Marissa sits alone in her dark bedroom sexily applying makeup, which is routinely how I passed fifth period as well. From the shadows emerges D.J. the gardener (no, I'm not kidding), his shirt casually unbuttoned, his body language the unchained lust of a stereotypical resident of one of those towns "south of the border" where Spanish is yelled from shop windows and piñatas rain down passion. Marissa asks what he's doing here, and he volunteers, "I work here." She walks past him with a haughty "I have to go," and he calls her bluff with his follow-up, "So go." But he knows he's got her, because fiery Latinos don't need logical plot progressions when clichés about how libidinous they are will do fine, thank you. They kiss madly, D.J. asking if he'll see her today after school. Oh, so they already have a relationship. Maybe that should have kept him from staring at her like a dead-eyed freak in Summer's presence last week, but, well, Spaniards! Am I right? Also? Not really that attractive, an I wrong? He kind of looks like Joaquin Phoenix but with a chromosome missing. A, er, another chromosome missing.
Some ambiguous time later, Summer finds Marissa sitting alone drinking coffee at school, and plops herself down next to her. She asks what she's drinking and grabs the cup away, finding in it some kind of alcoholic beverage. Finally, Starbucks gets it right. Summer whispers in horror, "Did you spike your latte?" Marissa argues, "It's been a weird day." Summer gets up to throw the offending beverage out, and when she comes back asks if something happened with Ryan. Marissa wonders what she's supposed to tell him, and when Summer asks about what, Marissa cops to her secret, summer-long tryst with D.J. Man. Marissa and the gardener, Ryan and the guidance counselor, and the Cohens and their contractor. Summer had better get out of Marissa's business and start her own hunt for Newport's hottest fashion accessory for fall: the underpaid day laborer. See you outside of your county's finer civil-service testing centers. Summer can't believe that Marissa didn't tell her, but it's only because it was a plot twist that was invented by the power of what seems like bad improv, so don't worry, because Marissa didn't even know until a few seconds ago either. She wonders what to do now that Ryan's back, and Summer returns to her old saw: "He left. And suddenly, there was a hot, hot yard guy. In the yard. Who was hot. You didn't do anything wrong." If she didn't do anything wrong, Marissa wonders, why does she have to tell Ryan anything? Summer counsels that if it's actually over with D.J. Yardstick, maybe she doesn't even have to. Grabbing her arm, Summer suggests, "Let's get you some coffee with actual coffee in it."