FanGirl (5 page)

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

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.”