2025-07-12, 04:02 PM
6:42 a.m.
The alarm clock is ringing. That loud, penetrating noise that gets on your nerves so much that as soon as you turn it off, you sit up without hesitation, stretch out both arms, let out a silent yawn, and greet the day with a broad grin. Okay, I'm not sure you greet a new day that way, but I certainly do. For twelve years, every morning, weekdays and weekends, in wind and rain, ice and snow, and in bright sunshine.
Today, the penultimate day of my old life, the sun is already shining at this early hour with such intensity that I can feel it tickling the skin on my arm through the closed curtains. The golden hairs stand on end as if drawn to it by a magnet. While I blow playfully over my forearm, my other hand traces the invisible curves of her body, my nose inhales her unmistakable scent, which, along with the memory of last night, brings a smile to my lips. Sex is wonderful. Sex with Kate even more so. Amazing, terrific, crazy – oh, Kate!
Unless you pronounce her name wrong, I grin to myself as I get up and head for the bathroom, exactly two seconds before my face twists into a grimace because right where my eyes should meet their counterpart in the mirror is a damn yellow Post-It, with the three words that are going to completely ruin this wonderful morning written on it in lipstick red.
I.
FUCK!
Love.
FUCK!!
You.
FUCK!!!
6:44 a.m.
"Someone doesn't look happy," Dad says as soon as I enter the kitchen. "Did you have a fight?"
“Neh!” I say wittily and cleverly, before throwing him a small yellow ball, which he promptly unfolds and smooths out.
“Oh!” is all he can think of to say.
“I’m breaking up with her later,” I explain grumpily and sit down next to him with a cup of coffee.
"Yes," he nods. "Understandable. Being loved is... terrible."
„Dad!“
"All right. You're right. If there's nothing there, then it's better if you tell her the truth."
"Thanks."
“The third time, huh?”
„Yep.“
Dad spreads butter and raspberry jam on two pieces of bread and pushes the plate over to me.
“One day, Max,” he says, “one day you’ll find someone you can tell too.”
Of course I know he's right. Not to mention that at eighteen, I still have plenty of time to find him or her. Someone like... "Tobi..." I murmur quietly into my coffee mug as his image suddenly appears in my mind's eye. His dark, deep eyes, his smile that always accompanies him everywhere, his voice that always evokes a feeling of security in me...
Triggered it. I told him. I could tell him. Because it was true...
“Yes, Tobias is a great boy, Max.” He heard me murmuring.
“And what’s between us…” I remember, and for a moment I feel as if a huge, protective bubble surrounds me, like when Tobias and I were still a couple.
“...it's over, little one,” Dad bursts the bubble.
"How come?"
"You'll have to ask him yourself, Max," he replies, even though we both know the answer, the reasons... "I have to go now, honey," he says and stands up again, kisses me on the head and puts a white, A6-sized card in front of me before he gets his keys and closes the front door behind him.
6:51 a.m.
As soon as I read the map, on which my best friend Florian, in his scrawling block capitals, has written only the code 20/3/? (which means 20 letters, three spaces, and a question mark), an address and a time, which is incomprehensible to outsiders, I feel better again. I feel the energy flowing through me, strengthening me, preparing me for the next game. Thirty-two minutes to go, and then it's off. Thirty-two minutes to finish breakfast, shower, pack my backpack, and cycle a few blocks further to my first destination.
7:22 a.m.
Time is precious in this game. It's often short, and Florian rarely allows me more than a few minutes' respite between tasks. Accordingly, the speed at which I often race from one destination to the next is high. Both Florian and I had to promise our parents that safety would not be compromised before they gave their okay to our first game more than three years ago. They made us both complete several safety training sessions at the local cycling club and buy a complete set of equipment, including knee and elbow pads and a helmet. Even Florian, although he only participates passively in the game and usually enjoys himself in some café or other crowded place while tracking my progress via the GPS signal on his phone, I wonder where he's hiding in plain sight with his book these days?
I reach the finish line a minute ahead of schedule, lock my bike, and unfasten my bike helmet as I tap on the huge window of our local bookstore, which offers a good view of the poorly lit bookshelves, which are always so crammed that whenever I dare to venture inside alone—which has only ever happened at the beginning of a new school year—I always feel as if the shelves, along with their tons of heavy contents, might collapse on me and bury me forever. The fact that I'm still so familiar with them is entirely thanks to Florian—the guy is an absolute bookworm.
"Ah, right on time," Mr. Braun nods approvingly as he opens the door, then locks it behind me. "Just as your friend predicted. Are you ready?"
I nod wordlessly and look away from him as I see his wife approaching us out of the corner of my eye. Like her husband, she's in her seventies and has incredibly white hair. Unlike him, who sometimes greets his younger customers grumpily, she's always cheerful and kind, just as I imagine the ideal grandmother to be. Since I never met my own grandparents, all of whom died before I was born, I sometimes like to dream of adopting Mrs. Braun. Then we, too, would be a reasonably normal family.
"Good morning, my dear," she greets me warmly, placing her hand on my arm. "It's wonderful that you're here today." "Good morning to you too, Mrs. Braun," I reply. When I meet Mr. Braun's gaze, I quickly add, "Good morning to both of you." "You're probably wondering what awaits you here, aren't you?" she asks.
"I'm pretty excited," I admit. "Curious."
"Well, then we won't keep you in suspense any longer," her husband chimes in with exaggerated friendliness. He leaves us briefly to pull a book from a shelf, which he immediately hands to me. "We know you're not a big book lover, but this book might change your mind."
"None of us can relate to it," says my dream grandmother. "Science fiction. Not our generation, I'm afraid. But you might like it." "Florian picked it out."
“Okay, um, should I read it?”
"Yes. No. Yes. Yes, you should. Not the whole book, of course, there isn't enough time. But as far as you can get."
"And then...?" "Yes, the letter," he remembers. "The card."
“And the condition,” she adds mysteriously.
"Of course, that's the condition." The two of them seem very excited, as if they're enjoying the game as much as I am. Mr. Braun turns back to me. "So, you have 45 minutes to look at the book. You can read it wherever you want: the beginning, the end, the middle. It doesn't matter where. We hope you'll find it interesting..."
"That you'll like it. Then you can take it home. For free, of course, without any money."
“I can pay for it, no problem,” I assure them.
"Sure, we know that. Your father..." "But that's not what we're concerned about, Maximilian. We don't need your money or your father's."
"Not your money," Mr. Braun confirms his wife's words. "We'd like your time."
"My...? My time?" "Look, we'd love it if you could spend a month this summer... Florian said a month, right?" he asks his wife. She nods and smiles at me.
“I should spend a month…?”
“Work with us for a month.”
Didn't the two of them just talk about a condition? That's supposed to be it? What was Florian thinking? The effects of the game were always immediate and short-term, aside from the occasional injuries that sometimes took weeks to heal. Every game so far has been over within a day, with all the trimmings. And now I'm supposed to spend my summer standing here in the store instead of lying on the beach all day long?
