Page 77 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

“Oh no,” she said in mock horror. “Were you arrested for doodling on company property?”

Zhari let out a laugh.

“I left it behind before I went out today, and he found it,” I said. “He loves my drawings.”

I beamed.

“Well, you are talented,” she said, perking up.

I looked down.

“Yeah, so much so that he offered me a job.”

I looked back up at Zhari, who now had a confused expression on her face.

Her attention sharpened.

“A job,” she repeated. “What kind of job?”

I pulled my legs up, hugging my knees so I wouldn’t fling myself bodily out of the bubble.

“Okay, so…” I said, the words tangling in their rush to get out. “He ran my little headphone-bug thing through a test group, and apparently it did better than all their other visuals this tour. People liked it. Kids drew it on their faces. Brand metrics, blah blah. I don’t understand all of it, but he said I have ‘brand instinct.’”

I made quotation marks in the air with one hand.

“Which I think is Velan for ‘your brain is weird in a useful way.’”

Her lips parted, her eyes flicking to the sketchbook and back.

“And?” she prompted.

“And he wants to hire me,” I said. “Officially. Remote freelance while we’re on tour, from the bus and venues, doing illustration and campaign work. Then, if it goes well, a longer contract after the tour, doing art for the label.”

I couldn’t keep the grin out of my voice. It spilled over, bright and shaky and very real.

“It’s… my dream job,” I said, the words feeling ridiculous and perfect in my mouth. “Like, the exact thing my brain has secretly wanted but never thought it was allowed to ask for.”

Her expression changed.

At first, I thought she was happy for me. Then I realized there was something else beneath it. Her gaze dropped to the sketchbook, and her glow dimmed slightly around the edges.

“That’s…” she began, then stopped and let out a sigh. “That’s huge, Vada.”

“I know,” I said, breathless. “I know. And I—I said yes.”

The words tumbled out before I could make them sound less frantic.

“I already said yes.”

I hugged my sketchbook even tighter and squealed in excitement as I closed my eyes and did a little dance on the bench.

When I calmed down and opened my eyes, something in her posture had changed. It was small, but I felt it like a drop in cabin pressure. Her shoulders had tightened by a fraction. Her hands, resting on her shins, had gone still.

“You said yes,” she muttered solemnly.

“I mean, I can still look over the contract and argue about clauses,” I said quickly. “It’s not like I signed my soul away on a napkin. But—yeah. I told him I wanted it. If I didn’t accept it, I knew I would find ways to talk myself out of it.”

She looked away toward the city.