‘Have a nice Saturday, Ms Casey, Ms Heck,’ he said. ‘I suggest you take some time for rest and schoolwork.’

Wait – what?

‘Me too?’ I asked dumbly.

‘Yes, Ms Heck.’

‘Me? I should have a nice Saturday? And get some rest? And do my homework?’

‘Yes, Ms Heck. As I have told you before, your junior year at St Mary’s is an exceptionally important one. It prepares you for your future – most immediately, for your senior year at St Mary’s.’

‘My senior year at St Mary’s?’ I repeated.

And, with that, he waved us out of the door.

Out on the stairwell, Katie and I looked at each other.

Who was this chick? What kind of witch was she? The fact that she hadn’t gotten in trouble wasn’t too surprising, given it was her first time in the principal’s office and she’d been a favorite of teachers and nuns for years now. But this time she hadn’t been sucking up. She’d told Father Hughes the truth; she’d told him he was wrong. And, instead of punishing her, he’d listened.

He’d listened – and he’d let me stay.

It occurred to me in some part of my dazed, dumb brain that it was actually possible I could learn something from Katie Casey. I mean, not about politics, or sexuality, or the morality of masturbating to the sweaty Judas from that Bible video we watched in freshman theology – because she was totally clueless and wrong on all that stuff – but about getting people to listen. Getting your way. Maybe she was kind of like Machiavelli, or Sun Tzu if he wrote The Art of War in pink, sparkly gel pen.

I took a deep breath and said – ‘Katie?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘So … we have one last meeting of the Feminist Club after finals. I was thinking … you could come, if you want? In case we wanna talk about the Monologues, or the festival, or …’

Katie’s smile returned. ‘Yeah! Definitely! Let me know when – I’ll be there!’

I was staying at St Mary’s.

At first, I felt this massive relief. Then I felt a little bit of regret when I realized I would actually have to catch up on all my homework, and study for my finals, too. But overall, by Sunday, the weekend felt kind of anticlimactic. I hadn’t gotten in trouble; Sister Hellda never found out about the guys in the dorm. The snowplow had cleared away any evidence of our fire on the quad, the mini bra-strap fire in the smoldering bush had been put out, and no one had gotten hurt.

Oh – well, except Mary Kate. Her ankle was broken. After a trip to the hospital with her new best friend, the school nurse, her parents picked her up and took her home early for Thanksgiving.