Page 8 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

My eyes followed the tray. “I will definitely be trying one of those while I’m here,” I muttered.

Holo-billboards bloomed over the avenue, all of them showing different versions of Zhari. Back home, her face had been something I saw through tiny screens. Here, she was the city’s wallpaper.

“Okay, so Nebs,” Pia’re said, steering me sideways down a narrow street I totally would have walked straight past. “Trust me. An empty stomach plus dancing just does not mix well.”

The street opened into a strip of tiny window-front stalls crammed together, steam rising from each one. The smells layered on top of one another in ways my brain couldn’t sort out. One vendor had a bubbling vat of something golden that smelled like caramel and black pepper at the same time. Another was frying flat, translucent discs that crackled and curled as they hit the oil, glowing faintly at the edges.

Pia’re ordered for both of us at a stall no wider than a closet. The Velan behind the counter moved fast, ladling broth into deep bowls and dropping in thick, noodle-looking things that shimmered pink.

Nebula Noodles. Nebs.

Pia’re handed me my bowl. It was hot in my hands, but not scorching like some food places back on Earth. It was just right. We moved off to the side, and I took my first bite, shoving the Nebs into my mouth.

“Oh my stars,” I said, chewing and slurping the broth. “This is amazing! They do taste similar to ramen! I also think they’re more flavorful.”

Pia’re grinned. “Earth has good noodles too. You humans just don’t have comet spice. You have to add comet spice to your Nebs.”

“I will keep that in mind for the rest of my trip.”

We finished eating while standing shoulder to shoulder with other Velans who didn’t give me a second glance. It was kind of nice to blend in instead of sticking out.

Just as I was finishing up, a small creature about the size of a football waddled past my ankle—round and furry, with huge black eyes. It made a purring chirp that sounded like a ringtone. It looked as if someone had designed a cat but got distracted halfway through and just made a sphere.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“A Pilu,” Pia’re giggled. “They usually live in the forests on the outskirts of the city, but there are so many in the streets, begging for food. Don’t feed it, or it will follow you home.”

It stopped walking and looked up at me, blinking. I immediately wanted to feed it.

“You are so totally cute,” I beamed.

“Come on. Let’s head to the venue.” Pia’re grabbed my bowls and tossed them into some red bins.

As we made our way to the venue, we could hear the music getting louder.

Clusters of fans spilled along the street, tour merchandise everywhere. Chromeskin jackets were the number-one-selling item. After all, they were Zhari’s favorite pieces of clothing, according to her. On the back of each jacket was Zhari’s signature, flashing aqua before slipping into a subtle violet.

Music leaked from every direction. A chorus from one device cut through, half a beat ahead of another. Somewhere behind me, the same line stuttered, delayed. Her voice overlapped with itself—fractured and out of sync.

“I’m going to grab some bracelets and merchandise before heading in. It was really nice meeting you, Vada. I hope you enjoy the show. Now that we’re on Orbit Palz, let’s make sure to sync up!” Pia’re leaned in and gave me a quick hug before trailing off toward the merchandise booth.

“Bye, Pia’re! It was nice meeting you. Thanks for everything!” I waved and kept walking toward the entrance to the concert.

The line outside wrapped alongside the building, a shimmering, chattering serpent of bodies and color. I slipped in at the end, dragging my suitcase along the narrow sidewalk.

A few spots ahead, a cluster of human girly-pops laughed loudly. They leaned into each other, fixing their glossy lips and dusting more glitter onto their eyes. They wore cute neon outfits with more glitter and high black wedge sandals.

I was a bit relieved there were more humans there. It made me feel like I was back on Earth for a moment.

In front of them, two Velans greeted each other with a kiss that would have been third-date material on Earth. All tongue and hands. They stopped after a moment and went right back to talking as if nothing had happened.

I tugged the hem of my miniskirt down an inch, grinning a little to myself. We were really doing this. I felt sixteen again, my stomach fizzing as I waited outside a venue I’d saved three weeks of babysitting money to get into. That concert had been for the Cosettes, an all-girl band from Toronto.

The Velan directly in front of me—a tall woman with a high collar of reflective fabric—glanced over her shoulder, then did a tiny double take. Her skin lit with a faint rose glow along her temples.

“First time in Lumara?” she asked. Her voice came through the translator sounding resonant, like low notes on a smooth sound system. Velans sounded much different from Steve in logistics. He always came across as monotone and dull.

“Do I have it written across my forehead?” I asked, tucking some hair nervously behind my ear.