Page 90 of Even Beneath the Stars

Last night’s jam session was even better than the first. Less nerves, more flow. It’s weird how fast we clicked—like we could read each other’s minds or something, the music pulling us into this electric current. Cam’s layering skills, Tyler’s instinctive control, Liam’s effortless vibe—it all justworks.Even between songs, we geeked out about everything from vintage amps to obscure B-sides.

They convinced me to play one of my original tunes, and a few bars in, they were joining in, building on it, until soon we'd created something even better. Raw. Real. Fucking awesome.

We spent half an hour just riffing off each other, pushing each other higher. Cam's got this incredible way of layering guitar parts, and Tyler just knows exactly when to hold back and when to let loose. And Liam… he's the most chill guy and fits into whatever we're doing. To watch him, you'd think he's checked out, but then suddenly he's sliding in and hitting the exact right vibe, adding these subtle suggestions. Or understanding exactly what vibe the rest of us are heading for and anticipating how to get there before we do, so effortlessly, it's almost uncanny.

Between obsessing over that and anticipating my second date with Maggie, I’ve been completely useless all day. Bombed a civics quiz, got called outtwicein English for spacing out, then nearly landed detention for laughing when Mrs. Layman suggested my black eye might be a concussion. I assumed she was joking. Evidently, she wasn’t.

"Hey, Space Monkey!"

Maggie’s voice cuts through the din of the parking lot. She strides up, royal blue parka over an oversized pink hoodie, and jeans with the widest legs I've ever seen in my life. Like, these things could legit cause a windstorm if she walks too fast.

All she told me in her text last night was to meet her at the orange bench outside the main doors of the Lancaster Mall after school today for our date. It's her evening off and the one night I have free this week with no hockey practice or jam session.

"Not to alarm you," I say as she steps onto the curb, "but I think your jeans swallowed an entire family of raccoons.”

She swats my arm, quilted bags swinging in her grip. "Haha."

"No seriously, blink twice if they need help."

"You're hilarious."

"Thosepantsare hilarious. Do you have to walk sideways to get through doorways?"

She rolls her eyes, pink waves catching the late-afternoon sun. And her freckles… I swear they multiply in good lighting.

"Don’t get me wrong," I shake my head, rubbing a hand over my jaw. "You’re still hot as hell." My gaze flickers to her lips before meeting her eyes again, amused and maybe a little wrecked.

Bingo. Her cheeks flush to the same shade of pink as her hair. But the joke's on me because it just makes her even hotter, and I have no control over the way my body reacts to this girl when she looks like that; flushed and a little bashful, glowing all over. Andfuuuuck me.I need a distraction.

Maggie delivers.

"Too bad you're still ugly as a hairless mole rat," she deadpans. Then after a beat, she adds, "Thankfully your personality is growing on me."

I laugh hard. "Ahairless mole rat?"

She squints one eye, mock-apologetic. "Yeah… sorry. But this—" She gestures to my face with a slow circle of her finger. "Yeah. It’s just really not good."

"That bad, huh?" I bite down on a grin.

She nods solemnly. "Yeah, I'm sorry to tell you, Xavier Rockwell, but you are tragically unattractive."

I let out a low chuckle, dragging a hand through my hair like it might help me process whatever the hell she’s doing to me. "And you, Maggie LeClair, are tragically addictive."

Her lips pop open, eyes widening before she schools her features. Not soon enough to stop the blush from creeping in again, tinting her cheeks.And those freckles.

Those freckles will be the death of me.

She's the kind of girl who doesn't surprise easily, and I get a quiet thrill knowing I've managed to do it twice already in the last five minutes.

I nod toward the colorful patchwork shopping bags dangling from her fingers. "So, what—we're running errands for our second date?"

"Nope." She grins. "We're going thrifting."

"Thrifting."

"Thrifting with rules." Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

"I feel like I should be worried."

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