Ship It Read online

  When I think about what my next gig could be, I just want it to be on a series or a movie that I’d actually watch. That my dad would watch—he’d never turn on some unknown genre show for teenagers and I wouldn’t ask him to. When Demon Heart ends, I want something more. But it was hard enough getting this job. The idea of going back for more auditions, more hoping, more waiting, more sitting alone in my apartment doing weights and eating lean protein and waiting for the phone to ring… it’s almost too much. Just as I start to feel myself falling down an anxiety spiral, Rico yanks me out.

  “You hear they’re rebooting the Red Zone movies?” he asks.

  I look at him. No. No, I did not hear that.

  “Rebooting the whole shebang,” he says.

  “What about Graves?” I ask. Jasper Graves has been the star of the Red Zone movies since the very beginning. I couldn’t imagine the franchise without him.

  “Apparently, they want someone new to play Jack Tension. Someone younger.” Rico holds up my Red Zone 3 game box where Jasper Graves grimaces out from behind an assault rifle. My heart springs and I picture myself stepping into Tension’s fatigues, picking up his assault rifle.

  “What do you think,” Rico says, making a tough-guy face, “do I have the look?”

  I let out my breath. Of course Rico would want to go out for it. Just because I’ve been playing the game every day for seven years doesn’t automatically qualify me for the role. He’s a much better actor than me, with a higher profile. Plus, he’s got like five million Twitter followers, which my agent tells me is so crucial. To which I remind my agent that I’m an actor, not a personality, and the work should speak for itself. But in this case, Rico’s probably right that his following, and his general being-good-at-everything-ness will land him that Red Zone role if he goes for it. Maybe I can play the villain…

  “I’m just kidding, dude!” Rico busts up laughing. “Jesus, you should see your face right now. I’m too old for Tension, brother. You should go for it.”

  Oh. I run my fingers through my hair anxiously. “You think?”

  “You got the look, you got the chops, you obviously love the material. I can’t imagine someone better. You’re destined for more than Demon Heart. Someday, I’ll be going to cons saying, ‘I used to be Forest Reed’s co-star.’”

  I smile; I can’t help it. Sometimes it feels like he’s decided to make himself my personal life coach, pumping me up, even when I know it’s horseshit.

  “I ever tell you how I got my role on Star Command?” Rico asks.

  “No.” Rico’s last role was on this heavy science fiction space show where he had to wear prosthetics every single day of shooting and yet he still only has positive things to say about it. The dude’s unflappable.

  “The show was already in its second season and I was obsessed with it, I had to be on it. So I recruited a bunch of friends to come with me to a Star Command convention. I bought them all autographs with Gary Levine, you know, the creator of the show? And gave them each one of my headshots to have him sign. By the time he signed his eighth or tenth picture of me, he was seriously wondering what the hell was going on.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “The best part was that I didn’t even have to approach him. Eventually he spotted me in the crowd and ran over to me. That’s when I knew I had him hooked. He demanded to know who I was and I just gave him another headshot, told him to call my agent, and walked away. Gary loved a shtick, though. Told me later he brought me in just to satisfy his curiosity, then I nailed the audition. Nine years later, that character is an icon.” He shrugs and takes a bite of his burrito. “Anyway, you gotta get to the director, the new one. Jon Reynolds.”

  “Jon Reynolds is directing the reboot?”

  “Yeah, man, didn’t you see Deadline? It broke this morning.”

  “How was I supposed to see Deadline when I was getting my ass kicked by you all day?”

  “Text alerts.” He smiles around his burrito.

  “So you think I should harass Jon Reynolds until he gives me an audition for Red Zone?”

  “Yup. You gotta convince him one way or another. Tell him this role is the one you were born for. Sell yourself,” Rico says.

  The very idea of having to sell myself makes my heart clench up in anxiety, but at the same time…Red Zone. What wouldn’t I do to get a role in Red Zone?

  I’m considering that when there’s a knock on my trailer door, and Paula Greenhill climbs the steps to come in.

  “Hello, boys.”

