The adventures of Lisa-Marie and Yasmin

I now divide my life into two broad periods.

Not into “back then” and “now.” Not into “southeastern Bavaria” and “my new home.” Not even into “before Mario” and “with Mario,” although that would, of course, be a pretty valid way to divide things.

No.

For me, it’s now:

BF and AF.

Before Fehmarn and After Fehmarn.

Sound dramatic?

It is.

And if anyone is thinking right now: Lisa-Marie, maybe you’re exaggerating just a little bit, then I’d just like to kindly point out that this person has probably never been to an island, never had their photo taken wearing a silver mask, never almost melted away with pure happiness in a garden, and never learned that while coolness is an excellent accessory, it’s no home for the heart.

So yes.

BF and AF.

Official.

Lisa-certified.

And AF, baby - I was still me.

Sassy? Yes. Flirty? Of course. Cool? You bet. With a quip on my lips before reason had even put on its shoes? Naturally.

But since Fehmarn, there was something else.

Something softer. Deeper. Something that no longer had to disappear immediately behind sunglasses, a grin, and “I’ve got this.” My coolness wasn’t gone. Don’t worry. The world wasn’t ready for a Lisa-Marie without a sparkly edge.

But it wasn’t my armor anymore.

More like powder on the skin.

A subtle shimmer.

More was allowed to shine through underneath now.

And then, at some point, Mario said this:

“There’s another photo shoot on Saturday.”

Just that.

A photo shoot.

Not: “Lisa, you’d better pack an emotional lifeline.” Not: “Sweetie, your heart might try to leave its orbit several times this weekend.” Not even: “Something might be waiting for you that’s bigger than a normal shoot day.”

No.

A photo shoot.

Completely harmless.

Completely casual.

Mario could say that with such calmness, as if he were announcing that he’d have to buy butter later.

I looked at him.

“Just a photo shoot?”

He nodded.

“Exactly.”

I tilted my head slightly to the side.

“You do realize I know you by now, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That when you say ‘just a photo shoot,’ it sounds about as trustworthy as ‘I’m just going to put the camera away for a minute,’ and then three hours later you show up with five boxes, two bags, a tripod, and that look on your face as if you’d just whipped up a secret studio out of thin air.”

Mario smiled.

That smile.

That small, calm, completely innocent smile that was about as innocent as a fox in front of a chicken coop with a napkin tied around its neck.

“This time I’ll even tell you what I’m planning,” he said.

“Oh.”

I acted impressed.

Very impressed.

“How generous.”

“First, a cowgirl shoot,” he said. “In your Western outfit.”

Okay.

That hit home.

My inner country girl immediately perked up.

Cowgirl.

Western.

Hat.

Sun.

Freedom.

Part of me was already picturing clouds of dust, horses, endless expanses, and myself, of course, gazing dramatically toward the horizon - even though we probably wouldn’t even be near a horse and the horizon might mostly consist of a garden fence.

But who cares.

A good outfit doesn’t need to be geographically accurate.

“After that,” Mario continued, “a few bikini photo shoots. I’m bringing several bikinis. The weather is supposed to be perfect. Sun all day.”

“Cowgirl and bikini,” I said. “That sounds like a very serious cultural program.”

“Absolutely.”

“I expect applause from the weather.”

“That can be arranged.”

In the days leading up to it, of course, we packed again.

And when I say “packed,” I don’t mean: a bag was opened, things went in, bag closed, done.

No.

With Mario, packing was a state of being.

An atmosphere.

A logistical natural phenomenon.

Clothes were laid out. Inspected. Folded again. Combined differently once more. Accessories were placed next to them, then swapped out again. Bikinis moved from pile A to pile B and sometimes back again, because Mario would get this intense look on his face that said: Something still isn’t quite right with the invisible big picture in my head.

I sat there and watched him.

“You know,” I said at some point, “for someone who claims it’s just a photo shoot, you’re putting in an astonishing amount of effort.”

“Good pictures don’t just happen on their own.”

“Yes, they do. When I’m in them.”

He looked at me.

I smiled sweetly.

“Well,” he said. “That’s not entirely wrong.”

“Ha!”

“But they still have to be prepared.”

I loved it.

Of course I loved it.

Not just the shoot. Not just the outfits. But that feeling that Mario had already been thinking about me beforehand. About light, fabric, posture, colors, locations, possibilities. That he didn’t just do things, but built them for me.

Not loudly.

Not with a big announcement.

But with that quiet care that sometimes moved me more than I’d like.

And then there was that one box.

It wasn’t standing out in any particular way.

So, of course, it immediately stood out.

Because anything Mario treated with such innocent disregard was suspicious.

