I tilt my chin in a haughty manner and glide to my chosen site of peaceful protest next to the hideous balloon monster. I hold the placard in front of me and set my gaze to forward.

The mums exchange murmured assessments of my behaviour.

The doors squeak open, letting in a rush of outside air. Dad flashes his headlights at me in what I suppose is encouragement or solidarity or whatever and I hope isn’t a warning. Cars gather around him as the car park fills.

A family walks past, slowing slightly to read my sign. The girl smiles and takes a photo, the parents do not.

‘Honey, are you supposed to be there?’ One of the mums calls out. ‘You’re Kasha’s daughter, aren’t you?’

I flip my placard to reveal the other side.

FREEDOM TO EXPRESS NOT FREEDOM TO SUPPRESS

They read my second message and fall back into their chairs, more murmur more murmur more murmur. One takes a pic of me, the other taps at her phone.

The doors open again; more people arrive, more eyes slide sidewards. No one seems confident enough to fully acknowledge my presence.

I’m used to breathing through my nose by now, but my arms are getting tired from keeping my sign at chest level. Very occasionally someone gives me a confused nod. A Year Eleven flashes me the peace sign.

‘Is this performance art, Natalia?’

Nouri appears magically by my side and almost gives me a heart attack.

‘PLOH-TESS,’ I say through my tape.

‘Right.’ Nouri smiles and waves as more parents and Old Girls and students arrive.

She lowers her voice. ‘I’ll consider this as going towards the grade for your project. It’s thematically consistent with what you’ve already handed in.’

I nod and definitely don’t appear too grateful. It didn’t occur to me before she said it, but yes, while I deserve a medal for this, a B+ will also do.

Nouri moves away quickly, as if she doesn’t want to be associated with me. The gaping loneliness of the activist fills me. Chloe should be here to see this.

A grey-suited security guard wanders into the lobby, stares and retreats. She soon multiplies into two security guards. I smize at them. And then, inevitably, Vice Principal Mackenzie marches into sight.

‘Natalia, good evening. Would you mind explaining what you’re doing?’

I shrug, raise my sign, and try to convey that my whole deal for tonight is silence.

‘Who are you here with this evening?’ It’s a pity Mrs Mackenzie has such a pointless job because she could be quite nice if everything about her life was different. ‘I’ll need you to speak now, Natalia.’

I roll my eyes and peel off my mouth tape. That sounds simple, but it’s basically ten times more painful than getting my bikini line done.