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anxious to change the subject.
    “Yeah. The packages never stop, you know? Gotta earn my keep.”
    “Well, hey. Once I get done recording my stuff, I’ll be back. They say it should only take a couple months. Save me some coffee, would you?” I say, but it sounds kind of fake to me. Will I really be hanging around in the Haight? Or will I be in New York with Derek?
    It doesn’t take a crystal ball to know the answer.
    “Sure thing, Sage. It’s really good to see you, you know? Glad to hear about someone from the hood making it.” He looks off and then grins as his gaze returns to me. “Can’t be late. Time is money and all that.”
    “Bye, Todd,” I say as he swings his leg over the seat and pushes off the sidewalk into a gap between two cars, and then shoots like a hairy cannonball into traffic, seemingly unaware of the near miss with oncoming vehicles that’s his signature move.
    We enter Peaches & Cream and order two drip coffees, but this time is different than the last time we were here – two women waiting for their drinks spot me and whisper to each other, and then one starts texting on her phone while the other approaches me.
    “Aren’t you…you’re that girl from the show! Sage! It’s you, isn’t it?” she says, overly loudly, and I feel the blood rush to my face.
    I look to Melody, but I can see she’s going to be no help at all. I turn to the woman and give her a small smile.
    “Yeah. Nice to meet you,” I say, hoping to shut her up, but it’s too late. Now the baristas have stopped what they’re doing and are murmuring to each other, and the other people in line are whispering, some doing their best to ignore me, others gawking like I have two heads.
    “I swear I cried that final show. I felt like I was right there with you when you sang that last song. I recorded it and everything.”
    “That’s great,” I say. I’ve always been terrible at accepting compliments, so this part of the deal is like Chinese water torture for me. I look at the barista behind the register, like, “Where’s my coffee?” He snaps out of his funk and goes to the machine, and only once he’s halfway through pouring mine does he realize the pot’s empty. So now I’m committed to standing here for at least three more minutes, every second an ordeal.
    “I heard you were from around here, but I never thought in a million years I’d meet you,” the woman says, not picking up on my silent signals that I’m hoping the floor will open up and swallow me whole.
    “Well, life’s strange that way. Again, nice to meet you,” I say and return my stare to Melody, who’s having a hard time keeping from busting up, judging by the look on her face.
    “Can I trouble you for an autograph?” the woman asks. Right now I’d give her all the money in my pocket to just go away.
    “Sure.”
    She picks up a biodegradable, recycled napkin and roots around in her Coach purse for a pen, and then hands it to me.
    “Just write, ‘To my biggest fan Jenny,’ would you?” she asks. “Jenny. That’s short for Jennifer.”
    I hastily scratch out her request and return the napkin and pen, relieved to be done.
    “Thanks so much.” She holds the napkin over her head and turns to the rest of the line. “Hey, everyone. I got Sage’s autograph! How cool is that?”
    The next ten minutes are more of the same – a never-ending line of fans piling into the shop. Melody checks her phone and leans over to whisper in my ear. “Jenny’s friend tweeted you were here.”
    “Is there a back way out?” I ask.
    “I’ll ask the manager.”
    Fortunately there is, and moments later we find ourselves in a narrow service alley that reeks of garbage. We run to the mouth and peer around and then explode into giggles.
    “This is something like a movie,” Melody says.
    “A horror movie, that is.”
    “Come on. They’ll figure out you bailed pretty quickly, and then it’ll be open season on Sage in the Haight.”
    “So much for