Page 77 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Don't thank me," she says, bailing on the chance to gloat about being right. Even though, with the way I pushed back about the jam session thing, she's earned it. Instead, she says, "You're the one who grew some balls, remember? To put yourself out there and give it a shot."

She glances back down at the hotdog stand in her hands and my eyes follow.

"So, what's the deal with the diorama? School project or something?"

Her eyes go wide. "I wish." She runs a finger along the edge of the hotdog stand. "It's just for fun. I mean, I have a YouTube Channel. But someday…" her voice trails off.

"Someday what?"

"You're going to make fun of me."

I'm offended she'd think that, because I can tell whatever she was about to say is important to her. But I can't blame her; she has every reason to assume I'll make some asshole comment, based on the version of myself I've given her these past couple of months.

"I swear I won't make fun of you."

"Good," she says. "Because it's serious… It's something other people do—artists. As a legitimate profession."

"What is?"

"Creating dioramas." She pauses for a second, almost like she's waiting to see if I'm going to make some dig, even though I just swore I wouldn't. And again, it stings. She continues, "Someday I'm hoping I'll be able to be a full-time miniature diorama artist. I just… I want to get better; more skilled. And build up a portfolio. Then I want to sell them." Her eyebrows lift. "I've already started working on a website… I want the website to be really kickass and give a feel for the pieces I create; the worlds I build. Not just some lame, boxy online store."

This girl… she's like one of those wooden Russian dolls that you open up and there's another one inside, and then another one, and another one… Always some new surprising or quirky or interesting thing about her.

"That's really cool," I say, my voice softer than usual, because it feels a little like I'm walking on eggshells. She was expecting my scorn, so I want to be extra careful with whatever words I do give her now. I don't want to screw things up even more than I already have. "I mean,reallycool." I emphasize. "I really respect that—the fact that you know what you want to do, and you've figured out a plan."

She eyes me dubiously. "Really?"

"Hell, yeah. You've got your shit figured out." I nudge her again with my foot. "You're gonna go far, Maggie LeClair."

"Taking over the world, one diorama at a time."

"Damn straight."

We sit in silence for a minute. Then she unfolds her legs. "So…" She pushes forward on the couch. "You know how I said you didn't need to thank me for singing your praises to Cam and pushing your ass to jam with the guys this afternoon?"

"Yeah…" I have a feeling the gloating is gonna make an appearance now, and I brace for it.

"Well, I changed my mind." She leans in closer. "I have a request. Something I want… To thank me."

Fuck. Worse than gloating. And just when I thought she wasn't like that— wanting something from me. Expecting some material form of reciprocation. Leave it to Maggie to turn ‘thank you’ into a power move.

I should have listened to my internal warning bells—that this genuine act she throws around is exactly that: an act. You think I'd learn: there's always a price tag hidden somewhere.

I study her face, searching for signs I missed before—the calculated moves, the careful manipulation. How many times has she mentioned my family's wealth, made comments about privilege? And here I was starting to think she was just being real, calling things as she sees them. Instead, she was setting up for this moment, waiting to cash in on helping me connect with Cam's band. My jaw clenches as I remember how she seemed genuinely excited for me earlier, how she didn't gloat or make it about herself.

The worst part isn't even that she wants something from me—it's the fact that I was starting to trust that she didn't. But apparently trust is a game I’m stupid enough to keep playing, even when I know the house always wins. And trusting Maggie LeClair felt like a free fall. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the hard landing. Or the fact that she’s just another chapter in the same story, and I’m the idiot who keeps rereading it, hoping for a different ending.

Chapter Thirty-One

Xavier

"What?" The word comes out clipped. "What is it you want?"

Maggie raises an eyebrow. "It's weird."

"No shit." Of course whatever it is she wants is going to be something weird.She'sweird. I thought it was in a good way, but clearly, I was wrong.

"Okay." She slides forward even more along the couch cushion. "You know that built-in glass display case in the hall that leads to the Drawing Room?"

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