Page 92 of With a Little Luck

“Sure. I’m on it.”

I swivel to the computer as Dad takes the recycling out to the dumpster in the alley behind the store.

I’ve only begun to fill out our order when a woman wearing an expensive-looking shawl comes up to the counter with a stack of records.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” I ask.

“Yes, yes, you have a very nice selection,” she says in a thick Indian accent, tapping her fingers on the top album. Sadashiv’s newest record. “I especially love all this British Invasion music.”237

I laugh, though I’m not sure if she’s trying to make a joke. I guess he could be considered British Invasion for Gen Z?

“I saw Sadashiv in concert recently,” I say, ringing up her purchases (which I see also include the Yardbirds and the Hollies, so some classic Brits, too).

“Oh?” says the woman, opening her purse and counting out some cash from her wallet. “Did you enjoy it?”

I hesitate, not entirely sure how to answer. Ididenjoy that night … even if things with Maya ultimately didn’t work out how I’d hoped.

At my hesitation, the woman laughs. “Maybe you are not his target demographic. To each his own.”

“I actually liked it more than I thought I would,” I say, neatly stacking up her purchases before sliding them into a paper bag, then counting out her change. “I hope you enjoy these,” I say, passing her the bag.

“That looked like a good sale,” says Dad, as soon as the woman is gone. “How many records did she buy?”

“Nine or ten,” I say.

“Not bad.” He pulls out a box of our most recent intake of used records and starts evaluating the condition so they can be priced. “You know, your mom and I watched some of the videos on Ari’s page last night. They turned out really great. Pru says you had a hand in that.”

Feeling self-conscious, I go back to filling out our order for Record Store Day. “I didn’t do much.”

“Regardless. We’re really proud of Ari. And of you.” He sighs. “You know, someday we’re going to be selling records with her songs on them. And I’ll get to tell all her adoring fans—that girl is like another daughter to me. I’ve known her since she was yea big …” He holds his hand at waist-high.

“We met Ari when she was twelve,” I say. “Not four.”

“Twelve? Really?No.It feels like she’s been part of the family for way longer than that.”

I shake my head. “It was right after we started seventh grade. Mom238took Lucy and Penny back-to-school shopping, and Pru and I were doing homework up at the counter, and you had Ellie strapped into one of those baby carrier things?”

“Oh, yeah, I loved those days,” Dad says nostalgically, pressing a hand to his heart. “I miss having a baby around.”

Commenting on this seems like a surefire way to get another sister, so I don’t.

“And Ari came in with her dad, and the two of you were gushing about what it’s like to watch little girls grow up, or something like that. I remember you let him hold Ellie for a while. And the whole time, Ari was buzzing around the store like she’d found paradise. Oh, with that binder she always carried with her! Remember the binder?”

Dad’s eyes widen. “I forgot about that. Haven’t seen it in a while.”

“I think she’s gone digital now,” I say, surprised at how nostalgicI’msuddenly feeling, remembering that purple binder covered in retro stickers of peace signs, daisies, a VW Bug, A guitar that looked a lot like the one she inherited from her grandfather. On the inside—sheet protectors and pages and pages of albums that twelve-year-old Ari had kept religiously organized. By genre and alphabetical by artist, it had been her master list of all the albums she already had in her collection (most of which were actually her dad’s collection), along with an ever-growing wish list of albums she still wanted to find.

“You and David were so busy talking that she kept coming up to me and Pru and asking where to find things,” I say. “And we were pretty clueless, but I tried so hard to help her. To pretend like I knew what I was talking about. Like I was a total expert on Ventures Vinyl, ’cause …” I trail off, my cheeks going pink.

Because I wanted to impress her. I wanted to impress that exuberant, quirky, music-loving girl, who had shown up in my parents’ store like a ray of unexpected sunshine.

Dad’s voice is soft. “That’s right. You hit it off right away, didn’t you? I’d forgotten all about that.”239

I smile wanly. “Why is it so quiet in here? I don’t remember the record stopping.”

I busy myself changing out the record on the turntable, but my thoughts are still on that first meeting with Ari. How eager I’d been to find any excuse to keep talking to her. How disappointed I was when she left, more than an hour later, a stack of albums clutched in her arms.

It wasn’t until later that night, lying in bed thinking of the girl with the electric smile, that the guilt had set in. By then, I’d long sworn my eternal devotion to Maya Livingstone. The girl I was sure was my soul mate. How could I be so fickle, to feel my heart so easily stirred by a pretty stranger?

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