “don’t be Reid” muttered under her breath. I grip her arm and shout, “She’s with NAB. NAB!”

“Of course she is,” Iris says, and rolls her eyes. “She’s so freaking lame. She couldn’t get in through us, even with blackmail, so she goes after the weakest link. The nerdy assistant boy who just has to have a hard-on for blondes.”

“Well, this is just perfect — and by perfect, I mean not perfect at all. So what, they’re dating now? Is that what this is? Do you think she dumped Reid?” I don’t want Taylor Lyn here, in my little bubble of zombie happiness, with Andrew and the bitchy model girls and Gabe, who just walked in the door looking tired.

“Don’t let her bug you. We’ll find out and plot our revenge from there. Oh look, here comes the drink police, maybe he’ll know.”

“Hey,” Gabe says, passing us to go to the bar. He comes back with a bottle of soda and stands with us. “I hear you had a good week.”

“Ugh, I don’t know.”

“I keep telling her it’s fine, but she won’t listen,” Iris says. “But anyway, what’s with the blonde chick over there?” She points right at Taylor Lyn who, at that moment, has her hand on NAB’s shoulder but her eyes on Andrew, who had just appeared in the doorway. His hair is a little damp from his post-run shower and his cheeks are flushed. He looks amazing. From the gleam in Taylor Lyn’s eye, she thinks so too.

“Oh, that girl? Tricia? Linda?”

“Taylor Lyn,” Iris prompts.

“Taylor Lyn? Yeah, Sean needed some help and that girl wanted to intern, so we offered it to her.”

“Who’s Sean?” We both ask at the same time.

“Um, Sean? Our assistant?”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, we call him NAB.”

“NAB?” From the dark circles under his eyes, I have to think Gabe is exhausted because he is completely unable to follow this conversation.

“Nerdy Assistant Boy.”

He laughs. “That works, although it’s a good idea to be nice to the assistants, you don’t want them spitting in your coffee.”

“Gross! That’s not true.” I think for a second. “Is it?”

“In effort to not incriminate myself, I can only declare that I may have worked as an assistant for Marvel for one summer.”

“Oh my God! Did you spit in Stan Lee’s coffee?”

“What? God, no. Like I was allowed near Stan Lee.” His eyes are wide, but the smile on his face is huge.

“Did you meet him for real?”

“Once, at a comic convention. I almost wet myself.” Again, he laughs. “I fanboyed out.”

“Like us,” I say. “But without the wetting myself problem. I don’t do that.”

“ANYWAY,” Iris says, making a disgusted face. “Back to Taylor Lyn. This situation won’t work for us, Gabe.”

“Work how?”

“She’s a bitch and we don’t like her. And she gave Celeb Weekly a photo of Ruby from high school that was terrible.”

“Iris!”

“Well, it was. And well, you need to keep her away from us. Whatever. I’m going to find Nick.” She turns with a huff and stalks away.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Gabe says. “Did she really give a picture of you from high school to the tabloids?”

“I think so, but it’s fine. She can work here, it’s important to her. Let Iris and Nick have it out and we’ll see how it goes.”

“If you say so. Just to be clear though, she had to sign all the same non-disclosure stuff everyone else did. If she leaks anything related to the movie or anything that can be seen as harmful to the movie or cast, she can be fired and sued.”

“Oh, reeeeallly?”

“Yep,” he says. “What did she do to you anyway?”

“Nothing, just stupid high school stuff,” I do not want to talk about Reid. I look around and find a bar stool. We both sit. “I can say that now, right? You know how art school is anyway, everyone is competitive.”

“That’s true, and the rivalry gets worse at the college level. People fight for internships and summer jobs. The best are pulled out way before graduation.”

“Like you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah, something like that. Tell me what you two are fighting over?”

“She competes for everything. She’s one of those girls.”

He shakes his head a little. “What does that mean?”

I sigh, “You know the girl who wants what everyone else has just because they have it? Oh! Like Chloe.”

Recognition lights up his eyes. “How so?”

“Oh, you know, like how she fights with Alexandra for no reason. She only wants Wyatt because Alex does. She doesn’t have any real goals or desires. She’s freaking out about their situation and will use anyone to make herself feel better,” I explain. “Jeez, for a dude you write a lot of romantical soap opera-type stuff. You have David completely convinced Cole and Alexandra will end up together.”

“Maybe they will.”

I shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t even play like that.”

“As for the romance, I have four sisters, I can’t help it.” He leans his elbows back on the bar.

“Four?”

“Yep. All older. They tortured me for years — still do.”

“I’d love to see that! There’s only me and James Brown. My parents work with kids — it’s like one ongoing, never-ending family for them. Plus, one of me was all they could take. I think I broke them.”

“I can see that,” he says. “You know, I was inspired by my sister Caroline when I wrote the Chloe character.”

“Really?” I didn’t know anything about his family. Somehow he has managed to keep that quiet and out of the media.

“Yeah, she’s hard and kind of bitchy, but usually she was just scared. She always talked a big game, but there was never any follow through with her threats.”

I glance across the room at Taylor Lyn, who is still hanging on NAB, but is now in a larger group talking to Andrew. “I’m not so sure Taylor Lyn won’t follow through, but whatever, I’m not going to fight her. I’ll just get my payback by making out with Andrew on set. That will make her batshit.”

Gabe takes a long drink from his glass before standing. “Yeah, well, that sounds like a plan then. I’m sure Andrew doesn’t mind two women fighting over him.”

I slide off my chair and punch him in the arm. “I’m not fighting over Andrew. As if. Like I would embarrass myself like that. I mean, I’m pretty sure if it comes to an actual choice, he would pick her over me anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Stupid Taylor Lyn and her blonde hair and painted nails and not looking like the kind of girl that obsesses over zombies.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Gabe says.

“So sure about what?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go order some dinner.”

g

[1] For work. Duh.

[2] Insult: slut/whore.

Chapter 11

That night, Andrew hugs me on the way out of the restaurant. He picks me up with his massive superhero arms and I become inappropriately giddy and stupid, smelling his recently showered skin. Even though I harbor a secret crush on him, the hug was just between friends. I know this. He knows this and the entire cast and crew, if they are watching, know this. That doesn’t stop some creeper paparazzi from snapping photos of us and selling them to the tabloids. The online gossips are the first to grab them. They’re worse than the paper ones because, with a click of a button, the story becomes fact and enters cyberspace forever. The caption beneath the article implies a hook up.

“Sorry, babe,” Andrew says when I ask if he saw them a couple nights later. He’s texting, like always, and the phone screen lights up his face. “I don’t look at those anymore.” He chuckles in a good-natured way that makes my heart hurt a little. “But me and you? Good one. They need to try harder.” And with that, he ruffles my hair and walks back to the set.

Ouch.

We’ve spent the week in the middle of nowhere, fighting mosquitoes and muggy-sticky nights. Atlanta may be a big city, but drive outside the city limits and you’ll find nothing but farms and wide open spaces. The past two days of shooting have been the intro scene between Alexandra and her mother. This means arriving on set in the late afternoon and working until dawn. Staying out all night is kind of fun. I’ve adapted to being a night owl. Good thing Alexandra already has bags under her eyes. The makeup department would have a challenge covering up my dark shadows.

“So it doesn’t bother you to be attached to girls you aren’t seeing? I mean, I know this happens, showmances[1] and set-ups and rumors for magazines, but seriously, they got all that just from a hug?” I ask Andrew as we stand by the edge of the field where the continuity guy preps the truck for our next scene. I think of all the girls I assumed Andrew had relationships with over the years simply due to a picture in one of Iris’ magazines.

“Nope. It’s not worth the time. They make up what they think will sell the most magazines or get the most hits. It’s all about money.”

“I know, I guess, but then don’t you feel stupid or like a jerk or something? You have quite the reputation.” I say. The makeup lady comes over and wipes the real sweat off my face before spraying fake sweat back on from a bottle.

“Well, I won’t lie. That reputation helps me, too. The more I’m seen, positive or negative, the more bankable I am as an actor. If I can sell a magazine, I can sell a movie. It’s just how this business works.” Again, he checks his phone. A quick smile crosses his lips. I feel the faint prickle of jealousy.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, pocketing the phone. “From now on, I’ll keep my hands to myself and the speculation will stop.”

NO! I want to shout. You can touch me however you want! I’m not afraid of a stinkin’ magazine! “Ha, ha. Whatever,” is what I say instead.

“Stop moving,” the makeup lady instructs and nudges my face into the light.

“Off the phone,” the other woman barks at Andrew, making us both laugh. From the corner of my eye, I catch his smile and get a wink in return. That simple gesture makes my concerns disappear.

g

“Sorry!”

“Cut!”

“Try again.”

“You can do this.”

“I can do this.”

“Crap! I can’t do this!”

“One more. Give me one more.”

“Everybody take 15!”

The everybody implied in that “everybody” is me. After messing up royally, I’m hiding behind an old barn, leaning against a gigantic tractor wheel. I may or may not be crying. Either way, I’ve tucked myself in the shadows, away from the harsh glare of the lights set up by the crew to make it bright enough to film. Back here it’s dark as night. Since the first week of filming, this has been my habit — taking a break when things get too rough. I look for the most out of the way space to get my head back in the game. Back here, it’s quiet too, until a twig snaps.

Without looking up, I say, “Go away, Iris. And if you have your camera back here I will break it. In half. Then stomp on it for good measure.” Performing in front of the camera is bad enough, but Iris’ incessant need to film every. Single. Moment. Is too much.

I wait and hear nothing but cicadas, but I know I’m not alone. “I can hear you breathing.”

“You do? I always wanted supersonic hearing. It’s on my list of top 10 superhero traits.”

“It is not,” I argue, not with Iris, as I’d expected. Gabe has found my hiding spot. “Stop trying to make me feel better using your lame attempt at humor.”

“Sure it is. Also mind reading. Well, not so much reading minds, but like, the ability to communicate with someone without talking.”

I lean forward, peering around the tractor to see him. “What do you want?”

Gabe walks around the tractor and stops when he’s standing over me, his sneakers inches from my own. “Just checking on you.”

“I thought you were Iris.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, smearing black mascara all over the place. It’s so freaking hot and humid out here. The makeup lady will kill me and I can only imagine the mess I’ve made of my face. I’m vain enough to care.

“Nope. I told her and her intrusive camera to go film a cow or something.”

“You did not.”

He rests his shoulder on the giant tractor wheel and shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I gave her five bucks and told her to go buy you a Mountain Dew.”

“You did? For me?” I narrow my eyes. ”Are you sure you can’t read minds?”

“Not yet.” He drops to the ground so we face one another, legs crossed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him all night. I didn’t even know he was out here.

“When did you get here?”

“A while ago.”

“Oh, so you saw all that.”

“All what?” Now it’s his turn to play dumb. Bless his zombie writing heart.

“Shut up. You saw the epic fail back there. I just couldn’t get it right. The emotions and all that.”

“It’s a hard scene. Alexandra has to leave her mother’s body in that barn and continue on with Wyatt. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know anyone anymore. I mean, she doesn’t even know where here is, right? She’ll never find this place again and God knows if she would even survive long enough to attempt to try.”

“She should just end it all right here. Take the gun and blow her brains all over that barn.” I’m half-joking, but I’ve had this thought before and it’s what’s holding me back in the scene. Alexandra has a choice. She can end it all right now and stay with her mother, or she can leave with Wyatt and try to continue living. This is her moment. The scene is pivotal to the entire future of the characters’ lives, but I keep getting stuck. “I don’t know if I could keep going. I can’t figure out the balance between fighting and the vulnerability of considering the other direction.”

“Well, have you ever read books about the Holocaust?”

“Sure, I read Anne Frank for school.”

He nods. “When I was younger, I obsessed over that time period. Not just the Holocaust, but the idea of the survivors. I never understood how they made it. All those people walking for miles, forced into trains like cattle – no water or food. Years in the camps. As far as they knew, their lives were finished. Their families were gone. I always think, surely they would just rather die. Who wants to suffer like that?”

“Anne and her family lived in that attic for three years. Three years! Can you imagine?”

“I think people have an innate desire to survive. It’s built into us to fight, despite the odds.”

“Hope?”

“Yes, hope — maybe faith? As long as there are humans there will be hope. For humanity to survive, we have to strive for something better.”

“So, it’s okay for Alexandra to be sad, but she can be hopeful at the same time.”

“Exactly.” He taps his fist on my knee and smiles.

“It’s hard being vulnerable out there, you know? Being tough and brave is one thing, but showing fear and stuff, it sucks.”

“Yeah, you guys are brave. I’m not sure I could do it. I sit behind my desk and computer and geek out and draw pictures.” He ducks his head.

“What? You’re brave! Have you seen the fansites? People critique every single page of your work. The pictures and the dialogue and the storyline. Not to mention the fan fiction where they go back and rewrite everything.”

He looks up with a sly grin. “Did you just admit to reading Zocopalypse fan fiction?”

“Shut up,” I say and kick him on his foot.

“You secretly ship[2] Alex and Chloe.”

“I do not!” I laugh and kick him with my foot again until he traps it between his ankles.

“Nope.”

His phone beeps and he slips it out of his shirt pocket. I remember we’re both at work and it’s time for me to woman-up and finish this scene.

He releases my foot and helps me off the ground. I brush the dirt and grass off my butt. “Those women in wardrobe and makeup are going to kick my ass.”

“Definitely.” His fingers move to my face and he wipes under my eye with his thumb. “They scare me a little.”

“They scare me more than that. I think even Andrew is scared of them.”

“That I’d like to see,” he says.

We walk around the side of the barn where the set buzzes with life. Andrew’s on his phone (again) while Iris sits next to Nick with a fresh soda waiting for me.

I turn to Gabe. “Tell me the rest of your superhero wish list.”

“Ahhhh. No.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

I stop and cross my arms over my chest. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Well, it’s kind of a personal list.”

“And crying in front of a camera, Andrew Xavier and everyone else isn’t revealing or anything?”

He tips back on his heels thinking, finger on his chin. “True, but maybe I’m saving mine for a top secret future comic book.”

I study him to see if he’s joking but his face is set and determined. “Oh my God! You are!” I say this too loud though because I catch the attention of the makeup women who immediately gather their supplies and start my way.

“I’m a creative genius — sharing this would be like letting you see my soul.”

I start to roll my eyes, but again, I see that he’s serious. “Okay, I won’t press.”

“Ruby!” Andrew jogs over and throws an arm over my shoulder. He looks between me and Gabe. “Ready?”

The women shoo him off, straighten my clothes and wipe down my face. I pull out of their grasp and say, “Let’s do this.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

QueenAlex

@z.net Ruby + Andrew! Jealoussss

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wyattsbabe

@z.net Whatever – Andrew will drop Ruby the second filming is over.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net Andrew can bury his hatchet in me any day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Queenwannabee

@z.net@alexkicksZass How do you spell loser? R-U-B-Y-M-I-L-L-E-R

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wootyeahboys

@z.net Andew.Is.G-A-Y.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zombieprincess

@z.net Who cares about this romance/showmance. Tell us more about the movie! What is the script like? Did they keep in the kiss?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Andrewspants
@z.net again, DO WE GET TO SEE ANDREW IN CHAPS? #onetrackmind

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WyattluvsAlex

@z.net Come on… tell us the truth! Are they dating? Mating? Faking?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

Filming is going great! Ruby and Andrew filmed the barn scene yesterday. So emotional!!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AlexkicksZass

@z.net Exhausted & tired. Where’s my bed?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass #8 Fire

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AlexkicksZass

@Gabielsinferno ?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass Making fire.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AlexkicksZass

@Gabielsinferno Like with your hands?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass With my mind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

g

Contrary to popular belief, acting is far from a cush job. We work 16-hour days in the heat, rain or any other variable. Last week, it poured for three days; Nick and Arthur found us an abandoned school to use for filming. Another thing? It’s fun — really fun. For the first time in my life, I’m away from my parents, working. I mean, I still sleep in my bed and eat their food when I’m home, but otherwise, for the first time in my life, I’m experiencing a measure of freedom.

I won’t deny the cons. Less sleep, like none. Less time for me and Iris to hang out and just chill, work on the website, follow and post on forums, or talk about the next Zocopalypse issue. I even miss the kids I take care of in the summer.

Then there’s the gossip, the increasingly hostile tweets and more photos of Andrew and me, including some of us filming at the barn location. They’re grainy, but in more than one you can see his arm around my shoulder. Once leaning in so close it appears that we’re kissing. We aren’t. Would I let him? Doesn’t matter. Only a fool would say no, but it’s not in the cards.

Tonight we have a break and a group of us meet at Andrew’s place. Most of the cast and crew rent apartments and lofts above the Gencon office. Due to the modern decor, a huge flat screen mounted to the wall and the lack of significant personal items, it’s obvious this space is temporary. Iris and I drop our coats on the chair by the door. One look toward the living room shows David and NAB involved in some kind of virtual death match, while Taylor Lyn sulks in a chair alone. She knows better than to come near either Iris or me.

“What’s she doing here?” I whisper.

“I don’t know. Have you heard if she and Reid broke up?”

I shake my head. Their status remains unclear. She’s been spending a lot of time with NAB, coming with him to cast dinners and social events like this one, but there has been no sign of Reid.

We leave the boys to their games, choosing to hang in the kitchen watching Vanessa try to figure out Andrew’s top-of-the-line blender. All in all, I wasn’t seeing much difference between actor-type parties and high school parties except Andrew doesn’t live with his parents.

“Oh fug!” Rochelle shouts, jumping back from the red juice spraying out of the blender. My arms, the counter and floor are coated in sticky juice.

“What the hell, Ro?” Andrew says, rushing over and pulling towels out of a drawer.

“Sorry! This thing is like a robot or something. I can’t figure out how it works.” She licks her fingers and moves to let him clean the counter.

“Hey,” I say as Iris mops the floor with a paper towel. I toss her another one. “I’m pretty soaked — and sticky. You want to just go?”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the couch. Nick is here, which is rare. He and Gabe often hole up, reworking the script. I assume that’s where Gabe is now, because he didn’t show up with the rest of the guys.

“Come on, Iris,” I whisper. “You need to let that go. He’s too old.”

“Ten years isn’t a big deal.”

“Dude, you’re basically jailbait.”

“Who’s jailbait?” asks Andrew.

“Sabrina Taylor,” Iris says, her blue eyes flashing at Andrew. He drops the dirty towels in the sink. I punch her arm. Not cool.

“You wish,” he says, crossing his mega-arms over his chest.

“No, you wish. She’s only 16.”

Andrew cracks a wide smile and laughs. “Little-known secret in Hollywood — never believe an actor when they tell you their age.”

Iris rolls her eyes. “Sabrina Taylor is over 18?”

“She’s 19. Last May. I went to her birthday party in Vegas to celebrate.”

“TMZ covered that party. She had a huge cake with the numbers one and six across the top.”

“So? You think the bakery cares about her real age?”

“Okay fine. You say she’s 19, but her IMDB[3] bio says 16. Why lie?” I ask.

“Longevity. No one wants to watch a teen show or movie with a 25 year old playing a high school junior. Sure it happens, but why not fudge the bio in the first place? Cut off a couple years and it gives the actor a little space to play younger for longer. When they actually reach an older age, they look more the part.”

“No way,” Iris says.

Andrew shrugs. “Happens all the time.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Me?”

“Uh-huh, you.”

“Twenty.”

Iris pulls out her phone and begins thumbing over the screen. She pulls up Andrew’s bio. “This says 20.”

He nods, satisfied.

“Is it correct?” I ask.

“That’s what it says.” He’s playing coy. His mischievous grin is cut off when the blender roars again. When it stops, he says, “Here, have a drink.”

“Unlike you, I’m 18, really 18, and I promised Gabe to keep it clean.”

He looks around the room. “I don’t see Gabe here, do you?”

Iris shakes her head and gets a glass. Make that two. She hands me one. “Jeez, lighten up, Ruby. What can Gabe do? What’s going to happen? I mean, for all he knows you’re 24.”

“Shut up. I’m the only one here with a real background.”

“So far,” Andrew says.

Iris laughs and holds her drink up for me to toast. “To not puking out the window of a tree house.”

“What? Best night ever, if you ask me.” She sticks her finger down her throat and fake gags, then takes a big gulp.

“I’m blaming you when I get in trouble,” I say to her. Then I point a finger at Andrew. “And you.”

“I’m terrified,” Andrew says, holding up his own drink. He looks across the room. “Taylor Lyn, you want one?”

Iris mutters, “Oh great,” under her breath.

“Sure,” Taylor Lyn says from her spot on the chair. She stands, stepping over the boys on the floor in her inappropriate high-heel sandals. She wobbles over to us, picking up the drink Andrew placed on the counter. Taking a sip, she smiles, “oh, that’s yummy!”

“So, you know each other?” Vanessa says, looking between us.