"That's the condition?" I can't quite hide the rising panic in my voice. "If I say no, then I can forget the card? The entire game today?"
The cards contain the next goal. If I don't get one, the game is over. For today, that would mean I failed right from the start. And in all these years, I haven't failed a single game.
"Game?" Mrs. Braun asks, visibly offended. "Is this all just a game for you?" "No, no, no!" I try to repair the damage. "Yes. It is. But it's a serious game. With consequences." Sometimes it's a matter of life and death. And right now, at this very moment, I would prefer a situation like jumping off the cliff the other day a thousand times over. "What if I say no?"
“Then you’ll still get the card.”
"Then what's the point of it all? Why should I read the book?"
“Because we want you to choose it. Voluntarily.”
"They could force me. If I don't agree, there'll be no ticket."
Mr. Braun looks questioningly at his wife, but she shakes her head sadly. "We won't do that. You'll get your card anyway. But if you give us a month, you'll get much more. Florian and you will receive something that will change your lives forever. Now make yourself comfortable somewhere and read the book if you like. We won't bother you any further."
I watch Mrs. Braun sit down on a stool next to the cash register and Mr. Braun stand next to her and lovingly press her head to his chest. Embarrassed, I turn away and find a corner where I can't see them, sit down on the floor, and open the book. While I'm still pondering what my friend could have been thinking, making such an agreement with them, which I obviously have to accept; otherwise, I might get the ticket but would never shake the feeling of failure... So, while I'm pondering Florian's reasons, I begin to read the book, which, if I interpret the dates correctly, is quite a bit older than I am, and I realize that the story of this boy, chosen by the military to save the world from alien invaders, is increasingly captivating me.
He's just arrived at his new school when Mr. Braun shakes my arm and drags me from the future back to the past. Silently, I follow him to the front of the house to his wife, who seems to have gotten over her shock. She gives me a grandmotherly smile and asks me what I think of the book. "I'd like to take it with me and read on to find out what happens to the little one, whether he manages to save the people or breaks down from the humiliation." My answer seems to satisfy them both; her husband's expression brightens at my words. "And as for that one month: I think it's a fantastic opportunity to get an insight into the world of work."
Mrs. Braun can't contain her joy any longer. She claps and makes a strange noise that could be a chuckle or a squeak, comes over to me, and hugs me. "Florian will definitely be happy, then he won't be alone here with us old grumps."
“Florian will be spending the month here too?” Couldn’t they have said that right away?
"Yes, yes, of course, that's why he suggested the whole thing in the first place. Martha, we told him that, didn't we?"
No, you didn't, I want to correct him, because otherwise I would have agreed right away! Instead, I just smile at him blissfully and jump for joy inside because the universe (in this case with Florian as my representative) isn't as cruel as I feared.
"Very nice, my boy," says Mr. Braun, handing me the next card. "You won't regret it."
"No, absolutely not," adds his wife, who has now let go. "And now we wish you lots of fun with your game."
08:27 a.m.
Four minutes after the Brauns say goodbye to me, I reach the next stop, the Fernweh travel agency, which doesn't open for another three minutes. I peek inside through the shop window, but I can't see a soul. What exactly I'm supposed to be doing here is a mystery to me.
Except... No, not again! I've had to do that before: book a trip, only to cancel it right before closing time. Luckily, I didn't have to pull that stunt at that travel agency back then, otherwise they probably wouldn't even let me in today.
Just to be absolutely sure, in case Florian is serious this time, I look in my wallet to see if the credit card my father gave me for the games is in there.
One minute, 60 seconds left. 59… 58…
How do you kill a minute? I could keep reading, but as soon as I've taken the book out, I have to put it back in my pocket. The street is empty, not a single passerby to chat with. The houses, boring, I've known them for as long as I can remember. Nothing new or special to catch my attention. Twenty seconds left. My phone—no new messages, which is no surprise, since Florian never contacts me during the game and Kate has already started work. And as for the others, they're still asleep at this time of night.
Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Having to count down the seconds is truly pathetic. As if I had nothing better to do with my time! Finally, someone comes to catch up. To my surprise, I'm greeted by a fairly young man. He can't be much older than me, probably in his early twenties. He's outrageously good-looking, with his tanned skin and toned body covered in noticeably little fabric, his blue-green eyes and playful look—as if he'd stepped out of a travel agency's commercial or, as an entertainer, would normally be undressed by the gaze of young-at-heart ladies.
"Good morning," he says with a slight accent I can't place. "You're Mr. Jansen, I presume?"
"Yes. Yes, hello, good morning," I stammer. "Max Jansen, Mr...." Unfortunately, I can't read his name because to do so would require tearing my eyes away from his face, and no matter how hard I try, I can't. "Please call me Ruben." "Ruben."
"May I offer you a cup of coffee or tea, Mr. Jansen? Or a refreshment?"
I shake my head vigorously, but at the same time say, “A glass of water would be nice.” Whereupon he disappears, only to return shortly after with a glass of water.
"Please, take a seat," he says, sitting down opposite me at the computer. I obey without taking my eyes off him. "If I call your friend..." "Tell me, Ruben," I blurt out, "are you new here?" The question isn't entirely unreasonable, since I like to think I know pretty much everyone in our metropolis of 3,000 people, and I've never seen him before.
"Not new," he replies kindly, "on a temporary basis. A week's visit, so to speak, because my colleagues..."
“Mrs. May and Mrs. Yildirim,” I interrupt him involuntarily, because I’m too excited to keep my mouth shut.
"Exactly. Mrs. May is sick, and Mrs. Yildirim's shift starts at twelve. But, to get back to your journey..."
“I’m traveling?”
"That's why you're here, right?" he asks uncertainly. "Your friend, Mr...." He looks at his notes, "Mr. Warte has already sorted everything out, but he said you'd like to go over it with me again and possibly change something."
"That's what Mr. Wait said?" So, a trip after all. Too bad, I wouldn't have objected to a date with such a nice person. "And where are we going?"
"To... to Amsterdam." I feel sorry for poor Ruben. This will probably be the first time he's ever seen two people wanting to travel and making such a fuss about it. "For eight days. Next Monday, you'll fly out at 8 a.m. and arrive at Schiphol Airport shortly after 9. A shuttle will take you from there to your hotel. Four stars, double room with a double bed, breakfast included. Mr. Warte said full board would be superfluous."
After rattling off the details, he waits a while and only continues when I nod. "The price includes City Cards for public transport for the duration of your stay, with free entry to many museums, and other discounts. You can find more information here," he says, placing a red flyer on the table. "Plus rental bikes for three hours a day, a rental scooter for a day to explore the surrounding area, and... if you have any additional requests or want to change something..."
"No, no, thank you," I say, and hear a sigh of relief. "How much does this fun cost?"
"Mr. Warte has already paid a large portion of the amount..." He has? Then he's probably serious about the trip this time. "The outstanding amount is 647 euros." A strangely odd amount, and quite high, considering Florian had already made a down payment. Or was that just a symbolic euro? "How much did my friend pay?"
