That was my plan. Unfortunately, there was a problem. It turned out it wasn’t so easy to match the raging flame of righteous rage in me with an actual physical flame. After ten minutes, I was still struggling, squatting in the grass, fumbling with the cigarette lighter. I was wearing my grey fingerless cat-burglar gloves with the rough wool unraveling at the knuckles, and my fingertips were blue with cold. Who would have guessed I was so terrible at burning things? Definitely not the girl who lost an eyebrow due to my recklessness with a Fourth of July sparkler at summer camp, I’ll tell ya that. Every time I managed to get the lighter lit and the corner of the quiz paper to catch the flame, wind swept across the quad and blew it out. I would flick, flick, flick the cigarette lighter – the paper corner would catch light – the wind would blow, the flame would waver and die out. The whole thing was a damp mess – like a soggy birthday cake after that gross spitty kid in class tries to blow out the candles.

Finally, I had a decent little flame going – an entire quiz paper had caught fire. I was admiring my work proudly when I heard a perky voice behind me: ‘Oh my gosh! Is this a bonfire?’

Three freshman girls were standing behind me, all rosy-cheeked and looking like cupcakes in their pastel hats with pompons on top.

‘A bonfire!’ Cupcake Number One squealed, clapping her mittened hands together. ‘I think I have marshmallows in my room – we can make s’mores!’

‘I’ll bring my Frozen sleeping bag!’ Cupcake Number Two offered.

‘I’ll bring my guitar!’

‘Oh my gosh – Christmas carols!’

‘I didn’t even know they were doing a bonfire for the Toothless Beast. Beast Brownies and a Beast Bonfire! This is seriously the best Friday ever.’

That was it. Too far! I’d been trying to ignore the cheerful little chinchillas chattering behind me and focus on my pyromania, but that was too much. I turned around.

‘Hey!’ I barked. ‘This is not a Beast Bonfire! In fact, it’s not even a bonfire at all! This is a “Fuck the Patriarchy” bra-burning. It’s a political protest. So, if you’re burning with a passionate desire to destroy the inherently unequal and fucked-up structures of our society with a cigarette lighter and your underwear, you can join me. But, if all you want in life is just, like, hot chocolate with little marshmallows in it, you can move the hell on!’

The Cupcakes gave each other a look … and moved the hell on. As they scurried away in their snowboots, Cupcake Number Three looked back apologetically and told me, ‘I have low blood sugar, so I really need the little marshmallows.’

Then another frigid blast of wind blew across the quad, and the Cupcakes were practically swept away, shrieking and giggling.