Ingrid doesn’t know much about Isak, really. He’d been her boyfriend’s best friend, then her best friend’s boyfriend, but beyond that, he’s just another boy with an inflated ego and questionable use of snapbacks. They’d lost touch after Sara had broken up with him, and maybe for the best. If she ever has to hear another word about Isak’s – frankly, subpar – kissing technique, she’d cut off his lips herself, if he had any in the first place.
It’s not like she’s interested in Isak’s love life. She can hardly figure out her own, and if the rumors about him hooking up with a different girl every weekend are anything to go by, she wouldn’t be able to keep up anyway. Sara mostly ignores the long list of girls’ names, and Ingrid takes her lead.
Ingrid first hears the rumors five minutes after she’s had her tongue down Sara’s throat, though, so she figures she should at least keep an open mind.
“Weird,” Annette slurs, as the couple in front of them kisses again. She’s been gaping at them for the past minute. Her weight anchors Ingrid down as she struggles to stand up straight, knees wobbly from the eight shots of tequila she’d just drank in quick succession. If this is what Ingrid gets for volunteering to take care of first-years, she’s officially vowing against any future whims of conscience. Ingrid’s hardly said more than ten words to Annette all year, and yet here she is.
Ingrid vaguely recognizes the guy as that third year who’d transferred from Bakka. He’s attractive. His girlfriend is even more attractive. Other than that, he’s a mystery. Annette surges uncomfortably close to Ingrid’s ear, hooking an arm around Ingrid’s neck. “Can I tell you a secret?” she giggles. “I thought he liked boys. Emma said he hooked up with Isak.”
It’s probably the worst possible situation to give someone a lecture on bisexuality, but Ingrid’s itching to do it anyway.
Ingrid raises her eyebrows. “Isak Valtersen? Snapbacks, friends with Jonas Vasquez, thinks he’s cool because he smokes weed?”
That explains a lot. He’d always acted too straight to actually be straight.
Annette’s eyes grow wide. “Emma said he wouldn’t let her blow him. I didn’t know boys did that. Is that normal?” Annette shakes Ingrid’s shoulders. “Ingrid, you know about boys.”
Ingrid’s lips draw into a line. “Let’s get you home. Maybe you can ask a boy about this in the morning,” she says, but Annette’s already stumbling to the bathroom, clutching her stomach.
Ingrid sucks in a deep breath to steel herself. It’s going to be a long night.
After the fiasco that was Jonas, Ingrid promised she would never change herself for a crush. She’s older, more mature. Ingrid can’t explain the need to clean her room when Sara’s been over too many times to count. Sara’s seen her with braces, with those ridiculous bright pink glasses she’d had at ten, that phase when she liked boys with emo hair, which only lasted a month, but had somehow yielded photographic evidence Sara still uses against her.
The doorbell rings. Ingrid takes a look at the armchair, still covered with at least five layers of dirty clothes, and gives it up as a lost cause.
Caring this much will only backfire in the end – has already backfired, if Sara’s just stringing her along. This will go the same way it always does. Sara comes over to watch TV, they’ll mess around with Ingrid’s new Tarte palette, Ingrid will force a smile as she pushes down those flutters in her stomach, they may make out a little, then Sara will go back to gossiping about boys like it’s no big deal, like it’s not slowly tearing Ingrid apart. It’s cool. It’s probably healthy to have her ego taken down a notch every once a while.
Ingrid opens the door to Sara holding a bag of chocolate chip cookies that smell like they’ve just been liberated from the oven, wearing that bubblegum pink lipstick she knows Ingrid’s a goner for. Ingrid has this theory that she could apply it even better with her lips. It’d at least be more fun.
“Are you ready for The Princess Diaries 2?” Sara bounces as she settles against the pillows at the head of Ingrid’s bed, pulling the comforter over her legs. She always takes the left side, and Ingrid leaves it empty even when Sara’s not there. Fucking goner.
“I’ll never understand your obsession with sequels.” Ingrid curls up against Sara and pulls the comforter up to her chest.
“You can’t honestly believe that A New Hope is better than The Empire Strikes Back. And Toy Story 2 made you cry.”
“I had something in my eye. And I know you’ve seen Mean Girls 2.”
“Mean Girls 2?” Sara says innocently. “I thought there was just one.”
They’re only fifteen minutes into the movie when Sara suddenly asks, “Did you hear about Isak?” It’s so soft Ingrid nearly misses it under the sound of Nicholas and Mia’s aggressive flirting. She presses pause on the remote.
“I’ve heard a lot of things. He’s hooking up with Emma from the first year, almost got Eva caught with weed, got into a fight with his friend Mahdi…”
Sara lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know what I’m talking about. The gay rumors.”