"1,000 euros." He's now maxed out his credit card limit. Has he completely lost his mind?!
"The trip costs 1,647 euros?! For eight days?!" "For two people. Including travel cancellation insurance," he tries to make the price more palatable. "Okay," I give in without a fight and mentally strangle Florian before handing this guy my card, whose looks are considerably less attractive considering he's about to relieve me of so much money. The fact that my father is settling the card bills doesn't make things any better, because while I don't have to pay for the money spent, I'm sure I'll get a good telling off for such a large sum. A pleasure I'll gladly share with Florian! Suddenly, I feel the urge to leave the store and Ruben, Mr. Weiss, as I've since figured out. As soon as I've put the credit card, which now seems to weigh a ton, into my wallet and the wallet into my trouser pocket, I accept my prize, the playing card with the next letter and the next destination, and say goodbye, but not without giving Ruben one last look and a suggestive grin.
9:30 a.m.
My next task awaits me in the empty market square directly in front of the community center, where a table, like the ones you'd recognize from school, has been decorated with a poster promising a kiss on the cheek from me to anyone who gives me five euros. I'm so embarrassed by this that I'd rather skip it, which the rules of the game obviously forbid. So, with a sigh, I sit down on the table and bravely wait for the things, or rather the people, that are to come. I've barely finished this thought when I see a group of five girls walking purposefully toward me—all from my year. The first is a blonde bitch who, if you believe the rumors spread behind her back, only follows the brunette leader of the " We Are God's Gift to Men " clique because she's completely in love with her—and has been since seventh grade!—otherwise, she would have long since founded her own bullying gang, terrorizing the common people.
As soon as she's received her kiss and I've received my money and card, she nods to her successor, who had just been eyeing me skeptically and now looks questioningly at her, the goddess herself. I've never understood what's so beautiful about her. Her curly hair is far too wild for my taste, her eyes are tiny compared to her nose, her...
Oh dear, here she comes...
"We're only doing this because your stupid boyfriend paid us to, is that clear?" she declares, earning "yes!"s and "exactly!"s from her pack friends. "Of course," I reply.
“Shut up, you worthless piece of shit…”
"Think about your blood pressure, Cleo," the blonde admonishes her, whereupon Cleo closes her eyes, stretches her hands out in front of her in a meditative manner, and breathes in slowly, really slowly, deeply. As she exhales, she lowers her hands again, only to raise them again the next moment as she inhales. She does this exercise for about two minutes, then takes the last few steps toward me, blows me a kiss on each cheek, places the bill and the card on the table, and joins her waiting accomplice.
The next two are quickly ticked off, but the last girl approaches me hesitantly, with blushing cheeks, a slightly downcast gaze, and a very faint, shy smile on her lips. She is Cleo's sister, the unwanted twin, the one left after the self-proclaimed queen left the home she shared for nine months and chose the world around her as her new playground. She is kindness personified, the beauty on earth, everything her sister, who is only a few minutes older, is not. And she is cursed, for no one dares approach her—and she dares not leave the devil's side for even a second. Too bad...
"Come on, Clara!" her sister commands. "We don't have all day."
"Come on," Blondie cries, "it's just a stupid kiss!" But I see in Clara's eyes that it's not just any kiss, it's a special one, probably her first. So I do something I would never normally do: I break the rules – and kiss her not on the cheek, but on the lips. Very light and gentle, just as a first kiss should be – magical… A butterfly flies over and lands on her nose, and her smile grows bigger, more enchanting, infinitely beautiful. She looks me in the eyes, then slips the money and a card into my hand and is gone, following the others. I watch her for a long while and thank Florian for the short time with her, even though it was only a few seconds and I'll never get that close to her again. Only then do I glance at the card in my hand. Another new letter, another no new destination – so my guest list will get longer.
I only know the boy standing in front of me by sight. A ninth-grader, one of several who came out last school and who, every day since, greeted me with a nod whenever we made even the most casual eye contact. He looks so sweet, the way he looks at me, embarrassed yet respectful, the way you look at someone you admire but never hoped to meet in person, let alone kiss. Hesitantly, he presses his lips to my cheek, then puts his arms around me and whispers a thank you in my ear. After that, I'm five euros and a card richer, and he's gone.
The reason for the little one's thanks approaches me with open arms, hugs me, and laughs: "Dude, we did it!"
Paul Wabe, beefy and, despite my six foot three, a bit taller than me, made my life hell even before I came out. A single glance in his direction was enough to drive him crazy; more than once, his fist landed in my stomach or face, until one day during class we had a showdown that ended in the hospital for me and, as soon as the emergency doctor gave him the okay, in the precinct for Paul. When he went back to school a few days later, everyone gave him a wide berth, which he couldn't stand for more than two hours. He left school and walked all the way to the hospital, sat down by my bed, and started crying for at least half an hour. Then he apologized to me, said he was sorry, and that he was in love with me. Since I didn't have an answer, he left me alone, but visited me again the next day, and the days after that, until I was allowed to go home. On my first day of school after the incident, he approached me, which still made me instinctively recoil, and followed me everywhere without a word. From then on, he became my shadow. My bodyguard. And I became an involuntary legend and a hero to all those who hadn't dared to come out. My suspicions subsided over time; I started talking to him, then laughing, and later even meeting up with him after school. He taught me how to defend myself, and we became friends. Not best friends, but friends nonetheless. And we still are.
Once he thinks he's squeezed enough air out of me, he lets me go, does his job (kiss, money, card), and makes me promise to book him a dance at prom tomorrow to make his boyfriend a little jealous.
After Paul comes Sean McArthur, the most brilliant guy ever to call himself a teacher. And the first man, the first person I ever fell in love with. I was fourteen, fresh out of college, and he had all these crazy ideas that not only captured my mind, but also my heart and the hearts of my classmates. But today he's standing alone in front of me, grinning.
“Now that I’m no longer your teacher, Max, how about a nice cup of tea?”
"You Brits and your tea!" I laugh, and he joins in. "Or is that a euphemism?" One of the many words he taught us.
“You can choose.”
“Then tea.”
"Sure? I thought you'd like more."
“Those days are over, Sean.”
"Yeah? You're right, you know?"
“Who is right?”
"Your classmates. They say you're a player, a heartbreaker."
"Not really, Mr. McArthur. I've gotten older, more mature, hopefully..."
"Could be. Then tea, you probably still have my number," he says, putting his hands around my neck, pulling my head down toward him, and kissing... my forehead!
“Sean!” I protest.
He just grins and says, "I wish you much success today. See you tomorrow!"
“See you tomorrow!” I call out to him, but he’s out of sight before I’ve even finished saying the words.
After Sean, nothing happens for a while. Absolutely nothing. Even though I'm standing with my table in front of the community center, and one would assume that countless people would be coming in and out again, not a single person shows up. If it weren't for Sean's card, which clearly tells me that I have to wait here, that my "let me get kissed" task isn't complete yet, I would have disappeared long ago. But instead, I take out the book and start reading, constantly scanning the surroundings out of the corner of my eye.
