Page 37 of With a Little Luck

But here, right in front of us, he seems almost human.

Maya halts. For a moment, she is as motionless as the statue in my comic, staring speechlessly at the man who is smiling serenely back at us, twiddling a black Sharpie in his fingers.

“Good evening,” he says in a posh British accent. “How are you tonight?”

Maya makes a sound that is a bit like a whimper, and if it were possible for eyes to turn into giant hearts like they do in anime, I know that’s what hers would be doing right now.

Funny, that. Sadashiv is a famous singer, with millions of fans all over the world. Maya is just a normal girl. But somehow, in that moment, it occurs to me that her crush on him isn’t unlike my crush on her. She has him up on a pedestal, not unlike the pedestal I put her on in my comic.

Something about that realization gives me courage. Maybe it’s because I’m not a huge fan of Sadashiv—he’s just a guy with a nice voice who sings sappy love songs that he didn’t even write—but I don’t feel nervous at all as I place my hand on Maya’s back and nudge her toward the table.

“We’re great,” I say. “I’m Jude, and this is Maya. She’s a huge fan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Sadashiv takes a poster off the stack beside him. He hardly looks at it as he scrawls his signature across the bottom. “I’ve got to admit, my music tends to draw an older crowd. It’s nice to see some younger faces in the audience.”

“You’re our radio giveaway winners, aren’t you?” says the publicist. “The high school students?”

“Yeah. We go to Fortuna Beach High,” I say. “I wasn’t technically supposed to be on my phone during school, but … no regrets.”

“I bet not,” says the publicist.

“Fortuna Beach?” says Sadashiv, drumming the cap of the Sharpie against the table. “That’s close to here, isn’t it? I’ve heard it’s quite nice.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” I say.98

“I love you,” Maya suddenly spits out, as if these words are all she can manage. “I mean. I love your music. So much.”

He grins. “You like the old standards?”

“I do now. I mean, your last album. I fell asleep to it every night for, like, a month after it came out. It’s just … so beautiful. Your voice is beautiful.”

Sadashiv smiles at her, but I can tell he hears this about a million times a day, and that maybe it’s lost some of its novelty. “You’re very kind. I’m looking forward to being back in the studio soon. I hope you’ll like the next album just as much.” He takes another poster and scrawls his name.

“Do you think you’ll ever do original songs?” I ask.

Maya shoots me an alarmed look, but Sadashiv doesn’t bat an eye.

“I’ve often thought about it,” he says. “I love the old songs, but I know there are a lot of talented songwriters in the world today, too.”

“A friend of mine is a songwriter.”

“Oh?”

“I mean—she wants to be. She’s really great. She doesn’t have any songs out in the world yet, but we’re recording her first video tomorrow, for a competition hosted by the Condor Music Festival. She might even get to perform.”

“How exciting,” says Sadashiv, though I can tell he’s just being nice now. “What is your friend’s name?”

“Ari. I mean—Araceli Escalante.”

Sadashiv slides both posters toward us. “That’s a great name. I’m wishing her the best of luck.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

Maya and I take our posters.

“Let’s get a picture!” says the publicist, turning us around. We smile as a camera flashes, then we’re being ushered away. Behind me, I can already hear Sadashiv greeting the next group in line.

“I can’t believe that just happened!” Maya cries as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Look! He drew a heart!” She holds up her poster, and I see that he did indeed draw a neat little flourishing heart at the end of his autograph.99

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