Page 146 of Even Beneath the Stars

The crowd pulses with glow sticks and LED bracelets, creating rivers of neon in the growing darkness. The whole Sandy Haven crew managed to stake out prime real estate near the very front of the main stage. About twenty of them drove down in convoy to support our first large-scale concert. The only one who didn't come is Dylan, since massive screaming crowds are a bad idea for him. But Silas is recording the whole thing, and we're going to have a viewing party when we get back.

Some other people who made the trip?

Candice and Denise, and Magg's mom, Credence. They drove down together, and they're somewhere farther back, where the fans aren't as intense, no doubt taking more photos than my entire friend group combined. The three of them are wearing matching homemade Salt Vein T-shirts that say"I'm with the band."

My mother's here, too. She got VIP tickets for her and some friends, farther away from the stage, where they have an awning and comfortable seats, and a private bar. But still,she's here.

My father, thankfully, is blissfully absent.

Cam paces in tight circles, drumming his fingers against his thigh. His usual calm exterior has cracked, revealing raw energy beneath. "This is real, right? Like, actually happening?"

"Nah, man, we're all having the same dream." Tyler flips his drumsticks, catching them with practiced ease. "Group hallucination."

Liam adjusts his guitar strap for the hundredth time. "Shut up, I'm trying not to puke."

I grin."You're not gonna puke."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Natural-Born-Rockstar." But Liam's smile breaks through his nerves. He shakes out his arms a few times, then seems to go right back to chilled-out Liam.

The crowd chants our name, the sound building like thunder.

Salt Vein. Salt Vein. Salt Vein.

A warm breath tickles my ear. "A wee bit of a step-up from the Foundry, huh?"

I turn, my whole body lighting up at the sight of Maggie. Her pink hair glows in the stage lights, and her eyes sparkle with excitement.

"Hey, beautiful."

When our lips meet, the roar of the crowd fades to background noise.

"Xave!" My brother's high-pitched voice pipes up behind Maggie.

I crouch down to Finn's level as he barrels toward me, meeting his extended fist with mine. His curls are pushed back by a sturdy set of noise-canceling earphones, and he's bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with energy.

"Everyone's screaming your name! Did you hear them? They're soloud!" Finn's eyes are wide as saucers. "And look," He digs into his pocket. "I brought you a good luck tattoo!"

Maggie grabs a water bottle from a nearby crate and crouches down next to Finn and I, helping him press the transfer paper against my bicep. The designappears—a large yellow cartoon star wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, clutching an electric guitar. Above it, retro seventies-style letters spell out "Certified Rock Star."

"There." Finn nods. "Now you're gonna be awesome."

We fist-bump again. "Thanks, dude."

The screaming from the crowd intensifies as the stage crew walk out and place a few water bottles by the instruments and main mic.

I straighten up, pulling my shoulders back in a stretch. The movement lifts my T-shirt slightly, and I catch the exact moment Maggie's eyes lock onto my lower half.

Her entire body freezes. One hand flies to her mouth. Tears spring to her eyes, catching the stage lights.

"Oh my God," she whispers, wiping at her cheeks. "Xave… I can't believe—You're wearing—Oh my God,I love you so much."

I grin down at her, taking a deliberate step back so she can see the full effect. "You like 'em?"

Maggie laughs through her tears. "They'rehideous," she hiccups. "I love them!"

Her eyes scan the navy pants covered in tiny embroidered red lobsters that I hunted down especially for tonight. Her tears flow faster now, but she's still laughing. She shakes her head, eyes locked back on mine

"You beautiful, talented, ridiculous boy…" Her gaze skims my body again, taking in the God-awful pants that ride low on my hips, then up to the loose T-shirt with ripped-off sleeves I paired them with. She bites lightly on her plump lower lip. "Only you could make lobster pants look cool." She lifts my T-shirt, just enough to trail her fingertips along the ridges of my abs, and lets out a breathless, “Damn, you are hot, Mister Fancypants Rockwell.”

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