The boy, who, despite or perhaps because of his high intelligence, is increasingly becoming an outsider at his new school, evokes a big-brother protective instinct in me, something I've never experienced before, since I have neither a sister nor a brother. In the past, when Tobias and I were out on the town and some guys were hitting on us, I would stand in front of him without thinking because I knew he wouldn't fight back, neither with words nor with his fists. And later, when things started going on with Kate and Tobias and I started to avoid each other, I always kept an eye on him from afar and asked my friends to do the same because my feelings for him haven't changed and probably never will. He will always be my friend, whether we talk to each other or not, and I will always try to protect him.
A blow on the back of my neck draws my attention back to the present and the ongoing play. I turn around, but there's no one behind me. Instead, someone is standing in front of me. Someone with a hood and a fake mustache and a mask, the kind you see at masked balls in old costume movies—who wears a mask like that these days? Do these balls even exist anymore? Romeo and Juliet comes to mind, the film with Leo and Claire Danes, great cinema...
"Who are you?" Even though we're the only ones for miles around, I whisper. An answer eludes me. Instead, he, or she—I can't even say this for sure—brings his/her finger to my lips, silencing me. Then he/she caresses my cheek with the thumb of the same hand, a touch so gentle, so tender, like nothing I've ever felt before. In that moment, I decide my counterpart must be female, because no man I know has skin as soft and delicate as this. And I also decide I must get to know her. Invite her. Take her out. Entice her.
Court her and finally ask for her hand in marriage.
How a single touch can turn your whole world upside down! Just a few hours ago, I feared I'd never see anyone like... like... again.
She looks at me, so briefly that I think I've only imagined it, then she looks away again. Smiling. She's flirting with me. Is there a more beautiful game than being chosen by Aphrodite? To be her servant, her lover?
"Tell me your name," I beg her. Once again, she's beaming as brightly as the sun, but she won't reveal her name. I find myself inhaling her scent, hoping to recognize it, but even that doesn't work. With her hand still on my cheek, our faces move closer, I close my eyes, unable to believe my luck when her lips finally meet mine. All around me, inside me, little explosions: a colorful firework display drawing hearts in the sky, heart-shaped balloons, streamers, butterflies... It's as if the universe had decided to merge birthdays and Christmas and New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day into a single day, a single moment, a kiss, that one kiss!
As our lips part, I want nothing more than to kiss her again. Forever. And ever. "Marry me," I whisper before opening my eyes and just catching her disappearing around a corner. "I'll find you! One day!" I shout at the top of my lungs. Then I start laughing because I've never felt so amazing. Love is wonderful!
10:29 a.m.
Still staring after my beautiful girlfriend, I dial Florian's number, desperately hoping he won't ignore me. After all, this could be an emergency. No, this is an emergency! It's ringing... ringing... ringing... for the thousandth time. Answer, Flo! Answer!
He sounds bored when he finally answers, but that doesn't interest me. I get straight to the point: "Who is she? I need to meet you! She's the love of my life, the mother of my unwanted children, beauty personified, the goddess..."
"Calm down, man! Relax! Who are you talking about?"
“From the girl who was just here.”
“The kissing challenge?”
"Yes, the kissing challenge. Who is she? I need to see her again!"
"Them? You'll have to be more specific. Which of the people do you mean?"
"Flo!" I yell at him, but then I realize he can't possibly know who I mean. "The one with the mask."
"Ah!" he giggles. He's giggling?! What does he know that I don't... Okay, he knows a lot about you that I don't, because I don't know anything at all, really. Except that I want you. And I want you to want me too.
„Also?“
"Chillax, Maxi. You'll see her again today and you can ask her yourself."
"Really now?"
"Promised."
A feeling of elation takes hold of me and I'm sure that if he were standing next to me right now, I would kiss him, even though he's not into guys at all, and he would tell me to save it for you.
“What’s your name?”
"Max, be patient! Unless you want to quit the game."
Cancel the game? Absolutely not! I'll see you again later anyway, later, even today...
"I'll keep going. Where do I need to go? Or is someone else coming here?"
"You'll be able to answer these questions yourself; she's laid the next card on the table for you. Good luck, Maxi. And remember, you can stop at any time if it gets too much."
Then the line goes dead; he hangs up without waiting for a reply or confirmation from me. His last sentence echoes in my head, but only when I find my next destination, my next assignment, do I understand why he said it.
I have three minutes to run two kilometers—for the first time, I'll be late. And for the first time, I'll lose someone in a game.
10:34 a.m.
This is the sixth time I've raised my hand to the doorbell, hesitated, and then pulled it back. Just a few hours ago, it seemed so easy, but now that Florian has made my intention part of the game, my plan to break up with Kate seems reprehensible. Wanting to end a relationship with someone who just confessed their love to you for the third time! is brutal. Isn't it?
Or not?
“Come in,” I suddenly hear Kate’s voice and look up from the floor.
"Were... were you waiting for me? And why are you home anyway?"
"I quit. And as for your first question: yes and no. I'm your 10:33 appointment, so I knew you'd come. But I wasn't standing behind the door the whole time."
“I didn’t ring the bell,” I question her statement.
"No..." she draws out the word, as if dealing with someone who's slow on the uptake. "But banging your head against the door is at least as effective."
"I have... what?" No, that can't be. "I didn't!"
"Mhm," she nods, and I realize we skipped our greeting ritual, the quadruple kiss (lips, left cheek, right cheek, lips). "Come," she says again, pulling me through the hallway into her room. She closes the door behind us and leans against it. She looks at me sadly, closes her eyes, looks away briefly, and then looks back at me. Her eyes push me backward until I reach her reading chair and fall into it.
"We..." I swallow hard. How am I supposed to do it? How...? Why can't she just be a flirt, a one-night stand? I can't look at her, stand up, and force my leaden feet to take me to the window, where I look out at the expansive garden where I spent a good part of my childhood. Back then, everything was so simple, so childishly carefree. The three of us were inseparable, Kate, Tobias, and I. Tobias and I especially. The garden was our kingdom; it seemed endless. We ran around for hours among the trees, played hide-and-seek, screamed with joy—paradise on earth. Full of memories. My first kiss—from Tobias, under the apple tree to the right of Kate's window. My second kiss—from Kate, just seconds later. Moments we had longed for so much, only to wonder, when they were over, if that was it. There were eight of us. Our first real party, for Tobias's fourteenth birthday, took place right outside this window. Then, a good week later on a warm summer night, my first time—our first time—at the other end of the garden, a gift from me to him, and from him to me.
And that's probably where it all started. He wanted me, I wanted a girl...
“The task,” I croak, looking at Kate, who is now standing next to me.
Her eyes flash at me as if I'd said something wrong. "This miserable game... If I asked you to die for me, would you do it?"
“What?” I ask, horrified.
“You understood me perfectly.”
"Why would you want something like that? Do you hate me? So much that you wish... I thought..."