  Paula is our terrifyingly intense publicist. I’ve only met her once, at a photo shoot for TV Guide’s “Hot New Fall Shows,” and something about her effortless confidence and tailored pantsuits freaked me out. Still does. Today she’s wearing dark red lipstick and has her black bobbed hair slicked back and tucked behind her ears in a look that screams I’m in charge here.

  “We have great news!” She clasps her hands together excitedly.

  Our showrunner Jamie Davies trails behind Paula—he’s the guy who invented Smokey and Heart in the first place, which gave us all our jobs. Jamie’s the kind of boss who tries to be chums with everyone, but I’m never quite sure where I stand with him. He’s got on the same backward Dodgers hat and crisp black Chuck Taylors he always wears, as well as a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead and makes him look like a college student even though he must be in his forties. Today Jamie looks like a whipped dog, which can’t be good.

  “Well, it’s news, anyway,” Jamie says, and Paula shoots him a look. “The numbers are in from last night,” he continues. “Point three.”

  No wonder he looks miserable. “That’s not good,” I say.

  “Yeah, no,” Jamie says, “the technical term is in the shitter.”

  Paula takes over. “Now, we’re still waiting on digital and DVR numbers, so that will go up, but still, we need to do something. The Demon Heart audience, they’re young, they’re hard to reach. Our team is finding that they don’t respond to traditional marketing.”

  “Damn millennials!” Rico says, giving me a shove. I know he’s just trying to lighten the mood, but I hate it when he draws attention to my age. He’s only eleven years older than me, but sometimes he acts like I’m still a kid and he’s Cary Grant. It’s annoying.

  “So what’s that mean? What can we do?” I ask Paula.

  “First of all, stop worrying.” She takes a seat on the couch across from us. Jamie continues to stand, nervously picking at some old tape stuck to the wall, barely paying attention. “We still have a couple weeks left until the finale. If we can build our ratings, I’d feel a lot better about your chances of a season two.”

  “Oh, no problem, just grow our audience, seven months into the season? We’ll get right on that,” Jamie snarks from the corner.

  Paula ignores him. “To do that, we need to capture people’s attention, get them excited about Demon Heart. I want the world to adore you guys—especially you, Forest. They already know Rico, but you’re a fresh face. Let’s get the internet to fall in love with you.”

  “The internet’s new boyfriend,” Rico says with a wink.

  “I don’t know about that—”

  “No, that’s exactly right,” Paula says. “The first thing I want you to do is start tweeting.” Paula knocks on the window of my trailer and a young, hip-looking woman in an army jacket and high-waisted jeans, with curly hair flowing into her eyes, bounds into our space. This is officially too many people in my trailer at one time. “Forest, I want you to meet Caty Goodstein. After this, she’s gonna set you up with a Twitter account and teach you how to use it.”

  My head spins. I’ve successfully avoided social media my entire career, why should I have to start now that I’ve actually already made it? Caty gives me a big toothy smile and holds up her giant iPhone, made even giant-er by a bright pink rubber case with bunny ears sticking up from it. “You ready to pop that social media cherry?”

  “Not really,” I say.
r />   “Well, get ready, because that’s only the start,” Paula says. “In addition to a big social push, we’re also doing a live tour. As soon as you’re wrapped shooting the finale, we’ll send you out. Three conventions in a row, with traditional media, digital media, online activation, and social integration throughout. It’s going to be an all-hands-on-deck straight-up media blitz leading up to the finale. I want viral tweets, I want your faces on the front page of BuzzFeed, I want you trending on Tumblr, I want everyone and their aunt sharing you on Facebook, whatever it takes. I want eyes on our show. Sound good?”

  Sounds terrifying.

  Rico claps his hands together. “Oh my god, I looove conventions!” he moans.

  Jamie sighs, apparently feeling just as reticent as I am. “This isn’t Star Command, dude, these fans are different than you’re used to.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Ignore him,” Rico whispers.

  “It means Demon Heart fans are deranged,” Jamie says flatly.

  “Stop it,” Paula tells him. “They pay your bills.”

  “You don’t know what we deal with,” Jamie says. “You’re not getting their crazytalk on Twitter all day long.”

