Sister Marietta – her name was engraved on a gold plaque on her desk – blinked a few times in surprise at a purple-fauxhawked badass bursting into her office.

‘Pardon me, what was that?’ she asked.

‘We are putting on The Vagina Monologues,’ I stated even louder, my voice echoing to the vaulted ceilings. I could feel Mary Kate cringing into herself beside me.

‘I see …’ Sister Marietta narrowed her eyes, looking from me to Mary Kate. ‘And this is an official school event? Approved by Father Hughes?’

‘Well … technically … no.’

She shook her head. ‘The venue can only be booked for official school events. Unless …’

Her tone changed and she opened a green leather ledger on her desk. I saw that it had a bunch of long columns of numbers in it – like a medieval version of an Excel spreadsheet.

‘We are willing to make certain exceptions in the case of a good cause,’ she explained. ‘For high-volume fundraisers in particular.’

‘Whoa, whoa,’ I said. ‘Hold up. So we’re not technically allowed to use the banquet hall, but we could bribe you to use it?’

Sister Marietta frowned. ‘We do not accept bribes. However, we do welcome certain events that will donate a portion of their proceeds. The money is given to charity.’

‘Oh yeah.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘It looks like a real soup kitchen in here. I’m surprised Mother Teresa’s ghost isn’t in the corner taking selfies with Michelle Obama.’

‘Thank you anyway!’ Mary Kate interrupted brightly. ‘I think we’re gonna look for someplace that’s … a better fit.’

‘All right then.’ Sister Marietta smiled and closed her green leather ledger. ‘I’m sorry the space didn’t work out for you.’ She opened a drawer. ‘Would you girls like some rosary beads? They were blessed by His Holiness the pope.’

‘How much do they cost?’ I sneered.

‘We’ll take two!’ Mary Kate said hastily, and grabbed two strands of rosary beads and draped them around her neck. ‘Thank you very much.’

On our way out, I stomped my motorcycle boots to scuff the polished floor all the way to the door, my steps echoing to the three-story ceiling.

‘I can’t believe it!’ I fumed. ‘The greedy-ass Catholic Church! Centuries of tricking dim-witted peasants into handing over their cash, and they’re still at it! Did Anne Boleyn’s cleavage do all that work for nothing?’

‘Maybe Sister Marietta would have made an exception,’ Mary Kate suggested, ‘if you hadn’t said THE WORD.’

‘Mary Kate.’ I gritted my teeth. ‘You may have grown up in the Midwest, where your school library censored the Harry Potter books because of satanic overtones, but I grew up in San Francisco. My babysitter was the drag queen from the local dildo shop. I am not scared to say vagina to a nun. I will NEVER be scared to say vagina to a nun.’