“We went to school together. Art school — with Gabe,” Taylor Lyn says. Iris’ eyes narrow at the name drop, as though we were friends with him in school. Taylor Lyn knew nothing about Gabe or Zocopalypse other than what she heard from Reid.

Vanessa looks at me. “Oh. So, you knew Gabe before you got the part?”

“No. I mean I knew of him, because of the comic, but no, we weren’t in school together. He’s older.”

“Right.”

“Andrew,” Taylor Lyn says, stirring her drink with her straw in slow, deliberate circles. “Can you point me to the bathroom?”

“Sure, back around that wall, you can’t miss it.” He points, checking his phone for the gazillionth time. He frowns at the screen, reading a text while he opens the sliding door to the balcony.

Taylor Lyn also disappears — to the bathroom I suppose. I sigh and take a big gulp of my drink.

“What’s going on with you two?” Vanessa asks. I’m not surprised she picked up on the tension between me and Taylor Lyn.

“Nothing worth talking about,” Iris says. “Rochelle, any more in that pitcher?”

“Yes! And, I have a toast,” Rochelle says, refilling our glasses one by one with thick, icy margarita. “To the zombie apocalypse — without it we would never be standing in Andrew Xavier’s kitchen, nor seen him shirtless or in a pair of chaps.”

“To the apocalypse!” We cheer and down our drinks, because that’s something to celebrate.

g

I push the sliding door to the side and stumble onto the balcony. Not a great idea since I’m wobbly and three stories high. The drop to the parking lot on the other side of the porch railing should be enough to keep me inside, but I go anyway. I need fresh air to keep from puking all over Andrew’s apartment.

After a few shaky steps, I drop in a chair and take a couple breaths, willing the need to vomit back. Why did I let the girls talk me into that last drink?

The door opens again and Andrew steps out with his phone close to his ear. He smiles at me. I try to smile back, but my mouth isn’t working quite right so I just nod. He’s not paying attention, turning his back to me. His voice is low enough that I can’t hear, other than, “I know,” “me too,” and a fast, “soon I promise.” I don’t care. My eyes close and I’m wishing the world would stop spinning.

“Oh, you look kind of…” Andrew searches for a word. “Not awesome.”

I make an ugly face — or try. My face is a little numb. “Thanks.”

He bumps into the lounge chair and falls into it sideways, sitting on my feet. “Sloppy drunk, eh?” I ask, like I didn’t just slur and say “shhlopppy” instead.

“Everyone needs a break now and then, right? This week was brutal.”

“Sure, but you don’t drink often.”

“Nah, I can’t. Empty calories.” He lifts his shirt and shows me the rippled ab muscles making a ladder up his chest. Sweet Moses. “Plus, my body doesn’t metabolize alcohol and I get drunk too fast. I think I had less to drink than you.”

Andrew rights himself and pulls my bare feet into his lap. What the what? I don’t know why he’s doing it, but his hands rest on my legs, warm and heavy. I won’t lie, I may die. Or call Iris.

I can’t handle the silence of this weird moment, so I say, “I think your body can handle one night of abuse.”

“Being good all the time sucks, you know?” He has a serious expression on his face. “Sometimes it’s hard being ‘on’ all the time, just working or working out, being perfect. Did you know I eat like four pounds of meat a day? And I drink protein drinks constantly.”

“Four pounds?”

“I burn, like, 6,000 calories a day, so I have to keep eating to keep up all this mass.” He makes his bicep round like a softball. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

I have no idea what he’s saying. Meat? Protein drinks? I’ve seen him chugging brownish drink-looking things between scenes and watched him inhale a hamburger with no bun, but I never realized it was part of some larger plan. “What I would give for a milkshake,” he laments.

“Let’s go get one!” I blurt, because places that sell milkshakes should have hamburgers and ever since he said meat, I’ve been craving one.

Andrew laughs, tipping his head back on the cushion. In one swift motion, he moves closer to me. My legs are across his lap and this feels intimate. “I love you, Ruby Miller – thank you for coming into my life.”

Did he say he loved me? Me? Oh my God, where the hell is Iris?! She’s inside, of course, trying to get some game from Nick, and I’m out here feeling dumb and overwhelmed without a wing-woman. I pick at the edge of my shorts, which is close to Andrew’s giant man hands and say, “I like you, too. Thanks for being so awesome and showing me the ropes.”

He puts his hand over mine (!). “You’re so pure, Ruby, and just, real. No one in my life is real. Nothing is real. Thank you for being real.”

“You’re welcome. Wait, what do you mean, nothing is real?”

“Have you ever had a secret? Like a big one? Like from everyone?”

I shake my head because I haven’t. I tell Iris everything. Including that time I forgot to put the lid up on the toilet at the Mexican restaurant when I had three shots of vodka on spring break and peed all over the bathroom floor. Crap. Now I have to pee. “No.”

“I have a secret,” he slurs, and I realize he’s drunker than I thought. I hope us making out will be part of his secret, and then he’ll want to marry me and make gorgeous babies. The way his fingers hover over my thigh makes me think this could possibly happen. “Can you keep a secret?”

When he asks this he is so close, like inches from my face since he’s kind of sliding down the seat. “Okay,” I say, kind of breathy and stuttery. “Yes.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder to the door, he moves closer. The stench of alcohol on his breath washes over me and I fight back nausea. “I’m in a relationship.”

A what? Wait. What?

“And it’s serious. I mean, I’m in pretty deep.”

I blurt the first name that comes to mind. “Sabrina Taylor?”

He laughs and shakes his head. Is he blushing? Maybe it’s the tequila. “No.”

I think back to the tabloid articles. “Vanessa?”

“God, no. It’s no one you know.”

“Oh.” This, tragically, implies it’s not me.

“Yeah. I mean no one knows, well, my family and my agent, but no one else.”

“What’s the big deal?” I say this as though my heart did not break bit by bit and shatter onto the patio floor. My fantasy relationship with Andrew just died a sudden and horrific death.

“I don’t want them to be exposed to my life and the drama that surrounds it. I mean, look at you, Ruby. A couple weeks and you’re already tied to me in the tabloids. It’s not fair to someone who didn’t choose this life.”

“Don’t you think she would like to be seen with you and wear the gorgeous dresses on the red carpet and be ‘the woman’ who tamed the serial womanizer the tabloids like to push?”

He turns and looks at me, and again, all I can see is how handsome Andrew is, with his striking blue eyes, perfect face and body. He’s all these things still, but he’s also sad. “Who do you think created that image?”

I’m shocked by the word created, even though I shouldn’t be. “You?”

He shrugs. “Me and Derek, my agent. To keep focus off my private life and on my career.”

“How is your life private? You’re on the cover of every tabloid at least once a month!”

“But that’s the thing, none of it’s real. It’s all make-believe to keep the fans interested, and it allows me to live my life in peace. Every time I’m seen out with Sabrina, or any other woman, it gets me a month away from the insanity to go live my life as I wish.”

“That’s kind of brilliant.”

Andrew shifts on the lounge chair, making it creak under his weight. I worry a little because he’s massive and I’m afraid neither of us is in any condition to get back up if we fall on the ground. “I didn’t come up with it or anything. Celebrities have been doing it forever.”

“Well, yeah, the showmance, but I always just thought that was for PR, I didn’t realize the other benefit of it.”

“Privacy.”

“Yeah.” I lean back in my seat and he throws an arm around my shoulder. I try to ignore him when he begins playing with the strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail. I guess he can be affectionate with me now that I know he’s unavailable. I must be okay with that, because he smells good and looks good and it’s just a sacrifice I will have to make. I realize his confession is a big one, and even in the short time I’ve known him, it’s clear his life is a circus. I wouldn’t be surprised if we walked to the gate surrounding the lofts right now and found a couple of fangirls waiting for a chance to see him. “So, Gabe and Nick don’t know?”

“No one knows, Ruby.” His eyes bug. He slaps a hand over his face and groans. “I can’t believe I just told you.” But then he starts to giggle, which again proves how drunk he is. “What a freaking moron.”

“I won’t tell. I promise. I can keep a secret.” I have no idea if this is a true statement. I always tell Iris everything, but this time, I have no choice. I’m struck with the realization that for once something is bigger than our friendship.

“I know you won’t,” he says and squeezes his arm around me in a tight hug. “You’re not like these crazy people. These Hollywood wannabes who will dig and scratch and do anything to get to the top. Never become like that, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise — I don’t think my career will last that long anyway.”

Andrew stands and I watch him open the door. He says, “Don’t count on that, Ruby Miller,” and disappears.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AlexkicksZass

@Gabielsinferno #10 Mind Wiping

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

g

[1] When actors engage in a romance for the run of a show. Once the run is over, so is the romance. The term originated in the theater and moved to movies and scripted television and then reality television, but has now moved to pop culture to describe any contrived romance.

[2] Short for romantic relationship, made popular in fan fiction/celebrity circles.

[3] Internet Movie Database. A collection of movie and actor information.

Chapter 12

Our house has a family room in the basement that’s dark, cool and perfect for hiding. Following Andrew’s party, I camp out on the couch in near darkness because my head throbs from too much tequila and not enough sleep. James Brown and I are halfway through a bag of chips when my phone buzzes with a text. I figure it’s Iris, looking to debrief the night before, but I’m surprised to see Gabe’s name flash across the screen.

Hey

Hi

What are you doing?

Eating chips. Watching Unicorn vs. Goblins on HaloTV. Wishing I had a double cheeseburger with fries. You?

Working. But now I want a cheeseburger.

IKR? Like a huge one. With cheese and maybe bacon. OMG. Stop making me talk about it. Also stop working. Day off.

Me? You brought it up. No rest for me. Edits on Z IV.

ORLY?

Yep.

Well, I’ll think about you while I watch campy movies and eat stale chips.

Thanks

I’m here for you. Always.

Now I want something greasy to eat, but I’m trapped at home with no car since my parents are out for the day. Plus, I can’t seem to bring myself to get off the couch or anything. I should go back to bed, and I would, but this movie just started to get interesting, with the unicorns fighting the goblins by using their horns as weapons. The unicorns have cornered the goblins in a mystical cave when my phone vibrates, distracting me from a goblin massacre.

You there?

Yes

Open the door.

What door?

Your door. To your house.

This information gets me off the couch and up the stairs. I open the door to find Gabe standing on my front step with a bag of fast food and a bottle of Mountain Dew. James Brown sniffs his feet and I smile while doing a little dance in the doorway. “For me?”

“And me,” he laughs, handing over the goods.

“I think I love you.” He laughs again and I take him down to my lair, making room on the couch for him.

“I kind of forgot what you look like in your glasses.”

I shrug. “Those contacts suck.”

“I like the glasses — it’s more Ruby.”

The dog tries three times to get on the couch with us before I block him with my leg. “No way, James, this is my food. Not yours.”

“Here,” I say, handing him a wrapped up burger and a box of fries before I shove a fistful of salty potatoes in my mouth. “Oh my gah, these are so good.” I twist off the soda cap and swallow a gulp. Gabe sits next to me, food untouched, jaw dropped.

“What?” I ask, unwrapping my burger and picking off the pickles.

“I’ve never seen a girl eat like you.”

“Do girls have special eating skills?” I spot a smear of mustard on my wrist and lick it off.

“Seriously? You eat like an animal.”

“I told you I was hungry.”

“Is this the movie?” he asks, pointing at the frozen screen.

“Yes! You have to see this, let me rewind.”

Ten minutes later, through a mouth full of cheeseburger, Gabe shouts, “Impaled! Through the gut with the unicorn horn! What is that oozing black gunk?”

“Goblins have black guts, duh. Plus, I think the horn has some kind of poison on it.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“And awesome.”

“Definitely.”

When the credits start, Gabe crumples up his trash and shoves it in the bag. I do the same and say, “Cheeseburgers are amazing. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I needed to get out of the house and away from revisions.”

“Tell me about editing.”

“It’s tedious and I have to stay focused, which hasn’t been an issue in the past, but now, with the filming and everything, I’m feeling a little brain-dead.”

This explains the dark shadows under his eyes. “Is that why you didn’t come over to Andrew’s last night?”

“Yeah, I’ll be M.I.A. for a while — it’s due in a couple weeks.”

“I would say I’m sad you won’t be around, but I’m dying to see the new issue! Tell me about it.” I poke him in the arm like a 3 year old. “Tell me!”

He shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Of course you can! You just won’t,” I pout.

“No, I won’t. But, okay, ask me a question and I’ll answer it for you if I can.”

I lean forward. “Really?! Okay, I know. I already know. Do you resolve the Wyatt-Alexandra storyline?”

He stares at me for a second and then nods. “Yes.”

“Finally! Ugh, I know I’m being all girly, but sometimes love has to prevail.” Again, he’s just looking at me and not commenting any further. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for playing Alexandra,” he says. “Also, do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

He hesitates. “I don’t want to tell you about the issue because when I finish the draft, I wondered if you could read it?”

“No way.”

“I’d love to have your opinion.”

Me? “My opinion?”

“Yeah.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m nervous though. Like puking nervous.”

“Why? What wouldn’t I love? I love all your work.”

“Thanks, but, you’ll see. I don’t want to spoil it though. I just want your gut reaction.”

“Stop being silly. Of course, I’ll be honest and everything. Just give it to me when you’re ready.”

“Great.” He smiles, but his eyes are still tense and it’s obvious he really is nervous, which makes me nervous.

“Look!” I point to the TV. A new movie started. “Goblins’ Revenge! Stay and watch?”

Gabe nods and settles back in the couch next to me. I can’t stop thinking about the issue, and getting to read it first. My stomach is tense, and then it tenses further when he shifts toward me and his shoulder brushes against mine.

“Do you think a unicorn horn would kill a zombie?” I ask.

“Only if it stabs him in the brain.”

“You should write unicorns into Issue 5. For real. Dare you.”

Gabe smiles and presses his warm shoulder into mine. “Hmmm… interesting. I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

g

Gabe and I are midway through a third, even more awesome Goblin movie (Goblins Vs. Aliens) when Iris comes pounding down the stairs.

“Oh.” She comes to a sudden halt on the bottom step and looks between the two of us.

“Goblins,” I say through a mouthful of cookie. I dig in the box and hold it out to her. “Want one?”

“I’m not eating sugar this week,” she says and sits in the cushy purple chair next to the couch. She frowns at the goblin and alien on screen kissing. “Why are you watching this horribleness?”

“Because it’s awesome in that horrifically, terrible, cheesy kind of way.” Gabe nods his approval and shoves another cookie in his mouth.

“Gotcha,” she says. “Look, I need to tell you something. Both of you, I guess. Can you get your laptop?”

“Yeah, it’s down here.” I lean over the couch and pull it out from under the end table. I hand it over to her.

She sets the computer up on the coffee table, facing us. She Googles something and a website pops up. The name ZWankHard is at the top.

“Oh no,” I say.

“Yep. Someone has set up a movie wank[1] page.”

Gabe begins scrolling down the page and reading out loud.

ZWankHard

Zocopalypse has begun its third week of filming in hot, humid Atlanta. Maybe this explains why the zombies in this film look like their faces melted off instead of decomposing like the standard Z mythology. ZWankHard is lucky to have a source on set who realizes the epic farce complete masterpiece this film has become. Our “Zource” has been kind enough to share some behind-the-scenes information as the cast and crew destroys transforms one of the biggest graphic novels in history into film.

On Andrew Xavier: “Sure, he’s pretty to look at, but this guy has the acting range of, well, a reanimated zombie. He may look exciting on the outside, but on the inside he’s an empty shell.”

WELL THAT’S JUST NOT FAIR! We keep telling you all, attractive people don’t need talent, or like, basic acting abilities, okay? Give the guy a break (and also all your money).

At least our Zources have glowing praise for n00b Ruby Miller, right? She’s like, practically a starlet in the making, with all that grace and class…

“Ruby Miller looks like a little girl stomping around in combat boots. Awkward and uncoordinated, she can barely muster the strength to pick up her hatchet, much less cut the head off an LD. And her acting? Go back to art school, darling.”

See, now you’re being plain mean. Ruby might have boyish, skinny-fat arms like Twiggy, but who needs arm muscles to save the human race? Not this gal. Ruby can just bore those zombies to death with the girl-next-door aw-shucks thing she won us over with in her second-rate, made-in-the-basement fan video. Duh.

Even more appalling is that our Zource so easily gained access to the script written by Zocopalypse creator Gabe Foster himself. We were very concerned by this since it’s so SEWPER SEEKRIT and all. They were probably worried about someone posting it on the web and mocking it mercilessly or something. WHO WOULD DO SUCH A MEAN THING?

Oh, right. (That’d be us.)

Gabe pushes the laptop away and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m assuming this is out there?”

“Oh, yeah. Like wildfire.”

“Any idea who lost their script?”

“I don’t know, it looks like they managed to de-tag it,” Iris says, pulling the computer onto her lap and clicking on the image to make it larger. Each script has our name tagged across the front.

“Who do you think wrote this?” he asks.

Iris and I glance at each other. We know every major player in the Zocopalypse online community. I can’t see any of them behind something this horrible. She shakes her head. “I’ll look into it, but right now I have no idea.”

Gabe stands, picking up his trash from lunch. “I guess I better start some damage control.”

“Let us know if we can do anything to help,” I say.

Iris nods. “Yeah, I can try to hack into the account if you want.”

“No! Don’t do anything illegal. Let me talk to Nick and he’ll call the lawyers. If they do have photos of the entire script, they may take legal action — assuming we can locate whoever posted this crap.”

“Whatever you say.”

At the bottom of the step, he stops. “Thanks for the movie.”

“Thanks for bringing me lunch.”

“No problem. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure.” He jogs up the steps with James Brown on his heels.

“So, you and Gabe?” Iris says once the front door shuts.

“There’s no me and Gabe. He’s a genius, but also a geek. He just likes talking nerd talk with me,” I say. I hold my arm up and push my sleeve to my shoulder. “Tell me the truth. Do I have arms like Twiggy?”

g

“Come in,” I say from my spot on the dressing room couch. The room isn’t large, but we all share the space during down time on set to change, nap, eat or lounge between scenes. I learned the hard way it’s best to knock in case someone is in mid-nakedness. Some images you can’t forget.

I’ve just found a particularly nasty @ on Twitter accusing me of “famewhoring” off Gabe and Andrew’s coattails. #awesome. The harassment has become worse since ZWankHard decided to make me their punching bag. #jerks. And if one more gossip site mentions my skinny arms, I may crawl in a box and hide. Forever.

The loud knock provides a welcome relief, not to mention a potential career saver since I’m one thumb stroke away from replying to the tweeter in a not-so-professional manner. Instead, I toss the phone on the couch, sick of the drama.

Andrew walks in with a short, older guy who I’ve seen around set. His manager? Agent? Donald? Whichever. He’s bald, intentionally so, and wearing an expensive outfit. Business attire, I suppose. This is more noticeable because Andrew is dressed in his Wyatt costume and looks like, well, he survived the zombie apocalypse. “Ruby,” Andrew says, looking a bit flushed, “this is my agent, Derek.”

I stand and offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, officially.”

“You too, Ruby. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you.”

“Oh. Great.”

Derek gestures to the couch and sits next to me while Andrew hops in a makeup chair near the mirror. He checks himself out[2] and then gives me a quick smile. Why do I feel like a piece of raw meat dropped in a lion’s den?

“So, Andrew tells me he confided in you about his personal life.”

I glance at Andrew. “Yeah, we talked about it. I haven’t told anyone. Promise.”

Derek smiles. “Thank you for that. Andrew trusts you. This relationship is important to him and he — we — would rather keep things quiet for now.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say[3].

Derek is still smiling, which is creepy weird. When I look at Andrew, he smiles also. I do one of those eyebrow lifts that says, what’s up, and he looks back at Derek, so I do, too. “We have a question for you.”

“A favor,” Andrew adds.

“A proposition,” Derek says and Andrew nods in agreement.

“Okay, sure, what kind of favor?”

Derek drops the smile and frowns, a wide crease forming in his forehead. “Normally, I would go to your manager or agent for this but, as far as I can tell, you don’t have one, right?”

“Nope. I don’t think I’m quite agent-worthy yet.”

“No, I guess not,” Derek says. “Anyway, as you know, the media and fans have run with this idea that you and Andrew are in a relationship together.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy. I mean, it’s obvious we’re just friends and co-workers. Like we would even date.”

“Yes, it is ridiculous, but we’ve been thinking about it and how this could be an excellent opportunity for the both of you.”

“Opportunity? What kind of opportunity?”

“Well, in our industry, it’s all about the image — what’s being presented. You understand now that Andrew portrays a bachelor, currently dating a young star, when in reality he’s in a committed relationship.”

“Uh huh.”

“Because that is what fans want to see. They want him available, to follow his movements in the press, fantasize about being with him one day — which I won’t deny, can be lucrative. But lately we’ve gotten the impression that fans would like to see Andrew settle down a little bit. Perhaps take on a steady girlfriend.”