I looked at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the box.

“What’s in there?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff for the shoot.”

“That’s not an answer. That’s a linguistic smoke screen.”

Mario just raised his eyebrows slightly.

“The box stays closed.”

“I never said I wanted to open it.”

“Lisa.”

“I just wanted to get to know it emotionally.”

“Lisa.”

“All right.”

I acted offended.

Of course I acted offended.

But inside, I was grinning.

Because by now I’d learned: When Mario guarded a box closely, it probably meant there was something nice inside. Something I wasn’t supposed to know about. Something that was only allowed to make its appearance at the right moment.

And yes, that was unfair.

But also cute.

Terribly cute.

Then I noticed something.

They were all my things.

My Western outfit.

My bikinis.

My accessories.

My bags.

I looked at Yasmin.

She was sitting there calmly, in that typical Yasmin way, so calm that you’d almost think calmness was an academic discipline and she’d already earned her doctorate in it.

“And you?”

Yasmin looked up.

“What about me?”

“Your stuff. Where’s your stuff?”

A quick glance between Mario and Yasmin.

Too quick to be clear.

Long enough to make me suspicious.

“I’m staying here,” Yasmin said.

I stared at her.

“What?”

“I’m staying here.”

“Oh, come on!”

Yeah. Very grown-up. Very thoughtful. Very AF.

But sometimes a “Oh, come on” just has to come out before it starts bouncing off the walls inside.

“That’s stupid,” I said. “You should be able to come along too.”

Yasmin smiled slightly. “Lisa, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. We went to Fehmarn together. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. You were there. I was there. We were that unbeatable travel duo with emotional overload and strategic sunglasses.”

“Strategic sunglasses?”

“Absolutely.”

She shook her head, amused.

“Bikinis aren’t really my thing,” she said.

“That’s not a reason. That’s a challenge.”

“Besides, it’s going to be your day.”

“My day can also be your day.”

“Not every day has to belong to both of us.”

The sentence was calm.

Too calm.

And yet soft.

I wanted to disagree. Really. I’d already half-formulated several very good objections in my head. But then I looked at Yasmin, and something in her gaze took the edge off.

She didn’t want to be pitied.

And she didn’t feel left out.

She seemed almost… content.

“You’ll tell me everything afterward,” she said.

“Of course I’ll tell you everything.”

“Even the little things.”

“Especially the little things.”

“And if you start becoming too much like Lisa again…”

“Too much like Lisa?” I looked at her indignantly. “That’s a very bold concept.”

“Then you’ll tell me anyway.”

I sighed dramatically.

“All right. But only because it’s you.”

She smiled.

And that smile made it a little easier.

Still, it felt strange to drive without her.

Yasmin wasn’t just my girlfriend. She was my opposite. My anchor. The one who could say more with a single glance than others could with half a novel. Ever since Fehmarn, she’d held a place inside me that wasn’t loud, but solid.

Amber and Nathalie had that connection.

And somehow, Yasmin and I had found our own version of it.

Completely different.

Completely us.

And now I was supposed to go without her.

“I’ll bring you some sunshine,” I said.

“Please, not the real kind. Those are hard to store.”

“Then stories, then.”

“I’ll take those.”

On Saturday morning, Mario was up early.

Of course.

I think that if a camera is being charged anywhere within a fifty-kilometer radius, Mario automatically sits up in bed and mutters, “Check the light.”

He wasn’t frantic. More like focused. Alert. Ready. The man had an energy I didn’t understand. I was awake too, but in that charming way where your body is still debating whether consciousness is really necessary.

But as soon as I thought about the fact that we were about to leave, my tiredness vanished.

Sun.

Shoot.

Western outfit.

Bikinis.

And somewhere, a suspicious box.

I was ready.

Almost.

Saying goodbye to Yasmin was brief, but not insignificant.

Mario helped me over to her one last time. I looked at her, and suddenly I didn’t feel like making so many jokes anymore.

“I’ll tell you everything,” I said.

“I know.”

“And you take care of yourself.”

“I’m staying home, Lisa.”

“Exactly. Dangerous things happen there.”

“Like what?”

“Nathalie might drag you into a deep conversation.”

“Terrible.”

“Or Amber might make you laugh.”

“Unforgivable.”

We both smiled.

Then I softened.

“I already miss you a little.”

Yasmin took my hand.

“Me too. But you’re going to have a wonderful day.”

“Will you believe me if I claim later that I was unbelievably cool?”

“Depends on the evidence.”

“Cheeky.”

“Lisa.”

“Yes?”

“Enjoy it.”

I nodded.

There it was again.

That Fehmarn phrase in a different guise.

Enjoy it.

Soak it up.

