Fangirl by Ken Baker Page A

Ashley added. “But check it out: he’s even cuter up close. Perfect skin. Swearzy.”
    â€œI already am so hating you right now.”
    â€œSeriously, Jose-ski, don’t get all hormonal on me.”
    The second-period bell sounded and the two girls grabbed their backpacks and walked across the courtyard. Their nerdy-but-nice musical director, Mr. Marrin, walked up as they approached class. “Good morning, ladies,” he said with an emoticon-like smiley face. Mr. Marrin normally wore a tie and shirt to school. Today, he wore a brown corduroy sports jacket and a nice pair of jeans, the dress-up outfit he normally reserved for performances only.
    â€œAshley, can you come with me?” he said.
    â€œAm I in trouble?”
    â€œNo, no, no. Just come with me.”
    â€œCan Josie come with?”
    Mr. Marrin laughed. “Of course.”
    Josie noticed that not only was Mr. Marrin acting odd, but on most mornings the courtyard was bustling with kids hurrying to their next class. Instead a group of kids huddled on the far side of the courtyard by Mr. Riley’s drama room, where Josie and Ashley had after-school chorus. The group of kids were trying to peek into the windows, but the blinds were drawn.
    â€œWhy’s everyone freaking out over there?” Ashley asked.
    â€œNo clue,” Josie replied.
    She and Ashley stepped to the rear of the swelling mob. “Maybe ole Rilerz finally got in trouble with the principal for playing Eminem too loud or something,” Ashley wondered.
    â€œNo. Really, Ash. This is so not normal.”
    They stepped through the crowd and into the classroom. Immediately, a TV camera pointed at them. Not like the kind of tiny flip cameras fans focused on Peter last night, or the cheap handy-cams they used in the AV department. Rather, it was a big news camera, with a light shining from atop it and an audio guy poking a boom mic at them.
    â€œSurprise!” Hot Hollywood reporter Jackson Phillips yelled, jumping out from behind his camera guy.
    If human jaws were physiologically capable of opening up so big that from a standing position a chin could touch the floor, Josie’s and Ashley’s would have done just that. The room full of students and some looky-loo teachers erupted in applause.
    But as Jackson and the cameraman walked closer to Ashley and Josie, each girl’s reactions looked startlingly different. Ashley beamed and put her hands to her oval mouth like a pageant queen. Josie, however, stood stiff as a mannequin, wrinkling her forehead in confusion the way one does when someone starts randomly speaking a completely foreign language to you on the street.
    â€œAshley Rogers,” Jackson announced. “You’ve won the ‘Sing It to the Maxx’ contest!”
    Josie’s expression instantly turned into horror-film fright. But Ashley’s “OH MY GOD” squeal redirected everyone’s focus on the winner, who by now was jumping up and down as if on a pogo stick.
    â€œAshley,” Jackson said. “Before we tell you what you’ve won, I’d like for you to meet someone. . . .”
    The camera panned quickly to the person sitting behind the teacher’s desk with his back to everyone. Slowly, he swiveled the chair around . . . “PETER MAXX!!!!!!”
    Few moments happen in life when you experience something so jarring to your system that, just in order to comprehend what you’re seeing, your brain, as some sort of primal coping mechanism, turns everything you’re seeing into slow motion.
    Peter’s blue eyes filling up the room like light beams as he stood up and said, “Congratulations, Ashley.” . . . Ashley darting toward the gorgeous pop star and hugging him . . . the cameras capturing all the craziness . . . the room, filled with a hundred or so people, cheering wildly . . . Josie standing stiff as a statue . . . her face turning white as the ivory keys on the piano