She wiggles her shoulders, sitting up a little taller. “I bet I get more people to download it today than you do.”

“I doubt it...” I say, but my attention is across the yard, where a Very Drunk Girl is trying to climb the DJ stand with a red cup in her hand, presumably to request a song. Jesus. Is this what The Chainsmokers have brought us to?

A phone starts to ring, and I look away from the girl. It’s odd to hear a phone on full sound nowadays.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” Robbie says. He takes a few steps behind the tent and starts speaking in Spanish.

I half listen, and am happy to know I am not too rusty. But then I get distracted once again by the girl, who I think has a Cal Bear temporary tattoo upside down on her face, as she verbally assaults our DJ. I’m debating getting up and saying something when she loses her balance and spills her full beer on the DJ, or, more precisely, on his MacBook.

The music fades with a zapping sound.

“Oh shit!” I stand up.

“I’m on it!” Sara pops up and runs across the yard.

What the hell was I thinking, watching this build in slow motion—I should’ve kicked that chick out as soon as she stumbled into our area. Sara has reached the DJ stand and is talking with him. I don’t know what she’s saying, but there are a lot of hand motions involved.

“Sorry about that,” Robbie says, falling back into his chair. “What’s going on?”

His face is flushed, and I can’t help but think about the tidbit of information I learned at the beginning of his call. “Your mom lives in Mexico?” I ask. I peel the edge of a Perfect10 sticker off the plastic table with my thumbnail. When he doesn’t reply, I look up.

The color has drained from his face. “You speak Spanish?”

Across the yard the music starts back up.

“I speak three languages,” I say. “You guys think I’m dumb just because I’m bad with computers.”

“Just don’t tell anyone, please?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I...I don’t want people to make a deal about it. Pretend you didn’t hear, okay?”

“Whatever, man. My parents barely live in this country either.”

“That’s different.” He glares at me.

I open my mouth to respond when Sara bounds up. “I had to give him my phone to play on, but we are back in action. I told him we would cover a new MacBook.”

“Awesome,” I say.

A few feet away from the table, a cluster of girls hover, holding Bud Light Lime-A-Ritas and eyeing us.

“I think they’re too shy.” I nod toward them.

“Mine!” Sara whispers. “I call them.” She continues this competition against only herself.

“Knock yourself out,” I say.