If there's one thing that the four of you have learned since that hotel room in 2006, it's that the four of you know to have a good fucking time when you all go out.

Stanford doesn't know what's hit them when it admits Art, you, and Tashi into its tennis program; the Duncanator and her entourage of tennis players are no strangers to the party scene, especially when her boyfriend manages to break away from the pro tennis circuit for a weekend here and there. You, Tashi, Art, and Patrick are lucky if you all manage to wake up in one of your three dorms scattered across campus, the nights typically forgotten in the haze of liquid courage.

Oh, is it because the four of you feed off of one another? Is there a ringleader in your group that leads everyone to make some not-so-good decisions? Who's the bad apple that ruins the whole bunch? Either way, all of you have fun when you're together, and it's no different when a trip to Miami for Spring Break is planned. That guarantee is dialed up to the nines once you all touch down in the Sunshine State.

It's a miracle that Patrick's even managed to get away from tour for this long, but it's welcomed as you and Art eat up seeing him and Tashi squished into a beach lounger together from your shared one. Three days in the sun have left you all with tanned skin and sunny dispositions, the group content enough to spend your days by the water and your nights in the clubs.

You hardly remember who you start the nights out with— was it Tashi's hand on your waist or Patrick's? Did Art steal your shot or did Patrick make him?— but they always end with the four of you squished onto one of the hotel's beds in a pile of drunken, grabby twenty-one-year-olds with little-to-no boundaries with one another.

Drawn out of your head today as Patrick's hand hikes up your thigh on the lounger, he smiles and gestures to the others in front of you on their beach towels. "Ten bucks that he burns," he bets while Tashi lathers Art's pale skin with SPF 70. Oh, he's gonna burn.