We talk late into the night, and at the end of the call I wave goodbye to my mother, wishing more than anything that she was here so I could hug her and she could kiss me good-night on the forehead. I would tease her for needing to go on her tiptoes, since I’m taller than her now, and tell her it embarrasses me. But secretly, I’d be happy to have her fussing over me, ecstatically happy to have her back.

I fall asleep dreaming about money. About fancy lawyers who specialize in immigration. About plane tickets to Mexico. About a house for my parents in the suburbs.

I wake up and email Braden and Sara ten more schools where I think we might be able to launch the app.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Braden

I wave to Robbie and Sara through the crowd.

“Yes, that’s right,” I say into my cell phone. “I’m trying to inquire about the status of a bus I ordered—it should be heading from Warren to Berkeley. And no I will not hold. I’ve been on hold for the last fifteen minutes.”

I cover the receiver with my hand as Sara walks up. “This is ridiculous.”

Over her shoulder, a large black coach bus pulls up to the curb. “Just kidding, bye,” I yap into my phone before ending the call.

“What’s going on?” Robbie asks.

The doors open and the girls pile off, most of them in short skirts and tank tops, or football jerseys and short shorts, as I detailed in my email.

“Yeah, Braden,” Sara says. “What is going on?”

“I sent you guys an email about this, didn’t I?” I say. The first girl off the bus, a beautiful blonde with a Victoria’s Secret–type body, walks up and shows me her phone and Platinum status. I hand her a ticket to the game, a ticket to our tailgate and fifty dollars, as promised.

“The first seventy-five girls with Platinum status to RSVP get a free trip to the bowl game, an invite to our tailgate and a small payment.”

“I thought the point was to invite University of California students to the tailgate,” Sara says, “so they’ll join the app. What’s the point of inviting people who already use Perfect10?”

I keep handing out tickets and cash, not looking at Sara. “It shows the Berkeley people that the people on the app are hot.”

She scoffs. “You definitely did not email us about this.”

“Huh, must have forgot to send it,” I say. More like decided not to, thinking it would be easier to deal with her reaction in public, and when it was already too late to cancel. “A pleasant surprise then.” I smile as a Rihanna look-alike steps off the bus. “Happy New Year’s to us all,” I say.