The Saturday of Mary Kate’s flag football debut was rainy and cold. I was huddled on the sideline, shivering in my pleather jacket. But Mary Kate, thanks to three more football lessons from Pat, was in full game mode. Having decided that her cupcake-print pajamas might not be the most intimidating, she was dressed in a grey varsity sweatsuit she’d borrowed, and I had braided her two braids together into a single MegaBraid that was way more Khaleesi and way less Laura Ingalls Wilder. The red football flags dangling from her waist seemed to give her a bit of swagger.

The other Bonecrushers were out on the field doing a light warm-up – you know, stretching, sprinting, cracking people’s skulls open. The usual. As my room-mate jogged in place, Pat, still in his fleece and basketball shorts despite the damp wind, gave me advice about how to support her.

‘Winning is all about that killer drive,’ he said. ‘You need to get Mary Kate in the right frame of mind. We need her pumped up. We need her angry. You told me she threw a killer spiral that day on the quad; that was because she was pissed off. So let’s piss her off again.’

‘Look at this weather, Mary Kate,’ I said. ‘It sucks. It’s cold and it’s rainy and it sucks. Fuck Minnesota! And it’s only gonna get worse. Snow is coming, and frostbite, and those icy-ass temperatures that freeze your nose hairs …’

Mary Kate was just nodding. I had to get more personal.

‘Ooh, what about Caleb?’ I said. ‘He chose Jesus over you! And now Jesus is smugly hanging in every classroom on this campus, flaunting his abs and rubbing it in!’

Mary Kate started jogging faster.

‘He was supposed to walk you around the lake, and he didn’t,’ I continued. ‘Now you’ll probably never walk around the lake with anyone.’

Her eyes narrowed. It was working.

‘I bet the freshmen in our dorm will walk around the lake before you do.’

Her jaw clenched.

I glanced at the team warming up on the field and saw the girl with the sprained arm take down two huge guys at once. Time to deal the final blow.

Gripping Mary Kate by the shoulders, I looked into her eyes and said, ‘I’m gonna walk around the lake before you do. And I think that shit is stupid.’

That was all she needed. Her shoulders tensed into tight knots of rage under my hands, and she tore off her sweatshirt. There she stood in her T-shirt, damn the cold and rain. She slammed her fist into her open palm. This was Mary Kate’s version of Hulking out.

‘It’s go time!’ she shouted.