‘But this is about way more than just, like, them canceling my thing,’ I continued. ‘This is about the fact that I never got a chance to do what I really wanted in the first place. I should have realized that, no matter how much I compromised and changed and took the friggin’ vagina out of The Vagina Monologues, this school would never let it happen. Because this school – and everyone who goes here, including my own room-mate – is fundamentally against everything I stand for, and I’m the one who needs to take action here. So you should just go, like, pull out your hockey pompons and go to the recruit party for the Toothless Beast. I’m sure you don’t want to miss it.’

But, instead of scurrying off like the little Cupcakes, Katie Casey stood up again and took a step closer to me.

‘Actually, I’m not the biggest fan of recruit parties,’ she said. ‘I mean, I love St Mary’s, of course, and school spirit is amazing! But I had kind of a bad experience at a recruit party freshman year …’

She trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and avoided my eyes by looking behind me.

‘Um …’ she ventured. ‘I think your fire might be dying.’

I turned around and saw she was right. In fact, my fire was dead. All that was left was a black patch of grass with a few scraps of burnt paper and a couple of bras. It looked less like a fiery political statement, and more like the remains of an Alaskan Poetry Retreat-turned-orgy.

‘You probably already know this,’ Katie said, ‘but if you make a teepee shape with the paper, the fire will withstand the wind better.’

‘A teepee?’

‘I make the fires when I go ice-fishing with my dad,’ she explained. ‘I can help you if you want?’

‘Well …’ I hesitated before realizing that not only were my damp bras in the grass not making a political statement but the numbness creeping up my legs was probably the start of frostbite. Because I wasn’t speaking to Mary Kate, I couldn’t ask to borrow her long johns, so I’d worn my fox-print tights under my jeans instead, but they weren’t helping. I looked up under the flaps of my hat at the ever-darkening sky. Temperatures were supposed to drop below freezing tonight.

I handed her the lighter.

Katie Casey may not have been a rebel, but she turned out to be pretty useful. In no time at all, she had a good-sized fire going. Sure, her fire didn’t have that whole roaring, destructive vibe I was going for – it was happy and crackling, sending up cheerful sparks, a better fit for a Girl Scout sleepover or a cozy Christmas Eve than a violent protest. But the quad was colder than Princess Elsa’s asshole, so Katie Casey’s friendly fire was probably saving my life.