Page 48 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

I closed my sketchbook and held it against my ribs. My pink butterfly clip had slid halfway down my hair while I was dancing earlier. I pushed it back up, tucked a curl behind my ear, and adjusted the straps on my jelly shoes where they had started to bite.

After the show, the loading dock was overcrowded. Venue staff were everywhere while gear was being loaded up. A sponsorship team was also there, walking around with clipboards and pointing at things.

Zhari got pulled into a debrief with Sira, and the usual post-show snack spot was occupied by stacks of speaker cases.

I drifted back through the bus alone, clutching a bottle of Space Raiders fizz. I hadn’t exactly planned on going to the viewing bubble. My feet just seemed to know the way.

The hatch was already open, and the interior was dark—a sign that it was empty.

Perfect.

I climbed inside, settled onto the curved bench, and watched the silent glow of stars drift by.

That was the thing about space. It didn’t care what you were carrying. You were just a small person drifting through it, hoping you mattered at all.

Everything kept moving, every second a new arrangement of light, and you’d never see the same sky twice.

I pulled out my sketchbook, opened it to a blank page, and just stared at it. My pen rested in my hand as I lost myself in thought, wondering if maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe I was in some sappy rom-com.

I could hear footsteps in the corridor below me, getting closer. For a second, I thought they’d pass by, but they didn’t.

The hatch lifted, and Zhari’s head appeared.

“Dune said you were up here,” she said.

Of course she did.

“Dune really needs to stop reporting my location.”

Zhari climbed in, brushing her hair out of her face.

“She worries.”

“I am not worried,” Dune said from somewhere in the walls. “I am simply monitoring.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good night, Dune.”

“Good night,” she said.

Then there was a pause, followed by a faint click that meant she had actually left—or wanted us to think she had. Nobody really knew.

Zhari settled onto the bench across from me, pulling her knees up as she settled the Nebs she had brought with her. She must have gone back to the room to shower and change, because she was wearing her favorite soft track pants and an oversized crew hoodie that said Cosmic Girlz Tour on the back.

Her hair fell loose, brushing her shoulders as if she’d just had a blowout.

“Wow, what a show,” she sighed.

“You were amazing, Zhar,” I beamed.

“Thank you. But you say that after every concert, my little noodle.” She rolled her eyes and smiled.

“This is true,” I said, “but I mean it every time.”

Zhari laughed beneath her breath. Her glow flickered faintly along her cheeks as she turned toward the viewport and then back to me.

“Well, thank you.”