  “Crazy is good, as long as they’re crazy for Demon Heart,” Paula says. “We need to engage them, turn them into advocates. This audience doesn’t want me telling them what to watch, they want to hear it from each other.” She turns to me and Rico and drills into us with her eyes. “The point of conventions is to get them talking. Your job is to be giffable. These convention fans are more important than any ad buy. It’s on you, now.”

  Paula looks directly at Jamie, who is scowling. “If you want a second season,” she says, “this is how you do it.”

  Jamie looks at us with a resigned sigh. “You guys want to go to some conventions?”

  “Hell yes!” Rico says.

  “I guess I’m in,” I say with a shrug.

  “All right!” Caty pumps her fist.

  Paula smiles. “You’re gonna have a great time,” she says to me. “Really. Your first convention isn’t something you forget.”

  Rico slaps me on the back. “Let’s go save our show.”

  I PICK MY way up our front walk waving my arms in front of me to catch spiderwebs. Our yard is so overgrown that the neighbors have probably considered coming over and trimming everything for us, but I’m sure they were deterred by the numerous large sculptures of naked women on display among the greenery. (Okay, they’re just one woman. My mom. Self-portraits. I try not to think about it.)

  As soon as I push open the door, I smell pesto. Oh god, she’s cooking something off the internet again.

  “Hey, honey bunny, how was school?” Mom hollers from the kitchen.

  “Tremendous.” I drop my bag by the door and head for the stairs.

  “Something the matter, kiddo?” Dad asks, rounding the bend to find me. One thing about your parents being artists is they are always home. Which would be fine if they weren’t incredibly interested in my life at all times.

  “Everything’s fine, just another day in Pine Bluff,” I say on the way upstairs.

  “It’s eggplant pizzas in an hour!” Mom calls after me. Groan. I knew it was something off the internet.

  “There better be bread in that,” I say, halfway up.

  “No, the eggplant is the bread, isn’t that great?” she hollers.

  No. It’s not.

  “We’ll talk more at dinner!” Dad says.

  God, parents are so annoying with all their caring.

  The three Demon Heart posters hanging in my room aren’t quite enough to completely cover the horrible vintage wallpaper my mom plastered up when we moved in, but they don’t make more than three Demon Heart posters at the moment, so until the new season two merchandise comes out, I’ve covered the gaps with some old Citybreakers ads I took from my bookstore, and some Demon Heart fanart I printed out at the school library for five cents a page.

  I only feel comfortable at last when I have my perfect screen setup—laptop on my stomach, playing last week’s episode in the background, and my phone in my hand, scrolling through the comments on my most recent fic. Pretty positive responses so far, with comments like YOU DESTROYED MY WHOLE LIFE WHYYYY and I’M DEAD I’VE FALLEN DIRECTLY OUT OF MY CHAIR AND I AM DEAD NOW.

  Switching over to my Tumblr dash, I start scrolling when I see…

  Holy…

  What…

  Oh my god.

  I sit straight up and my laptop falls off my stomach onto the bed. My hands feel heavy and my vision blurs and I can’t quite read my phone screen anymore and my head is swimming.

  Because the cast of Demon Heart—my Demon Heart—is coming to Boise—my Boise.

  THIS. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  I didn’t even know I could hope for this. I didn’t even know this was in the realm of things that were possible.

  Why the hell are they coming to Boise? Why would anybody come to Boise? Boise is a town you get stuck in, not a town to travel to.

  Well, unless you live in Pine Bluff.

  I have to see them. Me. With Forest Reed and Rico. And Jamie. My brain short-circuits just even trying to comprehend it, so I have to keep saying it. I’m going to see them. I’m going to share an hour with them. Maybe if I’m lucky, the air vents will be pointed just the right way and I can smell them.

  That’s weird, I don’t care that that’s weird. DEMON HEART IS COMING TO IDAHO, I GET TO BE WEIRD IF I WANT.

  I take the stairs two at a time and fly into the kitchen.

  “Forest Reed, Rico Quiroz, and Jamie Davies are all going to be at Boise Comic-Con! They just announced it!” I am bursting in eleven different directions at once and Mom is taking mini eggplant pizzas out of the oven like this is just a normal Tuesday. Forget the non-pizzas, Mom, SmokeHeart in Idaho! Nothing ever happens in Idaho, much less this. It hits me all over again, and I have to lean against the kitchen counter because I don’t trust my legs to hold me up. My favorite ship, my OTP, my ONE TRUE FREAKING PAIRING, is coming to my home state, just a couple hours from me. It’s too much, it’s too much. My poor heart can’t take it. I am but one mere fangirl, how can I be expected to survive this?

