We’ve been up most of the night, trying to fix the last few hiccups before the scheduled launch of the app in—I check my watch—two hours and thirty-seven minutes. Jesus Christ. I run a hand through my hair and attempt to take a deep breath.

“All right,” Sara says, leaning back in her chair. “I think... I think that’s it. It should work.” Her voice is faint.

“Well, test it.” I take three paces in the small kitchenette before turning around and heading back toward her.

“It works!” she says. I walk up and lean over her shoulder to see for myself, and she is right. It works. It finally works.

“I can’t believe it.” She stares at the screen. “It’s done.”

“I can,” I say, falling into a chair. “It feels like we’ve been working on it for centuries.”

She laughs. “We made it literally just in time.”

Just then the door flies open. “All right, you guys.” Braden charges in. “We go live in just under three hours—it’s game time.” His voice is commanding. He sets down two computer bags on the chair and takes out his cell phone. “Okay, this is what we need to do...” He reads from a list, but I am only half listening, and honestly understanding only half the things I hear. “...and then there’s the announcement on various other social media—Reddit, Facebook and Tumblr—which need to go out. Not to mention the press release. Speaking of, I need to get on the phone for an interview in—” he checks his watch “—five minutes.”

As he continues to pace and ramble, Sara slowly stands up from the table and walks over to the couch. She pulls her legs onto the seat and drapes a fuzzy blanket over herself.

“Uh-huh.” She nods along to what he is saying, her eyes fluttering closed.

I try to hold in a laugh as I follow her and take a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

Braden keeps talking, going on about an article on some blog.

“Oh really? That’s interesting.” I have no idea what he had just said. I adjust the pillows behind me.

He gives me an odd look, but continues with his speech.

His ringtone blares through the room, interrupting him. He jumps and clicks his phone.

“Hello, yes, this is Braden from Perfect10 Enterprises, thanks so much for making the time to talk to me!” He holds his hand over the receiver. “Reporter,” he says to us. “I’ll be right back, hang tight.”

Sara gives him a lazy thumbs-up, I just smile. He brings the phone back to his ear, laughing as he opens the door to take the call in the hallway.

“I think,” Sara says, after the door closes, “that it might be our turn to be the deadweight.”

“Jersey Shore?” I ask.

“You know what?” She reaches for the remote. “I think so.”