Star Daughter(3)

Sheetal scanned the crowd. No sign of Radhikafoi or Dad. If she kept her head down, she might actually make it out of here without anyone stopping her.

Spice-laden aromas drifted toward them. “Oh, good, food time!” Minal said. “Come on.”

“But—” Sheetal began, just a second too late. A bangle-covered arm had grabbed hers and was towing her toward the buffet, where waiters had finished uncapping the steaming dishes. Even Dev’s admirers were abandoning him to get in line.

As Dev jogged up, Minal asked him, “So how much did you hate that? Having to sing on command like a trained parrot?”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it. You know how showing us off is basically the desi parent Olympics.” His voice turned falsetto with an Indian accent as he rolled his eyes, grinning at Sheetal. “‘Oh, my son, he will be the next superstar!’ Embarrassing, but what you are going to do?”

But Sheetal didn’t know. No one had ever shown her off. And with the astral song competing with the buzz of a hundred overlapping conversations and the thunk, thunk, thunk of the Bollywood bass, not to mention the thudding of her own heart, she couldn’t concentrate. The walls felt like they were getting smaller and smaller, or maybe it was her throat; the playful words she might have said got trapped there on the way up.

She widened her eyes in a way she hoped screamed for help. But Minal was too busy loading her plate with what had to be at least half the buffet to notice. Not knowing what else to do, Sheetal started filling her own plate.

“You really are good,” Minal told Dev, carrying her mountain of food to a nearby table. She grinned wickedly. “I thought you were just boasting.”

Sheetal sat down, too, staring at her meal of fluffy naan, vegetable biryani, aloo mattar, creamy dal makhani, and raita. She could still go chase down the starsong, but now, with Dev watching, all Radhikafoi’s old prohibitions strapped her to her chair as securely as a seat belt. Always blend into the background. Never let anyone suspect what you are.

“You even have your own fan club,” she teased instead.

Dev dropped down next to her, his smile crooked. Sheetal’s stomach turned a series of cartwheels, and every part of her was incredibly aware of his knee pressing against hers. “Some fan club—I can’t even compete with the food.” He found her hand under the table, driving all other thoughts out of her head. “I bet they would have stayed if you’d gone up there.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice how sweaty her palm was. She never should have told him she sang. “You, though—we should put you on one of those so you think you can sing shows where everybody sucks except for, like, five people, and even then, three of them are just okay.”

Great. Now she was babbling.

“Okay, enough.” Minal leaned forward on her elbows. “Save all that mutual admiration stuff for when I’m not around to barf everywhere. On to much more important things—like the great couch quest! Which, by the way, I’m going to win.”

“You just love funding my comic habit, don’t you?” asked Dev. “Out with it, Sheetal. What’d she say this time?” He shot Minal a sidelong glance. “I’ve got my eye on the new Kibuishi comic, you know.”

“That’s funny,” said Minal, all glittering makeup and arch attitude, “since you’re going to be buying it for me.”

Normally Sheetal would be giggling with them. Some people collected stamps or dolls, even cars. Radhikafoi collected couches. Well, sort of. She’d buy one, decide she hated it after a few days, and return it. And then she’d buy a new one. It was so predictable, Dev and Minal had started laying bets on the reason why three months ago.

But Sheetal still heard the high, sweet melody in her ears, airy as an enchantment, beckoning, beckoning.

“Well?” Minal pressed. “It’s too burgundy, isn’t it? The last one was too blue, so it has to be.”

Dev’s phone buzzed, and he pulled away to type a reply, leaving Sheetal’s knee cold. Lonely. And without something right here on Earth to hold on to. Stupid phones.

She poked him in the shoulder. “Don’t tell me you want to forfeit.”

He smiled an apology. “Sorry, my cousin wanted to know how the song went.”

Minal struck her plate with a spoon, making it ring. “Can we try focusing, people? Preferably before I get old and gray?”

Sheetal took her time scooping up a bite of aloo mattar and chewing the peas and highlighter-yellow potatoes into paste. “The real question is, would my foi be flattered or horrified to learn she has such devoted followers? The kind that place bets on her?”

Minal and Dev turned identical glares her way.

“Quit stalling, Sheetu.” Minal nudged her. “I want to get some rasmalai before everyone eats it all.”

“Bad news, Minu,” Sheetal said with mock regret. “Radhikafoi thought the color was fine. This week’s impending return is because, and I quote, ‘The leather gave me a headache with all its squeaking.’ Guess you’ll just have to enjoy your rasmalai with a nice dollop of disappointment.”

Dev pumped his fist, then held out his hand for Minal’s money. She practically flung it into his palm. “I’ll think of you while I read,” he offered, grinning hugely.