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They pushed through the double doors into a sea of bobbing ponytails and leather jackets. The gym was a chaotic broadcast of teenage energy. In one corner, a group of sophomores was huddled around a transistor radio, trying to catch a fading signal from a station out of Chicago that played the "race records" their parents called noise. In another, girls were swapping crumpled pages of 16 Magazine , debating if Elvis’s sideburns were getting too long. "Listen," Peggy whispered, grabbing his hand.

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They walked out into the cool night, two kids caught in the glow of a neon sign, living in a world that was just beginning to find its volume. They pushed through the double doors into a

The year was 1959, and the air in Riverside smelled like cherry phosphate and scorched rubber. In another, girls were swapping crumpled pages of

It was Peggy. She looked like a Technicolor dream in a poodle skirt that crinkled like static electricity. She wasn’t holding a textbook; she was clutching the latest issue of Photoplay , the cover splashed with a brooding James Dean.

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.

"The DJ says they're showing Creature from the Black Lagoon at the drive-in tomorrow," Leo said, his voice finally steady. "Want to go see it in 3D?"