Isabella Jung sat in her bedroom with butterflies in her tummy. It was not yet time, but it soon would be. Soon it would happen. She had dressed up. She was not wearing her ripped jeans; today, she was wearing a dress, she had put on make-up, spent hours in front of the mirror – not that it mattered, perhaps, how she looked, but, she had decided to dress up all the same. Do her hair. She smiled as she twirled around.
Please would you meet me? In secret.
Just you and me?
Four o’clock behind the hideout.
Are you my chosen one?
The fifteen-year-old girl could barely believe her luck. It was almost like a dream, all of it. All these years. First in Hammerfest with her mum. Then with all these strange families where she did not belong. The tiny voice at the back of her head that kept saying to her:
One day.
One fine day, Isabella.
Everything will turn out all right.
Only it had not seemed like it. She had been angry with the voice many times. It had lied to her, tricked her, said things to make her feel better, and she had almost given up hope at the eating-disorder clinic in Ullevål, when she had found the knife in the kitchen and cut into her head. Afterwards they had called her crazy, but she was not, she had only tried to cut it out, make it go away. This stupid voice that had promised her so much but only ever lied to her and deceived her, and yet it had turned out to be truthful after all. She had apologized to it, the voice, some days after arriving at Hurumlandet Nurseries. Because it had been right. Not immediately, but over time. The peace and the security. Her very own room. The flowers. Helene, who made her feel good about herself. As if she were worth something. She had apologized many times in her bed at night.
Sorry, you were right.
And the voice had forgiven her.
Never mind, and it’s going to get even better for you.
And now she realized what it had meant. She got up and admired herself in the mirror once more. Smiled at herself and ran her hands across the white dress.
Four o’clock behind the hideout.
Her cheeks were tingling now. She sat down on the bed, only to get straight up again. Two hours to go. Dear God, how would she cope? How slowly the hands moved. Way too slowly. She paced restlessly up and down the floor a couple of times, not knowing what to do with herself.
You’ll be fine, the voice said. It’s only two hours.
Isabella Jung nodded in response, and calmly sat down on her bed again, regretting not listening to it all the time, like she ought to have done.
It would be all right.
Everything would be just fine.
She closed her eyes, and tried imagining what it would be like.
Behind the hideout.
In just a few hours.
The fifteen-year-old rested her head on the pillow, and she smiled as she curled up very carefully so the white dress would not get creased.