Page 47 of With a Little Luck

My chest constricts.Seriously, Jude? I force a laugh. “Just kidding. I’ll probably … you know, start saving up for the next time Sadashiv is back in town? I hear those VIP tickets aren’t cheap.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” says Brynn, giving Maya a meaningful look.

I don’t think I imagine the way Maya shifts a bit closer to me. But it isn’t until the conversation has moved on that she leans closer, her voice low. “Am I really going to have to wait that long for you to ask me out again?”

I inhale sharply and meet her eye.

That smile is back. The one that’s a little teasing, and the tiniest bit unsure of herself.

Before I can even begin to think of a response, the bell rings and everyone jumps up from the table.

Maya catches my arm before I can head off to fourth period. “About tomorrow,” she says. “Is it still okay if I crash your shindig?”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for my brain to catch up and realize she’s asking about D&D night.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Your friends don’t mind?”

I follow her gaze to where César and Matt are waiting by the exit doors, watching us. César, to my horror, raises his arms in my direction, pumping them in the air like a cheerleader.

Of course, Matt won’t be there, but I should probably tell César and Russell and the others that Maya is going to be joining us. I completely forgot. I guess I wasn’t sure it was real.

“They don’t mind,” I say.

“Great,” says Maya. “Text me the address.”

She heads off in a different direction, her bookbag slung over her shoulder. I wave after her.

It’s only then that the feeling of nausea I’ve had all morning finally starts to fade.

119

Chapter Sixteen

Quint and Pru are in their element. Quint’s been moving chairsand shelves and lamps around for the last thirty minutes, trying to set up the perfect “frame” in the corner of the record store, while Pru has been gleefully checking things off a list she made the day before. She keeps talking about submission guidelines and entry forms and metadata and hashtags—evidently it isn’t enough that Ari record her first song and post it online. To Pru, this is Ari’s chance to launch her songwriting career. And while Pru may not know much about music or filmography, she definitely knows about promotion and marketing and career management. Or, at least, she does a good job of pretending she knows about these things.

For her part, Ari seems content to pick out riffs on her guitar strings and wait for Pru and Quint to tell her what to do.

As for me, I’m working.

Sort of.

Business has been slow all afternoon.

“So,” says Ari, fingers dancing along the guitar neck. “The date went well?”

I haven’t told her much. I haven’t told anyone much of anything, because what am I supposed to say? There was a limo. Sadashiv signed our posters. Maya grinned at me like I had moved the heavens to bring her to that concert, when really all I did was make a lucky phone call.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was great.”120

Ari smiles, but it’s tight-lipped and doesn’t reach her eyes.

She’s probably nervous. She’s still playing around on the guitar, and it amazes me how she can play and talk at the same time. Sometimes I wonder if her brain even recognizes what her fingers are doing, or if it’s all muscle memory at this point. I also wonder if she’s playing a riff she knows or if she’s just making it up, testing out new combinations of notes, writing a song, subconsciously, even now. I don’t recognize the melody.

“Don’t even bother trying to get more details out of him,” says Pru. She has the laptop that she and I share for schoolwork propped up on the far end of the counter. I think she’s setting up Ari’s brand-new YouTube profile, which I guess I’m supposed to be making a header graphic for at some point? “That’s all he’ll say about it. ‘Great. Yeah. Fine. Limos are neat.’” She scowls at me. “Not like going on a date with Maya isn’t a huge flipping deal.”

I shrug uncomfortably. “What do you want to know?”

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