Page 2 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

I unmuted the page, just for a second. The tiny speakers on my terminal were awful, tinny and thin, but even through that, her voice wrapped around my cubicle and made everything else disappear. The melody dropped into that familiar progression, the one from the song Pixelated Chixz that had gone viral years ago and never really left.

It had been two years after high school, 2077, and I had been the same age as Zhari, twenty. I remembered it like it was yesterday. I’d had headphones on in the dark while the rest of the house slept. My life had been small, and the future had been a blank hallway I didn’t want to walk down. Someone in a chat room had sent a link that said, “You have to hear this alien girl. She sounds like heaven.” Interested, I clicked the link. It was Zhari. She was live from some luminous Velan arena, singing her heart out. From then on, I had her on repeat.

That night, I’d drawn her until my fingers cramped. She had this softness that was hard to get on paper—nothing about her was stiff or posed. Her hair was long and blue, bouncing around as she moved. She was my favorite to draw.

“Vada,” Thomas said, reappearing at the edge of my cubicle like a summoned spirit. “You know your sound is on, right?”

Thomas’s voice snapped me back to reality, and I fumbled for the mute icon. “Shit. Inspirational background noise? Studies show it improves productivity.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head at the ad still looping across my screen. “You’ve got it bad for Zhari, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled. “She’s the sexiest woman alive. Her singing? Amazing. Her charity work? Phenomenal. You wouldn’t get it.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You going to that?” He pointed at my screen as the concert details flashed.

I turned around and looked back at the screen. “To Planet Vela? Ugh, I wish. I don’t exactly have disposable income. You also know I don’t travel alone. Hello, social anxiety.”

“True.” He tapped my desk with the sachet of instant coffee. “In case the spite from the vending machine runs out.” He gave me a wink before walking away.

“Thanks,” I called out, even though I knew I’d forget to use it. My head was still tangled in the sound of Zhari’s voice.

I glanced down at the corner of my desk, where my sketchbook sat half-hidden under a stack of reports. I wasn’t supposed to bring personal stuff into the cubicles other than photos, but Carla didn’t seem to mind. Slow data pulls left long minutes to fill, and drawing kept me from going completely numb. A couple of fresh pages waited there.

I opened it up and started drawing until my shift limped to an end.

I closed out of my work apps and stood to stretch. I tossed on my jacket, grabbed my sketchbook and purse, and headed for the doors.

Outside, the city looked like every other evening—gray and some more gray. It was always gloomy. Neon signs flickered above tall buildings, breaking up the darkness. Shuttle traffic was always backed up, with large crowds taking up the entire sidewalk. Typical city life, which I wouldn’t have changed for the world.

As I walked home, I clutched my sketchbook to my chest and took in the sights as if they were new to me. The best thing about living in the city was that the scenery was always different but also the same.

My wristband buzzed halfway down the block, the family group chat lighting up. By “family group chat,” I meant my mother and father, as I was an only child.

mum had sent a photo of the kitchen table back home, freshly wiped, with a plate of goulash in the center. It was the meal we’d had growing up when money was tight. mum called it our fancy meal, always using whatever we had in the fridge to make something spectacular.

MOM: Are you eating properly? Please tell me you’re not just eating ramen, are you? You know what that does to your belly. You get terrible farts, Vada. Hey, did you pay your rent on time?

Good grief. I wished I could say this was a one-off thing, but my mother texted like this all the time. It was mentally exhausting.

Now, before you say it, I was thankful to have a mother who cared. But if she had just sent one question at a time, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Being bombarded with a ton of questions at once was crazy.

ME: Mom. You literally text me this once a month. The rent is fine, so stop worrying. I also buy more than just shoyu ramen and chicken katsu donburi. I had an apple yesterday.

MOM: You need to eat more than just one apple, Vada. When are you visiting? Your father and I miss your face. Timothy has been running around the house for three hours trying to catch a fly. It’s hilarious.

Timothy was my parents’ cat. He was a tubby little tabby who was gray and super cute.

ME: I will visit soon. I have to go.

That was an absolute lie. I hadn’t been home in a year, and I had to say, my mental health was so much better. I loved my parents, but they could never mind their business and had something to say about everything.

My thumb hovered over the voice-call icon. I imagined the conversation and what I would say to them. Hey, quick update. I’m thinking of taking most of the money you’re relieved I finally have and spending it on a ticket to watch an alien woman sing on a planet. Also, I’d be going alone because I still haven’t made any friends outside of work aside from Thomas. Oh why can’t Thomas come? Because he only listens to rock and roll.

My mother’s silence alone would have been enough to snap the idea in half. But I was sure she would follow that up, after an hour of stewing over it, with one hundred back-to-back messages.

I locked my wrist comm screen instead and slipped the band under my sleeve, like I could hide their expectations from the rest of me. The battery showed 10 percent remaining, and I wasn’t about to use the rest of it going back and forth with my mom.

I got to my complex’s doors and buzzed myself in. I climbed a few flights of stairs to get the rest of my steps in and unlocked Door 4B. My flat greeted me with its usual warmth and peeling paint. I dropped my bag, kicked my shoes into the corner, and made my way to my bedroom.