‘You sexist bastard!’ I shouted at him, panting. ‘This is supposed to be a bra-burning!’ Then – punctuating each word with a hurled snowball: ‘This. Isn’t. A. Snowball. Fight!’

Pat shrugged in his annoyingly carefree way. ‘Now it is!’ he called out cheerfully, taking a few running steps and launching a snowball high into the air. It plopped down exactly on top of my head and I stood there with ice particles slowly dripping down the leather earflaps of my hat, looking like I’d dressed up as a snow cone for Halloween. Which made me really mad. I growled, tossed aside my handful of snow and made a beeline for Pat, plowing straight into him.

We collided. Pat was knocked back to the ground and I tumbled on top of him, straddling him in the soft, fluffy blanket of snow, panting heavily in his face. His hair was wet and messy and starting to curl, his face bright red, white specks on his long eyelashes.

‘How dare you show up here!’ I panted. ‘This is a protest against misogyny and douchebag jocks and … and whatever wearing a bra symbolizes! This is a protest AGAINST YOU!’

‘Hey, I would never tell you to put on a bra,’ Pat said. ‘In fact, I came to join your protest. Mary Kate was at the recruit party and she told me what you were up to. I came here to help.’

‘Oh yeah?’ I was still panting. Damn, this snowball-fight thing could be the next cardio exercise craze. ‘How could you possibly help? Unless you want to be our symbolic, overprivileged male sacrifice voodoo doll and let us light your hair on fire.’

He ignored that offer. ‘I brought you something. And, if you would get off me a second, I’ll show you.’

Curiosity got the better of me. I sat back in the snow and let him sit up. Shaking white flakes from his hair, he reached inside his pea coat and pulled out …

‘Is that a BLOWTORCH?’

The metal glinted irresistibly through the falling snow. I grabbed it.

‘Hell, yeah!’ Pat grinned. ‘I mean, obviously it’s a mini blowtorch. Lundqvist uses it to make crème brûlée. He got hooked on The Great British Bake Off,’ he explained.

I turned the blowtorch over in my gloved hands.

‘So if you want our help …’ Pat trailed off.

I couldn’t help it – I flung myself on top of him again, almost smacking him in the face with the blowtorch, and kissed him.

Soon we were standing in front of another roaring fire. This fire was way bigger than the one Katie and I had made. AND I’d gotten to use the blowtorch.

It turned out Pat’s bros actually had come for the protest, although they weren’t the most legit supporters in the world.

‘I’m a feminist!’ one insisted. ‘I place bets on women’s basketball games.’