“Oh,” I say, smiling at Andrew. “So you can come out then?”
“What?” Andrew says, his eyes bulging. He takes a giant gulp of water from his ever-present bottle. “No, no. Not exactly.”

“No?”

“Ruby,” Derek says, “We would like you to consider pretending to be Andrew’s girlfriend for the next couple of months. Through the duration of filming and maybe through the premiere.”

“Wait. What? Me? You want Andrew to date me?”

“Yes. You. The fans like you[4], and every actor can use some good publicity. Plus, the movie needs a push — it’s win-win for everyone.”

I hold up both hands. “Wait. I don’t know about the fans liking me so much. Some of them downright hate me.” I shoot a look at Andrew. “Why aren’t you being honest? I think people can handle it.”

Andrew opens his mouth, but Derek interrupts. “Sure, the fans can handle it, but the idea is for this to last as long as the promotional push of Zocopalypse. After that, you two will have an amicable break-up and go on your own way. We can reassess the fans’ position from there and how Andrew should proceed. You, on the other hand, will only benefit from such an arrangement.” I must look skeptical because he adds, “Dating Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor will increase your marketability 100 percent.”

“Um, yeah, I don’t know. I mean…” I shake my head. This doesn’t sound like a good idea — at all.

“Derek, give me and Ruby a second to talk, okay?”

“Sure, sure.” He slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Andrew stands in front of me and says, “I need your help. Like, really, need your help.”

“Andrew, knock it off, you don’t need me for this. Ask Vanessa or Rochelle. Hell, ask Taylor Lyn, she’ll do anything to get a leg up.”

“I need someone I can trust and you’re all I’ve got. And believe me, you weren’t their first choice. They wanted me to ask Vanessa.” He shudders. “One way or the other, I’m getting a new girlfriend. I refuse to go out with random starlets. They freaked out when I suggested you.”

“They’re probably right.”

He takes my hands and says, “This won’t be horrible. I’ll treat you like a princess and won’t try anything funny. Swear. I’ll hire security and keep you safe if necessary. Once the movie airs, you’re free. I promise.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“No. An opportunity.” I get the feeling Andrew spends too much time with Derek.

“If I do this, I can’t tell anyone, right?”

“Right.”

“Gabe?”

“No.”

“Iris? Because Iris will want details. A lot of them. Maybe even diagrams.”

He shakes his head, “Definitely not Iris.”

His answers make me feel a little sick to my stomach, but then I realize something. “So, we’ll go out or be ‘seen’ around, like at dinner and things.”

“Yeah, clubs or concerts or maybe some charity things.”

“Does this mean you have to hold my hand?”

“I guess.”

“Or hug me?”

His eyebrow raises. “Yes, I suppose.”

“What about kisses? Do I get to make out with you in public?” I feel my ears burn as I say it, but what the heck? If I make a deal with the devil, I may as well get paid. “You know, to make it look legit and everything.”

“I imagine this would be something we would do — if it would be okay with you.” He’s smiling as he says this, knowing I’m too chicken to go for it.

I take a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

The door swings open and we both turn our heads to see Derek standing there with a wide grin on his face. He pumps a fist and says, “Excellent.”

g

Cole and Alexandra are in the basement of an abandoned house filling bottles from the hot water heater. The crew stayed in an unsecure home for several days on their way to Fort Benning south of Atlanta. Wyatt and Chloe are outside preparing the truck.

Alexandra: Whose idea was it to go to Fort Benning? Yours or Wyatt’s?

Cole: His, but Chloe and I lived there for three years with our dad. Nothing got in or out. The entire compound is fenced and secure.

Alexandra: What if they won’t let us in?

Cole: My dad did two tours in Afghanistan and two more in Iraq. They sure as hell better let us in.

Alexandra: Is that who taught you how to do all of this? The survival skills? Uncontaminated water from hot water heaters, the hunting?

Cole: I hated it at the time. I would have rather stayed at home watching TV or playing video games. He dragged us out to the woods as often as possible, which wasn’t much since he was gone a lot. But yeah, some of it stuck.

Alexandra: Well, maybe they’ll let you and Chloe on the base, but I have no military connections and I don’t think Wyatt does either. Although, who knows with him?

Cole: Man’s a mystery, that’s for sure.

Alexandra: I think Chloe would rather ditch me anyway.

Cole: First of all, it’s the end of the freaking world, Alex. I think the military will take all the warm bodies they can find. Second, who would Chloe torture if you weren’t here? Other than me, but I’m her brother. After 18 years, I think she needs a new victim.

Alexandra: Great, and along came the zombie apocalypse, tossing me at her feet.

Alexandra stashes the bottles in the backpack she’s carrying and throws it over her shoulder. She picks up another one off the floor. Cole does the same thing, plus another one filled with weapons. They move toward the door and Cole stops her before they get outside.

Cole: She doesn’t hate you. She’s scared and you’re the easiest target.

Alexandra’s eyes flash to her reflection in the window.

Alexandra: Whatever. Let’s go. I hope the plan the two of you have set up works and we get to the base in one piece.

With their supplies in tow, they walk outside. There they find Wyatt and Chloe kissing. Cole chuckles, unsurprised, but Alexandra stares at the two, stunned.

Cole: What? You didn’t see that coming?

Alexandra says nothing, but passes by the now untangled pair and tosses the bags in the back of the truck. Chloe walks back to the house with Cole.

Wyatt: Hey. That was…

Alexandra: None of my business.

Andrew steps between me and the truck, his jaw tight. “She just…”

“Forget it, like I said, none of my business,” I say, pushing past him, but instead of hitting him on the shoulder, I misjudge and ram square into his rock hard chest. This literally makes me bounce backwards. A loud “Oof” pops out of my mouth since I’ve knocked myself breathless. I attempt to recover, but a quirky smile tugs at the corner of Andrew’s mouth and I bite my lip. We hold it in for a beat, but within seconds we both double over trying to catch our breath.

“Cut!” Arthur yells from off stage, mumbling something about professionalism.

“Ouch,” Andrew straightens, rubbing his chest.

“Shut up, that did not hurt.”

“You’ve been working out.” He grabs my arm and coaxes a muscle out of my bicep. “See, you’re ripped. That website is pure B.S.”

“Twenty minute break!” NAB announces and Andrew runs his hand down my arm. We’re on day three of our fauxmance and our behavior at work is not overt, but it’s enough to make people notice. It’s like a switch has been flipped. The one that signals to people you are taken. Yet in this case, it doesn’t make sense because it’s me and Andrew and nothing about our coupling works.

“I thought we could go out to dinner tonight,” Andrew says as we walk over to the food table, located in the shade of the house. I had dreams of exciting, Hollywood-type snacks and treats, but this one sucks. We survey the remains of bagels and picked-over fruit. I find an apple with minimal bruising and take a bite.

“I guess.” My stomach flutters. Fake dating can’t be harder than acting like a zombie hunter, can it?

“Don’t sound so excited.” Andrew grabs a banana and peels it. “It’ll be fun. I’m a great date. You’ll see.”

He gives me his patented heart-breaker smile, the one no girl can resist. Including me. “All right, all right. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up around 8.”

“At my house?” Oh dear. Images of “Meet the Parents” flit through my mind.

“Sure. Text me your address. I’ll see you then.” He shoves half the banana in his mouth and walks away.

I spy the makeup ladies looking for something to do, so I duck behind a tree to check my phone. Iris texted during filming.

Sorry I missed today. Pre-college mom stuff.

Not missing anything here. Hot. Sweaty. Me ruining scenes.

Again?

EMOTICON SPAZ

Ha ha. Want to go to a show tonight? At The Grove?

Can’t.

No? Work?

Yeah

Boooo. Ok. Tomorrow? I’ll pick you up @ 6.

Yep. Tomorrow.

I shove my phone and the guilt I’m feeling away and walk back on set.

g

I push the curtain in my room back so I can peek at the driveway. If I loiter at the door, my mom will start asking questions. I figure I can haul ass downstairs before anyone notices when I see Andrew on my street. This is silly, of course. My parents have met him before — they met the entire cast and crew the day they came for a set visit[5]. Still, I have no intentions of explaining the status of our relationship. This plan would have worked if I didn’t catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over my dresser and realize I have white deodorant streaks down the sides of my black shirt.

“Crappity-crap-crap!” I rummage through my closet for something else to wear. I offer a final cuss when the doorbell rings and my head is halfway through the neck of a red halter top.

I straighten my hair and brace myself on the landing at the top of the stairs. I can hear Andrew and my dad talking. My dad makes some kind of Superman reference, gaining a loud, fake laugh from Andrew. Oh jeez. I let it go, though, because I hear something worse and freeze on the third step to the bottom of the staircase, unable to move further.

“Would you like something to drink?” My mother offers, before she’s overcome by the giggles. Flirty, horrible, embarrassing giggles! She’s giggling at Andrew Xavier and this propels me into action because I cannot sit back while my mother flirts with Andrew Xavier, my showmantic boyfriend.

“Hey!” I say, rushing into the room. “Sorry about that, wardrobe malfunction. Ready?”

“Yep.” Andrew says, and he shakes my dad’s hand and gives my mom a kiss on the cheek and says things like, “Pleasure to meet you again,” and “You have a beautiful home.” My mom blushes, beaming at Andrew. She also gives me a little arm squeeze and something like a wink. To top it off, she mouths, “so handsome,” when he turns his back. Oh. My. God. No.

“All right, night, guys.” The instant the door closes behind us, I apologize. “I’m sorry. You know, it’s weird that I still live at home and, well, you’re all on your own and whatever. I think my mom was excited and my dad is obsessed with comic books and he read you were up for the Superman remake and…”

Andrew makes a face and shakes his head. “What? They’re cool.”

“They don’t think this is a date. I told them we had to run lines.”

“Still, your dad’s okay and your mom’s sweet. And beautiful — like you.”

“You did not just say that.” Because flattery like that has to be against the rules of this arrangement.

He shrugs. “It’s true.”

As we walk to the car, I think about the last time I went out with Reid. He skulked around the backdoor waiting for me to come out and hopped on his skateboard to escape when my dad tried to talk to him. This date, fake or not, is different. The whole thing is surreal and strange and grownup. And the feeling continues when Andrew ushers me to his BMW and opens the door for me.

“You look great tonight,” he says, shutting the door before I can thank him and return the compliment. It’s for the best, though, because great is too weak a word to describe how he looks. He’s wearing a fitted black button-down and super-dark jeans and boots. It’s so basic and simple, yet looks like it would cost what I earn babysitting in a year.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” he says as he starts his car, which purrs like a kitten.

“It will be fun, right?”

One look between us says what we both fear. Fun or not, there’s no going back now.

g

I’m not even all the way in the car the next morning when I see the pissed expression on Iris’ face.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Uh oh.

Before I can say anything, she thrusts her phone in my face. “What the hell, Iris?” I can’t even see it. I take the phone and hold it back. Uh oh.

“Working, huh?”

I stare at a photo of Andrew and myself at dinner. Laughing. I thumb down. There’s another one of him helping me in the car. His hand rests on my back. The photos show exactly what we hoped they would. Andrew and I definitely look like more than friends. I’m busted, and not just by Iris. This is not a gossip page. It’s the latest update on ZWankHard.

ZWankHard

Huddle around, kiddies! Our Zources have provided us with a gripping tale of romance, danger and intrigue.

Romance in your Zocopalypse? It’s more likely than you think!

Our Zource says, “Ruby and Andrew have been mum about any relationship changes while on set, but there is a distinct change in their behavior. Easy touches, whispers and even an embrace or two have become part of the norm when these two work together.”

Because nothing lights the spark of love like the heady aroma of rotting flesh and poorly delivered dialogue. It makes total sense to us that our favorite zombie fighters have found time to spend together off set.

Naturally, we wonder what a date between these two would entail. We imagine a lot of bad dancing and enough self-awareness to barely dampen the bottom of a shot glass, but there’s also that kiss goodnight.

We’re sure it was super sexy and not at all eclipsed by any mutual epiphanies that a stealthy romance (JUST LIKE THIS ONE, OMG) would probably dredge up enough interest to save this movie from bankrupting the entire franchise!

That’s just a coincidence.

Really.

“What’s going on with you two?”

I shut off the phone and drop it in the center console of the car. “What, you believe this junk now?”

“There are pictures, Ruby. And they’re right. There has been a change in your behavior lately.”

I sigh. “Okay, he kind of asked me to go out with him.”

The car comes to a sudden and screeching stop. “Andrew Xavier asked you on a date. And you didn’t tell me?!”

I stare out the side window. “Yes. I guess. I mean, we went to dinner and stuff.”

“Stuff? What does that mean?”

“It means nothing. We went to dinner! You can see it all on ZWankHard or whatever that was! I wore a red halter! He looked hot! I ordered edamame as an appetizer!”

“Did he kiss you?”

“No.” Sigh. No.

Iris drives, taking us to the set for filming. We’re working inside today, thank goodness, because it’s a million degrees in Atlanta right now. Her hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I should have told you.”

“You should have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wish I didn’t have to find out by seeing the pictures on some stupid wank site.”

“Ugh, who’s doing this? It has to be someone on set.”

“Yep.” She makes a face. “I mean, look, if you’re going out with Andrew, maybe you could let me know next time so I can get the jump on him.”

“What?”

“Why let ZWankHard break the news and put their ugly spin on it? Why not post it in our own gossip section.”

“You want to promote my relationship with Andrew on Z.net?”

She shrugs. “Why not? At least I’ll tell the truth and not make inflammatory, negative comments.”

“Why? Because it’s my life, Iris, not some show for the tabloids.” This was undeniably not true, but I didn’t like her train of thought.

“Whatever, Ruby, this whole thing is another step toward making you a star. You’ll be lucky to lose your virginity to Andrew Xavier.”

“I’m not a virgin and I don’t want to be a star!”

“No, but no one else knows that. It’s called spin.”

I look at her like she’s lost her mind, which I’m sure she has. Completely. “Um, Reid does. He was there, you know.”

“Come on, Rube.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about dinner with Andrew. I guess you can put some of the date stuff up on the website, but nothing too personal. Things get blown out of proportion. I’d rather keep the site about the movie and books and stuff. Like always.”

She parks and kills the engine. “Okay, I guess. I just don’t want this jerk to get away with it.”

“He won’t. Gabe told me Nick and the lawyers are on it. Don’t get into some stupid Internet rivalry. ZWankHard doesn’t fight fair. We’ll lose.” I pull on a long braid hanging over her shoulder. “Are we okay?”

“Yes. Don’t keep stuff from me though, okay?”

“I won’t,” I promise, but I know I will. I have. I am.

g

The wardrobe lady is collecting my costume when Gabe, Derek and Andrew walk up with two other men. Both young and casually dressed, one carries a large camera.

“Nice job today,” Derek says.

“Thanks,” I say handing over my boots. “I need to shower off all this blood though.” Andrew finished earlier than I had and was already squeaky clean. “You leave me any hot water?”

“I did, but David is in there now. Good luck.”

“I wanted to introduce you to Ryan,” Gabe says, pointing to the other guy. I wave with a sticky, fake-blood-coated hand.

“Hi.”

“Ryan is doing a series of interviews on set with all the cast and me, either individually or together.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“Can you meet now?” Ryan asks.

“Um,” I look around. “I’m kind of disgusting.”

“Yeah, but it’s great. Fans will love seeing you like this.”

“Why not interview Ruby and Andrew together?” Derek tosses out.

“Sure, let me get set up.” Ryan turns to his camera guy and they start working it out.

“This is the perfect opportunity to show you two united behind these characters,” Derek says with a wink.

I look to Andrew for help, but he’s messing with his hair in a wardrobe mirror. Great. He gets to look all Andrew perfect while I look like I just walked out of a slaughterhouse. “Fine, okay.”

A couple minutes later, Andrew and I stand in front of the camera while Gabe, Derek and now Nick watch.

“What’s it like being involved with such a pop culture sensation?” Ryan asks.

Andrew and I look at each other, but he answers first. “It’s great. People are really into zombies right now so it seems like the perfect time to do something like this.”

“Ruby, it’s well known you are a big fan of the series – what’s it like to play Alexandra?”

“It’s awesome. And intimidating. I hope I do her justice.”

“She’s amazing. Don’t let her modesty fool you. She nails it.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s just being nice.”

“I’m not. The whole cast is great and Ruby has done a great job jumping into it all.”

Ryan looks at me. “What’s it like working with Andrew? He’s pretty notorious for having fans and paparazzi following him around.”

“He’s good. Like a ninja. He gets around a lot better than I ever could.” I laugh and jab Andrew with my elbow. “He knows where all the back doors are. Every time we go out, it’s an adventure.”

“So you two hang out a lot off set.”

I look at Derek, unsure what to say. He nods his head. “Sure, we’ve become good friends.”

“There are a lot of rumors about you two on the Internet and in the tabloids. Care to share anything?”

“Um,” I look at Andrew for help, then Gabe, who is looking anywhere but at me.

Andrew tosses an arm around my shoulder and says, “I try not to pay much attention to rumors and gossip, but I’m really happy to have gotten the chance to work on this movie and meet Ruby.”

I smile and nod under the weight of Andrew’s arm and ignore the beaming grin from Derek. We’ve made him happy.

Gabe catches me before I go to the dressing room. “Survived your first interview, huh?”

“Looks like it. How’d I do?”

“I think you handled it all perfectly, even that personal stuff. Nick told them not to go there, but I guess Derek gave them permission. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I mean, Andrew didn’t really say anything, right?”

He gives me a wary look. “Right. Nothing you guys didn’t want out there.”

“I guess not.” I give him a smile. “I guess I’ll go wash this off before it sticks.”

“Good idea,” he says. “Thanks for doing that. The interviews should really help generate interest.”

“Whatever you need, Gabe. I’m willing to take one for the team.”

g

[1] The online mocking of individuals who take themselves too seriously in a fandom.

[2] Vainglorious.

[3] This is a complete and utter lie. Keeping this secret from Iris has made the last 48 hours the worst of my life. Yesterday, I shoved a strawberry-mango ice pop in my mouth and suffered brain freeze just to keep from spilling the dirt.

[4] I’m assuming he hasn’t seen ZWankHard.

[5] Awkward.

Chapter 13

“Stupid freaking rain.” It’s pouring. A violent thunderstorm – Atlanta is notorious for them in the summer – has completely halted production. To make matters worse, we are in the middle of filming a scene of Wyatt and Alexandra in the truck. The storm came up quickly and the sky turned so dark, Andrew and I had no choice but to wait it out in the cab.

“That’s some pretty intense lighting,” Andrew says from the driver’s seat. He flinches every time a bolt streaks across the sky.

“I want to finish this scene.” The rain comes down in sheets, making it impossible to see outside the windows. I fidget with the knobs on the truck. They don’t do anything — this thing is ancient, but I’m bored and a little agitated.

Andrew rests his head back on the window and sighs. “I hoped we would get out of here early today.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” The rain starts to come down harder, beating down on the truck. “Maybe the paps will leave though. And that group of fans? I hate filming in front of them.”

“Maybe. You know, I was thinking, do you want to practice for a minute? We could run our lines a little — the stuff between us. Wyatt and Alexandra kiss for the first time leading up to this scene, and well, you and I should be kissing by now in real life, so it would be awkward, but not the same kind of awkward. There should definitely be some kind of comfort level between us, I think.”

Andrew’s rambling. “You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Why? It can’t be the scene. He goes into each one calm and focused. This is the most nervous I’ve seen him. “Well, Iris has been asking anyway. So far, I told her you were dreamy and left it at that.”

“You did not.”

“I had to make something up, right? You told me there would be kissing, but so far, nada.” I’m joking. Kind of.

He makes a face at my scrutiny. “Let’s just practice, okay?”

“Okay.” I pick up my script, and he pulls his from his back pocket. “What page?”

“One thirty-five.” We flip to the page.

Wyatt: So, I’m gonna get the silent treatment for the rest of the ride?

Alexandra: Silent treatment?

Wyatt: Come on. You’ve barely spoken 10 words to me since we left that house. Admit it. You’re mad. And jealous.

Alexandra: I am not jealous.

Wyatt: I told you, she kissed me.

Alexandra: And I told you it’s none of my business.

The two ride in silence for a moment.

Wyatt: She’s not the only one making her intentions known.

Alexandra: What does that even mean?

Wyatt: It means Cole takes any chance he can get to be near you. I had to force him to ride with Chloe today.

Alexandra: Whatever. Cole is harmless.

Wyatt: He’s about as harmless as his sister.

Alexandra: [Laughs] I suppose in the zombie apocalypse, you don’t get to choose your friends.

Wyatt stops the car at a wide country intersection. The only sign of life is Cole up ahead, leading the way in another truck.