“That I love you?”
The alarm clock is ringing. That loud, penetrating noise that gets on your nerves so much that as soon as you turn it off, you sit up without hesitation, stretch out both arms, let out a silent yawn, and greet the day with a broad grin. Okay, I'm not sure you greet a new day that way, but I certainly do. For twelve years, every morning, weekdays and weekends, in wind and rain, ice and snow, and in bright sunshine.
Today, the penultimate day of my old life, the sun is already shining at this early hour with such intensity that I can feel it tickling the skin on my arm through the closed curtains. The golden hairs stand on end as if drawn to it by a magnet. While I blow playfully over my forearm, my other hand traces the invisible curves of her body, my nose inhales her unmistakable scent, which, along with the memory of last night, brings a smile to my lips. Sex is wonderful. Sex with Kate even more so. Amazing, terrific, crazy – oh, Kate!
Unless you pronounce her name wrong, I grin to myself as I get up and head for the bathroom, exactly two seconds before my face twists into a grimace because right where my eyes should meet their counterpart in the mirror is a damn yellow Post-It, with the three words that are going to completely ruin this wonderful morning written on it in lipstick red.
I.
FUCK!
Love.
FUCK!!
You.
FUCK!!!
6:44 a.m.
"Someone doesn't look happy," Dad says as soon as I enter the kitchen. "Did you have a fight?"
“Neh!” I say wittily and cleverly, before throwing him a small yellow ball, which he promptly unfolds and smooths out.
“Oh!” is all he can think of to say.
“I’m breaking up with her later,” I explain grumpily and sit down next to him with a cup of coffee.
"Yes," he nods. "Understandable. Being loved is... terrible."
„Dad!“
"All right. You're right. If there's nothing there, then it's better if you tell her the truth."
"Thanks."
“The third time, huh?”
„Yep.“
Dad spreads butter and raspberry jam on two pieces of bread and pushes the plate over to me.
“One day, Max,” he says, “one day you’ll find someone you can tell too.”
Of course I know he's right. Not to mention that at eighteen, I still have plenty of time to find him or her. Someone like... "Tobi..." I murmur quietly into my coffee mug as his image suddenly appears in my mind's eye. His dark, deep eyes, his smile that always accompanies him everywhere, his voice that always evokes a feeling of security in me...
Triggered it. I told him. I could tell him. Because it was true...
“Yes, Tobias is a great boy, Max.” He heard me murmuring.
“And what’s between us…” I remember, and for a moment I feel as if a huge, protective bubble surrounds me, like when Tobias and I were still a couple.
“...it's over, little one,” Dad bursts the bubble.
"How come?"
"You'll have to ask him yourself, Max," he replies, even though we both know the answer, the reasons... "I have to go now, honey," he says and stands up again, kisses me on the head and puts a white, A6-sized card in front of me before he gets his keys and closes the front door behind him.
6:51 a.m.
As soon as I read the map, on which my best friend Florian, in his scrawling block capitals, has written only the code 20/3/? (which means 20 letters, three spaces, and a question mark), an address and a time, which is incomprehensible to outsiders, I feel better again. I feel the energy flowing through me, strengthening me, preparing me for the next game. Thirty-two minutes to go, and then it's off. Thirty-two minutes to finish breakfast, shower, pack my backpack, and cycle a few blocks further to my first destination.
7:22 a.m.
Time is precious in this game. It's often short, and Florian rarely allows me more than a few minutes' respite between tasks. Accordingly, the speed at which I often race from one destination to the next is high. Both Florian and I had to promise our parents that safety would not be compromised before they gave their okay to our first game more than three years ago. They made us both complete several safety training sessions at the local cycling club and buy a complete set of equipment, including knee and elbow pads and a helmet. Even Florian, although he only participates passively in the game and usually enjoys himself in some café or other crowded place while tracking my progress via the GPS signal on his phone, I wonder where he's hiding in plain sight with his book these days?
I reach the finish line a minute ahead of schedule, lock my bike, and unfasten my bike helmet as I tap on the huge window of our local bookstore, which offers a good view of the poorly lit bookshelves, which are always so crammed that whenever I dare to venture inside alone—which has only ever happened at the beginning of a new school year—I always feel as if the shelves, along with their tons of heavy contents, might collapse on me and bury me forever. The fact that I'm still so familiar with them is entirely thanks to Florian—the guy is an absolute bookworm.
"Ah, right on time," Mr. Braun nods approvingly as he opens the door, then locks it behind me. "Just as your friend predicted. Are you ready?"
I nod wordlessly and look away from him as I see his wife approaching us out of the corner of my eye. Like her husband, she's in her seventies and has incredibly white hair. Unlike him, who sometimes greets his younger customers grumpily, she's always cheerful and kind, just as I imagine the ideal grandmother to be. Since I never met my own grandparents, all of whom died before I was born, I sometimes like to dream of adopting Mrs. Braun. Then we, too, would be a reasonably normal family.
"Good morning, my dear," she greets me warmly, placing her hand on my arm. "It's wonderful that you're here today." "Good morning to you too, Mrs. Braun," I reply. When I meet Mr. Braun's gaze, I quickly add, "Good morning to both of you." "You're probably wondering what awaits you here, aren't you?" she asks.
"I'm pretty excited," I admit. "Curious."
"Well, then we won't keep you in suspense any longer," her husband chimes in with exaggerated friendliness. He leaves us briefly to pull a book from a shelf, which he immediately hands to me. "We know you're not a big book lover, but this book might change your mind."
"None of us can relate to it," says my dream grandmother. "Science fiction. Not our generation, I'm afraid. But you might like it." "Florian picked it out."
“Okay, um, should I read it?”
"Yes. No. Yes. Yes, you should. Not the whole book, of course, there isn't enough time. But as far as you can get."
"And then...?" "Yes, the letter," he remembers. "The card."
“And the condition,” she adds mysteriously.
"Of course, that's the condition." The two of them seem very excited, as if they're enjoying the game as much as I am. Mr. Braun turns back to me. "So, you have 45 minutes to look at the book. You can read it wherever you want: the beginning, the end, the middle. It doesn't matter where. We hope you'll find it interesting..."
"That you'll like it. Then you can take it home. For free, of course, without any money."
“I can pay for it, no problem,” I assure them.
"Sure, we know that. Your father..." "But that's not what we're concerned about, Maximilian. We don't need your money or your father's."
"Not your money," Mr. Braun confirms his wife's words. "We'd like your time."
"My...? My time?" "Look, we'd love it if you could spend a month this summer... Florian said a month, right?" he asks his wife. She nods and smiles at me.
“I should spend a month…?”
“Work with us for a month.”
Didn't the two of them just talk about a condition? That's supposed to be it? What was Florian thinking? The effects of the game were always immediate and short-term, aside from the occasional injuries that sometimes took weeks to heal. Every game so far has been over within a day, with all the trimmings. And now I'm supposed to spend my summer standing here in the store instead of lying on the beach all day long?
