17
“Seriously, you have to do something. If you don’t, you’re crazy. Let’s drive there. I don’t care if you think it’s awkward. There’s nothing more awkward than being in a broken Lada. Put on your super cool jacket, take you drawing and get your ass in the car.”
“Never.”
“We’re gonna wait until it’s dark, and then you’re gonna get your ass in the car.”
“Nope.”
“And why not?”
“I’m not invited.”
“You’re not invited! That, and? I’m also not invited. And do you know why? Logically, the Russian motherfucker isn’t. But do you know why you didn’t get invited? You see – you don’t know it. But I do.”
“Then say it, you genius. Because I’m boring and I look shitty.”
Tschick shook his head. “You don’t look shitty. Or maybe you do. But that’s not the point. The reason is: There’s no reason to invite you. You don’t stand out. You have to stand out, man.”
“What do you mean by standing out? Come to school all drunk every day?”
“No. My god. but if I were you and looked like you and lived here and had your clothes, I would’ve gotten a hundred invites.”
“Do you need clothes?”
“Don’t chicken out. When it gets dark, we’re going to Potsdam.”
“Never.”
“We’re not going to the party. We’re just passing by.”
What a stupid idea. To be precise, it was three ideas, and every single one was stupid: Showing up without an invite, driving through Berlin with the Lada, and – the stupidest one – taking the drawing. Because one thing was clear: Tatjana would also figure out the thing with the drawing. I definitely didn’t wanna get things that far.
While Tschick tried to persuade me into going to Werder, I said unconvincingly that I didn’t wanna go. Then I said that we didn’t know the exact address, and then I swore that I wouldn’t get out of the car.
During the whole drive, I had my arms folded. This time, it wasn’t because of fingerprints, but because otherwise they would’ve trembled. Beyonce was on the dashboard in front of me and also trembling.
With all the emotions, I noticed that Tschick was driving more carefully than before. He chose the two-lane streets and got his foot off gas earlier when reaching a red light, so others wouldn’t look at us. We had to stop for a bit because it started raining and the windscreen wiper wasn’t functioning. But by then, we were almost out of Berlin. The car shook as if it were in an earthquake. But only for five minutes, only a thundery shower. After that, the air smelled really nice.
I looked through the wind shield, and I felt, for the first time, how strange it was to drive in a car that didn’t belong to you on the street. Suddenly, the red sun appeared under the black clouds. I didn’t say another word, and Tschick didn’t say anything either, and I was glad that he insisted on bringing me to a party which I really didn’t want to go. For three months I didn’t think of anything else – and it was happening now, and I would be the most ridiculous person in front of Tatjana.
The house wasn’t hard to find. We somehow found it when we were driving on the streets of Havel, but right in front of us, there were two mountain bikes with sleeping bags strapped on them – Andre and another dude. Tschick drove behind them with a rather safe distance in between, and then we saw the house. Blinking red, and the front lawn packed with bicycles. I crouched under my seat as Tschick rolled one of the windows open, put an elbow out and drove across the neighbourhood, speed eight and a half kilometers per hour. About a dozen people stood on the front lawn and by the front door. Countless in the back garden. Familiar and unfamiliar faces, girls from the other class piled with make-up. And in the middle, like a sun, Tatjana. She didn’t invite the Russian and the most boring, otherwise, she basically invited everything that could walk. The house slowly moved back behind us. No one saw us, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t plan how to give the drawing to Tatjana. At first, I considered throwing the drawing outside. Someone would eventually find it and give it to Tatjana. But before I could do something stupid, Tschick already parked and went out. I look at him going farther, frozen. I didn’t know if falling in love was so stupid, but I didn’t have any talent for it. While I was deciding on hiding under the seat and throwing the jacket on top of me or acting dead, a rocket shot from the blinking red house behind and exploded into red and yellow, and almost everyone ran to the back garden for the firework. Just Andre with his mountain bike and Tatjana, who came to greet him, were standing on the front lawn.
And Tschick.
Tschick was standing directly in front of them. They were staring at him, as if they didn’t know him. And maybe they really didn’t recognize him. Because Tschick had my sunglasses on. Other than that, he wore a pair of jeans that were mine and my grey jacket. We went through my closet and I gave him three pair of pants, a few shirts, a sweater and stuff, and now, he didn’t look like a Russian bitch anymore, he looked like he was from a fashion magazine. That wasn’t meant to be a compliment. But he didn’t look like himself anymore, and then he used a load of hair gel. I could see how he was talking to Tatjana and she answered – clearly irritated. Tschick made a gesture with his hand behind his back. I got out all hypnotized, and what happened after that – don’t ask me. I don’t know it anymore. Suddenly, I was standing next to Tatjana holding the drawing, and I’m pretty sure she was looking at me all irritated just like earlier with Tschick. But I didn’t see it whatsoever.
I said: “Here.”
I said: “Beyonce.”
I said: “A drawing.”
I said: “For you.”
Tatjana stared at the drawing, and before she could look at us again, I already heard Tschick saying: “Nope, don’t have time. We’ve still got other stuff.” He poked me, went back to the car, and I followed him – and the motored started and gone. I shoved my fist against the dashboard while Tschick switched to second and drove across the street.
“Shoud I show them again?” He asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“Should I show them again?” Tschick asked.
“Do whatever the fuck you want!” I shouted. I felt so light.
Tschick fiddled with the steering wheel and the hand brake, and the car made a one-eighty turn on the street. I almost flew out of the window.
“Doesn’t always work.” Tschick said proudly. “Doesn’t always work.”
He flew past the blinking red house, and I saw from the corner of my sight, that they were still standing on the front steps. It was as if time stopped. Tatjana with the drawing in her hand, Andre with the mountain bike and Natalie, who’s just came from the back garden.
The Lada went through the next curve with sixty, and I punched the dashboard.
“More gas!” I shouted.
“As you said.”
“More!” I shouted.