The last streaks of the sunset were retreating behind the horizon when Rio jogged within view of the club. He breathed in the hot summer air, checked his watch, then hefted up his guitar case as he descended the stairwell down to the door.

More posters than usual plastered the glass, preventing him from making out anything inside. All he could tell was the music was loud, and the lights were bright.

Just like always. Exactly how he liked it.

Rio pushed the door open and entered the loud and hazy room with a grin plastered on his face.

The club seemed busier than normal, but he figured it was due to the holiday weekend. This was the only all-ages club in this part of town, so it makes sense that the high schoolers would be flocking here in droves. If this became a regular crowd, Rio secretly hoped they would get a bouncer for the door. Make it more exclusive, maybe. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of bumping shoulders every three steps, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it for now, so he chose to let it slide.

The energy in the room was palpable, and he could handle it for one night. It wasn’t like he thrived off attention and enthusiasm or anything.

As he passed a group of teenagers, a girl turned and shouted at her friends, “Oh my gosh, it’s the guy who killed it last week! You gotta hear him New Moon on Monday, he’s got such a good voice!”

He walked a bit taller as he continued past them.

Rio scanned the crowd for a familiar face, and upon finding one at the counter he bobbed and weaved through the throes to reach it.

“Hey, Taylor! How’s it going?” He shouted over the music, tapping the neck of the guitar case against his friend’s shoulder. The younger boy looked up with a start, then leaped to his feet as he recognized Rio.

“Hey! Good—great!” Taylor yelled back, clapping Rio on the back. “Been making lots of pizzas. Place is hopping tonight!”

Rio’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I see that. And the live performances are already running, huh? Early.” He leaned around another patron to get a look at the teen on the stage. Her fair skin was nearly blinding in the spotlights, and her long apricot hair bounced all over the place as she danced and sang.

Taylor nodded vigorously. “Yeah. That’s my friend Brooke. She’s great, isn’t she?”

“Not as great as me, but still pretty good,” Rio said, shrugging. Taylor looked appalled.

“Do I—do I have to choose?” He asked, eyes darting. Rio laughed and smacked Taylor on the arm lightly.

“Depends, would it hurt her feelings?” He countered.

Taylor didn’t respond. He just stared at Brooke, who was finishing up her rendition of Vacation by The Go-Go’s in a bright and cheery voice. She flipped her hair one last time, then grinned at Taylor.

Rio’s eyebrows shot up as the girl hopped off the stage and shoved her way through the crowd to Taylor.

“Hey! Who’s this?” She asked, gesturing to Rio as she gave her friend a hug.

“This is Rio—he’s a regular here. We hang out a lot because of that,” Taylor answered. Rio noticed the red tint the teen’s face was taking on.

Brooke swung about to face Rio, hands on her hips. “You on the list for tonight?”

“List?” He echoed, confused. “Since when is there a list?”

She shrugged, jabbing a thumb behind her at the crowd that was waiting for the next act to take the stage. “You know, because there’s so many people here? For the—” She broke off as a tall man squeezed into the small circle.

“Rio! Hey! Came as always, eh?” The owner of the club greeted him. His broad shoulders took up most of the breathing room, especially as he grabbed the small man by the shoulders and began leading him through the crowd. “Come on, let’s get you backstage. Gotta prep for your song.”

Rio waved to his friends as he let himself be corralled.

“So I guess I’m on the list already, eh, Marco?” He asked, opening the door to the backstage hallways.

“Of course! You come every week, same time, same day. I wouldn’t have a Saturday without you performing, kid,” Marco sputtered.

The imposing man lead the way down the cramped passage. Rio hugged his guitar case close as he passed the narrow dressing room doors, all of which had names on them for once. The last door on the left was the only one without multiple names on it—there was just one.

Rio West.

“You saved one just for me?” Rio asked. He set his hand against the small plaque.

“Of course! Now get in there and get ready! You’re up after the next guy!” Marco boomed, throwing the door open and shoving Rio inside.

The door slammed shut behind, and Rio blinked. That happened. His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the low, dim room. A splintered pink vanity and mirror stood against the long wall covered in guitar racks. He walked past them to the faded floral sofa against the back wall. Dropping his guitar case on the couch, he popped the latches and threw the lid open.

He never got tired of pulling his electric out. He’d customized it extensively during his time touring with Matt and the Dragons, and it was his pride and joy.

Rio slid the shoulder strap over his head and lifted the guitar out. His fingers grazed the decals and custom paint on the body. He’d spent two weeks painting a sprawling Chinese dragon onto the pickguard, and even though it was starting to chip, he didn’t want to try touching it up. Adding paint to a masterpiece is never a good idea.

He paced the small room, eager to for his turn. He paused his pacing twice. Once to check his fluffy black hair in the mirror, and once to listen to the current performer through the walls. It was muffled, but he heard raspy vocals and some killer bass. He didn’t recognize the song. He pursed his lips. Might be a tricky act to follow up, but he’d try.

Finally the knock on the door came, and Marco lead him to the curtained stage entrance in the hall. The guy who just finished performing shoved his way through the drapery, and he flashed Marco and Rio a pale-faced and trembly thumbs-up as he passed.

“He okay?” Rio asked, furrowing his brows.

Marco waved it off. “Fine, yeah, definitely. Now go! Crowd’s waiting!” He pushed the musician up the short stairs.

