Finally, one of the silences lasted so long that Theology John wussed out and put down his weapon. ‘Well,’ he said reluctantly, ‘I guess I should …’ and glanced back into his room as if to indicate he had important code-cracking, top-level FBI shit to get back to, when in fact all that was waiting for him was an open bag of pretzels and the fifth level of Mario Kart on pause.

Mary Kate’s face fell. ‘Yeah,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Sure …’

But then, as he slowly began to close his door, courage seized her. The flush of her face from her bravely beating heart, the determined set of her jaw told me what she was thinking – Fortune favors the bold! Faint heart never won fair lady! (Or, you know, fair dude.)

She reached out and grabbed the door, startling him. Then, trembling with adrenaline, she blurted: ‘Let’s go out!’

He panicked. He blushed. He spluttered. But she didn’t give him time to say no.

‘Tomorrow night!’ she rushed on, steamroller style, her voice breathless but loud and clear and decisive. ‘Let’s walk around the lake. Come to my dorm – St Theresa Hall – to the front door at seven. Okay?’

A tense moment of silence. Even I was anxious. My hand gripped the vagina flyers. All that hope and determination and desperation in Mary Kate’s big Bambi eyes! If he said no, I would rip the dumb sweaty boat shoe off his dumb sweaty foot and beat him with it. Then I would eat his pretzels.

But instead he smiled. His face lit up, and I could kind of see why she thought he was cute.

‘Okay.’ He nodded and said again, more confidently, ‘Okay. See you then.’

As soon as he closed the door, I lifted my hand for a high five.

‘Proximity!’ I said.

‘Proximity!’ Mary Kate cheered, and slapped my hand with a decisive, triumphant smack.

‘This is it. I know it. I feel it. First there was “Father” Caleb. Then there was Football Michael. But this is my third guy of the semester, and the third time’s a charm. I mean, look at the MOON! It’s a sign!’

Mary Kate stood in raptures by the window. A full moon had risen in the lavender twilight. It was Saturday night, the night of her walk around the lake with Theology John, and the night was, as she would say, perfect. It was still chilly enough that she looked cute and bundly in her pompon hat with her rippled, unbraided hair streaming down her pea coat, but not so cold that she had to wear mittens – which, as she had informed me very scientifically back in August, would block the hand-holding love magic the lake uses to create lasting relationships.

Before she left, she took one last dramatic glance around our room.

‘By the time I come back here,’ she said with certainty, ‘I will have a boyfriend.’