Page 7 of Even Beneath the Stars

"I—I’m so sorry…" I blurt. "I didn’t mean… It just rhymed and—"

Xavier laughs. Not a scoff. Not a smirk.An actual laugh.

"Man…" he mutters, shaking his head. But that’s it.

When I see the look on Bree's face, my throat suddenly goes really dry and it takes three attempts before I can swallow.

Xavier goes back to scrolling on his phone.

Bree goes back to searching for God knows what on the computer.

I cave to my puny self-preservation instincts and keep my trap firmly shut.

Once Denise—the infamous P.A.—finally arrives and signs Finn out, Bree pulls me aside to the staff kitchen for a talk. She’s practically vibrating with nerves over how I interacted with a member of the Rockwell family.

She tries to be kind, but there’s an unmistakable edge to her voice as she explains, in hushed tones, the gravity of pissing off a Rockwell. Her words paint a picture of a family whose influence stretches far beyond what I could've imagined. Their patronage funds club events, pays for building upgrades, and is single-handedly covering the new state-of-the-art indoor pool complex going up next spring. If Xavier takes my "disrespect and mockery" (Bree’s words, not mine) to his father, it will not be good.

This whole situation feels ridiculously blown out of proportion. Not that I blame Bree. More like, the age-old hierarchical order of the world. So, I apologize profusely, assure her it won't happen again, and promise to treat everyonewith the utmost respect. But I can see in her eyes— it's not enough.

The wordprobationdrops like a bomb.

Two weeks.

Two weeks of walking on eggshells, knowing one wrong move could cost me a job I actually like and need. Bree seems genuinely sorry, but her hands are tied. One more complaint, and I’m done. And while I’m confident I can keep my cool, the whole thing is humiliating.

As Bree walks away, my mind reels. I’ve worked summer and after-school jobs for years and never once had a complaint, let alone a probation warning. I am not the kind of girl who gets written up.

And I'm in shock right now. No, I'moutragedthat some seventeen-year old diamond-encrusted diva waffle can have this much influence, without having ever done a thing to earn it. Bree even emphasized I made the right call about not bending the rules to let Xavier sign his brother out—it’s the way I lost my patience with him… my stupid lame little rhyme—that’s the reason for the probation. Basically, my refusal to stroke Xavier Rockwell’s ego.

I hated that jerk from the art show for jackhammering my pride and taking something we both knew I deserved more than he did.

I hate Xavier Rockwell even more.

Chapter Two

Maggie

The sand beneath my feet is still warm from the day's sun as I follow Laney down the rickety wooden stairs to Halicina Cove. The rhythmic crash of waves mingles with laughter and music drifting up from the beach.

"Welcome to your first Sandy Haven bonfire." Laney grins, gesturing dramatically as we reach the sand.

The cove is alive with energy. Flames from a massive bonfire lick the night sky, casting a warm glow over the crowd of teens scattered across the sand. Some huddle near the fire, others lounge on driftwood logs or dance to music blaring from a portable speaker.

"Laney! Maggie!" Liam jogs over, grinning. "You made it!"

Something about him looks different, and then it hits me—he’s wearing a shirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in anything other than board shorts. He still looks like a total surfer dude, though, in a faded Rip-Curl tee and too-long jeans.

Liam introduces us to his friends, and we chat for a while before drifting through the crowd, eventually linking up with Laney’s crew.

As the night wears on, I find myself relaxing. Her friends are warm and welcoming, cracking jokes and sharing stories—nothing like the snobs I’d assumed made up most of Sandy Haven. With the town’s reputation, I was worried I would be one of ten non-millionaire teens in the entire area.

A little while later, as we're just getting ready to make s'mores, huge whoops and cheers break out from the area near the base of the rickety stairs that lead down to the beach. I crane my neck in time to see a gorgeous blond guy in a backward ball cap sprinting down the bannister.

"SH Prep kids are here," Laney says, nodding toward the stairs.

"That's the private school, right?"

“Yeah." She takes a sip of her strawberry cooler. "Usually, there isn't a whole lot of mixing between SH Prep and Ocean Heights at parties and stuff. Except the first bonfire of the summer and the last one. And maybe a couple in between."

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