Free FanGirl by Angel Lawson Page B

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.