Disgusted, I shook my head, shielding my eyes from the blinding white flesh and scraggly body hair. ‘And my sign is obscene?’ I protested loudly.

Then I looked around and realized I was talking to myself. Everyone was crowded in the center of the quad, singing the fight song and clapping their little hearts out. There was no one at the Model UN table to my left – and, intriguingly, no one at the Save Your Heart table to my right. The little minion who had been minding the store while Katie Casey went off for more sign-up sheets had bounced off, giggling, to ogle the topless hockey players. Now the table was empty. Unguarded.

So of course I had to go through their shit.

I snatched up their clipboard, which had a strip of tape across the top reading: JOIN SAVE YOUR HEART and a thick sheaf of papers clipped to it. I flipped through the pages – sign-up sheet after sign-up sheet, all covered with names and email addresses and dozens of little smiley faces. I looked back at my clipboard, which had SUPPORT THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES BANNED BY ST MARY’S on the tape across the top, and a single sign-up sheet clipped to it, with five signatures. In the end, I’d managed to turn Anus McFarty into Angus McCarthy – to show we had the support of the fictional students of Scottish-Irish descent on campus. But still it was practically empty. Pathetic. I turned back to the Save Your Heart clipboard, then shook my head and told myself, No. You shouldn’t.

Then something caught my eye – a bumper sticker they were handing out, which had a little pink present with a bow and read: Your purity is a gift for Jesus.

I glared at the bumper sticker, then I grabbed their clipboard, tore off three of their pages and added them to my own clipboard. I looked up – everyone else was in a big circle with their arms around each other, singing in harmony. No one had seen me. So I reached over and stole a cupcake, too. I stuffed it in my face with savage satisfaction.

It was pretty fucking delicious.

9

Mary Kate was in love.

Before you get too excited, you should understand my room-mate’s version of being ‘in love’. Last winter, a freckled barista at the student center coffee shop gave her extra whipped cream and she sneaked a secret picture of him for an app to see what their future babies would look like.

But actually – and I can testify to this – Mary Kate and Caleb were hanging out on a regular basis. Although at St Mary’s the term ‘hanging out’ has a more sneaking-into-the-locker-room or fondling-on-the-futon connotation to it, and that was NOT what was going on with them. Their first three dates consisted of: milkshake mass on a Sunday morning, working the snow-cone machine at a scholarship fundraiser and painting fences for local senior citizens.