Ingrid can’t bring herself to face her. They’ve been making out at parties since they were fifteen, back when Ingrid still thought the fun didn’t have to mean anything, and the boys egging her on provided the perfect excuse. Hell, Sara had even given Ingrid her first kiss – when she had beaten Ingrid to kissing real live boys, and Ingrid had to be prepared somehow. Since then, Sara had never hinted that she was anything less than perfectly straight. Gay, bi, pan, those words had never even passed her lips.
“He could be bisexual,” Ingrid offers. I’m bisexual, she almost says. I’m bisexual, and I may be in love with a girl who kisses me like she wants to take me apart, but somehow stays intact.
Sara shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so? When we dated, he always seemed like he was looking for something else. I just have a hunch.”
“Is that okay with you?” Ingrid asks, hesitant.
“Actually? I think I’m kind of glad.” Her lips twitch into the hint of a smile. “I think I liked someone else the whole time anyway.”
“Don’t tell me it was Chris. I told you, he’s not that great of a fuck.”
Sara only manages to silence her by leaning over to peck her on the lips. It’s the most innocent kiss they’ve shared since they were both just learning, but Ingrid’s breath goes shallow. If she breathes too hard, her chest will explode. Sara’s next words come out in a rush. “I like boys, but I think I like girls too, and I hope that answers your question? I mean…"
Ingrid doesn’t let her trail off for long. She answers Sara’s kiss with one of her own, this time slower, languid, like they exist out of time. She pulls away with Sara’s lipstick smeared on her lips, her breath burning in her chest. “I hope that answers your question.”
After they’ve tired themselves out, and Sara’s pulled a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream from Ingrid’s fridge to make homemade ice cream sandwiches, Sara tells her, “The reason I like sequels so much is because I already know the characters so well that I’m invested, no matter how bad the story is. It's like your old friends are going on a new adventure.” Sara pokes her in the side. Her finger is still sticky from the ice cream. “Kind of like this.”
“Are we starting something?”
Sara holds a spoonful of ice cream in front of Ingrid’s mouth and raises her eyebrows as if to say open up, and shit, has Ingrid ever refused her anything? “I thought we already had.”
On the first day of school in the new year, Vilde tells them all about how great Even is. Everyone must be wondering what he’s like. He’s part of kosegruppa, and they hung out during the holidays. She’d even call him a good friend. Have you seen Isak’s Instagram pictures? He convinced Isak to make cupcakes, and trust me, they’re going to be even more disgusting on Valentine’s Day. Even’s really sweet – the rumors going around are bullshit – and he even helped Magnus and her get together. Oh, and has everyone heard about her new boyfriend? He’s great. Yesterday, he bought her flowers and chocolates, and he’s amazing in bed –
It’s almost a blessing when Anette and the rest of her dance friends wander over from their elusive corner of the school yard.
Mari, who’s leading the charge, steels her face into mission mode. “You all know Isak from the second year, right?”
Sara chortles from where she’s standing pressed against Ingrid’s side, but Vilde nods so enthusiastically that Mari doesn’t notice.
Mari crosses her hands over her chest. “We tried inviting him and his friends to hang out with us, but he said no. Could you maybe talk to him? Try not to schedule another one of your little kosegruppa get-togethers on the same day we have parties?”
Vilde can only gape, but luckily, Eva steps in for her. “We’ll make sure to keep your busy schedules in mind next time.”
The tension is palpable until Noora suddenly waves to the opposite side of the yard. Sure enough, Isak and Even just arrived, complete with Isak’s entire gang.
Isak and Even aren't even touching, but they lean so close together when they talk that there’s no question that they’ve carved out a world for themselves. Even absentmindedly brushes down a curl that escapes Isak’s snapback, like he’s done this a thousand times before, and Isak ducks out of his way effortlessly. He pushes at Even’s chest, but his grin is so bright that even Ingrid can’t take him seriously.
As Isak and Even approach the group, Ingrid hears Isak protest, “Stop babying me.”
“Not what you said last night,” Even shoots back, and Isak’s entire face turns red.
“Loser.”
“Not what you were calling me last night either.”
Sara buries her face in Ingrid’s hair to hide her laughter. Her mouth is hot against Ingrid’s ear as she manages to gasp, “I dated him. I actually dated him. His dick was in my mouth.”
Ingrid just pats her head. “Aren’t you glad you upgraded,” she deadpans.
Sara beams back. “Yeah, I am.”
Ingrid could kiss her right there.
“What’s up?” Even says, as Eva moves over to make space for the boys. Isak huddles closer to Even.