"That's the condition?" I can't quite hide the rising panic in my voice. "If I say no, then I can forget the card? The entire game today?"
The cards contain the next goal. If I don't get one, the game is over. For today, that would mean I failed right from the start. And in all these years, I haven't failed a single game.
"Game?" Mrs. Braun asks, visibly offended. "Is this all just a game for you?" "No, no, no!" I try to repair the damage. "Yes. It is. But it's a serious game. With consequences." Sometimes it's a matter of life and death. And right now, at this very moment, I would prefer a situation like jumping off the cliff the other day a thousand times over. "What if I say no?"
“Then you’ll still get the card.”
"Then what's the point of it all? Why should I read the book?"
“Because we want you to choose it. Voluntarily.”
"They could force me. If I don't agree, there'll be no ticket."
Mr. Braun looks questioningly at his wife, but she shakes her head sadly. "We won't do that. You'll get your card anyway. But if you give us a month, you'll get much more. Florian and you will receive something that will change your lives forever. Now make yourself comfortable somewhere and read the book if you like. We won't bother you any further."
I watch Mrs. Braun sit down on a stool next to the cash register and Mr. Braun stand next to her and lovingly press her head to his chest. Embarrassed, I turn away and find a corner where I can't see them, sit down on the floor, and open the book. While I'm still pondering what my friend could have been thinking, making such an agreement with them, which I obviously have to accept; otherwise, I might get the ticket but would never shake the feeling of failure... So, while I'm pondering Florian's reasons, I begin to read the book, which, if I interpret the dates correctly, is quite a bit older than I am, and I realize that the story of this boy, chosen by the military to save the world from alien invaders, is increasingly captivating me.
He's just arrived at his new school when Mr. Braun shakes my arm and drags me from the future back to the past. Silently, I follow him to the front of the house to his wife, who seems to have gotten over her shock. She gives me a grandmotherly smile and asks me what I think of the book. "I'd like to take it with me and read on to find out what happens to the little one, whether he manages to save the people or breaks down from the humiliation." My answer seems to satisfy them both; her husband's expression brightens at my words. "And as for that one month: I think it's a fantastic opportunity to get an insight into the world of work."
Mrs. Braun can't contain her joy any longer. She claps and makes a strange noise that could be a chuckle or a squeak, comes over to me, and hugs me. "Florian will definitely be happy, then he won't be alone here with us old grumps."
“Florian will be spending the month here too?” Couldn’t they have said that right away?
"Yes, yes, of course, that's why he suggested the whole thing in the first place. Martha, we told him that, didn't we?"
No, you didn't, I want to correct him, because otherwise I would have agreed right away! Instead, I just smile at him blissfully and jump for joy inside because the universe (in this case with Florian as my representative) isn't as cruel as I feared.
"Very nice, my boy," says Mr. Braun, handing me the next card. "You won't regret it."
"No, absolutely not," adds his wife, who has now let go. "And now we wish you lots of fun with your game."
08:27 a.m.
Four minutes after the Brauns say goodbye to me, I reach the next stop, the Fernweh travel agency, which doesn't open for another three minutes. I peek inside through the shop window, but I can't see a soul. What exactly I'm supposed to be doing here is a mystery to me.
Except... No, not again! I've had to do that before: book a trip, only to cancel it right before closing time. Luckily, I didn't have to pull that stunt at that travel agency back then, otherwise they probably wouldn't even let me in today.
Just to be absolutely sure, in case Florian is serious this time, I look in my wallet to see if the credit card my father gave me for the games is in there.
One minute, 60 seconds left. 59… 58…
How do you kill a minute? I could keep reading, but as soon as I've taken the book out, I have to put it back in my pocket. The street is empty, not a single passerby to chat with. The houses, boring, I've known them for as long as I can remember. Nothing new or special to catch my attention. Twenty seconds left. My phone—no new messages, which is no surprise, since Florian never contacts me during the game and Kate has already started work. And as for the others, they're still asleep at this time of night.
Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Having to count down the seconds is truly pathetic. As if I had nothing better to do with my time! Finally, someone comes to catch up. To my surprise, I'm greeted by a fairly young man. He can't be much older than me, probably in his early twenties. He's outrageously good-looking, with his tanned skin and toned body covered in noticeably little fabric, his blue-green eyes and playful look—as if he'd stepped out of a travel agency's commercial or, as an entertainer, would normally be undressed by the gaze of young-at-heart ladies.
"Good morning," he says with a slight accent I can't place. "You're Mr. Jansen, I presume?"
"Yes. Yes, hello, good morning," I stammer. "Max Jansen, Mr...." Unfortunately, I can't read his name because to do so would require tearing my eyes away from his face, and no matter how hard I try, I can't. "Please call me Ruben." "Ruben."
"May I offer you a cup of coffee or tea, Mr. Jansen? Or a refreshment?"
I shake my head vigorously, but at the same time say, “A glass of water would be nice.” Whereupon he disappears, only to return shortly after with a glass of water.
"Please, take a seat," he says, sitting down opposite me at the computer. I obey without taking my eyes off him. "If I call your friend..." "Tell me, Ruben," I blurt out, "are you new here?" The question isn't entirely unreasonable, since I like to think I know pretty much everyone in our metropolis of 3,000 people, and I've never seen him before.
"Not new," he replies kindly, "on a temporary basis. A week's visit, so to speak, because my colleagues..."
“Mrs. May and Mrs. Yildirim,” I interrupt him involuntarily, because I’m too excited to keep my mouth shut.
"Exactly. Mrs. May is sick, and Mrs. Yildirim's shift starts at twelve. But, to get back to your journey..."
“I’m traveling?”
"That's why you're here, right?" he asks uncertainly. "Your friend, Mr...." He looks at his notes, "Mr. Warte has already sorted everything out, but he said you'd like to go over it with me again and possibly change something."
"That's what Mr. Wait said?" So, a trip after all. Too bad, I wouldn't have objected to a date with such a nice person. "And where are we going?"
"To... to Amsterdam." I feel sorry for poor Ruben. This will probably be the first time he's ever seen two people wanting to travel and making such a fuss about it. "For eight days. Next Monday, you'll fly out at 8 a.m. and arrive at Schiphol Airport shortly after 9. A shuttle will take you from there to your hotel. Four stars, double room with a double bed, breakfast included. Mr. Warte said full board would be superfluous."
After rattling off the details, he waits a while and only continues when I nod. "The price includes City Cards for public transport for the duration of your stay, with free entry to many museums, and other discounts. You can find more information here," he says, placing a red flyer on the table. "Plus rental bikes for three hours a day, a rental scooter for a day to explore the surrounding area, and... if you have any additional requests or want to change something..."
"No, no, thank you," I say, and hear a sigh of relief. "How much does this fun cost?"
"Mr. Warte has already paid a large portion of the amount..." He has? Then he's probably serious about the trip this time. "The outstanding amount is 647 euros." A strangely odd amount, and quite high, considering Florian had already made a down payment. Or was that just a symbolic euro? "How much did my friend pay?"
