Once all the girls are off the bus, we head to our tailgate. I rented out the nearby lot using my own money, like I am for this whole event, since we don’t have investment yet.

“This is awesome,” Robbie says as soon as we are in view.

There are large banners adverting Perfect10 as well as cute pop-up posters that say “Valentine’s Day is around the corner. Who wants to be your date?” and “No midnight kiss? No way that happens next year!” and a few football themed ones like “Score with Perfect10.” There is also a DJ stand, open bar and piles of free T-shirts, buttons and stickers with our logo. And, of course, a tent for Sara, Robbie and I to post up at, and try to pitch the app to as many suckers as possible.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Hmph,” Sara says.

My temporary employees are milling about, clinking longneck bottles of beer and wearing Perfect10 T-shirts a size too small. I must say, our logo stretched across their chests is a beautiful sight.

“Was this really necessary?” Sara asks. She doesn’t specify what, but she is staring daggers at two girls spraying bottles of cheap champagne at each other, so I can make a guess.

“It’s not like we’re the first brand to use models to sell our product.”

“They aren’t models—they’re Warren students.” We get to the founders tent and I walk around the back, but she doesn’t follow, instead standing in front of the folding table and staring me down.

“They’re here to be pretty—they’re models.”

She just looks at me.

“Hey.” I reach out and lift her chin with my finger. We texted nonstop all winter break, and I didn’t search for solid Wi-Fi all over the French Alps just to mess things up now. “You’re the most beautiful woman here. And you’re not a model, you’re a freaking founder.”

A smile curls edge of her lips. She walks around to my side of the table.

Our first potential customer is a Cal freshman boy who weighs about 110 pounds. He walks up to Sara immediately.

I sit down to let her take a stab at the business side for a change, and it turns out she isn’t half-bad. It doesn’t hurt that the freshman is half paying attention to what she is saying and half drooling over her.

She points to her phone, but he’s looking at her chest. “Well I have mine on demo mode, but it would normally be your own picture here...”

The boy nods, still in a trancelike state. I stifle a laugh.

“...do you wanna download it? Okay, great! Use this code to start at Silver! Bye!”

Sara turns to me as he walks away. “I think that went well!” she says.

“I’d say so.”