Alexandra: Why are you stopping?

Wyatt: I didn’t want it to be her.

He leans in and kisses Alexandra, soft at first but then deepens it. He pulls away to reveal Alexandra’s stunned face. He puts his hands back on the wheel and begins to drive.

Alexandra: I didn’t want it to be her either.

Andrew flips the pages in his script and I’m, well, unsure of what to do.

“That wasn’t bad for your first on-screen kiss,” he says. The rain has slowed, but not enough for everyone to come out of their hiding spots yet.

“I kissed Mark Holloway in the ELSAD production of Grease.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” I ask. He rolls his eyes at me.

“Want to try again?”

“Sure,” I nod, because I do and I’m curious, so we launch into the scene again.

We get to the part where he’s going to kiss me and, let it be known, acting with Andrew is interesting. He’s intense and gets into his part. One minute he’s gripping the wheel and the next his eyes lock into mine. He licks his top lip and he’s so, so pretty. He cups my face and kisses me. It’s a soft kiss, a little weird, because it’s angled for the cameras we know will be there. Even though it’s fake, I have a funny feeling in my stomach. But it’s not the kind of feeling I had when Reid and I kissed for the first time. Or even the feeling I had when Gabe and I shared the couch watching goblins massacre unicorns. I feel strange and weird and oddly not aroused.

Huh.

We part and I lean back in my seat. Andrew Xavier kissed me, twice. Really, really good kisses. Firm and not sloppy and, yet, they do nothing for me.

I sneak a glance at Andrew. He’s busy reading his script again and I can’t be sure, but I’m thinking the kiss was a dud for him also. This is fine, right even, since he has a girlfriend, but don’t guys get turned on easily? Andrew frowns and pulls out a pencil, making some kind of note. He looks unimpressed. In fact, he looks the same now as he did when we filmed the scene where we hacked a group of zombies to pieces and bits of chicken and pork flew all over the place.

I’m struck by a horrifying thought: am I that bad of a kisser? Did Reid leave me for Taylor Lyn because of my terrible kissing skills?

“Cool,” he says and nods at the sky. “Looks like the rain’s slowing.”

I look outside and see the sun emerging from behind fast-moving clouds. NAB appears under an umbrella and bangs on the window. “Arthur wants you back in makeup.”

“Okay,” I say and wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Gross. I get out of the car and spot someone else, someone taller and lankier, in a black baseball cap with frayed edges along the bill. My stomach flutters and that’s when I start to realize the difference between feeling strange and feeling something altogether more.

g

I learn two things that day. If you want to kiss someone, even if it’s a fake-fake romance kiss, but it doesn’t make your heart pound or your palms get sweaty, then you need to let that dream go. It’s never gonna happen. What I also learn is if you kiss Andrew Xavier, even in the middle of a massive Georgia thunderstorm tucked inside an ancient Chevy truck, someone will see it. And someone will take a photo of it. And someone will send that photo to some jerk who will post it on his website for everyone to see with mocking captions and derogatory statements.

ZWankHard

It’s so hard being Alexandra and Wyatt, you know? All those photogs, always following them around and stuff, must be devastatingly intrusive.

Good thing our favorite zombie butt-kicking duo has the basic human intelligence to keep private moments out of the public eye. Take these photos of them kissing in a downpour snapped last week. This is clearly a super steamy, intense, emotional scene between the two leads of the uber-anticipated Zocopalypse miniseries, and not a kiss between Ruby and Andrew themselves.

Right?

“A massive thunderstorm rolled in while filming a particular scene in the front seat of a truck. The crew scattered, but Ruby and Andrew held tight in the cab, waiting the storm out. Whatever happened in there was on private time — not work.”

Oh.

To be fair, getting stuck in a tight spot with Andrew? We’d go for it, too, not gonna lie.

We have so many pressing questions, though. Are they together? Are they just friends? Is it a fabrication? Could it even last once filming ends?

And the most pressing question of all: WHO FREAKING CARES?!

I mean, it’s not like you people are here to make a movie or anything. No, no. Go on, we understand your need for attention and drama queenery. We’ll be over here, cringing at the pictures of overpaid actors awkwardly swapping spit instead of watching the movie you’re all being paid to make.

g

“I think the blue and green striped bedding will look great in your dorm room.”

“Me too,” I say. My mother and I have spent the morning Bed, Bath and Beyonding ourselves in an attempt to gather all the supplies on the list I received from the university. School starts in a month and, for once, I’m looking forward to going. The pressure of the movie and ZWankHard and this showmance with Andrew has started to take its toll. Not even here, in the Waffle Shop, can I escape the drama of my fabricated life. I have a mouthful of waffle when a teenage girl starts circling the table.

“Do you know that girl?” my mom asks. Her knife and fork hover over her half-eaten waffle.

“No.”

“She looks like she knows you.”

I shake my head. “Nah, she probably knows me from the movie or whatever.” I keep my eyes on my plate. I do not want this girl to come over here.

“She has a picture! Does she want your autograph?”

“No, look, Mom…”

“Hi, would you like Ruby to sign that for you?”

I wipe the bacon and syrup off my face and finally look at the girl standing beside the table. Crazed is a nice way to describe her expression. “Ohmygod! It is you! Ruby Miller!”

“That’s me. Mom, do you have a pen?” I’m hoping to make this end fast.

“Oh, you’re her mom? I hoped maybe Andrew would be with you.” She looks genuinely disappointed.

“Oh yeah, well, no, he’s not here.” I take the pen from my mom.

“I just bought this! It’s, like, fate or something I saw you here.” Destiny in the Waffle Shop. The girl hands me a magazine. The magazine is Celeb Weekly and there I am. On the cover. Kissing Andrew.

“You guys are so cute! What’s it like dating him?”

I scribble my name and spare a glance at my mom. She’s got her finger on the magazine, turning it toward her. “Mom, let her have it back.”

“Hmm,” she says. I pull the tabloid away from her and smile at the girl. “Thanks for being a fan and everything. I’m just going to finish eating.”

“Can I get your picture? I have my phone.” My mother traitorously offers to take the photo while the girl and I pose. Before I can escape, another girl comes over and then the manager of the Waffle Shop sees that I could maybe, possibly, be someone famous and comes over to get his photo taken, too. By the time I get back to my food, the eggs are cold, the bacon is rock hard and I want to leave. Then my phone vibrates.

Are you at the Waffle Shop?

???

On Baker? With AX?

??? No. He’s not here… Oh crap.

Oh crap is right - it’s on Twitter. Go now! They’re coming!

“We need to leave,” I tell my mom.

“Why? Those girls left? Let’s finish breakfast.”

“We can’t,” I say in a low voice. “We need to leave now. Before anyone else comes.” I stand and get my bag, but she hasn’t moved. “I’m serious.”

She gets up, slow as a snail, but she does it. I’m close to losing it while she pays at the counter, chatting with the waitress. Finally, I get her into the car and barely lock the doors when I see them. Car after car after car of teenage girls, streaming into the lot, hoping for a glance. Not of me. Of him. Because if I’m here, then he could be too.

“All right, all right,” she says, fastening her seatbelt. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Those girls think Andrew is with me. They put it on Twitter and we need to go home — fast, before they see me.”

“But he’s not here.” She normally isn’t this slow. I promise. At least she finally starts the car and leaves the parking lot.

“Doesn’t matter. He could be here. That’s all they want.”

“So you guys are dating?”

“That picture? Of the kiss? That was work.” See, not a lie.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Why can’t I have the kind of mother who accepts her daughter’s lies? Who only wants to hear the good stuff. Not the bad things.

“I don’t know, Mom. It’s complicated and stuff.”

She turns into our neighborhood. “And the other thing, is that true? Are you planning on moving to California?”

“What? No, Mom.”

“Don’t lie to me, not about this. Not about school.” Her voice cracks. “You promised.”

“I’m not moving!”

“What about school?”

I sigh. “Nothing has changed, Mom. I’m going. Just like you’ve always wanted.”

“What do you mean what I wanted?” She says. Her tone is sharp and the look in her eye makes me move over a little. She pulls in the driveway and parks the car. Before I can escape, she reaches for my arm. “This isn’t about me. It’s about your future.”

“No one seems to care what I want around here!” I’m yelling even though we’re in the tiny car. “I never wanted to go to college. Or be an actress. Or date Andrew Xavier. I wanted to lie by the pool where no one noticed me and waste the summer away. But I did it anyway. For you and Iris and dad and Gabe. I always did what Reid wanted and look where it got me. Maybe I need to do what I want to do for once.”

“Well, what is that? What do you want to do? Enlighten me.”

“I have no freaking idea.”

“Look, I know Reid hurt you last year. I don’t know the details, but I know you and I saw the pain on your face. Don’t let whatever it was he did to you change the way you make decisions. I think Andrew is wonderful — sweeter than anyone could imagine, but is he the kind of boy you want? Don’t run away from life because of some teenage jerk.”

“Mom, I am not moving to California. And this isn’t about Reid,” I tell her. “I’m going to school in a month. We just bought new bedding. My roommate’s name is Rachel, she’s from Winder, Georgia, and lives on a dairy farm.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth,” she says. I refuse to answer again. You can only be called a liar so many times. “Keep your face out of the tabloids. And no more kissing in public.” She lets go of my arm and opens the door. Standing, she says, “It’s tacky. Your grandmother buys those magazines.” With that she closes the car door and walks away.

g

We’re in the lounge between shots when Derek finds us. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys,” he says, pulling up a chair. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Andrew says. He puts down a fitness magazine. Derek’s black, short-sleeved shirt has embroidered dragons across the shoulders and a white T-shirt peeks out at the collar. His designer jeans are over-worn in all the right places. Everything about him reeks of trying too hard.

“This will only take a minute. I know you have to go back to work,” he says. “We’ve been happy about the attention you two have been getting. The magazines and website covers. E! News mentioned you both the other night.”

“And TMZ,” I say. They both stare at me. “They had a small clip about us leaving the set the other day. ZWankHard wrote a whole article about how Andrew walked ahead of me and then didn’t hold the door open for me and it meant he doesn’t care or have respect for me.”

“What? That’s what my bodyguard told me to do! I’m supposed to take the brunt of the paparazzi heat off of you by going first. Great,” he says, running his hand through his hair, “now I look like a douche.”

Regardless of Andrew’s perceived doucheyness, this information appears to make Derek’s day. He rubs his hands together and smiles even bigger. “Everything we have about you two so far, though, is work-related. Even the kiss has fueled some speculation since you were on set.”

“Maybe people can tell it’s fake. I mean, it is not a real relationship. Maybe they can feel that?” Ever since we kissed in the truck, I’ve been worried ZWankHard picked up on our lack of chemistry.

“You’re actors, Ruby, they’ll believe anything you give them, but we need something a bit more personal. Like holding hands while walking to the car, or a quick hug and kiss out somewhere,” he stops, interrupted by a knock on the door. Derek opens it and Iris is on the other side.

“Iris! Just the girl I wanted to see!”

Andrew and I exchange a wary look. Since when did Derek want to talk to Iris, or even know who she is?

“Um,” Iris says, walking into the room. “Okay.”

I shrug and Andrew looks down at his shoes. Derek, as always, smiles. “We’re talking about this terrible website trying to discredit the validity of Andrew and Ruby’s relationship. Not to mention all the slanderous comments about the movie in general.”

“I don’t like it either, but Nick and the geeks can’t figure out who’s behind it. From what I gather, they’re locked up tight — no trail at all.”

“Yes,” he says with a frown. “They told me this also. I think that you may be the perfect person to fix this for us.”

“Fix what?” she asks. “Nick told me specifically to stay away from that account. I’m following orders.”

“Oh no, nothing like that. I’m thinking more along the lines of continuing to use your website to push Andrew and Ruby.”

This gets my attention. “Z.net already has a celebrity section. Iris has been updating it with anything about us or the rest of the cast as it hits the media.”

“I’ve seen. I’ve also noticed you have quite the advertising base. Exclusives on Andrew and Ruby could increase your revenue.”

“What do you mean by ‘exclusives?’” she asks.

“I mean, we hire a photographer ourselves, take photos of them out and about while you write the copy — pushing the agenda in the right direction. Supporting these two.”

“No,” I say. “No, I draw the line here. I don’t want Z.net to be used to promote my relationship.” I swallowed hard on the last word.

“It’s not a bad idea. We can fight back against the wank and generate some revenue by being the first ones to post the story.”

“Iris, you know how I feel about this.”

“Well, you know how I feel about wasted opportunities!” She jumps out of her seat and I do the same.

“Make your own opportunities! Stop using mine!”

“Girls, I’m sure there’s a middle gro—”

“Did you tell me to make my own? I made this for you, Ruby! I made that video and forced you into that role. I convinced you to audition! That was all me! If it had been left to you, your summer would be spent at the pool, babysitting 5-year-olds, wallowing over Reid and trying to work up the courage to ask the lifeguard for a Band-Aid!” Iris shakes her finger at me. Her father’s accent slips through in anger.

“So what? I like babysitting! And that lifeguard is hot! Have you seen his back? It’s like the hottest back ever! And I never asked for you to do any of that for me!” I’m yelling, beyond yelling even, on the verge of completely losing it. I search her eyes for a sign of my best friend. She stares back with her hands on her hips. In that moment, I hope, I pray, Iris will tell me she won’t do it. That she will not put photos of my “personal life” on the website. Not because of any morality or ethical issue, but because I asked her not to do it. Iris and Z.net may be the only things left from my prior life. I can’t lose them both.

I wait one second more. She says nothing, so instead I break. “You know what? I don’t care, Iris. Do what you want. It’s your website. I just tagged along — as usual. I’m done.” And with that I push past everyone and walk out the door.

g

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Luckily, all I’m required to do is repeat choreographed moves for a big fight scene.[1] It’s 2 a.m. by the time we’re released and Iris left hours ago. I’m halfway to the parking lot before I realize I have no ride home. Not that I would go with her anyway. I could ask Andrew, who just walked out the door with his bodyguard/trainer, but I can’t handle a potential paparazzi moment tonight. I can see the ever-present fan/photographer group waiting by the entrance of the warehouse parking lot from here. The later they stay, the more desperate they become.

“You look confused,” Gabe says. He’s carrying a box of stuff and he stops next to me, shifting the weight to his hip.

“Iris left me. I need a ride home.”

He looks at the exit. “You don’t have another one?”

“Nope. Thanks for pointing it out though.”

His eyes narrow and he says, “I thought — never mind.”

“What?”

“If you can wait five minutes, I’ll give you a ride.”

His tone is a little hostile. What’s with everyone today? But I have no choice. “What’s another five minutes,” I say. On cue a massive yawn overtakes me and I clamp my hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”

“Come on, I’ll hurry.” I follow Gabe to his “office,” which is a tiny room filled with his and Nick and Arthur’s things. Gabe gathers papers, a hat, three empty bottles of water and a coat that he shrugs on his arms, though it’s 85 degrees outside, even this late at night. He spends a second patting his pockets, searching for keys, phone and, apparently, a black drawing pen because when he finds it, he pulls it out and smiles. “I looked all over for this today!” Even though it’s 2:27 a.m. and this has been one of the worst days ever, I can’t help but think he’s cute.

“Ready?” He picks up the box. “Can you get the lights?”

I flip them off and follow him down the hall. “Filming went okay today, don’t you think?”

He laughs. “Yeah, from what I saw. You were on fire.”

I give him a side-eye. “Is that a joke? Because today was kind of rough personally. It feels like a blur.”

We reach his car and he tosses the box in the back seat. “No, that wasn’t a joke. You seemed focused. You and Andrew did a great job working side by side. You make a good team.”

“I guess.”

“So, you and Iris?”

“What about us?”

“I assume you had a fight or something?”

He pulls out of the lot and we pass a small group of fans at the entrance to the set. A couple of cameras flash and I cover my eyes from the incredible glare in the dark. I’m relieved when he doesn’t stop. “Can you even see?” I ask him. I blink back the light spots the flashes made on my vision.

“No, but I’m not stopping here.” I can hear my name being called by some of the girls we pass.

“Jeez, it’s all so crazy.” I start laughing even though nothing is funny, but once I start I can’t stop. To make matters worse, tears well in my eyes and I get the hiccups. Gabe shoots me a weird look that starts my giggles over again. I lean my head back against the headrest and laugh until I cry. “Everyone wants something, you know? An autograph or an idea or to smile or not smile or to hold hands.” All of this comes out in a blubbering, snotty mess.

“Um…”

“Sorry,” I say, wiping my face and nose on my shirt. “Yes. Iris and I had a fight. This is what happens when we do.”

“You act like a maniac?”

“No, I feel like crap and stress out about everything.”

He stops at a light, reaches his hand out and takes mine. “It’s okay. We’ve been working some exceptionally long hours and everyone has been pushed past their limit.” The light changes and he starts driving again, but my hand is still locked with his. Gabe thinks I’m with Andrew and I know I shouldn’t let him. Still, I don’t move away. “People want you and Iris to hold hands and smile and stuff?”

“Shut up.” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s website stuff.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I help? You know how impressed I am with your fansite. It’s the best one out there.”

“No. We’re having a difference of opinion on our focus. What angle we want to take. Which stories we want to push and how to present the information,” I say. “And other stuff.”

In the light of the dashboard, I see his eyebrow raise. “Other stuff?”

“Just stupid stuff.” I don’t want to talk about this. I can’t talk about it. My agreement with Derek feels like a barb in my mouth.

“Like you and Andrew?” His hand tenses in mine and his eyes are straight ahead, the lights of the occasional passing car flashing over us.

“Yeah.”

“She wants to include your, um, relationship as part of Z.net.” When he says the word “relationship” his hand loosens from mine and returns to the steering wheel.

“Yes.”

“But you want all of that kept private? Because I mean, I can see Iris’ point, she wants the traffic.” I start to protest and he cuts me off, saying, “I see yours, too. Trust me, I don’t want your website tainted by whatever issues you have with each other.”

“No,” I say. “I mean, nothing about Andrew is private, right? And Iris wants to use the website as a platform to fight the wank site. Which I get. I just don’t want to lose what Z.net is about — why we’re there. We’ve always been about the books and the movie. Fan art and videos. Chats and discussions. Reid’s site is more pure than ours. He never wavers, even if it means he’ll lose visitors. I want one thing in my life to stay the same. I want Z.net to have integrity. Even if nothing else does.”

Gabe pulls into my driveway. The house is pitch black other than the light over the side porch. My stomach sinks when I realize my parents are at a teachers’ conference and I have the next couple days at home alone. Iris is supposed to spend the night with me.

“What have you done to make you feel like you’ve lost your integrity?” How many questions can he ask? We’re dancing around it. “It” being me and Andrew and this stupid, fake, zero-chemistry relationship.

“Nothing. Okay?” I rub the heels of my palms on my eyes. I’m so tired and this conversation is a mess. “I think I just need to go to bed.”

He gives me a weak smile and I get out of the car. He’s by my side before I even get my bag off the floor. “You don’t have to walk with me.”

He shakes his head. “Of course I do. My mom and your dad would both kick my ass if I didn’t.” He takes the satchel I’ve been reduced to carrying at all times and slings it over his shoulder. When we reach the porch, he leans against the railing. “Plus, I have something to ask you.”

Moths crash into the porch light, casting shadows across the side of the house. I can hear James Brown scratching the inside of the door, whining. “Sure, anything.”

“I’m done with my draft.”

The first real smile of the night breaks across my face. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he’s smiling too. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his shoulders are up to his ears. I’m amazed he gets so nervous talking about this stuff at his level of success. “Can I bring it to you tomorrow?”

“What?! Why don’t you have it here now? Why are we talking about all my dramas when you have Issue 4 ready? Do you like tormenting me?”

“I guess I’m a jerk.”

Cutest jerk ever. Gah. I needed to stop that. “I guess you are.”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow. You don’t have to read it right away if you’re busy or whatever,” he says, frowning.

“Gabe! Like something will keep me from reading it! In fact, you need to hold out and wait until the end of the day because I won’t be able to focus. I can hardly focus right now! Let’s go get it? Is it in your car?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m serious. Is it in your car?”

“It’s at home. And I’ll bring it tomorrow. And you need to go to bed. It’s late and tomorrow will be another long day.”

“Can Issue 4 be my reward?”

“Yes.” He hands me my satchel. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

“Night. Thanks for the ride and listening.”

He shrugs “Eh. Price for your friendship.”

Ouch. That one stops me because there’s too much bartering with relationships around here and not enough real. “No, Gabe. Don’t say that.”

“Hey.” He steps forward and pulls me into a hug. “You’re right. Me and you. Friends, right? Honest and truthful. I need the truth on this draft. The real truth. And I promise to do the same with you — with everything.”

I lean my head into his chest and close my eyes. I’m so tired. “Everything?”

