‘Obscene?’ I spluttered. ‘Your face is obscene! Get some tweezers!’

Then, through the crowd strode a figure all in black with a long, menacing shadow of doom behind him: Father Hughes. Really, the Darth Vader theme music should be playing to warn people when he’s coming.

‘Hello, Ms Heck!’ he greeted me. ‘Your poster caught my eye. Very … bright.’

‘I made it to grab people’s attention.’

‘And how is your petition coming along?’

I quickly turned over the clipboard. ‘Fine. I’m guessing you won’t be signing it?’

‘Unfortunately, I cannot sign school petitions as the petitions are – technically – addressed to me.’

‘And unfortunately, unlike the table next to me, I can’t bribe you to sign with a red-velvet Virgin Cupcake,’ I said.

Father Hughes sighed and crossed his arms. He studied my neon vagina sign for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Ms Heck, may I give you some advice?’

I feigned surprise. ‘How novel and exciting! Please do. I’d love your input.’

‘I cannot help but notice you are collecting signatures by yourself. If you are truly passionate about this project, why not look for an ally who shares your interest, and can support your efforts? Your club could team up with the Drama Club, or with the Literary Magazine. I know Ms Chan, the new teacher in the art department, has an interest in modern theater – an ally of this type could help you try to achieve your goal, or brainstorm a more realistic way to share the message you are passionate about conveying. Some kind of … compromise.’

Oh hell, no.

‘Compromise? You want me to compromise? Well, guess what? The values of freedom and sex positivity and feminism have been compromised on this campus for too long. I’m putting on The Vagina Monologues. I don’t need an ally; I’ll put on a one-woman show if I have to, and –’

All of a sudden, my words were swallowed up in a roaring hurricane of sound – hoarse shouts and the stomping of feet. Onto the quad rushed a human tidal wave – fifty whooping, cheering, clapping, shirtless dudes. A tsunami of man-nipples and lanky limbs and bony Adam’s apples thundering towards us.

‘Oh balls,’ I groaned. ‘The hockey team.’

In case not everyone could recognize the smell of jockstraps as quickly as I could, they began shouting: ‘ST MARY’S VARSITY HOCKEY RULES! EVERYONE MAKE SOME NOISE FOR S.M. HOCKEY!’

It was chaos. Everyone screamed in excitement.

‘THIS IS THE YEAR WE WIN NATIONALS! ST LUKE’S IS GOING DOWN! THE TOOTHLESS BEAST IS GOING DOWN! S.M. HOCKEY RULES!’

The freshmen were dazzled. They surged towards the shirtless rock stars in the center of the lawn. Father Hughes strode forward, too, trying to keep order. He and everyone else were swept away by the thundering crowd as the marching band sounded the all-too-familiar opening notes of the St Mary’s fight song: ‘Dum-DUM-dah-dah …’