“Oh, right,” I said. “You mean because I’m so crafty? Remember when I got that second-degree burn putting my tile in the oven at Our Name Is Mud? Besides, it’s going to be lame if I give him something and he doesn’t give me anything. It’s just going to make him think his girlfriend is so weak, she’s succumbed to the pressure of a commercial holiday.”

“No, it won’t,” Tina said, looking shocked. “He’ll think it’s sweet.”

It was right then that Lana Weinberger came up behind us in line, talking really loudly into her cell phone (even though we aren’t supposed to use them in school), going, “That’s right, Trish, it turns out I can’t make the concert Friday after all. Josh finally got his act together and asked me to go with him to One if by Land, Two if by Sea, you know, that former carriage house that’s been renovated into one of the most romantic restaurants in New York City? Yeah, he reserved the table by the fireplace so the two of us can snuggle. And his dad is making sure we get a bottle of Cristal. It’s going to be the most romantic Valentine’s Day ever.”

It was really hard not to throw up, but somehow Tina and I managed. At least until the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili was like, “Is there corn in this?” to the lady behind the hot food counter, and she was like, “Yes,” and the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili was like, “Do you have any without corn in it?” and the lady behind the counter was like, “No,” and Lana, behind us, lowered her phone and was all, “OH MY GOD, COULD THIS LINE BE GOING ANY SLOWER?”

“God, Lana, relax,” I said. Because I really did feel badly for the the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, since he’d just been asking a question. “It’s not like your Zone bar is going to go bad while you wait,” since that was all she was buying.

To which Lana didn’t even bother replying, she just got back on her phone and was like, “God, I can’t WAIT until I’ve graduated and don’t have to spend all my time with so many CHILDREN,” which, good luck to her, isn’t going to be for another three and a half years.

But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is when I got to G and T, Boris was all, “Mia, come here,” when Lilly was busy showing Mrs. Hill the tiny prosthetic foot she made out of challah for a scene she’s shooting for this week’s episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is (an exploration of self-mutilation in the pursuit of beauty in cultures throughout history, starting with foot binding in the T’ang Dynasty and leading up to breast augmentation in the modern U.S. adult entertainment field).

So I followed Boris into the supply closet, which is where we force him to practice because otherwise we all get headaches. I had actually never been in there before. But really, I don’t see what he’s complaining about all the time; it’s quite pleasant, except for the lack of natural light. And I happen to enjoy the smell of Pine-Sol.