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the Pizza Pavilion swung open and Peter Terris floated in like visiting royalty with Julia Hart epoxied to his side.
    “
Forget him!
” Trish hissed.
    They moved entwined to a window booth that magically emptied, moved right by me, I might add—I, who had just sold him an unusual pie hours before. Peter’s surfer-sandy hair was shining, his ice-green eyes were gleaming. Julia shook her majestic blond hair and beamed at Peter like a politician’s wife. I pushed my plate away.
    “There’s no way, A.J.” Trish pushed the plate back toward me. “Some battles can’t be won. Peter Terris is out of your universe and even if you got together,
which you won’t
, he’d make you miserable because he’s in love with himself just like Todd Kovich and Robbie Oldsberg and all the other guys you—”
    “He has,” I growled, “a healthy self-image!”
    “He can’t,” Trish countered, “pass a mirror withoutchecking his reflection!” She pointed to Peter, who had caught his perfect image in the window and was smoothing his hair. Trish held her hand up like a traffic cop. “You need to connect with a guy who’s real, A.J., not these model types you get hung up on.”
    I rose to defend him, but was stopped short by Pearly Shoemaker, who was standing at our table smiling benevolently—a new approach. Her smile said if I handed over the Valentine’s edition cover shot nobody would get hurt.
    “I’m working on it, Pearly.”
    “I’m so glad, A.J.” Her neck muscles gripped. “The entire Valentine’s Day edition has been sold
without
a cover shot for advertisers!”
    She slapped a poster trumpeting the Valentine
Oracle
with dumpy cupids flying in formation like Canada geese. I said cupids were mythological control freaks,
not
the symbol of a new generation.
    Pearly closed her mascaraed eyes. “I’m counting to ten, A.J. I am the editor and my vision has prevailed, a vision that weaves classic love with today’s relationships.
Everyone
likes cupids, A.J.!”
    I made the universal barf sign in response.
    Pearly turned to Trish. “Talk to her!”
    Trish, loyal sidekick, wouldn’t dream of it.
    “
I need the cover photo, A.J.!
” Pearly hissed. “
You have thirty-six hours!
” She turned on her designer heel and stormed off.
    “The shark woman strikes again,” said Trish.
    I looked at Julia. I looked at Peter. I hid my face in my hands.
    Trish leaned forward. “There are seven days before the King of Hearts Dance, A.J.! Girls ask boys,
no
exceptions. And if you don’t ask someone soon, you’re going to end up sitting home
again
, being miserable and depressed
again.
You made me promise to bug you about this until you did something. So I’m bugging you!”
    “I release you from your promise.” I zippered my black bomber jacket. “Are you ever going to ask Tucker to the dance?”
    Trish looked down, embarrassed. Tucker Crawford was her latest heartthrob, the brash, opinionated investigative reporter on the
Oracle
who had uncovered potential food-poisoning problems in the school cafeteria.
    “I’m working on it,” she said.
    Nina Bloomfeld pulled up a chair at our table, looking bleak. She had just broken up with Eddie Royce, who had been cheating on her.
    “How’s it going?” I asked.
    “As expected,” Nina said glumly, “when you do the really mature thing.”
    I sighed deeply with her.
    “We should all just ask someone,” Trish declared. “It’s better than sitting home!”
    “Who,” I half shouted, “made these rules about sitting home being so awful? I mean, if there’s only oneperson you want to go with and that person doesn’t want to go with you, do you have to dredge up a love-equivalent just for a stupid dance? Is this what we’ve sunk to as a free-thinking female society?”
    “We shouldn’t need dates to be fulfilled,” Trish insisted. Then she lowered her voice ominously. “But if we don’t hurry up, you guys, only the nerds will be left.”

    I was driving Trish home in