“What about Carla?” Seth asked.

“Pretty, but,” Bob sighed, “she’s so full of pain that one day she’ll evaporate and become a Stevie Nicks song.”

“Lauren?”

“Sounds too much like Shania Twang, but doesn’t look enough like her.”

“Chrissy?”

“Seriously?” Bob snorted. “She’s gone Etheridge.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Seth looked around the cafeteria, the dance banners sparkling in bright colors. A cluster of girls sat a few tables away. “Amanda?” he suggested.

“Trashy as Britney Spears without being as slutty,” Bob dismissed the idea.

“What about Brittney?”

“LiLo, Jr.?”

“Great fun at a party,” Seth pointed out.

“Until she’s passed out and you have to drag her ass home.”

“OK, no,” Seth sighed, exasperated. “Laura?”

“She looks too much like Bianca Ryan. I feel guilty having lustful thoughts about America’s Sweetheart.”

“Amy?” Seth tried finally.

“Now she’s Fergalicious,” Bob agreed, smiling. He stood and started over to the other side of the cafeteria.