Three days after the video went viral, Maya sat in a coffee shop three blocks from her apartment wearing sunglasses indoors like some kind of celebrity trying to hide. It felt ridiculous, but twice that morning, people had recognized her on the street. One had asked for a photo. Another had simply stared with wide eyes, whispering to their friend. Maya had never felt more exposed in her life.
Her phone, which she'd finally turned back on, sat on the table in front of her. The notifications had slowed down somewhat, but they hadn't stopped. She'd created a new email address just for professional inquiries, and already it had over 300 messages: talent agencies, record labels, event planners, universities wanting her to speak, companies wanting her to endorse their pianos or music software, even a few movie producers asking about the rights to her life story.
Her life story. She was 24 years old, and people wanted to make movies about her life.
The meeting she was about to have was with three people: James Woo, the concert promoter who'd been calling her daily; Angela Price, a talent agent from one of the biggest agencies in the country; and surprisingly, Dr. Martinez, the dean from the Riverside Conservatory of Music, her former school.
They arrived within minutes of each other, creating an awkward moment where they all tried to figure out the seating arrangements. James pulled out Maya's chair like they were at a fancy dinner. Angela immediately started organizing business cards and papers. Dr. Martinez, an older woman with kind eyes and silver hair, simply reached across the table and squeezed Maya's hand.
"It's good to see you again, Maya," she said, "though I wish it had been under different circumstances."