Her voice is quieter than Beck and Sophia’s, but both of them fall silent as soon as she speaks what is clearly some sort of admonishment. Then she notices me and says something else in German. Beck jumps back in, and then Sophia laughs and says a few words.

I wish I could get a transcript of this conversation to plug into Google Translate later, but they’re speaking too fast for me to catch so much as a single word to look up.

“Hello. I’m Erika,” Beck’s mother says, switching to English and giving me a warm, albeit guarded smile.

“I know,” I blurt.

Her smile grows a bit more genuine. “You’re American,” she observes, echoing her daughter. I’m guessing it means the girls Beck referenced earlier have all been German.

“Yes. That’s why I don’t know German. I mean, I didn’t think I’d need to know it. I’m just here for a few more weeks.” Oh my God, stop talking! I scold myself. “I think it’s a great language, though,” I add, worried I’ve somehow offended everyone in the room.

Beck snorts at my side, and I elbow him in the stomach. Unfortunately, I think the contact hurts my arm more than his torso.

“Are you here on a university trip? Or vacation?” Erika inquires politely, a small smile playing on her lips that I hope means she found my awkward babble charming and not idiotic.

“I’m here for Scholenberg.” Both Sophia and Erika’s eyebrows rise. “I was just planning to play socc—football. That’s why I didn’t bother to learn any German. I wasn’t expecting to be around so many… Germans.”

There’s a second snort beside me, and I jab Beck a bit harder this time. Still rock solid.

“I’d love to hear more about Scholenberg,” Erika remarks. “I haven’t seen Christina in ages. She’s still the head coach, yes?”

“She’s more of a drill sergeant, but yes,” I reply.

Erika laughs.

“Where’s Papa?” Beck asks, strolling farther into the mansion.

“On the terrace,” Erika replies. “It’s so nice out I thought we’d eat outside.”

We walk through a tastefully decorated living room, leaving Sophia behind in the soaring entryway to wait for the mysterious Karl. I’m guessing they covered that in the German portion of the conversation.

The terrace is covered by a wooden lattice woven with bright greenery that shades the table and chairs beneath it. It overlooks a broad stretch of grass framed by tall, trimmed hedges that block any neighbors.