FanGirl Read online

  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 eye
s. 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 p
ut 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]?”