Braden begins to present the actual app, and what he shows bears little resemblance to the mess we turned in. He certainly avoids the holes of Perfect10 by putting up still pictures of what certain screens might look like and painting a picture of how one could use that page, instead of showing them how it works and revealing how much it glitches.

“Thank you.” He clicks the slide remote, and the screen goes to black. He heads back to his seat.

Professor Thomas raises his eyebrows and claps.

A few students join in, and others look conflicted, probably debating whether applauding our project will make theirs look that much worse by comparison.

I feel dizzy, and blood rushes past my ears making it hard to hear. I reach for my armrest to stabilize myself. To make sure this is real.

Braden collapses into the seat next to me. I just nod and smile awkwardly at our fans.

“How’d you fix the formatting?” I whisper. “I thought you couldn’t code.”

“I didn’t. I photoshopped the screenshot.”

Oh my gosh.

The class goes long, since a number of presentations do not stay within the time limit. When it is finally over, Professor Thomas walks to the front of the room.

“I’m posting the grades from today,” he says. “If you got below a C, don’t bother coming back. I’ll see the rest of you next week.” He pegs a piece of paper to the board and walks away without another word.

As soon as the door closes behind him, people shoot up from their seats, running toward the front of the room. We push through the crowd.

“C-plus! Thank god,” a girl close to the paper exclaims.

Another girl pushes her way in front of the paper, running her finger down the list to find her group’s name. I spot a D scribbled where her finger comes to a stop.

She lets out a shriek and falls to the floor. Her group members pick her up and shh her, practically dragging her out of the way and creating enough space for me to step forward.

I scan the list quickly, looking for our names. There are a lot of Cs and about a third of the grades are Ds or Fs, so this will be a bit of a bloodbath.

Finally, I see it.

HART, JONES, DIAZ               A+

“Ohmigod ohmigod!” I jump up and down, my heels clicking on the floor.

Braden does a Tiger Woods-style fist pump.

Robbie stands totally still, eyes on the paper, as if in awe.

“This is unreal!” I say to him, grabbing his shoulders, “Last night we were praying for a C!”

“I know,” Robbie says, his voice hoarse.

I turn away from the list and practically skip as I head up the aisle, which is still clogged with people.