He nods his head and his chin rubs the top of my hair. “When you want it, yes.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze my arms around his waist tighter, unwilling to let go.

g

[1] Body count: 15 zombies, three humans (R.I.P. Deanna, aka Rochelle). Cole is lucky to walk away with a gash to his shoulder from Alexandra’s hatchet.

Chapter 14

I bang on the door and Gabe answers in a Green Lantern T-shirt and cotton pajama pants. His feet are bare and his hair is wild and I’m taken back by his good looks, damn him. But then he says, “Ruby? Are you okay?” and his eyes dart down to the book I’m clutching at my chest and my skull and crossbone pajamas. I remember that he’s NOT cute, he’s a traitor and I may have to pull a Misery[1] on him.

“What did you do?” I ask, pushing past him and into the tiny apartment.

The door closes behind me with a soft click. “You read it.”

“Oh, I read it.” I say, and even I can hear the shrill, panicked sound in my voice. Again, I ask, “What. Did. You. Do?”

He holds my gaze. And I know right then that whatever tiny hope I had for this not being real is a waste. “This was planned. For years. The story always went this way.”

“You broke them up!”

“Well, technically, they were never ‘together’ together. Don’t tell me you never saw this coming.”

I raise the book up and consider throwing it. Gabe’s eyes widen and I realize then how precious this is — what I have in my hand is written gold, and even in my anger I recognize that. Instead, I gently place it on the table. “How could you do this? They love each other.”

“Do they?” he says. He sits on the leather couch, pushing papers and game controllers out of the way.

“Of course they do! After all that! They have no choice.” I pace around the room.

“Everyone has choices, Ruby. Even in the zombie apocalypse.”

“No, Gabe. No! This is not happening. Wyatt and Alexandra are destined to be together. It’s destiny. Fate. A cosmic good in the middle of a desperate situation. It’s the only good thing that happened in all of this, and now you’re telling me everything they had together is not real? Is not part of some larger story?”

“Ruby…”

“Remember in Issue 2 when Wyatt tells Alexandra how his mother left when he was 10 and his father is a drunk and ran off? He had nowhere to go, but he fought and fought against the system and school and, in the end, he made it to college to start a new life. Then the world came shattering down. He tells her that finding her is the only thing that has made his life worth living.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I woke up in a cold sweat after reading that. Don’t tell me all of it means nothing.”

“I’m not telling you that – it just means something else.”

Tears well in my eyes and I know I’m being stupid and irrational and maybe a little psychotic, but Gabe has single-handedly shattered the last refuge of my sanity; my fantasy of the epic coupling of Alexandra and Wyatt. “I don’t get it. Why?”

“Why? Because it’s the story I want to tell, the one I’ve always envisioned. These two were together because circumstances put them together. Horrible ones. Don’t you want Alex to have a chance to be with her true love — maybe her destiny?”

“Cole is not her destiny,” my voice is hard.

“Yes, he is.”

“Cole? He’s weak! He’s a freaking nerd and he’s no match for Alex.”

“That is not true,” he says, the hurt clear in his voice.

“Yes it is! He thinks he can geek his way out of everything. Sure, he loves Alex, but she’s not right for him. He’s not a fighter! She needs a fighter.”

Gabe shakes his head. “All he does is fight for Alex and Chloe. Just in a different way. All Wyatt does is fight for himself.”

I don’t respond and he continues. “So, you’d rather her be with a smug and condescending jerk? A guy who looks out for himself before anyone else? Wyatt is emotionally unavailable. His secrets place him out of range.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t believe that! You’re a dude! You want conflict to keep this going. You want the geeky guy to win the former geeky girl so the fanboys of the world will unite over their geekiness!”

He doesn’t argue and I know I’ve touched on some part of the truth. “Whatever. Alex and Cole are wrong. He’s no match for her.”

I’m standing over him and he’s just sitting there, taking all my rage and dramatics. His hands rest on his thighs and his head is pressed back into the couch. “Do you not care?” I ask, unable to comprehend his behavior.

“Of course I do, Ruby. But maybe I can see something the readers can’t. Maybe I know what’s best for my characters,” he says and then adds, “among other things.”

My jaw drops. “Did you imply I’m too dumb to understand the plot in your comic book?”

He stares at me. “Of course not! But sometimes you’re so willing to trust and follow other people, you forget there are other options.” Now he’s agitated and his knee bounces under his hand. Anger flashes in his eyes. “There are other options, you know. This is your life, Ruby, not Iris’ or Andrew’s or your mother’s.”

“Or yours, Gabe! Are you exempt? Because you sure as hell have no problem talking me into doing things for you — like playing a part I have no business playing, and pushing aside my other job and obligations to bring your character to life!”

We’re both standing now, inches apart, vibrating with anger. He rubs his hands over his face and into his mangled hair. He lets out a sigh and says, “Before we met, the only thing I knew about you was what I’d seen in the fan video. You were brilliant. Vulnerable and tough. Exactly how I had envisioned Alexandra. And then I met you at FantasyCon and you were so much more. Shy and funny. Lost but determined.” He pauses and pushes a stray hair out of my eyes. “A fighter. Everything.”

“What?” The word comes out in a strangled whisper.

“I wanted all of that in my life — in my movie. So yeah, I pushed you because I wanted you as Alexandra. But now, I don’t know. I’ve realized you’re so much more than Iris’ shadow or Andrew’s beard of the week. More than Alexandra.” With his jaw clenched tight, he walks over to the table and picks up Issue 4. The manuscript quivers in his hand. His eyes meet mine and he says, “Just like Alex proves she’s more than Wyatt and the circumstances forced into her life because of the apocalypse.”

What do I do? Where did that come from? The implications behind his words are too much. So I bail. Bolt. Run. I push past him and his stupid, sucky book and haul ass out the door. He calls my name, and I ignore it, running on shaky legs down the stairs, my palms slick from nerves. In one day, my best friend broke my trust, my fake boyfriend is still my fake boyfriend, and Gabe has managed to ruin the best part of my life while managing to confuse the hell out of me. It’s more than a girl can take.

g

I’m trying to decide between a candy bar and a package of cupcakes. Both look good. I mean, cupcakes are awesome, but nothing beats a candy bar. Under the harsh buzzing fluorescent lights at the Mini-Market, I realize I’m one step from a Britney-style paparazzi moment. This must be what happened to her, I consider, picking up a bag of chips and the cupcakes. One minute she was a normal girl, doing her job, and the next she’s in her pajamas at the gas station buying junk food, showing her hoo-ha to the masses. I reach to the top of my head to make sure my hair is still there.

Whew.

Lucky for me, I’m not a super-famous singer/actress/celebrity, and no one cares I’ve hit rock bottom. And no one includes the guy at the counter, who happens to be reading a magazine with my face in a tiny box in the top right corner.

I pay and gather my handful of junk food, leaving the store with a jingle of the bells over the door and run right into Reid. Smack.

“Watch it,” I say, trying to keep my chocolate milk from hitting the pavement.

He eyes the food in my hand and gives my outfit a judgmental glance. “This looks healthy.”

“Shut it.” I try to skirt around him, but he holds his position firm. “What now?”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He looks around and grabs a package out of my arms. “He’s not into late night trips to the Mini-Market? I can’t see him eating a pack of cupcakes. Might mess up his fat-to-muscle ratio.”

“I don’t have time for this. Why do you even care? Jealous?”

“Of what? You turning Zocopalypse into a joke? Too late.”

“Maybe. Has to hurt that not only am I working on the film, but Taylor Lyn’s also schlepping around the set. I see you two aren’t as close anymore.”

His face darkens when I mention her and I feel a twinge of guilt. It sucks to be the one left behind for better, blonder things. I can relate. He narrows his eyes and says, “What’s going on, anyway? You look like you’ve been crying. You’re wearing your glasses, too. Lately it’s been those creepy contacts.”

“I’m just tired. It’s not a big deal.” I push around him and start for my car. “And, what do you mean lately? Stop stalking me, freak.”

“Come on. Tell me what’s got your panties all in a twist. I’m not the enemy, you know.”

“No?” I eye him, skeptical. “Whatever, the movie is great — so are the people.”

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Iris and I got into a fight. Then, you know how much I get into the novels, I’m stressing about the new issue and I can’t talk to her about it.” I clamp my hand over my mouth.

“The next issue? It doesn’t come out until next year.”

“No, but it’s being written right now.” I bite my lip. “Ignore me. I’m being weird.”

“You’re always being weird, that’s no surprise, but you and Iris fighting? That’s new. Why?”

I lean back on the side of the car. “The website.”

“Oh.” He laughs. “I’ve seen the celebrity stuff she’s been posting. I can imagine you aren’t a fan of the change.”

“We haven’t had much choice. That ZWankHard site has been slamming me left and right. We had to do something to defend the movie.”

“Yeah, they’re harsh. Although people should protect their scripts better.”

“They’re all accounted for. There’s not much you can do when someone on the inside attempts to destroy you.”

“You can’t be surprised. Fandoms always get touchy during franchise expansion. Did you expect something different?”

“Well, be glad your website has stayed clean of all this. You may end up being the only one standing when all this ends.”

He laughs. “Yeah, right. Like Iris will ever let go of Z.net.”

“She might if I make her.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would and I could and before this is over, I may. My friendship with Iris is worth more than this stupid movie or even the website.”

He nods and the air stills between us. It’s weird talking to Reid like this. Normal. Even more normal than before we broke up. Back then, everything was zombies and comics, with the occasional break for making out.

“Go talk to her. It’ll make it better, I promise.”

I laugh. “How do you know?”

“We’re talking, and look — better.” He smiles and I see a glimpse of the boy I once loved.

“Maybe we should have done this a long time ago.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” I narrow my eyes, “you shouldn’t have kissed Taylor Lyn.”

He pushes a piece of hair out of my face. “Ah, well, I can’t take that back now, can I?”

“I suppose not.” I open my car door and toss my snacks on the seat. I’m about to step inside when I stop myself. “Can I ask you one more thing?” I wince.

“What?” His hand is on the door.

“Am I… am I a horrible kisser or anything? Was it bad? Is that why you dumped me?”

He smiles and then laughs and gives me the craziest expression. “No. No, that was not the problem at all. Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know. I’m being dumb.”

“Goodnight, Ruby.”

g

[1] A psychological horror novel by Stephen King where an author is kidnapped by a deranged fan.

Chapter 15

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ZWankHard

@Ruby Miller seen out last night! Where was Andrew Xavier?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ZWankHard

@Spotted! In her pajamas! Ruby Miller sneaks around town.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ZWankHard

@Whose home did Ruby Miller sneak in and out of last night? Come read our latest post!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

@Exclusive pictures from the Zocopalypse set! Cast interviews and more!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AlexkicksZass

#1 the ability to wipe my brain and start over again.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

g

Wyatt and Alexandra fight on the front porch of a large, historic home. The house is beautiful, but hollow and empty.

Alexandra: I know why Cole wants to go so badly, but why you? Why are you so ready to get to that Army base? What happens if we get down there and find more of the same? What if it’s like Raleigh or Charlotte or any other place left on the planet? Dead.

Wyatt: I want to see it myself.

Alexandra: Bull! If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that there’s always a reason. What is it? Why are we following Cole on an impossible mission?

Wyatt: Don’t push this, Alex.

Alexandra: Why? Why can’t I push? You guys tell me what to do, when to do it, where we’re going and, for the most part, I agree. You’re hiding something from me, and I want to know what it is.

Wyatt stands in front of Alexandra, his anger evident. She doesn’t back away, but she’s scared of him. He sees this and attempts to calm himself.

Wyatt: We’re leaving at dawn.

He turns and walks into the house. Alexandra stays outside. With the world at a standstill, the silence is deafening. She jumps when she hears the backdoor open. Cole steps out of the house.

Alexandra: I know. Leaving at dawn. I have my orders.

Cole: It seems like that sometimes, I guess.

Alexandra: What?

Cole: Like we’re in a war. Everything is a battle.

Alexandra: Fighting for our lives, scared all the time. Killing and saving and running. Yeah, feels like war.

Cole: In every Army, there has to be a leader. I’m willing to step aside and let him take this right now.

She looks at him like he’s crazy.

Alexandra: Step aside? This is your idea, going down there. You came up with it.

Cole: No. He suggested it. I agreed. There’s something in Columbus Wyatt needs even more than I do.

Alexandra: Do you know what it is?

Cole: No. But we all came into this battle with a history. He’s looking for something, and it doesn’t have anything to do with any of us.

g

I pick up my phone and start to call Iris. Then I remember we aren’t talking and put it down. I pick it up. Put it down.

“You look like me,” Andrew says. He slips an arm over my shoulder. I don’t have supersonic hearing, but it’s like I can hear the shutters clicking on a million cameras whether they’re there or not.

“What? The obsessive phone thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not quite the addict you are.” I shove the phone in my pocket. “We may have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Andrew catches his reflection in the makeup mirror.

“Someone caught me coming out of Gabe’s apartment in my pajamas last night and sent the info to ZWankHard.” This gets his attention.

“What the hell, Ruby?”

“I also may have been seen, again in my pajamas, at the Mini-Market on Clairmont with my ex-boyfriend, Reid.”

“What?”

I have nothing else to say. No defense. No excuses. His phone rings and, when I don’t reply, he answers it.

“Hey,” he says into the phone. I should leave — give him some privacy, but I don’t. I have a feeling I know who’s on the other end of the line. “Yeah, she just told me. Why? I don’t know. That, she hasn’t explained yet. How damaging is it? Yes, yes, I know she was in her pajamas. Can you make it go away?” He’s staring at me and frankly, the intensity of Andrew Xavier’s blue eyes is too much to handle, so I look away. I’ve made a mess of everything. “Yeah, we’ll fix it.”

“Derek’s pissed?”

He shrugs. “A little. You know Derek, he’s a believer in ‘no press is bad press.’ Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not working on an ‘Andrew Xavier - Broken Hearted’ rebound story for the press as we speak.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He never stops. It’s why he’s the best, but sometimes it can be exhausting.”

“Well, what does he want us to do? I’ll do whatever you need me to. Anything.”

“Glad you feel that way, because you and I have a date.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

g

Chloe and Alexandra have been paired to drive the second truck together, while Wyatt drives the front truck and Cole sits in the back, shotgun ready.

Alexandra: What do you think about this plan?

Chloe: I think those two men are determined to go through with this crazy idea. If we’re riding with them, we better be ready. My brother has some strange desire to see what’s left of the military. He’s hoping all the bullshit our dad told us when we were kids is true.

Alexandra: We don’t have to let them make decisions for us. We have a vote.

Chloe: You really think that? Wyatt is half-rogue already. If he didn’t need us for back up, he would be long gone.

Alexandra: Why would you say that? Wyatt’s not going anywhere.

Chloe: [Laughs] If you say so. I think you could chase that one across the country, fighting thousands of the dead, but in the end, I’m not sure his heart is available.

Alexandra: I don’t want his heart.

Chloe: Could’ve fooled me… and my brother.

Alexandra: I don’t know why we’re talking about this. The odds of us surviving the next 24 hours are next to nothing. Love? Hearts? None of this is relevant.

Chloe: Because that’s how we know who to trust and follow. Wyatt is not in this for the rest of us. He’s in this for himself and whatever he’s searching for. Me? I want a warm shower and a safe place to sleep at night. Cole? His mind better be where it needs to be — that’s all I’m saying.

Alexandra: And what about me?

Chloe: You? That’s a decision you need to make. Are you here to survive or here to follow a man you can never catch?

g

That night, a package waits for me on my side porch. Inside, I find the sexiest dress I have ever seen. Black straps tie behind my neck, but the neckline is low — plunging. I’m not sure how to keep everything inside. The hem barely covers my behind when I sit. No bending. Ever. I also discover an outrageously expensive pair of shoes. Heels, of course, sliver platforms with straps that wind all the way up my ankles. The whole outfit is over the top and borderline trashy. I have a feeling I know who bought it and it wasn’t Andrew, not directly at least. This has Derek’s style written all over it. I thank God my parents are still out of town. I don’t have to explain anything. Now, that is. I have a feeling that by tomorrow, the shiz will hit the fan.

“You look gorgeous,” Andrew says. I hold onto his arm for fear of tipping over in these shoes. I adjust my top, making sure everything is inside the minimal amount of fabric. I scan the streets for paparazzi. I can’t see any, but that means nothing. Once seated in the car, I tug on the hem of my dress, willing it to stretch farther down my legs. I’m sure at least one photographer will get a money shot tonight. Good thing coordinating underwear came in that package. If I flash my hoo-ha at everyone, at least everything matches.

“Thanks. What’s the plan?” He merges onto the highway, driving toward the city. He tosses something in my lap. It’s an invitation.

“A friend has a new restaurant and club. I thought we’d make an appearance.”

“Oh.” I read the invite. The place looks swank. “I didn’t even realize places like this existed in Atlanta.”

He laughs and rolls to a stop. “There’s always somewhere to be seen. This had to work on such short notice.”

The valet opens my door and Andrew arrives at my side before I can take a step. His arm hangs tight across my back, a hand on my waist as the cameras begin to snap. Just before we reach the door, he leans into my ear and says, “Tonight’s our night. We have to make it happen or we cut this whole thing loose. Follow my lead.” I feel his lips brush my ear and although it tickles enough to bring a smile to my lips, my belly lies quiet and calm. I never thought I’d see the day when I’m immune to Andrew Xavier’s charms.

Inside, a man whisks us through an elegant, crowded restaurant. As we pass patrons, Andrew turns heads, of course. Even if they don’t recognize him, he’s so handsome people stare. Their eyes glide past me. I’m relieved when we leave the main room and pass through a heavy wooden door and up a flight of stairs.

“Do you know where he’s taking us?” I ask. We enter a small, even more sophisticated room. Ahhh, the VIP room. I never anticipated seeing such a place, much less being invited into one.

“Relax,” Andrew says, but I cling to his arm. We’re escorted to a corner of sleek leather couches. Andrew gestures for me to sit and begins ordering drinks from an eager waitress.

“I can’t drink in here. I don’t have an ID.” I’m whispering even though the loud music gives us a sense of privacy. A moment later, our waitress returns with our drinks and sets them on the low table in front of us.

“Welcome to a taste of my world,” Andrew says, raising his glass. He swallows his drink whole. Uh oh. I recall the last time he drank too much too fast. It’s how I ended up in this circus in the first place. “This is a minor representation of what it’s like in New York or L.A. A perfect place to get your toes wet. Someday, I’ll take you to the Chateau Marmont or Soho House[1] for a real slice of celebrity life.”

I eye my drink with caution. I have no intention of getting drunk. “What do you mean?”

“It’s where we go to be seen. To make an announcement. ‘Look world, I’m dating Sabrina Taylor!’ Sometimes it’s real. Sometimes it’s not, but it’s always, always intentional.”

On cue, Andrew’s phone buzzes and jumps across the table. He turns the screen flat on the table. “Is that her?”

He stares at me and then laughs. He also motions to the waitress for another drink. “Yeah.”

I pick up my drink and take a swallow. It’s sugary and sweet, but burns the back of my throat. “What’s her name?”

He shakes his head.

“I think I should know.”

“I think you shouldn’t.” A loud squeal draws our attention to the door. Two attractive women just entered and they’ve spotted Andrew. I take another drink.

“Tell me about her then.”

“Tell me why you met up with Gabe last night half-clothed.”

My eyes widen. “I wasn’t half-clothed!”

He makes a face. “I saw the photos. Those shorts and that tank left little to the imagination.”

“Those were just stupid pajamas. This dress leaves little to the imagination.” I tug on the hem.

“True, but a different kind of imagination. I suspect Gabe would rather see you in that than this.” That comment is unexpected. My flaming cheeks think so too.

“Gabe doesn’t care what I wear or what I think. We had an argument.” The waitress brings two new drinks, one for me and one for him, even though I haven’t finished the first.

“Why?” he asks.

“Zocopalypse and how he’s trying to ruin my life with his new issue.”

Andrew laughs at this, loud enough to attract (more) attention from the tables around us. “Of course you were. God, you two are the biggest geeks ever.”

“Duh.”

“Okay then, Gabe was a late night geek fight. What about you and the ex?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because if you and I are together, and you’re out with other guys, I need to have the story. So, the ex?”

I sip my drink in an attempt to buy some time. The burn in my throat is less noticeable. “Unfinished business.”

He raises an eyebrow, but I’m not telling him anything else. I’m learning my lesson about keeping private things private. Plus, Andrew knows a lot about me and I’m realizing how little I know about him in return.

Instead of pressing like I expect, he looks over my shoulder and stiffens. I immediately look for some kind of super-fan or camera or something, but instead a gorgeous guy walks toward us. “Do you know him?” I ask. I glance between the two of them and it becomes clear, without Andrew’s confirmation, they do.

Andrew stands and his startled look turns to a smile. “James,” he says, stepping forward to give him a hug.

