“Because we’ve released it only to Warren students,” I say. “So our numbers will be much lower than our competition.”

“So say a percentage,” Robbie mumbles.

“What?” I turn to him.

I guess he was listening. And coding at the same time. I’m impressed.

“There are what, seven thousand undergrads on campus?” he says, like this is obvious. “Can we get information on how many of those people are single?”

“The Daily did something about it a month ago,” Sara says. “Or at least an estimation, when they wrote that article about dating on campus.”

“Perfect,” Robbie says. “Then divide our users by that, and bingo, the percentage of single people on campus on our app.”

“Yeah but it’s been like two weeks,” I say. “The number can’t be that...”

He spins his computer toward me. I walk toward him so I can read it.

He has the Daily article pulled up, along with some sort of fancy CS Engineering Whatever calculator that is definitely overkill for this task.

It’s a bit hard to read for a mere mortal social science major like me, but even I can tell where the grand total is.

“That can’t be right,” I say.

Robbie shakes his head. “Numbers don’t lie.”

Sara leans toward us. “What is it?”

I smile, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders for the first time since we launched.

“Half of the single people on campus are using our app.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “We might just become millionaires after all.”

Chapter Seventeen

Roberto

“What does their company do again?” Sara asks.

Outside the car window, palm trees move past rhythmically. They line the path toward the main quad, all towering and spaced precisely, like Roman columns.

We are in an Uber Black, due to Braden’s insistence on not asking an upperclassman to borrow a car, and on our way to seek advice from a Warren upperclassman who went to Braden’s boarding school. Or, I guess he really isn’t an upperclassman anymore, considering he dropped out in the middle of last year to pursue his start-up idea.

“It’s an anonymous message board platform for middle school and high schoolers.”

I make a face. “Does the world really need that?”

Braden shrugs. “It got funding.”

“Hmmm.” Sara flicks a piece of fuzz off her pink tweed skirt. She looks nice, with a white blouse that ties into a bow at her neck and stylish shoes with little buckles.

I feel a bit underdressed myself, in just a button-down and a dark pair of jeans. I wasn’t sure if I should dress like I was going to a business meeting, or just to hang out with some other kids around our age. I feel like I chose wrong.

“How much funding?” I ask.