FanGirl by Angel Lawson

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