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Informationen zum Autor Sajni Patel Klappentext Unwilling to yield to familial expectations, an aspiring screenwriter attempts to pursue her dreams during an unforgettable night of chaos in this hilarious and heartfelt novel by Sajni Patel. Isha Patel is the black sheep of the family. She doesn’t have a “prestigious” degree or a “real” career, and her parents never fail to remind her. But that’s okay because she commiserates with her cousin, best friend, and fellow outcast, Rohan. When Isha has a breakthrough getting her script in front of producers, it doesn’t go according to plan. Instead of letting her dreams fall through the cracks, Rohan convinces her to snag a pitch session with an Austinite high-profile celeb: the one and only Matthew McConaughey, who also happened to be her professor at the University of Texas years ago—he has to remember her, right? Chasing Matthew McConaughey isn’t easy. Isha needs a drink or two to muster up courage, and she gets a little help from the cutest bartender she’s ever encountered. But when the search for the esteemed actor turns into a night of hijinks and unexpected—albeit fun—chaos, everything falls apart. Isha’s dreams seem farther than ever, but she soon realizes who she really needs to face and that her future may just be alright, alright, alright . Leseprobe Chapter 1 When Mummie sent me off to college ten years ago with a prayer over my head and a sweet to my lips, she'd said, "Excel in school, beta. Don't bring shame to your family." Shame came. Everyone and their uncle had my dad's ear on how he could've possibly allowed this embarrassment to continue. That was right. The Asian equivalent to American kids going to raves and experimenting was being a lit major. Every auntie locked up her sons when I came around toting my voluptuous love of the arts and sultry grasp of grammar. Forbid that my mastery over the written word seduce good Indian boys. Worse yet? I left college. Hello, two-time college dropout, was that you? Third time was a charm. But it wasn't exactly what my parents had hoped for. "A degree in film and theater!" Papa had bellowed. "Was that what I'd been paying for this entire time?" Um. Yep. Surprise . . . "Oh, ma . . ." Mummie had muttered, rubbing her temples in complete dismay and invoking the gods to ask what she'd done in her past lives to deserve this punishment. I swore their yells haunted the house to this day like wraiths reminding me that I wasn't meeting my potential. In the past six months, to make matters worse for a struggling creative soul, rent had skyrocketed (thanks, Apple, Tesla, SpaceX, and other Californians mass migrating to Austin and tipping over the market), and without a full-time job, I ended up moving back home. Whomp-whomp. Adulting fail. So here I was: twenty-eight, somewhat jobless, practically friendless, and living back with my parents. What a prize, right? And, yes, yes, I know twenty-eight sounded too damn old to be living with one's parents. But not-so-fun life fact: things don't always turn out to our best expectations, no matter how hard we try. To add insult to injury, I was destined to spend yet another Friday night home alone. Papa grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter and tilted an invisible hat to me. "I'm off!" he said. I wished I had his big weekend-project energy. It practically sizzled through the air. "Are you sure you trust YouTube enough to fix Uncle's broken sink?" I asked warily. "Ah. We're civil engineers." He shrugged as if that explained anything, or in some way gave him handyman superpowers. "Right. Because Indians can suddenly do anything when they don't want to pay a professional." "Between us and YouTube, we can fix anything." "Can you, though?" I asked from the kitchen, the heat from the ...
