Page 33 of With a Little Luck

“That’s not a no.” I consider the question. “His music isn’t my favorite, but I don’t hate it or anything.”

“Oh, good. You should say that when we meet him.I don’thateyour music or anything.”

I laugh, leaning against the cushioned seat. “My younger sisters are obsessed with him. He’s clearly talented. We play him at the store sometimes. He sounds good.”

Maya’s eyebrows quirk upward. “Keep going. He’s more flattered by the second.”

I press my hands into the bench seat. “If you want to know the truth, I just … sort of feel like the old standards have been done. How many people have covered songs by Sinatra and Nat King Cole? Like, a lot, right? I don’t think Sadashiv does anything really interesting to make the songs his own. But that’s just me.”

Maya nods understandingly. “When we meet him, you should suggest that he record some originals.”

“You think so?”

She leans forward, punching me on the leg. “No, you absolutely should not say that! He sells millions of records! He does not want career advice from a couple of random high schoolers from Fortuna Beach.”

I laugh, feeling some of my anxiety start to ebb away. No one is more surprised than me, but … this feels comfortable. Ish.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, though. This is why I like Maya, have always liked Maya. She’s the sort of person who puts people at ease. Who can make anyone feel worthy of her presence, even if they’re not.

“Well,” says Maya, crossing one leg over the other. “Even if you’re not a fan, I’m really happy that you’re taking me to this tonight.”

“I’m really happy you said yes.”

We fall into silence. Well, except for the pounding music. There’s an89unspoken truth in the air, filling up the limo like bad perfume. The fact that I have had a crush on Maya for forever. The fact that I have wanted to ask her out for years. And she knows it. We both know it.

Would she have still said yes, if it was to anything other than a Sadashiv concert? What if I’d invited her to go for ice cream? Or go to the arcade? Or don her nicest corset and join me at the annual Renaissance Faire?

It doesn’t matter, I try to tell myself. We’re here now. Shedidsay yes. And we are here. And we are …

Not speaking.

Maya’s gaze is on the tinted windows, her lips twisted to one side, and I can see her struggling to think of something else to say.

I imagine a tiny Penny on my shoulder, Lucy on the other.

Be yourself.

Be yourself, butlessyourself.

I suck in a long breath. “So … do you know where you want to go to college yet?”

Ugh.Really, Jude? Way to ask a question with all the cool factor of a nosy great-aunt.

But Maya takes it in stride. “My parents met at UCLA, so there’s a lot of Livingstone pride there. But I don’t know. I sort of think it would be neat to study abroad. Maybe go to Oxford or Melbourne or something.” She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling of the limousine. “I don’t really have anything figured out yet.”

“Who does?” I say, even though I’m actually surprised by her answer. Pru already has a ten-year plan in place for after high school, and for some reason, I’d expected Maya to be the same. Her scores always put her at the top of our class, and she certainlyactslike she has everything figured out. Maybe she’s just being humble?

“How about you?” she asks.

“Oh—um. Not really sure. I figure I’ll probably go to community college for the first couple years, get my associate’s. After that … I don’t know. Art school, maybe. If I can get in.”

Her expression lights up. “Yes! For illustration?”90

“Yeah, maybe? Or, graphic design?”

“That would be amazing. Your drawings are so good.”

I squint one eye closed, a half wince. “I’m not really that good.”

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