“How have you been? I heard about Zocopalypse. Congratulations,” James says. He’s beyond handsome. Maybe even more so than Andrew, if that’s possible.

“Ruby, this is James Anderson,” Andrew says sitting back next to me.

“Hi, Ruby.”

“James and I met during some modeling we did together in L.A. What’s going on, man? Working around here?”

“Actually, I lucked into a movie filming here for the next month or so.” He turns his attention on me.

“That’s great,” Andrew says. “We’ve been shooting since June.”

“So, you’re Andrew’s new co-star?” His green eyes dart between us and I perceive a strange energy in the air. “I’ve seen photos of you two in some of the papers.”

“That’s me. It’s hard to stay out of the papers when you’re hanging around Andrew.”

“Tell me about it. This guy attracts photographers and teenage girls like flies to honey. How much longer do you have on the zombie flick?”

“Filming ends soon — next week,” I say and turn to give Andrew a sad smile, but he’s shooting daggers at James and the level of tension between these two just shot through the roof. “You know,” I say, “I think I’m going to use the restroom.” I skirt away before either guy can say anything and weave through the club to the dark hallway that leads to the restrooms. I’ve barely entered when two girls approach me.

“That’s Andrew Xavier, right?” One asks. She’s blonde, or wants to be. I’m scared of her cleavage.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“You’re the girl in the movie with him — Rachel? Ryan?” Her friend adds. She has stick straight black hair and a hoop in her nose. Ouch.

“Ruby.” Apparently engaging them was a bad idea. They take the opportunity to rapid-fire questions at me.

Cleavage: “That’s right. Ruby. What’s Andrew like?”

Me: “I just came in to use the restroom.”

Nose ring: “Tell us about him. I heard he has a tattoo.”

Cleavage: “Right. On his hip. Is that true? Does he work out all the time? Is he on steroids?”

Nose ring: “Does he ever talk about Sabrina Taylor?”

Cleavage: “What kind of car does he drive?”

Me: Frantically searching for the exit.

Nose ring: “Will you take us back to your table? Maybe we can party together?”

Me: “I just…”

And I escape. Which sucks because I still have to pee, but there’s no way I’m going back in there again. If Andrew’s bodyguard, Andre, was here, I could make him go with me, but he’s not, so I’m stuck.

“Excuse me,” I say, pushing my way through the crowd. I’m close to the table when I see Andrew and James, deep in conversation. Whatever. I’m interrupting. When I get a couple of feet away, I stop hard and fast. So abrupt the two girls following me slam right into my back, knocking me into the couch. I don’t care though, because James and Andrew have my full attention. They’re sitting awfully close. Too close. Knees touching close.

“Oh. Em. Gee,” Nose Ring says from behind me.

James has his hand on Andrew’s for a moment before he removes it and picks up his drink. Everything slides into place and all at once becomes crystal clear.

- I am an idiot.

- My relationship with Andrew has nothing to do with another girl. Andrew does not like me. I knew this already, but at least I know it’s not because I’m horrible or something.

- Andrew likes boys.

- I am an idiot.

“Oh. Em. Gee.”

g

[1] Both notorious places for famous celebrities to be spotted by the paparazzi.

Chapter 16

James Brown darts off my bed the next morning, scaring the bejesus out of me. Usually he’s low key, unless he’s hungry or sees a dog on TV (which sends him into a complete, full-frenzied panic). I consider my options. Best case scenario? Someone bringing me doughnuts. Worst case? A mob of paparazzi that no longer concern themselves with the property lines have invaded the house. Due to the state of my friendships, I’m betting on the latter. So when James quiets down, I snuggle back under my quilt.

That is until the top stair squeaks. The one that I’ve learned to skip when sneaking in late at night. I bolt upright, holding my quilt to my nose. I’m considering jumping out the window when the door opens and Iris steps in the room.

“Holy crap, Iris!”

“I’m sorry! I used the spare key under the gnome! You wouldn’t answer the door!” she yells back. She’s dressed in ratty shorts and a T-shirt, not her usual standard. Her eyes are red and her tidy braids are frizzy and swept back in a ponytail. She looks horrible.

“Sometimes people don’t answer the door on purpose.”

“Sometimes they should.”

We stare at each other. Finally, I say, “What do you want so bad that you felt like you had to break into my house at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“I have to tell you something.”

I wait. Unless it’s an apology, I’m not sure I want to hear it.

“I think I know who ZWankHard is.”

“What? Who?!”

“Before I tell you, I have to tell you how I know and why I know. And it may make you mad,” she says, twisting her hands together. “Super mad.”

“I’m already angry, did you forget that? What did you do? Sell pictures of me from the third grade? Post my SAT scores? Tweet the video of me from prom?” Guilt is clear on her face. “Dude, you did not tweet that video? I look like a giant blueberry!”

“No, I didn’t do any of that.” She looks at the floor. “It’s worse.”

“Worse?”

She nods and a fat, drippy tear rolls down her brown cheek. If Iris starts crying, then I’m going to start crying and things will turn ugly faster than a group of zombies on a cattle car. “I can’t take this one back, Ruby, and it’s bad. Spectacularly bad. I mean, you asked me not to follow you or post this stuff and I did it anyway.”

“Tell me.” I pat the end of my bed, but she doesn’t sit there. Instead she goes to the computer chair.

I wait while she wipes her nose with her sleeve and rubs the tears off her cheeks. James Brown crawls in her lap and I’m a little offended he’s taking her side, but he’s a sucker for crying girls.

“Come on, what happened? Spill.”

She takes a deep breath. “Last night, I followed you and Andrew to the club. Derek asked me to. He wanted me to get some video that we could use for promotion. You know, ‘Andrew and Ruby out on the town,’ that kind of garbage. He said I could tweet the first pictures from the website. I couldn’t get into the club, so I waited outside until you guys left.”

“Jeez, creeper much?” I can’t believe my best friend has become a paparazzo.

“While I was out there, I saw something.”

A sinking feeling settles in my chest. “What did you see?”

“I killed time in a parking lot across the street, but I could see the front door and the valet. I brought my camera with the super daddy zoom lens. I hoped you guys would go for it — like Derek suggested. Andrew opening the door for you. Maybe a kiss. Some PDA.”

“We did all that! In and out of the club, he held my hand or waist and was sweet. We put on a show.”

“I know you did.” She sighs. “That’s not the problem.”

“Spit it out, Iris.”

“After you left, two girls came out and walked in my direction. I ducked behind my car. I didn’t want to be seen. I felt like such a creeper.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Yeah, maybe. I heard them mention your name and Andrew’s, so I started listening. One of the girls described everything that happened inside the club to someone on the phone.” Iris gives me a sideways look.

“Okay. What did she see?”

“I think you know what she saw.”

“Iris, I’m not playing games.”

“Aren’t you?”

“What does that mean?”

“That means this girl apparently saw Andrew and some guy, a good-looking guy, getting close in the club. Close enough for bells to start ringing.”

“That guy’s name is James. He’s some model friend of Andrew’s. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s the point, Iris?

“Is Andrew gay?”

I want to be shocked, but I can’t. Not with her. “I don’t know.” I lean back and throw my pillow over my head. “I saw them, too. I mean, I knew there was someone else, but not like that. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

“Oh, Ruby! You knew? Do you think the bastard’s cheating on you with this guy?”

“He’s not cheating on me.” This I know for sure.

“I know you want this to be real and for Andrew to be this perfect guy, but he’s not. I mean, I don’t care that he’s gay or anything, but I’m not okay with him treating you like this.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Drop it. Drop it. DROP IT! I want to yell.

She hops out of her seat, dropping James with a soft thud. “But I saw…”

“Stop! He’s not cheating on me, Iris! You don’t know anything about the relationship between me and Andrew.”

“That’s the truth, but not because I don’t care. You won’t share anything with me — ever since you got this stupid part you’ve shut me out of your life!”

“I never shut you out of anything! You’ve been too busy following Nick around, and then you got into bed with Derek! I’m mad because you wanted to post my private stuff on the Internet! Now you know why I didn’t want you to! You stalked me like the freaking paparazzi! Things aren’t always what they seem.”

She crosses her arms and fixes me with a steady eye. “I’m not the one you need to worry about. I work for Zocopalypse. It’s my job to make you look better, not worse.”

“Spit it out, Iris!”

“I came here to tell you those girls called someone and told them everything they knew.”

“Oh no. The tabloids?”

“Maybe, but that’s not who I heard them talking to on the phone.”

“Who was it? God, stop with the dramatics. Who was it?!”

“It’s just a hunch, and I only heard his name once, but it explains everything. He’s the only person who would do something like ZWankHard and know how to get away with it — not to mention having access to you and the set through Taylor Lyn. Plus the fact that he has a complete and utter lack of soul.”

My eyes bug. “No.”

“Yes.”

She nods and we invoke the name of the devil at the same time. “Reid.”

ZWankHard

What’s the latest on our favorite zombie hunters? Things got a little tricky last night when Ruby and Andrew hit the town for the opening of the swank new club, Onyx. Both looked stellar. Ruby’s too-short dress was a little too short, but no big deal. Those chicken legs deserve to be flaunted, clearly.

Apparently, things became interesting once the pair settled into the exclusive VIP section.

Our Zource says, “After a couple of drinks, Ruby and Andrew were joined by sexy model James Anderson. Things started off friendly enough, but the dynamic changed the minute Ruby left to powder her nose. Andrew and James were friendly and obviously share a history.”

We’re not sure what sharing “a history” means, but we do know that James Anderson is a gloriously out and proud model who might also look fantastic in a pair of skinny jeans. Or without.

Oh, and he also might have a new movie role filming in Atlanta this summer. We’re not ones to make a mountain out of a molehill (okay, we really are), but certain rumors have followed Andrew Xavier throughout his career. Could Ruby and Andrew’s Alexandra and Wyatt’s EPIC LOVE be in dire straits? We are so worried.

So worried, and so, so bored.

g

I go to Andrew’s first. I don’t call. I’m afraid he’ll tell me not to come or hang up or something worse. Instead, I just arrive and, as I’m punching in the code to the security gate, I’m approached by two paparazzi who blind me with their flashes and begin assaulting me with questions.

“Ruby! Here to see Andrew?”

“Are you upset at the rumors?”

“Is Andrew gay? Did you know he was gay?”

“Are you breaking up? Here to get your things?”

“Can we have a smile? Please? Just one?”

It takes all the strength I have not to lose it, but I keep my head down. When I finally get the code right, the gate swings open and I walk as fast as I can to the building. Andre is on the phone outside the apartment. He glances at me and mumbles something into his phone, closing it before I’m close enough to hear.

“Ugh! I hate them!”

“They’ve been out there all day.”

“Can I see him?”

He nods and knocks on the door. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just enters and I’m left standing alone. Andre is so large and formidable that the minute he leaves it’s like air floods back into the hallway.

After only a minute, he returns. “He says you can come in,” Andre says, sticking his head out the door.

He lets me in and closes the door behind me — staying out in the hall. At first I can’t see Andrew, I can only hear short gasps of breath from somewhere in the room. I walk past the kitchen and into the open living area. He’s on the floor, on the other side of the couch, in the middle of a set of crunches.

“Give me a minute,” he grunts. I sit on the couch and watch. Sweat coats his body and again, I’m mesmerized by his looks. That, and the reality that my fake boyfriend will never be my real boyfriend because he already has a boyfriend. Andrew stops and stands up, gulping water from a bottle on the coffee table he’s pushed to the side of the room. He finishes and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Try the beginning?”

“I don’t know where that is? When I first knew? When I first hid it? My first showmance? The lies? The boyfriends I lost? This stuff between me and you? There are a lot of places we can start.” He looks at his watch and drops to the floor. He starts in on a series of push-ups. God forbid he skip a workout to deal with life or something.

“So, you’re gay.”

He huffs out a “Yeah.”

“You don’t have a secret girlfriend. Is James your boyfriend?”

“Ex.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s a surprise. But still, there has to be someone behind all the phone calls and texts. “You do have a boyfriend, though, right?”

He stops and gets off the ground and wipes his face and arms with a towel. “Do. Did. I don’t know. He’s not talking to me right now. I slipped up big time last night. I had no idea James was even in town and I threw you under the bus. I know better — it was stupid. I mean, those girls didn’t see anything incriminating. All I did was meet a friend, but James is recognizable in the industry and people know he’s gay. He supports a lot of causes and stuff.”

“I don’t understand then? Why keep this a secret? Why not come out like he has?”

“That’s the Catch-22 of Hollywood. No one in the industry cares. It’s the most liberal environment ever, but you’re selling movies and TV shows to families and kids and middle America. They don’t want to know this. And teenage girls want to think they have a chance with Andrew Xavier from Drew’s House! They don’t want me. They want the characters I play and those characters are straight.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

He shrugs and drinks from his bottle again. “Maybe, but it’s true. Derek’s freaking out right now — he’s in total damage control mode. You may want to find someone to help you through this. I won’t lie to you Ruby, he’ll try to ruin you.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You associated with me. I’m sorry, I’ll do what I can and, if you’re lucky, he’ll leave you out of it. But, Derek will do whatever it takes to keep this movie rolling smoothly and keep my career on track.”

“Why do you allow him to call the shots on this? You don’t have to let him push you into a corner.” I’m furious. “Have you ever thought about admitting it? Telling everyone or even showing up with a guy one day?”

He laughs. “More times than you would believe. It’s not possible.”

“Of course it is. Like you said, James doesn’t hide. I can tell you a dozen other celebrities that are gay.”

“James has a crappy acting career. Sure he models — no one cares about models, it’s almost expected, but he’s struggled to find acting jobs. And those other celebrities you’re talking about — most of them waited until they were older and established in the industry. Maybe one day.”

I pick up Andrew’s hand. Even though I’m still angry for him, I’m not angry at him.

“Tell me about him.”

The sadness in his eyes fades and they light up at my question. “He’s great. From my hometown – that was true. We grew up together and even though I moved and went into acting, we always remained close. He gets it. He knows why I hide this, but situations like this hurt him. It’s one thing for him to see me out with a girl, someone like you. He knows that’s not real. But seeing me with James, that’s different. No one wants to see their boyfriend hanging around with an ex.”

“No, I guess not. Although for an ex, James is pretty awesome. I wish I could say the same about my choices.” He wraps his sweaty arm around my shoulder.

“Guys suck.”

“They do,” I agree. “What happens now?”

“I predict our break-up will make the rounds by Monday.”

“Don’t let Derek screw me.”

“I’ll do my best. Promise.” He gives me another sweaty hug.

“Gross,” I say, pushing him off of me. “I’m just glad the reason our kiss had so little chemistry isn’t my fault. I was worried for a minute.”

“Nah, I take responsibility for that one.”

We walk to the door. “Just one thing,” I say. “If you ever decide to go public, you have my support.”

“Thanks, babe. Maybe one day. Right now, I’m hoping he’ll forgive me.”

“Me, too.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alexkickszass

#superpower truth detector

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alexkickszass

#superpower transporting back in time

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alexkickszass

#superpower psychic castration

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

(Direct Message) Gabrielsinferno

@alexkickszass meet me at Fake Fort/45 min.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

g

Chapter 17

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

QueenAlex

@z.net Did Ruby really cheat on Andrew?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wootyeahboys

@QueenAlex for the last time. Andrew is gay.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wyattsbabe

@z.net Blah blah blah RubyXAndrew #forever

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Hatchetlover

@z.net I knew they would ruin this movie. I don’t want a PRomance. I want Zombies.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zombieprincess

I wonder how the Zocopalypse franchise feels about all this drama following them around.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wootyeahboys

I heard Andrew was caught out with James Anderson. #hothothot

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Andrewspants

@Wootyeahboys Haven’t you heard? Unless Andrew is kissing me then I don’t care.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WyattluvsAlex

@z.net I knew it was a disaster to cast an unknown as Alex. #famewhore

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

Zocopalypse filming ends this week! We’re sad it went by so fast but we can’t wait to see it on TV!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gabe’s standing in the middle of a war zone. It’s a strange sight. He looks unreal among the human and zombie bodies scattered on the ground. The baseball hat on his head and the vibrant blues and reds in the flannel shirt he has tied around his waist look out of place. Too alive? The red in the fabric clashes against the fake, dark red on the wounds. I wonder what Alex will look like here, dirty and bloody from battle. Will Wyatt still be larger than life? Designed to look like the entryway of the command center at Fort Benning, everything feels formal and imposing, yet compromised. I have no idea if this is realistic or not to the actual setting, but it does resemble the imagery in the novels.

“Got your message,” I say.

“Thanks for coming.”

“I’m not sure why I’m here. I’m still pissed, you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

The anger over Wyatt and Alexandra boils back to the surface, but I’m also tired. This thing with Andrew and Iris has completely exhausted me. I barely have any energy to fight over this anymore. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to go over some stuff and, I don’t know, apologize?”

“Did you rewrite the novel? Put Alex and Wyatt back together?”

“No.”

“Apology not accepted.” I see a notebook in his hands and a pencil tucked under his hat. “Another list?”

He looks at the book and frowns. “Something like that. I want to make sure we don’t forget anything important.”

“Well, even though I kind of hate you right now, it does look great — just like I imagined.”

“God, I hope so. I’ve been stressing over this scene for months.”

“I mean, it’s not exactly like the books, but the feeling is still there. I think it works.”

He walks across the room, away from me. He grabs a body off the floor and drags it over a couple feet. “Better?” he asks. He nudges it a couple inches to the left, then the right.

“You’re obsessing.”

He stops. “I’m obsessing.”

“Maybe that should be one of your superhero traits.”

“Maybe,” he says, walking back to me and tossing his notebook on a table, “it already is. How do you think I managed to get this made into a TV show in the first place?”

I raise an eyebrow. “How do you think I managed to get a part in this movie?”

“Together, we can rule the world.” He rubs his hands together evilly.

“One obsession at a time.”

We’re smiling at each other, but I make myself stop because even though this ease between us feels right, I’m not ready to let it go. Not yet.

“Speaking of obsessing, will you do me a favor?” he asks.

“I don’t know. The last time I did you a favor, you broke my heart and were a ruining-ruiner.”

“A ruining-ruiner?” He rolls his eyes and fights a smile.

“Yes.”

“Hear me out, okay?” He pulls a rolled up script out of his back pocket. “We’ve been working on some changes. Well, I have since you and I talked. Or argued,” he admits.

I take the booklet from him. I have a similar one at home, but this one is filled with scribbles and marked out lines. It’s a scene close to the end between Alex and Cole. When I first read the script, I was surprised it was included. The scene seemed trivial in my opinion. Now, knowing what I know happens in the later issues, I appreciate the importance. Foreshadowing, I guess.

“I’d love to hear the part out loud to see if it works.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I look around the set. “You want to do it right here?”

“Here’s fine. We don’t need to act it out — it’s just a reading.”

I scan the page and point to the first line in the scene. “Starting here?”

He nods and unfolds his own set of papers.

Alexandra and Cole stand in the entryway of the command center at Fort Benning. Wyatt and Chloe are around the side of the building, checking other entrances. They both suspect they will have to get through the main, large wooden door to get inside.

Alexandra: What’s going to happen when we get in there?

Cole: I think we move to the next step for us. Whatever that may be. We can’t wander around forever.

Alexandra: I know I can’t. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been running for days — weeks.

Cole: You need answers. I need closure. We’re all searching for something — hopefully this will push us in the right direction.

Alexandra: What if what we find inside is worse than out there?

Cole looks around at the mangled bodies on the ground, the spent ammo and destroyed property.

Cole: I can’t imagine anything worse than this. My father had faith in this country. I do too.

Alexandra: At least you have something. Faith would be great right about now.

She shakes the knobs on the door, rattling them to see if they will budge. Twice she kicks the wooden surface with her boot. Cole grabs her by the shoulders and stops her.

Cole: You aren’t alone, Alex.

Alexandra: How can you say that?

Cole: How can you say you are?

Alexandra: I may go in there and find the answers I’m looking for, but it won’t bring anyone back. So even then, I’m stuck. You have your sister and a father to find. My parents are dead. I shot my mother in the brain. Wyatt’s on his mystery mission that involves none of us. I’ve got nothing.

Cole slings his gun over his shoulder and takes a step toward Alexandra.

“Wait,” I say, skimming ahead. But Gabe’s still acting. Before I can react, he has one hand on my neck and the other on my waist. His script drops to the floor and, when I look up, his eyes are on my mouth and I notice how clear they are — and intense. So intense. Gabe’s looking at me with intensity and I know that look. I know it. I close my eyes and ignore the warning in my chest.

I let him kiss me.

It’s a little sloppy and kind of rushed and his fingers pull at my hair. Urgency wells in my stomach and it stirs something deep inside, an unexpected warmth. Not the sterile, orchestrated kiss between me and Andrew. Gabe’s kiss is perfect, electric, but not real. Alarmed, I break away and step backwards.