  Dad looks at Mom for help. “Who?” he mouths to her, uncovertly.

  “Demon Heart. They’re the Demon Heart guys!” I cry, gesturing at my T-shirt.

  “That’s exciting!” Mom says, at a fraction of the appropriate excitement level.

  “So can I go?” I ask. “I have the money.”

  “All the way to Boise?” Dad says, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. I can hear it already, his “my little girl” voice he uses when I want to do something he feels is dangerous.

  “I’ve been to Boise by myself before,” I say. There’s a bus that goes there that I’ve taken to go to the mall and do school shopping. I mean, for pete’s sake, we used to live there before we moved to godforsaken Pine Bluff.

  “Not overnight you haven’t,” he says.

  “It’s fine! I’m old enough!” I take a breath and straighten up and focus on making my voice as serious and calm and adult as possible. “This is Demon Heart, Dad.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something else when Mom interrupts him. “I’ll take her,” she says.

  “Hon…”

  I stare at her. “Really?” I literally can’t picture my mother, Trudi Strupke, at a convention.

  “What? A grown woman can’t enjoy herself at Comic-Con?” Mom asks, puffing up.

  “Yeah, cool! Cool!” I’m not gonna argue with her when she’s trying to help. I can feel my heart starting to pound because it looks like this might happen.

  “When your father moved us to this town, he promised it would be more relaxing than the city. That we’d get so much work done,” Mom says. She gestures at the wall in the living room where a bunch of her self-portrait oil paintings hang, and, like, half of them are of her, naked, just like the sculptures in the
front yard. It’s humiliating. Or it would be, if I ever had anyone over. If I had anyone to have over.

  “And you know what?” she continues. “Your father was right, I have gotten a lot of work done. But Mama misses her Vietnamese food. I’m coming with you.”

  “Fine!” I say. As long as I get to go, that’s the important thing.

  “S’okay with me,” Dad mutters.

  “Woooooooooo!” I holler and punch the air. It’s happening!

  “I’m going to the city!” Mom squeals as Dad grumbles and waves his hand dismissively. High emotion isn’t his strong suit. But he’ll be all alone for the weekend—I’m sure he’s excited to get some poems written without us around. Mom French-kisses him.

  “Gross,” I say out of habit, but my heart’s not in it. I’m soaring right now.

  Back up in my room, I go to one of the posters on the wall—the one where the characters are in profile, just inches from each other. Carefully, I unpin one side and fold the poster along a worn crease down the middle, bringing the sides together so that Smokey and Heart can kiss.

  I get to see Forest and Rico. In person.

  SmokeHeart.

  My heart swells just thinking about it.

  “So Heart is the hero, he’s the demon with a heart.”

  “Demon Heart,” Mom says, piecing it together.

  “Exactly. But Smokey’s the one everyone really likes,” I explain. “We’re supposed to root against him because he’s Heart’s antagonist or whatever, but who could hate that face?”

  We’re in the car coming into Boise, and I’m trying to give Mom a crash course in Demon Heart so she doesn’t humiliate me when we get there.

  “So why does Smokey hate Heart if he’s a good guy?”

  “Well, because Smokey’s a demon hunter, and Heart is a demon. But Smokey just won’t believe that Heart isn’t like other demons just because he has a…?” I raise my eyebrows and wait.

  “Heart?”

  “Ding, ding, ding. Basically Smokey’s discriminating against all demons without thinking of them as individuals. And yeah, most of them are evil, but he already knows Heart isn’t like the others, he just doesn’t trust Heart yet. But they’d actually be really good partners, if Smokey would ever get his life together and learn to trust another person.” I sigh. This show is just so good. “You know, that classic thing where the guy acts all tough because he doesn’t want to let anyone in, and the person he’s pushing away the hardest is actually the one who’d be best for him? Yeah, that. That’s why everyone ships them.”