‘Yup.’ Caleb tilted his head towards the campus chapel on the north side of the quad. ‘I was just squeezing in a little pew time first.’

Pew time? I scoffed inwardly. More like puke time! And cover your toes, bro.

‘What are you guys up to?’ he asked.

‘We –’ I began my declaration, but Mary Kate, who was scrambling in front of our table to cover up the raging neon vagina sign, cut me off.

‘Oh, just signing people up for … this project Alex is doing,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s not really anything. I’m just helping her because I’m her room-mate.’

‘Yeah, ya know, all that “honor your neighbor” stuff,’ I chimed in.

Mary Kate swiveled to shoot burning daggers out of her eyes at me. Then she turned back to Caleb, instantly assuming the dewy glow of a Disney princess. ‘What about you?’

‘Actually, I’m here with my band,’ Caleb said. ‘We’re trying to recruit a new bassist, so we thought we’d put on a little show.’

‘Your band?’ I raised a skeptical eyebrow. I couldn’t exactly picture Caleb in guyliner and leather pants, shredding the electric guitar.

‘Yeah! The Beatitudes! We’re one of the Catholic acoustic rock groups on campus.’

There’s more than one Catholic acoustic rock group at this school? Jesus. Literally. Jesus.

‘So cool!’ Mary Kate gushed. ‘Are you guys gonna play now?’

‘Yeah! You should come watch – if you can take a break.’

My room-mate waved her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, Alex doesn’t need me. She’s doing great on her own.’

‘Oh yeah,’ I said sarcastically, holding up the clipboard. ‘Five whole signatures, including Seymour –’

‘Bye!’ Mary Kate said hurriedly. As she skipped off beside Caleb, I heard her ask, ‘So do you write your own songs, too, or …?’

Mary Kate had officially ditched me. For a man in sandals.

Maybe Laura Ingalls Wilder was giving up, but not me. And I was rewarded because, mere minutes later, a freshman badass came along. Well, maybe not a badass yet, but she had black nail polish on, which at St Mary’s indicates badass potential at least. She spotted the sign and, instead of fleeing, she lingered.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ I called out in a friendly but calm voice, trying not to spook her, using some tricks from a video Mary Kate showed me of a family who tamed wild chipmunks to eat Cheerios out of their hands.

‘Hey.’ She smiled and made eye contact.

Good sign.

‘So are you interested in social issues?’ I asked.

I figured ‘social issues’ was a pretty general term, which could encompass anything from voting rights to the fiery world panic about antibiotic-resistant gonorrhea.

‘Yeah, for sure.’ She came closer and read my sign. ‘So you guys are doing The Vagina Monologues?’