demaeter:

tsarist:

“Skov!” shouted Kavinsky. “Music!”

Another car’s stereo boomed to life, taking up where the Mitsubishi had left off.

Kavinsky turned to Ronan with a sly grin. “You coming to Fourth of July this year?”

Ronan exchanged a look with Gansey, but the other boy was looking out over the numerous silhouettes, his eyes narrowed. “Maybe,” he replied.

“It’s a lot like a substance party,” Kavinsky said. “You want to see something explode, bring something that explodes.”