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"I’m just waiting for the beat to drop," Leo lied, his palms damp. For seventeen-year-old Leo, life was measured in RPMs

The year was 1959, and the air in Riverside smelled like cherry phosphate and scorched rubber. She looked like a Technicolor dream in a

Leo stood outside the high school gymnasium, adjusting his collar in the reflection of a trophy case. Inside, the walls were sweating. The local DJ, a man who called himself "Wolfman Jack" (though everyone knew he was just Mr. Henderson from the hardware store), was spinning the latest Ritchie Valens.