She stumbled backwards into Theology John, who lost his balance and sloshed the contents of his Cherry Coke can all over the front of his blue button-down. Luckily, seeing as what was in the can smelled very little like Cherry Coke, Theology John was confused about who had bumped into whom. First, he looked around, flushed and nervous, checking for teachers. Then he noticed Mary Kate and was super apologetic.

‘Oh man, are you okay?’ he asked her. He inspected her clothes, holding his dripping can away from her. Then he looked at her face. ‘Hey, wait, aren’t you in my theology class?’

‘Oh, am I?’ She tilted her head to the side like a golden retriever puppy, her best ‘adorably puzzled’ face. ‘I think you might be right! Do you need a tissue? I think I have one …’

As she began pulling tissues and wipes and stain spray out of her purse like a boy-crazy Mary Poppins, I thought, My work here is done. So I walked away. I had some mingling to do.

If you’re a girl at a St Mary’s social event, probability says you will be hit on by at least three guys named Pat.

My first Pat that night was a guy I already knew. Pat Number One and I had gym together freshman year – an early-morning class that he spent running endless laps around the track with the obsession of a lab rat, and I spent eating Pop-Tarts on the high-jump mat. So we’re not exactly best buds. But Pat is a super-friendly dude so, when he spotted me alone at the dance, he bounced over like a human pogo stick.

‘Hey, Alex! What’s up? How was your summer?’

Pat Number One is a rubbery beanpole with an overbite that makes a cheerful whistling sound when he talks.

‘Good, Pat.’ I craned my neck back to look up at him. ‘How about you? What’d you do this summer?’

‘Oh man! I ran a marathon!’ His enthusiasm showered spit down on me. ‘The training was intense but awesome! I got up at four a.m. every day and started with push-ups and a protein shake, then …’

Pat Number One is nice and all, but I stopped listening pretty fast. To me, people talking about exercise is pretty much white noise. ‘Ten miles … shin splints … whey protein …’

Tuning out, I let my gaze wander across the dance floor, where a bunch of sophomore and junior girls were bopping around innocently like extras in a 1960s beach movie. I checked on Mary Kate, who was still talking to Theology John, giggling and twirling the ends of her long, ripply hair.

When I tuned back in, Pat Number One was saying, ‘Hey! You wanna make out?’

Wait – what? How did we get from marathon training to hooking up?

‘Uh … no thanks, I’m good,’ I said.