FanGirl (16 page)

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Wyattsbabe

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

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Hatchetlover

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

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Queenwannabee

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

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Wootyeahboys

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

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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?

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

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WyattluvsAlex

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

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Z.net

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

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AlexkicksZass

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

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Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass #8 Fire

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AlexkicksZass

@Gabielsinferno ?

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Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass Making fire.

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AlexkicksZass

@Gabielsinferno Like with your hands?

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Gabrielsinferno

@AlexkicksZass With my mind.

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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.”