This is Cole. Not Gabe. Cole. I’m Alex, not Ruby.

“Um…”

“Keep reading,” Gabe prompts. He picks his script off the floor and flips to the right page. My hands shake as I find the correct line.

Alexandra: Why did you do that?

Cole: To give you something to hold on to.

“Wow,” I say, catching my breath. “Cole’s got game.”

“Told you.”

I fold my script and hand it back to him. “You added that. The kiss, the final lines. That’s not in the novel. If that had been there, maybe I could have seen something other than Wyatt and Alex.”

“It’s a miniseries. Who knows if it will be picked up for more episodes. It needed a little closure, just in case that is all we can give them. Plus, I wanted to give the audiences a teaser for the future, but also a little hope for Alexandra.”

“Okay, I can see that. As a purist, I’m not sure I like it, but I can accept your justification.” My words may be normal, but I can hear the quiver in my voice.

“And,” he says reaching for my hand, “after our argument, I thought about you being so blindsided by Issue 4. Maybe their relationship needed a little more foreshadowing.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

His hand tightens around mine. “No, I still think I’ve explained Alexandra and Cole fairly well. It’s there, but for the show it needs to be a little clearer. People aren’t as willing to wait around for sex and love on TV as they will in a book. We have to give them something other than blood and gore.”

“True.”

“Or, maybe, I’m full of it and I wrote those lines 20 minutes before you got here so I could have an excuse to kiss you.”

Wait. What?

“You did not.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t let me go. Instead, he tugs me closer. “I didn’t. I’ve been working on it for weeks. Our argument gave me the motivation and focus for how I wanted it to end.”

“So just now, you kissing me, that was you playing Cole?”

He leans closer. “That was me playing Cole, as an excuse for me, Gabe, to kiss you, Ruby.”

I laugh. “I’m confused.”

“I’m not,” he says, his mouth inches from mine. I feel the stirring again, the one deep inside, the one that spreads like fire from my belly down my arms and into my fingertips.

“No?”

He kisses me. Slow and sweet.

“No,” he says. “I knew the minute I saw you trapped in a throng of fanboys at FantasyCon that I wanted to kiss you. But then I asked you to try out for the part and you got it and everything steamrolled out of control.”

“Chicken.”

“You started dating Andrew!”

“Don’t even. He’s gay.”

“Right. Figured that out, huh?”

“You knew he was gay?”

“Yeah, I knew. I thought maybe that was the life you wanted. Hollywood and all that. I wasn’t going to get in your way.”

“Thanks a lot. That whole thing went over my head.”

“You’re too trusting.”

“Tell me about it. You said you would be honest with me.”

“I tried, Ruby, but I’m bound by the same contracts you are. And Andrew being gay didn’t mean you didn’t like him, or that you weren’t playing the game with him.”

“Just because I liked him doesn’t mean I can’t like you, too!”

“You like me?” He’s smiling and being silly, but I can tell he wants to know. No matter their age, boys want to know if you like them or not.

“I do. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me and you to be doing this right now.”

His smile falters. “Because of Andrew? I hate to tell you Ruby, but he’s cheating on you.”

“Yeah, I know. So does everyone else.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since last night.”

He reaches for his phone. “Crap. I had everything sent to voicemail so I could get this finished. There are a dozen messages here from Nick.”

“Things are bad, and I talked to Andrew and Iris. We think we know who’s behind ZWankHard.”

“Who is it?”

“I’ll tell you, but first I need your help with something else. Andrew and I are cool, but I’m worried about Derek.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, that sleazeball. He’s going to try to make me take the fall for this thing with Andrew. Which…”

“Doesn’t only hurt you, but will hurt the movie also.”

“Exactly. I need your help.”

He nods and picks up his phone and starts dialing.

g

The following day, I’m sitting in a squishy booth at the Rocket Diner with my agent. Yes. I now have an agent. The last 24 hours have been busy. I told Gabe what happened, everything that happened. He went into action, calling his agent, who called his lawyer, who contacted another lawyer, who connected with another agent. Now, we’re meeting with Andrew and Derek in this crappy, out-of-the-way diner because no one could agree on a location.

Naomi (my agent) and I met early to discuss my situation. Her goal, as she explained, is to keep me out of the media, save my job and focus on getting the movie completed — on schedule. I lie to Naomi about Reid. Gabe is the only one who knows the truth about his suspected involvement and he agrees this information should to be kept to ourselves until we can figure out the best way to stop him.

I shift in my seat, tired of waiting, disturbed by Derek, who is normally all toothy grins and kisses on the cheek, but today barely made eye contact as I slid in the booth. I press my fingers against the coffee cup on the table. We each have one — but no one has taken a sip. Late July is too hot for coffee, even at 9 a.m. Andrew catches my eye across the table and smiles, which settles my nerves, until Derek leans in and whispers something in his ear that makes the friendly look disappear. I hate him for making this worse than it has to be.

“Are we ready?” Naomi asks.

“Whenever you are,” says Derek. He’s still fake-smiling for Naomi, just not me.

Naomi is calm and business-like. Thank goodness, because I can feel the sweat accumulating under my arms. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Obviously, my interest is in Andrew and how he looks after all of this. Since Ruby chose to exit Gabe Foster’s house in the middle of the night, in her pajamas, things don’t look good for her. Frankly, she looks like a cheating whore.”

“Hey!” I interject. Naomi’s hand clamps down on my arm.

He holds his hand up and shrugs. “You do, sweetheart, and that’s your problem and not mine.”

“Ruby’s entitled to her own life. She’s not bound to Andrew and she hasn’t done anything wrong. Just because your little attempt to keep Andrew’s secret a secret backfired doesn’t mean you need to drag this young woman into the gutter.”

“Oh God,” Andrew says. He looks a little pale. “This is out of control.”

“Andrew, it’s my fault I trusted someone like Ruby. She was too new and too green for this — she didn’t understand what was at stake,” Derek says. He turns to Naomi, “I will do whatever I have to do to keep Andrew’s name and personal life out of the media. Your client destroyed that by sneaking around and getting caught by the paparazzi.”

Naomi leans across the table. “My client did no such thing. She ran into a friend from school and visited a writer from her movie. She had legitimate reasons to see both of them. Your client was caught out with the wrong person. Someone he doesn’t want to be seen with in public. Stop acting like you have the upper hand.”

“A friend from school,” he rolls his eyes, “sure. An ex-boyfriend. And Gabe? Those two have been flirting for months. Anyone on set can attest to that. I’d take bets they’ve been sleeping together this entire time. Ruby has been using Andrew to boost her image and career.”

“Flirting! That is not true.” Is it?

Naomi shoots me a look. “You’re joking, right? Boosting her image? You started this, Derek. You need to own it. Your client’s personal life is a time bomb waiting to explode. You need to figure out a better plan for him. Banking on an 18-year-old, first-time actress to sweep his dirt under the rug was a bad move on your part.”

“Stop.” Andrew holds his hands up, but it’s useless. Derek has a plan for my ultimate celebrity demise.

“A cover story goes out tomorrow in Celeb Magazine about Ruby breaking Andrew’s heart, and how he went to his old friend James to talk about his sorrow. James, who happens to be working here on his own project. This will get his movie some extra promo tied to Andrew’s name. There is no way anyone from James’ project will object. Photos will be included of Ruby sneaking in and out of Gabe’s home, plus one of her canoodling her ex-boyfriend in the parking lot of the Mini-Market.”

“What?” I blurt out, trying to figure out how this got so out of control. My parents will kill me. “Canoodling? We were talking! We ran into each other.”

“Derek,” Andrew says.

“It’s a done deal. All they need is my final approval, which I’m making as soon as this meeting is over.”

“Derek, stop,” Andrew says, again, louder this time. “Isn’t there something else we can do?”

Derek looks at Andrew and shakes his head. “This is what you pay me to do. I know you like this girl, but this is business. You can’t let this one stupid moment ruin your career. Think of everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish. You may be willing to let this little girl take it away, but I’m not. I’ve had people following her for months gathering dirt. It finally paid off.”

Naomi sits up and says, “If you do this, we have no choice but to counter with our own story of Ruby being taken advantage of by an older, more successful male. Are you prepared for that?”

“My client wasn’t the one whoring around town.”

“No, but you’re the one tarting her up like a sorority girl on Halloween! I saw the dress you sent her — the very, very short, inappropriately sexy dress for an 18-year-old girl. Not to mention matching panties.”

“Oh my God.” Andrew pales. I cover my face with my hands. Make. It. Stop.

“No one made her wear that,” Derek scoffs.

“Interesting. You must have forgotten the note attached specifically instructing Ruby to wear the dress and accessories that night.” Naomi stares at him hard. “Not to mention the receipt attached to the package I’m more than sure can be traced back to your credit card.”

“No, Naomi,” I say. “I don’t want that. I don’t care — whatever.”

She looks at me. “Ruby, if you take responsibility for this you can be fined for harming the film. You signed a morality clause — that, yes, protected you from the movie, but also protects the movie from you. If you embarrass Zocopalypse publicly, or if they think you risk future profits, they can sue you.”

“But,” I look at Andrew. “Don’t let him do this.”

“At least I gave you fair warning,” Derek says. “How you choose to spin this is your call.”

“Andrew?” I say.

Andrew is hunched across the table, his massive body crammed into this tiny booth, but right now he doesn’t look so big. He looks confused and lost. “I’m sorry. I’ve worked too hard for this.”

“Then you leave us no choice,” Naomi says. She slides out of the booth. “You’re not the only one with contacts, Derek. You may want to think this over before you approve that cover. I’d hate to see what people think about Hollywood’s biggest leading man seducing a young woman and then throwing her to the wolves the minute the movie wraps.”

I scramble out of my seat as fast as I can since my legs are stuck to the vinyl cushion. Once I get out, I stop and say, “I can’t believe you’re willing to ruin this for everyone else because you’re too scared to stand up for yourself. I know I’ll survive this, but you’re hurting the entire cast and crew, not to mention Gabe and Nick.”

Naomi pulls me out of the diner, arm around my shoulder. I barely make it outside before I start to cry.

g

Chapter 18

“I don’t understand,” I say. This comment earns me a well-deserved eye roll.

“Let me try,” Gabe says. He picks up the laptop and begins scrolling through pictures. “Iris has downloaded this series of photos from the set. We will send these photos to Reid’s legitimate website, with a message attached that he has 10 minutes to get them posted before any other sites receive them. There will be one photo in the batch that has not and will not be released elsewhere. Ever.”

Iris interrupts. “Since he’ll believe everyone has the same pictures, he won’t worry about posting them.”

I sigh. “I’m still confused.”

Iris groans and walks away from the two of us. Gabe stares at me for a moment and says, “Give me a minute.” We wait as he types into the computer. “Okay, read this.” He turns the screen toward me.

- Iris sends Reid a series of photos

- He will receive 26 high-quality, legit photos from the set

- Only Reid will receive a 27th photo

- This photo he will hold back from his fan website and post instead on ZWankHard

- When he posts this one photo on ZWankHard, we will know it is him because he is the only one who has this picture, except us

“Oh! I see!” I smile at Gabe. “I’m still not convinced. Reid’s not an idiot. Why do you think he’ll post it?” I ask.

“And give up his lead time? Remember, we’re only giving him 10 minutes before the series goes to everyone else.” Gabe smiles. “Plus, we plan on giving him something he can’t resist.”

“What? Catching Andrew is about as big as it gets. He has the script already and even if he posts the ending, you and I both know you changed it.”

Iris frowns. “You changed the ending?”

“Our goal here is to catch Reid in the act. It’s too late to save face for Andrew, that’s up to him and his team to repair,” Naomi says, keeping us on task.

Gabe nods in agreement. “The best way to harm someone like Reid, who has taken his fanboy obsession to a dark place, is to embarrass him in front of his followers — making him seem like the one who is the actual sell-out — not you guys. Outing him as ZWankHard will make him enemy number one of the fandom.”

“How do you plan on doing this?”

“Lucky for us, he’s a creature of habit. His prior postings all revolve around a favorite topic.”

I shake my head. “Seriously. For someone who couldn’t wait to break up with me, he sure seems more than a little obsessed with harassing me online.”

“Which is why we want you to be our bait.”

“Me?”

Naomi, Iris and Gabe all nod. Naomi smiles, not the creepy, leery one Derek has, but it’s scary enough. “Yes, you. Between Iris’ computer skills, Gabe’s former life as a fanboy and my penchant for ultimate revenge, we’ve come up with the perfect plan.”

A thrill runs through me. “Tell me more.”

ZWankHard

Folks, we’d really love to write you a fascinating article today, but the truth is, we are speechless.

I KNOW. IT’S A FIRST.

Mere days after scandalous reports of zombie fighter Andrew Xavier being seen compromised with another man (not that we judge), Ruby Miller appears ready to move on. And by ‘move on’ we mean ‘prepare for warp speed, stand by transwarp drive!’

So, finding Ruby Miller lip-locked with another member of the Zocopalypse family was a bit of a shock, you see, but what gets us is the set of lips she’s so steamily attached to.

They belong to none other than creator and writer Gabe Foster.

We’ll give you a moment to fully absorb this (and to look at the picture below taken during a break on set two days ago).

Done?

So, you understand the whole being speechless thing. We’re all pretty bummed, you know? We had all this great material passive-aggressively questioning Ruby’s wholesome girl-next-door reputation, not to mention how her getting the leading role in this movie suddenly makes a lot more sense, but we have no words.

Well.

Except for those, of course.

“I still can’t believe you took that picture.” I click the mouse and enlarge the photograph ZWankHard has posted at the bottom of their article. Just like Reid described, Gabe and I are in an undeniable lip-lock, next to the prop truck on set.

“That’s what you get for thinking you can be sneaky with a hundred cast and crew members nearby. It’s a movie set, Ruby, there are more cameras there than people,” Iris says. She clicks her mouse, moving from page to page. “Well, I guess we caught him. What a dumbass.”

“I know. I really didn’t think it would work. I thought he was smarter than that.”

“He is smarter than that, but his ego is even bigger.”

“True.” I stand up and go to the closet, pulling out some clothes. Gabe and I have a rare night off and we have movie night at his apartment planned. Godzilla. I’ve never seen it. After a minute, I ask Iris the question that has been on my mind all day. “Do you think it cheapens what Gabe and I have started by using it this way? Look what happened last time I let the media get involved.”

Iris turns away from the computer. “I think there are two ways to look at this. Everything about the movie industry is about PR, which means either you can use the media or the media can use you. Reid used you to gain his own twisted sense of celebrity in the fandom. It may seem like he still has the upper hand with that post, but it was intentional. We wanted it out there and we were prepared with the counter-spin. In fact, I had already written, edited and submitted my own version before ZWankHard hit the air. You still look a little skanky jumping from one guy to the other, but in the end, you and the movie will be fine.”

“What’s next?”

“Next, Gabe and Nick talk to the lawyers. Reid is in serious trouble. The script and the hacked photos. It carries a fine, if not jail time.”

“Wow.”

“It’s possible, though, that they will settle with him. He does still have a major, fan-based website. I don’t know. It will be interesting to see, don’t you think?”

I dig through the pile of clothes on my bed and settle on some jeans and a black tank with a robot on the front. “It’s weird though, having everyone know about me and Gabe when it’s so new. The thing with Andrew was always fake. It was like another day at work.”

“For what it’s worth,” Iris says, tossing me my phone I left on the bed. “I think this is real. Really real.”

I smile at my friend. “Me too.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

QueenAlex

@z.net Ruby + Gabe! Wut?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wyattsbabe

@z.net Told you. Andrew dropped her like a bad habit. I knew it was sketch when she got the part.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net I don’t care. I want to see the movie! Have we forgotten this?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Queenwannabee

@z.net@alexkicksZass what was that? R-U-B-Y-M-I-L-L-E-R skank? Big surprise *eyeroll*

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wootyeahboys

@z.net I will use this moment to say “I told you so.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zombieprincess

@z.net Gabe Foster? I’d take a hit of that please.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net so who’s behind @ZWankHard anyway?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Andrewspants
@z.net So what you’re saying is we GET TO SEE ANDREW IN CHAPS? Right? #onetrackmind

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WyattluvsAlex

@z.net ha ha ha I knew they were faking. KNEW IT!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

Despite all the drama, filming continues as usual! Things are wrapping up — last week on set!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

g

Gabe’s fingers latch onto mine the minute I get to his place. I don’t mind. There’s nothing better than the sweet spot of a new relationship. The days when a touch between skin feels like a hot bolt of lightning rushing to the heart. Besides our hands, our legs tangle together on the soft leather couch and, more than once, I feel Gabe’s breath on my neck. Bliss.

“Goblins Vs. Unicorns is way better than this,” I say, watching the monster-dragon-lizard thing destroy Japan. Gabe insisted on the original 1954 version, which is fine, although it’s hard to read subtitles when the person next to you is being so distracting.

Gabe shakes his head. “You have no respect for the classics.”

“I really don’t.”

“When I was 12, I wrote an entire series about Godzilla coming through Atlanta and wiping it out. The final scene was him on top of Stone Mountain being attacked by fighter jets and helicopters.”

“What you’re saying is you have a thing about destroying this city.”

“It was all I knew. I’d never lived anywhere else. The first time I left the south was when I went to school.”

School. My orientation is in three weeks. And Gabe? I suppose he has to go home. “Do you like New York?”

“New York is great. Constant movement. There’s something going on 24/7.” His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer. “Will you come see me?”

I flick my eyes to the television and say, “Do you think this will work?”

“What? Us?” I can see his frown when I sneak a glance. “What’s going on?

“Nothing,” I say, removing my hand from his and pulling the blanket we’re sharing protectively over my waist. “Everything. So much has happened this summer. I have school and you’re leaving and I’m not sure I know how to have a long-distance relationship. I mean, the last guy I dated, not including my fake showmance, ended up exposing my flaws across the Internet. I may be jinxed.”

“Well,” he says, taking back my hand, “I promise not to talk about you on the Internet, other than in purely fictional, Alexandra-related ways. And I’m not hiding anything except 73 pristine comic books under my bed, all in plastic sleeves, but that’s more for their worth than out of shame.” He shrugs at his admission and I can’t help but laugh.

“Nerd.”

“Proudly.” He kisses me. “I’ve never done the distance thing before either, but I’m willing to try.”

I nod. “Me too.”

“I’m sensing a pattern here.”

“What kind of pattern.”

“You — and these freak outs. Before you can firmly commit to something, you have to have a meltdown.”

“I do not!”

“You do. And I love it. I’m glad I figured it out now, before I ask you to move in with me or get a dog or marry me or something.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks at the possibilities, but all I can think about is his smile in the flickering black and white light of the television and his lips, soft and warm on my own.

Movie Buzz

Filming wraps this week on Zocopalypse, a six-part miniseries based on the popular graphic novel series. But more than zombies are dead on this set. Reports have surfaced that Andrew Xavier and long-time manager Derek Masters have split ways. Word is, the star and his manager have had differing views on how to handle his personal life and recent rumors in the media about the actor’s relationship with co-star Ruby Miller. Neither Andrew or Derek would comment for this story.

Other than a sense of dread in the hollow of my stomach, the last day of filming has little in common with the first. My new-girl nerves have vanished. I’m no longer scared and nervous about proving or making a fool of myself. Today is more sadness than fear. I’m going to miss this.

Our call time is at the unholy hour of 4 a.m. Despite this, a group of paparazzi and fans line the street, held back by a security officer and some weak-looking barricades. The crowd is our biggest yet, but I suppose it’s not unexpected after the media frenzy surrounding me and Andrew, and me and Gabe, and Andrew and James. Rumor has it someone caught wind of us being down here and spread it all over Facebook and Twitter in a matter of minutes. In the makeup tent, I overhear Andrew telling David that by the end of the day, there would likely be twice as many people out there.

#awesome

Dressed and ready, I stand in the parking lot of an abandoned fast food restaurant surveying the scene in front of me. Fake dead bodies are strewn everywhere, both people and zombies. Military Jeeps and trucks are abandoned in the street — the place looks like an actual war zone. Gabe walks around with Nick, making sure things are “right.” I spy his baseball cap and saggy jeans with his notebook in the back pocket. When he turns, I can see the yellow pencil tucked behind his ear. My heart goes wonky and all I can think about is how he’s so cute. So terribly cute and so almost, probably mine.

“Can I get you something from Starbucks? I’m going on a run.” I spin to find NAB with a scrap of paper in his hand, taking orders. This is new. Taylor Lyn usually has the crap job of taking our drink orders. Oh yeah, Taylor Lyn doesn’t work here anymore. Rumor has it Reid, in an attempt to save his own ass, admitted Taylor Lyn may have been the one to snag the pictures of the script from Andrew’s apartment, not to mention being the on-set “Zource.” Sucks to be her.

Andrew walks up behind NAB and says, “black, please.” His eyes are over my shoulder, watching the crew.