Maria’s eyes search them like a hawk, flitting from Isak to Even with expert precision. “Are you Even?”
“My mom did name me that, yeah.”
Ingrid can’t help but be impressed at how coolly he takes in it.
Annette clutches her hands together, gushing, “We think you guys are so cute, and we just want you to know that we support you completely. Gay rights are so important, you know? My cousin Nick is gay. He and his husband are honeymooning in Paris right now.”
Somehow, Ingrid gets the impression that Annette’s reaction to Ingrid and Sara wouldn’t be nearly this enthusiastic.
Mari’s glaring at her, but Annette doesn’t even notice. “You should totally party with us,” she says, touching Even’s arm, “I heard gays are so much fun at parties.”
Even gently pulls his elbow away to reach over and hold Isak’s hand. There’s a moment when Isak almost imperceptibly tenses, but he relaxes when Even rubs his thumb over Isak’s knuckles. Ingrid raises her eyebrows at the sight. From what she remembers, Isak’s all false bravado and bluster. This softness is entirely new.
Even continues, “Actually, Isak’s a grumpy loser. You don’t want to party with him. He’ll just talk your ear off about memes and Stranger Things. Stranger Things memes, if he’s being creative.”
“And you don’t want to hear Even’s 101 reasons why Baz Luhrmann is probably better than you. I made him stop at 49.”
“Oh,” is all Annette manages to say, looking for all the world like her entire self-concept has been demolished. Maybe now she’ll even take down that “love is love” pin from her backpack.
Mari, for all of her faults, is a smart girl.
“Tell us if you change your mind,” she calls out as she stalks away, the other girls following her like lost ducklings. Her smile can’t hide the cracks of sourness. Annette shoots her a questioning look, but Mari only rolls her eyes and ignores her completely.
“Charming,” Noora says simply.
The next few days, Isak and Even are all Ingrid hears about. It would drive her mad, if it didn’t help take some of the heat off Sara and Ingrid. It’s a testament to how close they’ve always been that hardly anyone notices that they stand a little more closely now, brush each other’s fingers as they walk in the hallway. The dramatic side of her almost wishes they’d made a bigger splash.
There are no less than four theories about Isak and Even’s first kiss: they committed murder, they broke into someone’s house, they stole all the condoms from the supermarket, they hotwired a car – general consensus is that crime was involved, and isn’t that so romantic. Modern Bonnie and Clyde.
Every sighting of them is meticulously catalogued. I saw them holding hands outside Biology. Even kissed Isak’s forehead after PE. They hugged in the cafeteria. It’s like they’re back in middle school. Of course, there are the rumors about Even’s mental health, details about his transfer, but Ingrid ignores them even more resolutely than she ignores the other rumors. Ingrid’s not a saint – she’ll gossip as much as the next It Girl, but ruining lives isn’t on her daily agenda, not anymore.
In the midst of this, at least some things at school are changing for the better.
In English, Sara brushes her hand higher and higher on Ingrid’s thigh, heading towards danger zones. They’re discussing Holden Caulfield’s view of sex, but Ingrid doesn’t want to discuss some straight boy’s complicated relationship with his sexuality. She should be experiencing it for herself – that’s real education. Sara’s fingers brush under her shirt, above the waist of her low-cut jeans, and Ingrid nearly jumps out of her seat.
This girl is a menace.
It only takes five minutes and the excuse of a bathroom break for Ingrid to slam Sara against the door of the janitor’s closet. She fumbles with the doorknob, but Sara keeps kissing that sensitive spot behind her ear, and she can’t really be blamed for losing control over her muscles, really.
They finally manage to stumble through the door, only to be confronted by Isak and Even pressed against the opposite wall, glued together at the lips, with Isak’s hand working at the button of Even’s jeans.
When the door slams open, they jump apart, and Isak lets out a particularly high-pitched, “Wha – “
“I thought the door was locked,” Even says, scratching the back of his head. He doesn’t even have the sense to look ashamed. Isak, on the other hand, is turning his eye-fucking skills toward the mop in the corner, a blush rising on his cheeks.
Isak stutters, “Were you two trying to get in to…you know…”
“No, we were going to talk about our life ambitions and share platonic girly secrets – what do you think,” Sara snaps.
“Oh,” Isak says, eyes going wide, “Oh. Wow, Sara.”
“Sara? Your ex, Sara?” Even chimes in. If Isak scrunches up his face any more, he’d prune. Ingrid empathizes, but Mother Earth is an asshole who never swallows anyone up, especially when they need it the most.
“This can’t get any worse,” Isak moans.
