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“Oh yeah,” says Jude, laying out the records so he can put price stickers on them. “It’s the hip thing to do right now. These”—he taps the stack of Sadashiv records—“will be huge sellers.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “When Ari and I told Dad that this guy had a new album coming out, his exact words: ‘Sada-who?’” Jude rolls his eyes. “You’d think with five kids he’d have an easier time staying current.”

“People like what they like. Hey, I have to get going. Thanks again for your help at the festival yesterday.”

“See you later, Sis. Good luck today.”

“Dad?” I call, stepping back into the main area of the store.

“Right here.”

He’s at the counter, wearing his reading glasses as he checks something off on a handwritten ledger.

“I need to go. Can I leave some flyers here?” I pull what’s left of our blue flyers out of my bag and set them on the counter. “Maybe if anyone comes in this morning you can tell them about the cleanup?”

“Not only will I tell them about the cleanup,” he says, pulling the glasses down to the tip of his nose, “I will threaten to sell them only Vanilla Ice records until they promise to go.”

“Maybe nothingquiteso dramatic?”

The bell on the door chimes, and I turn around, preparing to say goodbye to Ari.

But it isn’t Ari coming inside.

I freeze.

It’sMaya.Maya Livingstone. She’s wearing an oversize UCLA sweatshirt that falls nearly to her knees, pale pink leggings, and flip-flops, and pulling it off like a model. I’m not sure if I’m jealous or impressed. Mostly, I’m bewildered. What is she doing here?

“Welcome in!” says Dad. “Take a look around. Let me know if I can help you find anything. And please”—he grabs the top flyer from the stack—“be sure to check out the beach cleanup happening—”

I put my hand over his. “It’s okay, Dad.” I force myself to smile. “Hi, Maya.”

“Oh. Hi, Prudence,” she says, blinking at me. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I don’t, actually. I’m just helping out this morning. Uh… this is my dad.”

“Welcome, friend of Prudence!”

She chuckles awkwardly as she makes her way through the rows of records. “Thanks. Um. I know it just came out, like, yesterday, but do you happen to carry the new Sadashiv record?”

Dad peers at her. “Sada-who?”

I roll my eyes.

Maya starts to repeat. “Sada—”

“Don’t mind him,” I say. Then, bracing myself for what’s sure to be a reallyuncomfortable encounter, I cup my hands over my mouth and holler, “Hey, Jude! We have a customer who wants the new Sadashiv album.”

There’s rustling from the back and then Jude appears, record in hand. “See, Dad? I told you these would be—” He sees Maya and goes still. His eyes widen. “Uh. Hot… sellers. Maya! Hi!”

She smiles, but there’s a bit of a cringe in the look, and I wonder if she’s thinking about what she said about Jude at the bonfire party, and wondering what he may or may not have overheard.

I brace myself, flexing my fingers. If she says anything evenremotelyhurtful to Jude, I will call down the full force of the universe and squash her like a bug.

But then Maya’s gaze falls on the record and she lights up. Rushing forward, she takes it from him, cradling the album in both hands and staring at Sadashiv’s glorious face. Though he’s a British artist, he’s of Indian descent, with curly black hair and eyelashes so thick it looks like he’s wearing perpetual eyeliner. And that’s just the beginning. I’ve heard Penny and Lucy have entire dinnertime conversations about his lips, his cheekbones, even hisears.I mean, seriously? What’s that about?

“I have been waiting for this for months!” says Maya, pressing the album to her chest. “I’m so happy you have it.”

“See? Vinyl records!” says Dad, smacking his palm on the counter. “I knew they’d come back around, even with you young kids. I’ve been saying it for years.”

I’m anxious to get going. I really don’t want to be late for the cleanup. But Jude’s cheeks have flushed and I’m hesitant to leave him. Does he need moral support right now? It’s hard to tell when he can’t take his eyes off Maya long enough to clue me in.