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tree-circled artificial lake dotted with fountains. To one side were garages and an acre of cobblestone where the guests could park, and it was already filling up. Valets circled around in golf carts, ferrying guests to the house.
    Since we had equipment, the valet took us straight to the back. Beyond a huge expanse of lawn and trimmed hedges were the white marble columns that surrounded the
big
pool. The smaller one apparently was right behind the house. When Manny saw the pool he whistled. “Wow, man, this will be like playing in an arena!”
    The bandstand was at the far end of the pool; the patio that surrounded the water was probably bigger than the parking lot, and all around it were tents and tables with things to eat and drink. Lisa had told me that Zoey’s mom was totally strict about underage drinking; if you tried for the champagne you’d get carded. I wasn’t tempted anyway—I’d had beer a couple of times and I didn’t like the way it made me feel—but I’d seen parties get rowdy because of kids drinking and doing other stuff, and I was glad this wasn’t going to be one of them. Assuming the adults behaved themselves.
    We weren’t going to play until around sunset—ten or so—so we put our stuff in a safe place and went looking around. As the crowd grew, we all saw kids we knew from high school. But most of the people here would be relatives or folks Zoey’s mom, Nadia, knew. After half an hour I spotted Lisa, who was looking for us.
    â€œHey, Trip,” she called, and then came over and gave each of us a hug. “Nice place, huh?” Manny’s eyes were still big as he took in everything.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Any idea how many guests?”
    â€œThree or four hundred invited, plus whoever they bring,” Lisa said. “Come on up to the house. I want you to meet the birthday girl.”
    We followed a wavy marble path back across the lawn and entered the house through the back. A huge hall with a ceiling two stories high stretched straight through the house from front to back. Zoey and her mom were at the front, greeting guests. We walked up, and Lisa said, “Zoey, this is Trip Costas and his band.” Zoey turned around, and I caught my breath. She was a green-eyed blonde, about my height, with a smile that left me, and I expect a lot of guys, tongue-tied.
    â€œHi Trip,” she beamed. “Lisa talks about you all the time.”
    â€œUh, happy birthday!” I said and introduced her to the guys. While I was searching for something clever, but not too clever to say next, her mother noticed us.
    â€œNadia,” she said, and shook each of our hands. She had a heavy accent. “Trip, you’re Julio’s boy, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWell I can see his features, but you’re taller.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWell,” she said when she realized I was not good for much more than single syllables. “Make yourself at home. I’ll look forward to hearing you fellows play.”
    Lisa put a hand on my shoulder as we all headed back to the pool. Leaning over, she whispered to me, “In case you’re wondering, she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
    I looked at her mischievous grin and laughed. “You are hilarious, girl.” But she was also smart. I
had
been wondering.
    Â 
    . . .
    Celebrities. By the time were setting up I’d seen a dozen. I guess they were fans of Zoey—and the makeup line. Somebody said Justin Bieber was there, but I didn’t see him. It was crowded around the pool, and the lights were turned on as the sun was setting.
    Our set went well. There was a place where people could dance if they wanted. But you could tell that a lot of them were just listening. That’s what we wanted—for the sound to get people’s attention.
    For our last number we’d worked up something new. “Thank