As if summoned, Magnus pokes his head inside the closet, face set with his typical dopey smile. “It’s like a party in here.” He stops bouncing on his feet when he senses the tension – Ingrid’s surprised he can even take this bare minimum of social cues. “What’s going on?”
Isak groans and covers his face with his hands. “How did you even find us?”
“Even said to meet him here.”
Even shrugs. “We were going out for coffee. I thought we’d be done by now.”
Isak opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to figure out whether that was an insult or a compliment, and in the time it takes him to do so, Magnus has already registered Ingrid’s arms casually strung across Sara’s waist.
“Isak, did you make Sara gay?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Did you make each other gay? Can that happen?”
“Don’t bi-erase me,” Sara scolds, and Ingrid’s never been prouder.
Ingrid should really swear off being nice in general, because now she’s got an armful of drunk Isak Valtersen slumped against her and the unfortunate urge to actually help him out. She’s far too sober for this. Worse, Sara’s wandered off to hunt down some more wine, and Ingrid has to deal with his chatter on her own.
It’s obvious everyone at Nissen thinks she’s heartless, would probably cut them down in a heartbeat if they got in her way. Sometimes, she wished that were really the case.
“Ingrid?” Isak tugs on her sweater. “I’m sorry for dating your girlfriend. I didn’t mean to. It just happened, you know?” he slurs. He smells like cheap beer, and Ingrid can feel the beginnings of a headache coming in. She doesn’t think it’s possible to just happen to eat someone’s face off that many times, but she lets it go.
“She was really nice. She let me touch her boobs. They were very nice,” he says, in the way someone would describe nose hair or back acne. He makes a face. “Why do you people like girls so damn much anyway?”
If Isak had the time or the sobriety, Ingrid could list the reasons out one by one, just to put him through what he’s putting her through now. Suddenly, her mind flashes to what Sara had done to her before coming here, and, well, maybe some things are better kept private.
Doesn’t Isak have friends? They can’t all be busy hooking up – there’s no way all three of them lucked out at once, not if they start running their mouths about Illuminati memes or FIFA, or whatever shit Isak and his friends are into.
Isak places his head on Ingrid’s shoulder. “Do you want to know who I like, Ingrid? It’s Even,” he whispers without even giving her time to respond. She never would’ve guessed. He sighs, his eyes glassy. “I like him this much.” He spreads his arms as far as they’ll go.
“That’s a lot of liking,” Ingrid says drily. If alcohol makes her this stupid, she’s never drinking again.
Isak’s nose scrunches up. “It’s probably more than that, but my arms aren’t that long. See?” He flaps them around, nearly whacking Ingrid in the head. His hands fly to his mouth. “Oops,” he says through his fingers.
Ingrid grits her teeth. She should be given an award for protecting the rest of the party from Isak’s bullshit. “It’s fine.”
A sudden weight drops on her other side, and when she turns her head, it’s Even holding a glass of water. He hands it to Isak, who takes it gratefully, chugging it like a dying man.
“Thanks for taking care of him,” Even says. He offers his hand for her to shake. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced? Ingrid, right? I’m Even.”
She pumps his hand once. “This would’ve been a much better first meeting.”
Even laughs. “I don’t know about you, but I made some of my best friends after they cockblocked me in janitor’s closets.” He pokes at Isak, who’s curled into a lump on the couch, his face planted in the cushion. “Sorry about him. He’s messy whenever there’s whiskey involved.”
“I’m strong and have a very high tolerance, you asshole.” Isak’s voice is muffled, and he doesn’t even look up, but he manages to reach across Ingrid’s lap to hold Even’s hand, like Even’s entire being is a honing beacon. “I hate you so much, you’re probably still sober.”
“Easier to make fun of you.”
“If you take pictures, remember your mom sent me those pictures of you with a bowl cut and braces.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was born at 15, and there’s no evidence of Even Bech Næsheim before that.”
Ingrid stands, somehow managing to remove herself from their impromptu cuddling. She feels like she’s intruding on the most private of moments, even though they’re in full view of their classmates.
“Thanks for the great time, guys, but I think I’m leaving,” she says, brushing off her skirt.
Even motions to the other side of the room, where Sara’s nodding at her insistently as she holds two plastic cups. “I think your girlfriend wants you anyway.”
The speakers are blaring that Arctic Monkeys song Sara loves, and this time, Ingrid won’t even make fun of her for being basic.
“Duty calls,” she says, smile tugging at her lips.
Isak has somehow managed to crawl into Even's lap, and he's trying to kiss Even, but his sluggish body keeps collapsing back against the couch every time he tries to get up. Even looks down at him, fond. “Yeah, duty calls.”