Rio halted just behind the curtains, drawing in a slow breath before stepping through.

The hot stage lights burned his eyes as he walked to his place, flashing a bright white smile. The audience roared. Rio wasn’t so frustrated with the packed house after all.

He grabbed a cable off the top of the nearest amp and jammed the jack into his guitar, then flipped a few switches. He nodded slightly, then stepped forward.

The moments before strumming those first notes were always the hardest for Rio. The apprehension, the breathless silence from the crowd—but once you pluck the strings a few times it’s not so bad.

His fingers folded to the frets as he braced himself. This was the first time he’d be playing one of his original songs in front of anyone, and in front of the biggest groups he’d ever entertained solo. He screwed his eyes shut, then brought his fingers across the strings in the first note.

Rio’s fingers leaped from chord to cord, fret to fret, and back again as the opening riff filled the air. He hooked the mic stand in front of him with a toe and pulled it closer, just in time to start the first verse.

He sang with as much passion as he could, trying his best to make it a good show.

After the chorus he slid the guitar off, dashing to the battered synthesizer—a well-used Yamaha DX7 that Marco himself had donated for use on the stage. Rio started laying down a wild and bright solo. His head bobbed to the tune. He stayed on the synth for the rest of the song, all the way to the end.

He grinned, his lips against the mic as he looked over the swarm of people below, all moving in some way or another. His song was making people dance, and it made his throat tight.

This was what he lived for.

Rio wished he could have played another song, but whatever was happening that night made it one song per person. Based off how many people were in the dressing rooms in the back, he figured there were probably a lot of people waiting to perform.

Instead he settled for sitting at the counter and getting a meal.

As the chef made his food, Rio sipped at a tall glass of sparkling cider. It was a dry bar, not that he minded too much. He just wished they wouldn’t try so hard to make it look like a wet bar.

He idly looked around the room, reading the band posters and ads tacked to the walls. He spied an old tour poster he stuck up himself, way back when he was still a member of the Dragons. He chuckled. Glad that’s over, he mulled.

His eyes continued wandering. They stuck firm on a poster by the door that said in bold letters,

TONIGHT ONLY! ROCK TILL THE SUN COMES UP! MUSIC STARTS AT 6:00 P.M. AND GOES TO 6:00 A.M.!

He nearly spit out his cider.

The chef set a steaming plate in front of Rio, who slammed his hands down on the counter.

“Twelve HOURS?! How many people are performing?” Rio cried.

The chef blinked. “Let’s see...last I saw the list, it was around...three hundred names on it? I know some of ‘em are in bands, but still...lots of people to fit in every hour, y’know?”

Rio dropped back into his seat in a stunned silence.

What was happening tonight? Three hundred people signed up to perform?

Rio shook his head lightly as he set to eating his meal. Breakfast for dinner—super salty bacon, eggs and hashbrowns, just the way he liked them. He barely noticed the flavor as he chewed though, his mind racing with the possibilities of what was going on.

“This seat taken?” A stranger asked in a bright English accent. Rio shrugged, not giving much of a response.

They sat down beside him regardless. He continued gnawing on the bacon, lost in his ideas.

“You did good tonight!” They said. He finally glanced over to get a look at this newcomer. It was a plain looking fellow. His skin was a light olive, and his blond hair was fading out to white along the sides. Aside from a sharp cobalt blue suit vest, his outfit was rather plain.

“Thanks,” Rio responded flatly. Whoever this guy was, he was keen on talking, whether anyone else wanted to or not.

The man leaned forward on the counter. “So, you’re Rio, right? Rio West?”

He nodded, taking another chomp of hashbrowns.

“I asked Marco about you. Said you were a regular. It’s a good gig here, yeah?” The man said, tapping the shiny counter.

Rio nodded again.

The counter had fallen unusually quiet for the ruckus in the room that night, and he looked around to find everyone else seated nearby staring at Rio with wide eyes. Some jaws had even dropped.

He narrowed his eyes and turned back to his breakfast for dinner.

“Was that song you played original?” The man asked, folding his hands.

Rio swallowed hard and stared for a moment. Seriously, why does he keep trying to strike up a conversation?

“Yeah, it was,” Rio said finally. “First time playing it anywhere.”

The blond fellow’s eyes brightened. “Really! I never would have guessed. Have you performed much in the past?”

“I toured with Matt and the Dragons for a couple years. Lead guitar.” Rio tried to keep his tone guarded, but something about this guy’s enthusiasm was rather contagious.

“They’re on the list for later! What a coincidence. I look forward to hearing them play,” The man grinned.

Rio shoved his plate forward and whipped about to face his neighbor. “Okay, what list is this? I keep hearing people talk about it. Someone told me there were around three hundred people on it. What’s the list all about? Did Marco just decide to

have an all-night jam party?”

The man’s brows shot up, his shoulders dropping. “You really don’t know? I thought you signed up yourself!” His tone was incredulous.

Rio shook his head vigorously as he replied, “No, I have no idea. Please, elaborate.”

The man chuckled and turned on his stool to face Rio completely. “Mr. West, this is a talent search for Brightlite Music.”

Rio’s ice-blue eyes nearly popped out of his head. “And you are...?”

“I’m Mr. Jova. I’m the owner of Brightlite Music. And I’d like to give you callback based off your performance tonight.”