"1,000 euros." He's now maxed out his credit card limit. Has he completely lost his mind?!
"The trip costs 1,647 euros?! For eight days?!" "For two people. Including travel cancellation insurance," he tries to make the price more palatable. "Okay," I give in without a fight and mentally strangle Florian before handing this guy my card, whose looks are considerably less attractive considering he's about to relieve me of so much money. The fact that my father is settling the card bills doesn't make things any better, because while I don't have to pay for the money spent, I'm sure I'll get a good telling off for such a large sum. A pleasure I'll gladly share with Florian! Suddenly, I feel the urge to leave the store and Ruben, Mr. Weiss, as I've since figured out. As soon as I've put the credit card, which now seems to weigh a ton, into my wallet and the wallet into my trouser pocket, I accept my prize, the playing card with the next letter and the next destination, and say goodbye, but not without giving Ruben one last look and a suggestive grin.
9:30 a.m.
My next task awaits me in the empty market square directly in front of the community center, where a table, like the ones you'd recognize from school, has been decorated with a poster promising a kiss on the cheek from me to anyone who gives me five euros. I'm so embarrassed by this that I'd rather skip it, which the rules of the game obviously forbid. So, with a sigh, I sit down on the table and bravely wait for the things, or rather the people, that are to come. I've barely finished this thought when I see a group of five girls walking purposefully toward me—all from my year. The first is a blonde bitch who, if you believe the rumors spread behind her back, only follows the brunette leader of the " We Are God's Gift to Men " clique because she's completely in love with her—and has been since seventh grade!—otherwise, she would have long since founded her own bullying gang, terrorizing the common people.
As soon as she's received her kiss and I've received my money and card, she nods to her successor, who had just been eyeing me skeptically and now looks questioningly at her, the goddess herself. I've never understood what's so beautiful about her. Her curly hair is far too wild for my taste, her eyes are tiny compared to her nose, her...
Oh dear, here she comes...
"We're only doing this because your stupid boyfriend paid us to, is that clear?" she declares, earning "yes!"s and "exactly!"s from her pack friends. "Of course," I reply.
“Shut up, you worthless piece of shit…”
"Think about your blood pressure, Cleo," the blonde admonishes her, whereupon Cleo closes her eyes, stretches her hands out in front of her in a meditative manner, and breathes in slowly, really slowly, deeply. As she exhales, she lowers her hands again, only to raise them again the next moment as she inhales. She does this exercise for about two minutes, then takes the last few steps toward me, blows me a kiss on each cheek, places the bill and the card on the table, and joins her waiting accomplice.
The next two are quickly ticked off, but the last girl approaches me hesitantly, with blushing cheeks, a slightly downcast gaze, and a very faint, shy smile on her lips. She is Cleo's sister, the unwanted twin, the one left after the self-proclaimed queen left the home she shared for nine months and chose the world around her as her new playground. She is kindness personified, the beauty on earth, everything her sister, who is only a few minutes older, is not. And she is cursed, for no one dares approach her—and she dares not leave the devil's side for even a second. Too bad...
"Come on, Clara!" her sister commands. "We don't have all day."
"Come on," Blondie cries, "it's just a stupid kiss!" But I see in Clara's eyes that it's not just any kiss, it's a special one, probably her first. So I do something I would never normally do: I break the rules – and kiss her not on the cheek, but on the lips. Very light and gentle, just as a first kiss should be – magical… A butterfly flies over and lands on her nose, and her smile grows bigger, more enchanting, infinitely beautiful. She looks me in the eyes, then slips the money and a card into my hand and is gone, following the others. I watch her for a long while and thank Florian for the short time with her, even though it was only a few seconds and I'll never get that close to her again. Only then do I glance at the card in my hand. Another new letter, another no new destination – so my guest list will get longer.
I only know the boy standing in front of me by sight. A ninth-grader, one of several who came out last school and who, every day since, greeted me with a nod whenever we made even the most casual eye contact. He looks so sweet, the way he looks at me, embarrassed yet respectful, the way you look at someone you admire but never hoped to meet in person, let alone kiss. Hesitantly, he presses his lips to my cheek, then puts his arms around me and whispers a thank you in my ear. After that, I'm five euros and a card richer, and he's gone.
The reason for the little one's thanks approaches me with open arms, hugs me, and laughs: "Dude, we did it!"
Paul Wabe, beefy and, despite my six foot three, a bit taller than me, made my life hell even before I came out. A single glance in his direction was enough to drive him crazy; more than once, his fist landed in my stomach or face, until one day during class we had a showdown that ended in the hospital for me and, as soon as the emergency doctor gave him the okay, in the precinct for Paul. When he went back to school a few days later, everyone gave him a wide berth, which he couldn't stand for more than two hours. He left school and walked all the way to the hospital, sat down by my bed, and started crying for at least half an hour. Then he apologized to me, said he was sorry, and that he was in love with me. Since I didn't have an answer, he left me alone, but visited me again the next day, and the days after that, until I was allowed to go home. On my first day of school after the incident, he approached me, which still made me instinctively recoil, and followed me everywhere without a word. From then on, he became my shadow. My bodyguard. And I became an involuntary legend and a hero to all those who hadn't dared to come out. My suspicions subsided over time; I started talking to him, then laughing, and later even meeting up with him after school. He taught me how to defend myself, and we became friends. Not best friends, but friends nonetheless. And we still are.
Once he thinks he's squeezed enough air out of me, he lets me go, does his job (kiss, money, card), and makes me promise to book him a dance at prom tomorrow to make his boyfriend a little jealous.
After Paul comes Sean McArthur, the most brilliant guy ever to call himself a teacher. And the first man, the first person I ever fell in love with. I was fourteen, fresh out of college, and he had all these crazy ideas that not only captured my mind, but also my heart and the hearts of my classmates. But today he's standing alone in front of me, grinning.
“Now that I’m no longer your teacher, Max, how about a nice cup of tea?”
"You Brits and your tea!" I laugh, and he joins in. "Or is that a euphemism?" One of the many words he taught us.
“You can choose.”
“Then tea.”
"Sure? I thought you'd like more."
“Those days are over, Sean.”
"Yeah? You're right, you know?"
“Who is right?”
"Your classmates. They say you're a player, a heartbreaker."
"Not really, Mr. McArthur. I've gotten older, more mature, hopefully..."
"Could be. Then tea, you probably still have my number," he says, putting his hands around my neck, pulling my head down toward him, and kissing... my forehead!
“Sean!” I protest.
He just grins and says, "I wish you much success today. See you tomorrow!"
“See you tomorrow!” I call out to him, but he’s out of sight before I’ve even finished saying the words.
After Sean, nothing happens for a while. Absolutely nothing. Even though I'm standing with my table in front of the community center, and one would assume that countless people would be coming in and out again, not a single person shows up. If it weren't for Sean's card, which clearly tells me that I have to wait here, that my "let me get kissed" task isn't complete yet, I would have disappeared long ago. But instead, I take out the book and start reading, constantly scanning the surroundings out of the corner of my eye.