NAB scribbles this down. “A Mountain Dew, right? With ice?”

“Um, yeah,” I say, shocked stupid that he’s been paying attention.

“Sure thing,” he says and walks to another group of actors.

I glance at Andrew. He’s also in his costume and I know this may be the last time I see him in those dirty pants and scuffed up boots. Another pang hits my stomach.

“So your BFF Taylor Lyn got fired, huh?” He’s got his eyebrow raised, the one that made him a precocious, but adorable, tween star. His hands are shoved in his jeans and it’s obvious we aren’t as far apart in age as I once felt.

“Apparently.”

“What about us?”

“What? Still BFFs? You want us to braid our hair and paint our nails together?” I ask. “Yeah, we’re good.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“You fired Derek? I bet he was pissed.”

“Furious. I had to get Andre to remove him from my apartment. He’ll probably sue me for breach of contract, but it was time.”

I step closer and give him a hug. He squeezes me back, lifting me off the ground. I tell him, “You did the right thing.”

“I hope so. I hope Carter will talk to me again.”

“Carter?” Oh, the boyfriend. “He should. Firing Derek is a solid leap of faith.”

“Maybe, except I fired Derek for you.”

“Me?”

“It wasn’t right throwing you under the bus like that. He’s a jerk and only thinking about money — my money — not the big picture. I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever go public with my personal life, but the way he handled it wasn’t what I wanted. All the events and girlfriends and stuff. It’s exhausting. I just want to focus on my career right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

We hear shouting and turn to see Gabe and Art arguing over the placement of a tank abandoned in the middle of the road. The sun peeking over the top of the building casts everyone in an orangey light.

“Does it always feel like this?” I ask.

“What?”

“The last day.”

“Yeah, it’s like saying goodbye to a really good friend. Like, one you’ll get to see again, but it will never be the same.”

“That’s sad.”

“That’s acting. You have to be able to let it go so you can move on to the next project.”

This makes me laugh. “I don’t think I have another project.”

“We’ll see,” he says. Art calls our names and waves us over to get ready for filming. “You ready to finish this?”

“Yep, let’s go kick some zombie ass.”

g

Chapter 19

Cheers erupt when I step through the door, and I can’t even begin to temper the smile on my face. Six weeks earlier, I entered the same restaurant, with the same people and no one knew my name. Tonight, I’m greeted by the entire cast and crew like an old friend. I suppose that’s what happens when you survive the zombie apocalypse together.

“Kind of awesome that Gabe’s birthday is the same night as the wrap party,” Iris says.

“Two parties for the price of one.”

“Gabe’s amazing but, seriously? By his 21st birthday he’s managed to write four issues of Zocopalypse, write and film a miniseries about it and snag you as his girlfriend. Impressive.”

I squeeze her arm. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Whatever. Here he comes. Go kiss him proper — like a girrrrlfriend would.”

I’m not going to kiss him, even though I want to, but I do smile when I see the silly crown on his head.

“Hi.”

“Wow,” he says, looking at my feet and then my legs and then my feet. I’m wearing a pair of five-inch heels, covered in zombie comics. “Those are amazing.”

“I found them online. They glow in the dark, too.”

He looks up. “Yeah, I’m not talking about those shoes, although they are cool. Holy Batman, Ruby, I’m not letting you or those legs out of my sight tonight.”

“Please don’t,” I tell him and grab onto his arm, wobbling a little. “One false move and I’m hitting the floor in these.”

“You two are adorable,” Iris says, rolling her eyes at us. “Who’s the hottie by the supermodel over there?”

We all look across the room where two gorgeous girls stand by the bar talking to an equally attractive guy. “That’s Peter. Caroline’s husband.”

“Your sister, Caroline?” I say. Gabe has four sisters, all apparently beautiful.

“Yes, Caroline and Abby and then,” he looks around the room. He gestures to a sofa. “Samantha and Margaret are over there. They came for the birthday part of this party.”

“No brothers?” Iris asks.

“Nope, sorry, but look,” he points to the door, “Nick just got here.”

Without a goodbye, Iris is gone, a dust cloud at her back. “That was too easy,” I say.

“You’ll find I’m very inventive when it comes to getting what I want.”

“You want Iris with Nick?”

“No, I want a minute with you.” He rests his hand on my waist. Over his shoulder, I make eye contact with one of his sisters. One of the two girls is his inspiration for Alexandra. “Which one is Samantha?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but NAB appears, nearly panting, the eager puppy that he is, and says, “Gabe — Art and some of the production guys want to see you.”

“Find me later?” he says, swiping a kiss on my cheek. Typical. I’ve been abandoned by both my friends. I spot Vanessa and Rochelle across the room and I’m about to walk over when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Ruby?”

I turn to find all of Gabe’s sisters circling me. Yikes. A tall, dark-haired girl offers her hand. “I’m Samantha[1], Gabe’s sister.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“This is Margaret, Abby and Caroline[2].” I have no idea who is who, but I feel like someone stuck my feet in a fire.

“So, you’re Alexandra,”

“I am. Was. Yes.” She’s studying me. They’re all studying me.

“I can see why he picked you.”

I feel the blush. I don’t know if she means he picked me or he picked me to play Alexandra or both. I suspect by the tiny smile on her face she means both. “Thanks?”

“We’re so proud of him.” She glances across the room at Gabe. “But you know he’s a total weirdo, right?”

Um…

The girls all laugh at my deer-in-the-headlights stare.

“We all knew one day he would make it, but no one ever expected it would be like this or so fast,” one says. Margaret? I wish they had nametags. Her name should just be glamazon.

One sister with lighter hair snorts and says, “I expected him to be in jail by now.”

Samantha punches her on the arm. “Stop. You’re scaring Ruby.”

I give a nervous laugh. “I’ve always been a big fan of his work. He’s an inspiration to all the geeks out there. He kind of ‘gets’ us.”

“He ‘gets’ you because he is you. He grew up in a house filled with all of us. I swear he turned in that comic in high school just to get away from the estrogen.” Due to the smirk on her face, I wonder if this is Caroline.

“We’d force him to dress up and play house and do our bidding. One time Margaret made him try on all our Easter dresses and have a fashion show to help us pick the one we liked the best.” Samantha laughs at the memory. “It’s no surprise he surrounded himself with blood and gore. It’s how he kept his sanity.”

“Can I ask a question?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“Gabe told me once he based Alexandra on you — his sister, Samantha. No offense, but from what you’ve said and from what I can tell by just meeting you, I’m not seeing a lot of Alex.”

She takes a sip of her drink and leans toward me. “Can you keep a secret?” she asks. The others are talking amongst themselves, happy to let Samantha continue the interrogation alone.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last six weeks, it’s yes, I can keep a secret if necessary.”

“Well, the truth is, Gabe dreamed up the early versions of Alexandra when we were kids. His imagination was wild, and he would beg us all to play with him. Zombies and monsters. Demon hunters and dragon slayers. I’m the closest to his age, but I never would. I could never be Alexandra. Those first incarnations of Alex were tough, brave, kind and funny. I’m girly-girl through and through. All princess dresses and fairy wings.” She sighs and waves her hand at her occupied sisters. “We were all a great disappointment to him.”

“Huh. I wonder why he would tell me that then?”

“If I had to guess, it’s because he finally found her — you — and he didn’t know what else to say.”

“I know he chose me for Alexandra because I can play the part, but I don’t think I’m like her very much in real life. Alex is a goddess.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Ruby Miller. I suspect you have more goddess in you than you could ever know. I’ve never seen my brother look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

“You think he’s attracted to me because I’m like Alexandra? Because that’s weird.” I grimace. “And maybe a little creepy.”

Her hand comes down on my shoulder. “No! He doesn’t like you because you’re like Alexandra — he likes you because he has spent his entire life trying to make up a girl who is worthy of his time. A fictional, pretend, drawn girl.[3] You, dear, are the first real girl who has surpassed this image. He’s no longer the little boy trying to make a friend with common interests. He no longer needs the fabrication. He has you.”

“What if I’m not? I’m not brave or tough or those other things.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I heard you’re the girl who fought for this role. You fought your parents and your lack of experience and the fans who didn’t believe in you. You’re tough enough to stand up to agents and your friends. You make the right choices in hard situations. Not everyone can do that.”

I’m speechless. Because no one has ever spoken to me like this, and because she is right. I did do all those things.

“Yes, you have all the traits for a girl my brother would adore. Plus, I’ve seen pictures of you in your costume. You look fantastic. One look at that and I imagine he was a goner.” She leans a little and looks around me. “Oh look, they’re setting up the cake — come on.”

Across the room, on top of the bar, a huge cake sits with the Zocopalypse logo. Candles cover the top. The sisters walk off and a heavy arm lands across my shoulder. Andrew is by my side.

“Hi,” I say leaning into him.

He has his eye on the cake. “I wish I could eat that.”

“Doooo it,” I taunt. But I know he won’t. Cake is not on the Andrew Xavier negative carb/sugar/anything-that-tastes-good diet.

“So, um, I want to introduce you to someone.” He moves to the side and I see him. Handsome, tall, slim but fit. “This is my friend, Carter.”

I offer my hand, but Carter obviously has other ideas because I’m engulfed in a hug. “Hi, Carter,” I say into his chest. I take a breath. What’s up with these delicious-smelling guys?

He releases me and says, “Ah, Ruby, the other woman.”

“That’s me. Breaking up relationships left and right.” I say. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m so glad to be here.” The two exchange a look. A happy look.

“Can you eat cake or are you on the zero-carb, no fun diet too?”

“Oh, I can definitely eat cake.”

“Excellent, we can go eat cake and then talk about Andrew like he’s not here.”

He smiles big and wide. “Perfect.”

g

“I want to show you something.”

I step to the front of the restaurant with Gabe and let him lead me through the parking lot. Tucked behind an SUV is the rusty Chevy we used in the movie.

“What’s this?”

“I bought it.”

“You did?” I run my hand down the tailgate. “You’re going to take the truck back to New York?”

He catches my hand in his. “Nope. I bought it for you. A memento of sorts. Plus, you don’t have a car for school.”

“I’m not sure this clunker can take the mileage.”

He smiles. “The outside looks the same, but I had a mechanic check it out and make some upgrades. Runs like a charm. Perfectly safe.”

I search for the right words. “I kind of love this truck. Do you buy all your new girlfriends cars?”

“Only the ones who can decapitate a zombie in 10 seconds,” he says, opening the door to the cab. I climb inside, smoothing my skirt under my legs. Gabe opens the passenger door and sits next to me. “It’s the least I can do. To thank you.”

“For what, exactly?”

“You made this happen for me.”

“What do you mean?” I swallow.

“The movie, Alexandra, Issue 4. You, me.”

“Oh, all that.”

“Yeah, all that.”

“I don’t think I’m fully responsible.”

He looks at me for a moment and says, “You know that part where Cole gets cornered by the zombies while trying to get food for everyone, and Alex risks her life by luring them into the basement of the house where they are able to destroy them all and escape?”

“You know I do.”

“Alexandra saved him that day. From the swarming zombies and certain death.”

“She’s badass.”

He laces his fingers though mine. “Will you be my Alexandra?”

“I think my days as Alexandra are over, but if you want me to be your Ruby, I can manage that.”

“I want both. We’ll just have to make another movie.”

“If you make another movie, then you have to share me with Andrew again. Wyatt doesn’t go anywhere.”

“I think Wyatt has some issues he needs to deal with, plus you and I both know what he finds when they get inside the army command center.”

I shake my head, still mourning the loss of my favorite couple. “You haven’t started Issue 5 yet. Cole and Alex may not work. Wyatt may still have a chance.”

He scoots across the bench seat. “Or Cole and Alex may be the epic couple no one ever anticipated.”

“Epic?”

“Yes, epic. Eternal. Fated.”

“Maybe the zombie apocalypse wasn’t started by the government. Maybe it was really the Fates.” I smile, egging him to continue.

“Maybe they have superpowers.”

“Ooh! Yes! Superpowers! Like maybe the zombie bites give them super-strength.”

“What?” He frowns.

“Yeah, like, if you’re bitten by a zombie you reanimate into another zombie who can move things with their mind.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this makes sense.”

“You know what makes sense?”

“What?” I ask, loving his silliness.

He kisses me in the front seat of that truck, and it’s so much better than the last kiss I had in here. He’s sweet and tastes like cake.

“This. This makes sense.”

g

[1] Samantha: aka Alexandra, aka me.

[2] Caroline: mean girl Chloe is based on.

[3] I would judge him on this but it seems a bit hypocritical due to my three-year obsession with a zombie fighter named Wyatt, and recent events with a movie star named Andrew.

Epilogue

Two weeks before filming resumes, the Zocopalypse cast joins creator Gabe Foster and producer Nick Parker for Atlanta’s Annual FantasyCon. Andrew Xavier, who won an Emmy for his portrayal of Wyatt Crawford, will headline the panel with his co-star Ruby Miller and will discuss their breakout show, returning for season two and, hopefully, Gabe Foster will reveal a secret or two from the soon-to-be-released fourth installment of the Zocopalypse series.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

QueenAlex

@z.net Can’t wait for the panel! Anyone got a livestream?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wyattsbabe

@z.net I saw a script for season 2. Cole dies. #truth

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net Season 1 was amazing! Can’t wait for 2! #zombies

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Queenwannabee

@z.net@alexkicksZass Rumor says Ruby stayed in Andrew’s hotel room last night. Once a cheater…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wootyeahboys

@z.net Will Andrew ever come out? Ever? Just do it, bro. We’ve got your back.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Zombieprincess

@z.net Gabe and Ruby are adorable. Can’t wait for pics!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hatchetlover

@z.net Will you be tweeting live? Have they shown up yet? Interview this year?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Andrewspants

@z.net Andrew in chaps was amazing. Next, naked. Bring it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WyattluvsAlex

@z.net I think Ruby and Andrew are still together. They were seen holding hands the other night at that sushi place.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Z.net

The panel starts in 10 minutes! Live tweeting here throughout — interview with the cast posted ASAP! #zocopalypse

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I peek through the curtain. “Holy crap! There are like,” I can’t even come up with a number, “a lot of people out there.”

Iris squeezes next to me and pushes back the fabric. “They said 5,000, the room looks full.”

“I’m not sure if I can do this.”

She drops the curtain. “Nah, you’re Ruby Miller, the real life embodiment of Alexandra, zombie hunter. You can handle that crowd.”

We smile at each other. Knowing what the other is thinking. “Can you believe it? A year ago we were out there, two little fangirls, waiting for the panel.”

“Ecstatic to sit in the press section!”

“Hoping for Gabe’s autograph.”

“Now you get to kiss him.”

“Mmmhmm, I do.”

“It’s been a crazy year.”

Iris runs her hand through her hair. Gone are the long braids and in their place is a short curly haircut that looks fantastic and makes her look three years older. “Insane. But you kept your promise. You’ve managed school and this acting thing, plus having a long-distance boyfriend.”

“A couple of times I thought I would fail. Big time. Juggling everything was hard.”

“Like me and Nick. That relationship went nowhere fast.”

“Iris, he’s almost 30.”

“I know and no hard feelings. He helped me get a legit summer internship on the show. No more following you around for free.”

The same bushy-haired moderator as last year walks by and says, “Five minutes, ladies.”

“Let me get in my seat — the fans are waiting on me!”

“See you after the panel,” I say, and my butterflies return the second she walks away. The feeling subsides when a pair of arms wraps around my stomach and a scratchy beard brushes across my neck. “Hi, finish your interview?”

“One down, seven million to go,” he laughs, turning me around. “But this time, I have you with me all day so I think I can make it.”

“I hope I don’t make an ass of myself.”

“You’ll be fine. The fans love you.”

“Not all of them.” Although ZWankHard no longer exists, its distant cousins ZombieWank and AlexWank have popped up in its place.

“Price of fame.” He gives me a kiss, which is nice, but I place my hands on his chest and push him away. “What?”

“What?” I roll my eyes. “First of all, cameras. Second, that beard? Although I like it, it rips up my face. I’m not walking out on that stage looking like you and I were just making out back here.”

“No?” He goes in for another kiss. I cave for a second before twisting out of his reach.

“No.” Andrew and Nick walk through the back door and wave. The moderator walks past us and on to the stage. The crowd cheers so loud I have to yell. “But just think! Two weeks and we’ll have the whole summer!”

“Ah, yes, a whole summer of working 16-hour days, fighting zombies and dodging paparazzi. Bliss.”

“I can’t wait.”

There’s a break in the clapping and Gabe’s name is called. This year, Andrew and I are headlining the panel. I give him a quick kiss and he ducks through the curtain.

“You look happy,” Andrew says, taking my hand. He’s a little thinner than last year. I overheard him say something about more cardio, less weights — I have no idea. Either way, he may actually look more fantastic than a year ago.

“You, too.”

“I never knew the zombie apocalypse would be the best thing that happened to me,” he says.

“Would it be weird if I said I wasn’t surprised?”

“For a geek like you?” he asks, touching the rims of my glasses. “No.”

Again, we can hear the crowd settle as the moderator prepares to introduce us. “Who’s going first?”

“What’s our rule?”

“Rule?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Wyatt and Alexandra have a deal. I think it applies here.[1]”

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

“Never.”

I hear my name called and a roar of applause. Andrew holds up my hand and I take a deep, final breath. “Ready?”

I exhale and push back the curtain and walk onto the stage.

g

[1] Never separate.

Acknowledgements

Although I am a fangirl, I did not write this book about myself. I do not want to run a website, be in a movie or date a comic book nerd. I may have already married a comic book nerd, so really, that ship has sailed, although I would pretend date Zac Efron if I could. Alas, this seems unlikely. What I do need to do is thank everyone who helped me get this book off the ground. Again, it took a village and I am equally thankful to everyone.

Each book has a process and it starts with those who help the story make sense. Tracie, Alicia, Rachel, Liz , Vanessa and Kristin get the messy work. They have to muck through the early, unedited versions that bear little resemblance to the end result and tell me where the plot breaks down.

I owe huge thanks to those who go in with the red pen and make it nice. Beth and Anne did the heavy work. Anne is the best because she has a tiny notebook she takes notes in while we eat hamburgers. She keeps everything straight in her little book that in my head looks like flowers and rainbows and dancing bears.

A special thank you to Beth and Denise for helping me with my photo illustration crisis. Beth helped us with the big idea and Denise stayed up all hours to get me the finished product. Not to mention the images in the first place. I owe her many things. Hugs will not be one of them though.

I forced CA into my world of bookselling by formatting and learning how to get this thing live. It only took some minor prodding to keep him on task. I appreciate all the hard work, dealing with me and existing in our home as I live life in another reality.

Finally, I owe so much thanks to Sam. Good grief, the list is endless.

1. For talking to me about all of this

2. For making my website and dealing with my techno fail

3. For making Ruby

4. For sharing the gift of Zwank

5. For surviving The Great Color War of 2012 (aka what happens when two artists have to decide on a color)

6. When I freaked out about illustrations

7. For all that other stuff I need and continue to need forever and ever

8. And finally, for sending the ZEfron Juice picture when I need it most.

Other thanks go to all The Girlz who support me at all times (including the Bates girls who didn’t think I could work the word cheiloproclitic into a novel) all of my readers who made Wraith a great first release and for all of the fangirls who understand.

About The Author

Angel Lawson lives with her family in Atlanta and has a life long obsession with creating fiction from reality, either with paint or with words. On a typical day you can find her writing, getting the glitter out of her nails and plotting zombie escape plans. Her first book Wraith, a paranormal ghost story, can be purchased on Amazon and Barnes & Nobel

Angel can be found at www.angellawson.com, on Facebook and on twitter at @lawsonwrites.

Also By Angel . . .

Wraith

Freak. Weird. Crazy. These are the names tossed around seventeen-year old Jane Watts by her fellow classmates. But things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes there’s a reason for talking to yourself in the hallway at school.

Adjusting to her new home and school after an abrupt move, Jane wants one thing in life—to be like everyone else at school, but that’s hard to do when you’re the new kid. Although she does manage to make one friend, Evan—he’s sixteen, charming, and protective. Everything a girl could want in a best friend…with one minor caveat.

He’s dead.

Caught somewhere between life and death, Evan is tied to Jane and the living world unable to complete the journey to the other side. She thinks he’s here to be her friend, to take care of her, and that’s why no one can see or hear him.

That is until a new boy shows up at school after a rumored stretch in Juvie. Connor can see Evan and he’s not convinced the ghost is being completely honest. From his own experience ghosts tend to need something from the humans they connect to and Evan, despite his arguments isn’t any different.

Jane is resentful of Connor’s intrusion but realizes soon enough he’s right. Evan has secrets about his past and not only did his life end tragically but members of his family are still in danger. Jane must face her fears and battle Evan’s human demons to free both of them.

Find more online at WraithBook.com.