Everything went dark for what felt like several minutes. When I woke up, I was sprawled on the ground. Blinking in the sunlight overhead, I saw Mary Kate’s face. I pulled myself up and groped in the damp grass to find my battered copy of The Vagina Monologues, which had been flung several feet away. The sound of the fight song was fading away, and, turning my sore neck with a sharp pain, I saw the marching band in the distance, streaming on towards the hockey arena. Robbie, Sarah and Sophia were still huddled together in the bushes, and Claudia was leaping and twirling on the trampled quad.

‘Are you okay?’ Mary Kate asked me, brushing off my red VAGINA shirt.

‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Did I get run over? Did that tuba take me out? Man, those dicks! I hate the marching band! They ran right over me and kept marching! Fascism in action! Now I can sue the school, and that will really piss off Father Hughes!’

Mary Kate looked at me for a long moment.

‘What?’ I asked her.

Wordlessly, she turned my phone around and showed me the end of the video. There I was alone – damn, my hair looked good! – standing strong in my red shirt, facing down the marching band. There was the army of green clones, ten feet away from me, five feet away, and then –

The tiny me in the video shrieked in terror, flung the book aside and dived head first into the grass on the side of the quad.

The marching band, unobstructed and unbothered, marched on.

‘I took a dive?’ I blinked in disbelief at the phone screen, and my shoulders slumped.

Mary Kate took the phone back and started typing. ‘What are we thinking for the name of the video? Cowardly Feminist Flees Marching Band? Marching Band Quashes Monologues?’

I groaned. ‘There goes my OMG moment. I couldn’t help it, though! My body betrayed me!’

Mary Kate’s face lit up. ‘I’ve got it! Feminist Fail!’

It was after midnight on a Tuesday when a soft but urgent knocking on our door woke me up. I’d only fallen asleep an hour before, after a long night of writing a physics lab report while simultaneously playing Mega Dead Pixel on my phone, and I groaned as I dragged myself out of bed. Swiping my phone to flashlight mode, I saw that Mary Kate was asleep, neatly tucked in with Sir Shackleton, her face smeared with a blue face mask.

‘I know you like to think you’re all delicate and sensitive and all that shit,’ I grumbled at her. ‘But, if we were in The Princess and the Pea right now, those royal assholes could shove the Pyramids of Giza under your waterbed and you’d still be snoring away.’