The boy, who, despite or perhaps because of his high intelligence, is increasingly becoming an outsider at his new school, evokes a big-brother protective instinct in me, something I've never experienced before, since I have neither a sister nor a brother. In the past, when Tobias and I were out on the town and some guys were hitting on us, I would stand in front of him without thinking because I knew he wouldn't fight back, neither with words nor with his fists. And later, when things started going on with Kate and Tobias and I started to avoid each other, I always kept an eye on him from afar and asked my friends to do the same because my feelings for him haven't changed and probably never will. He will always be my friend, whether we talk to each other or not, and I will always try to protect him.
A blow on the back of my neck draws my attention back to the present and the ongoing play. I turn around, but there's no one behind me. Instead, someone is standing in front of me. Someone with a hood and a fake mustache and a mask, the kind you see at masked balls in old costume movies—who wears a mask like that these days? Do these balls even exist anymore? Romeo and Juliet comes to mind, the film with Leo and Claire Danes, great cinema...
"Who are you?" Even though we're the only ones for miles around, I whisper. An answer eludes me. Instead, he, or she—I can't even say this for sure—brings his/her finger to my lips, silencing me. Then he/she caresses my cheek with the thumb of the same hand, a touch so gentle, so tender, like nothing I've ever felt before. In that moment, I decide my counterpart must be female, because no man I know has skin as soft and delicate as this. And I also decide I must get to know her. Invite her. Take her out. Entice her.
Court her and finally ask for her hand in marriage.
How a single touch can turn your whole world upside down! Just a few hours ago, I feared I'd never see anyone like... like... again.
She looks at me, so briefly that I think I've only imagined it, then she looks away again. Smiling. She's flirting with me. Is there a more beautiful game than being chosen by Aphrodite? To be her servant, her lover?
"Tell me your name," I beg her. Once again, she's beaming as brightly as the sun, but she won't reveal her name. I find myself inhaling her scent, hoping to recognize it, but even that doesn't work. With her hand still on my cheek, our faces move closer, I close my eyes, unable to believe my luck when her lips finally meet mine. All around me, inside me, little explosions: a colorful firework display drawing hearts in the sky, heart-shaped balloons, streamers, butterflies... It's as if the universe had decided to merge birthdays and Christmas and New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day into a single day, a single moment, a kiss, that one kiss!
As our lips part, I want nothing more than to kiss her again. Forever. And ever. "Marry me," I whisper before opening my eyes and just catching her disappearing around a corner. "I'll find you! One day!" I shout at the top of my lungs. Then I start laughing because I've never felt so amazing. Love is wonderful!
10:29 a.m.
Still staring after my beautiful girlfriend, I dial Florian's number, desperately hoping he won't ignore me. After all, this could be an emergency. No, this is an emergency! It's ringing... ringing... ringing... for the thousandth time. Answer, Flo! Answer!
He sounds bored when he finally answers, but that doesn't interest me. I get straight to the point: "Who is she? I need to meet you! She's the love of my life, the mother of my unwanted children, beauty personified, the goddess..."
"Calm down, man! Relax! Who are you talking about?"
“From the girl who was just here.”
“The kissing challenge?”
"Yes, the kissing challenge. Who is she? I need to see her again!"
"Them? You'll have to be more specific. Which of the people do you mean?"
"Flo!" I yell at him, but then I realize he can't possibly know who I mean. "The one with the mask."
"Ah!" he giggles. He's giggling?! What does he know that I don't... Okay, he knows a lot about you that I don't, because I don't know anything at all, really. Except that I want you. And I want you to want me too.
„Also?“
"Chillax, Maxi. You'll see her again today and you can ask her yourself."
"Really now?"
"Promised."
A feeling of elation takes hold of me and I'm sure that if he were standing next to me right now, I would kiss him, even though he's not into guys at all, and he would tell me to save it for you.
“What’s your name?”
"Max, be patient! Unless you want to quit the game."
Cancel the game? Absolutely not! I'll see you again later anyway, later, even today...
"I'll keep going. Where do I need to go? Or is someone else coming here?"
"You'll be able to answer these questions yourself; she's laid the next card on the table for you. Good luck, Maxi. And remember, you can stop at any time if it gets too much."
Then the line goes dead; he hangs up without waiting for a reply or confirmation from me. His last sentence echoes in my head, but only when I find my next destination, my next assignment, do I understand why he said it.
I have three minutes to run two kilometers—for the first time, I'll be late. And for the first time, I'll lose someone in a game.
10:34 a.m.
This is the sixth time I've raised my hand to the doorbell, hesitated, and then pulled it back. Just a few hours ago, it seemed so easy, but now that Florian has made my intention part of the game, my plan to break up with Kate seems reprehensible. Wanting to end a relationship with someone who just confessed their love to you for the third time! is brutal. Isn't it?
Or not?
“Come in,” I suddenly hear Kate’s voice and look up from the floor.
"Were... were you waiting for me? And why are you home anyway?"
"I quit. And as for your first question: yes and no. I'm your 10:33 appointment, so I knew you'd come. But I wasn't standing behind the door the whole time."
“I didn’t ring the bell,” I question her statement.
"No..." she draws out the word, as if dealing with someone who's slow on the uptake. "But banging your head against the door is at least as effective."
"I have... what?" No, that can't be. "I didn't!"
"Mhm," she nods, and I realize we skipped our greeting ritual, the quadruple kiss (lips, left cheek, right cheek, lips). "Come," she says again, pulling me through the hallway into her room. She closes the door behind us and leans against it. She looks at me sadly, closes her eyes, looks away briefly, and then looks back at me. Her eyes push me backward until I reach her reading chair and fall into it.
"We..." I swallow hard. How am I supposed to do it? How...? Why can't she just be a flirt, a one-night stand? I can't look at her, stand up, and force my leaden feet to take me to the window, where I look out at the expansive garden where I spent a good part of my childhood. Back then, everything was so simple, so childishly carefree. The three of us were inseparable, Kate, Tobias, and I. Tobias and I especially. The garden was our kingdom; it seemed endless. We ran around for hours among the trees, played hide-and-seek, screamed with joy—paradise on earth. Full of memories. My first kiss—from Tobias, under the apple tree to the right of Kate's window. My second kiss—from Kate, just seconds later. Moments we had longed for so much, only to wonder, when they were over, if that was it. There were eight of us. Our first real party, for Tobias's fourteenth birthday, took place right outside this window. Then, a good week later on a warm summer night, my first time—our first time—at the other end of the garden, a gift from me to him, and from him to me.
And that's probably where it all started. He wanted me, I wanted a girl...
“The task,” I croak, looking at Kate, who is now standing next to me.
Her eyes flash at me as if I'd said something wrong. "This miserable game... If I asked you to die for me, would you do it?"
“What?” I ask, horrified.
“You understood me perfectly.”
"Why would you want something like that? Do you hate me? So much that you wish... I thought..."
“That I love you?”