Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

She knows what she’s going to say next time he asks.

Yes, I want you.

Take me, Daniel.

His name is singing in her head from the time she wakes up until she goes to sleep and far into her dreams: Daniel William Moi. He can’t bear being named William. It’s poncy, he says, as if I’m supposed to be English or something, I can’t bloody stand poncy things. But Sandra just wants to take his name in her hands and caress it, cradle it like a bird, stroke its soft feathers with her fingers, put her lips to its head and kiss it. No fucking way I’m letting you use that name, he’s told her. Daniel swears quite a lot, she doesn’t really like it when people swear, but when he does it she thinks it sounds like a song.

I don’t use that name, Sandra, and you’re not to use it either, nobody knows I’m called that, just you, and God help you if you tell anyone.

Just her. Just Sandra Vikadal.

I want to know more about you than everybody else.

I want that part of you that nobody else has.

I want to be closer to you than anybody else.

She used to see people in love and think it was gross, she thought boys were annoying, always rowdy and acting stupid, if they weren’t called Johnny Depp and weren’t hanging on her wall, that is. Now she doesn’t recognise the girl she was, because nothing has been as real as this. It’s awfully difficult to know if she’s doing the right thing. Does she say the things he likes to hear? Does he think it’s a turn-off when she sweats like she does? Does he cringe listening to her speak, does he think that tooth of hers is ugly, or her voice sounds stupid? Sometimes when she talks it can sound sort of hollow and lumpy, as though she had a potato in her throat, does he find that disgusting? And what about her age? He says it doesn’t matter that she’s only fifteen, but sometimes she thinks he’s lying, well, not lying of course, people in love don’t lie, but still, is he only saying it to cover up how gross he actually thinks it is?

The hardest thing of all is to know if she’s good-looking enough.

No matter how many times he tells her she’s sexy in those jeans, the pair she lays out flat and takes care not too wash too often, she still doesn’t know if it’s just something he’s saying. If there’re a thousand other girls who are just as pretty, whose bums are just as nice. And no matter how often his mouth breaks into that bright smile of his when he sees that expression on her face, the one he thinks is so incredibly cute, she still can’t be sure if he’s not just putting it on. Even though she trusts him. Of course she does. Because that’s love. But still she’s nervous, still she takes a long time getting ready.

Her boobs, do they look nice enough?

He stares at them intently, but who knows what he’s actually thinking?

She’s let him touch them lots of times. It’s mad how long he can just stand there, teeth clenched, with that lovely jawline of his, fondling them. Yesterday, she let him kiss them. She took off her bra, in the middle of the woods, her fingers were trembling and she could hardly believe it herself, the fact she was actually doing it , as she slipped her hands under her top, unhooked her bra and wriggled it out of her sleeve and stood there, practically naked behind the substation while darkness fell around them. Lord, imagine if someone had come? Imagine someone had seen her standing there, when Daniel opened his bright mouth and said Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus, they’re so fucking beautiful.

When he said that, she wasn’t able to feel anything.

All she was able to do was show herself to him. Because she knew that’s what he wanted, it made it her own choice. Show herself and let him touch her breasts, let him kiss them. Then she felt a jolt of happiness through her, but all she could think was: Are they nice enough? Are my boobs as soft and as firm as he wants, are they big enough for him, are they the shape he likes? She doesn’t have very small boobs but they’re not very big either; compared to the other girls in the class she’s probably a little bit bigger than average, but what does that actually mean, and what does Daniel want? Because boys like boobs, she learnt that long ago, and a nice bum, they like that too. But legs? It’s not so easy being a girl, not everyone can manage not giving a toss, like Tiril does, not everyone is able to put on a pair of headphones, some goth make-up and rail against the world. It’s hard being a girl, because girls are supposed to look so nice all the time, and that doesn’t seem fair. Sandra has short legs, her knees are a little knobbly maybe, sometimes she thinks they look like malformed wheels, and Daniel has never mentioned her legs. He’s never even looked at them. Her thighs, which are a little thick compared to her body, he’s touched those, but not with the same hunger as when he puts his hands on her bum or her breasts. But her legs? Nothing. Doesn’t he like them?

My mouth, then? Do you like my mouth, Daniel?

It is small, slightly puckered, my two front teeth do stick out a little and I know they make me look like a rodent. Do you like that? Your little rat-girl?

That’s all she wants. To look good enough for Daniel William Moi. For the rest of her life, she thinks, glancing at Tiril before taking the vacuum cleaner and going into the backroom. She’s unbelievable, that girl. She saw the stack of honey going all over the floor. She heard her asking for help. But she couldn’t care less. What’s more, she enjoyed it. What is with her? If Sandra told the manager how little work Tiril does, she’d be fired. But Sandra’s not a snitch.

20:54

Sandra brings her hand to the crucifix round her neck and squeezes it.

She opens the closet and stows the vacuum cleaner as quickly as she can. Then pulls off her work clothes.

There’s never anybody in the woods at night. Round the back of the old school, behind the substation. The only sound they’ve ever heard is a dog barking. If her friends knew what she was up to they’d shake their heads in disbelief. Jesus, they’d say; going into the woods to meet a seventeen-year-old boy, you do realise what he’s after? If they knew who she was with, they’d be shocked. They’d be jealous, they’d hardly believe her. Sandra, you really need to think about this, Daniel Moi, he’s not right in the head, everyone knows that. He’s in the sixth form, he rides a moped, he plays in a heavy metal band, he’s hot, but he’s not right in the head , he’s from a foster home, people say he’s had some seriously screwed-up things happen in his life, he’s dangerous, Sandra, you do know that?

If her Mum found out what was happening, she’d freak out. If she heard it was the boy from the foster home, the one who lives with the single mother and her deaf daughter in the flats, she’d break down in tears and start picturing hash, heroin and the end of the world. But no one knows Daniel. They’ve no clue what that bright mouth of his can say, what those long-fingered hands of his can do or what’s stirring in those hungry eyes. They don’t realise that he needs her, don’t realise that he has an emptiness inside, but Sandra does, and when he says he doesn’t want to tell her what happened to him, she understands that. She understands what he’s gone through because she can see into his soul, and she’s not going to nag him about it, she’s promised herself that. She’ll never ask what happened, she doesn’t listen to rumours, about him having boxed, having beaten up some guy, the thing about his real parents, and that there was something really messed up there. She doesn’t listen to gossip, because she is Sandra Vikadal and he is Daniel William Moi.