Cherish it.

So I took the first step not with my legs, but with my heart.

We set off.

Not in the dark this time.

No secret departure at three in the morning. No hoarfrost, no black road, no feeling of stepping into the world before it had woken up.

This time it was light.

Really light.

The sun was already shining, and the surroundings of my new home lay open before me. People were heading to the bakery. Some were walking their dogs. Joggers ran along the roadside as if they’d made a pact with the morning - one I personally would never have signed.

I looked out the window.

And suddenly it dawned on me: I’m seeing all of this like this for the first time.

Not through a window in the house.

Not as a brief glimpse of the outside world that begins somewhere beyond the garden.

But out and about.

Streets, houses, trees, front yards, people with bags of bread rolls. Everything perfectly normal. For everyone else.

Not for me.

For me, it was another one of those little “the world opens up” moments.

Just different from Fehmarn.

Back then, everything was overwhelmingly new. Today it felt as if I were looking at a piece of my own life in the light of day.

I adjusted my sunglasses.

Not because I wanted to hide.

But because sunglasses sometimes just tell the truth:

Lisa-Marie is on the road.

Please make way for glitter.

The drive took only about an hour.

Compared to Fehmarn, it was almost ridiculously short. An hour wasn’t a journey. An hour was just a long run-up. Still, I felt a tingling inside. I looked out the window, talked a lot at times, hardly at all at others, asked Mario three times if he was sure the weather would stay this way, and pretended, of course, to be completely relaxed.

He probably didn’t believe me for a second.

At some point, we pulled over to the side of the road.

Other people were already waiting there.

I looked more closely.

“Hey,” I said slowly. “I know him.”

I had seen one of the men on Fehmarn. Immediately, there was that feeling as if an old song were starting up again. Not loud. Just a few notes. But enough to take me right back.

Fehmarn.

Garden.

Cameras.

Light.

Beatrice.

I swallowed.

No. Don’t think about it. Or maybe I should. But not too much. I didn’t know who else would be there. And besides, it was supposedly just a photo shoot.

Supposedly.

There was still a ways to go.

Too far to carry me the whole way.

So it came.

The wheelbarrow.

I looked at it.

Then at Mario.

Then back at the wheelbarrow.

“Are you serious?”

“Practical.”

“Practical,” I repeated. “Honey, I look like a very exclusive delivery of garden romance.”

“Then it fits.”

I wanted to say something indignant, but unfortunately the idea was far too funny. So I let myself be put in it.

And what can I say?

It was great.

I was lying in a wheelbarrow, being pushed around, seeing the blue sky above me, hearing footsteps, voices, laughter, and somewhere between my dignity and my sense of adventure, my heart decided: This is absolutely acceptable.

“I’d like to note,” I said, “that I look more glamorous lying in a wheelbarrow than some people do on a red carpet.”

“No doubt,” said Mario.

“Please push with the necessary reverence.”

“Of course.”

The closer we got, the more voices I heard.

First just a few. Then several. Then this full, lively jumble that wasn’t chaotic, but sounded like a gathering. Like people who know each other. Like anticipation. Like coffee. Like cameras. Like a day that was already in a good mood before it had even really begun.

I lifted my head a little.

“I thought this was just going to be a photo shoot?”

Mario grinned.

“Sure. That too.”

That too.

Yeah.

Of course.

We arrived.

And the garden was huge.

Not just “there’s a little lawn and a tree.” No. A real garden. Big, wide, green, full of nooks and crannies, trees, shrubs, little paths, shady spots, and areas where you immediately thought: You could take pictures there. And there. And back there. And pretty much everywhere.

The sky was blue.

The sun was strong.

The day smelled like summer.

Breakfast was being prepared. Outside, right in the middle of the garden. Toast, cold cuts, coffee, all under the open sky. People were running back and forth, some greeting each other, someone laughing loudly, dishes clattering somewhere.

And then I saw more faces I recognized.

From Fehmarn.

Not all of them. But enough.

And dolls.

I’d seen some of them there before, too.

For a moment, I fell silent.

Because I suddenly understood: Fehmarn hadn’t just been over. It had opened doors. And behind those doors, there was more. More encounters. More faces. More stories.

I hadn’t just stepped into this world once.

I was there again.

Only this time not by the sea.

But under trees.

Then I heard footsteps.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

But my heart, that treacherous little thing, reacted immediately.

I turned my head.

And there she was.

Beatrice.

“OH MY GOD!”

That was all I could manage at first.

“BEATRICE?!”

She smiled.

That smile.

Calm, warm, a little bit cheeky.

“What are you doing here?!”

“Well, Lisa,” she said. “Everything cool? You look great. Ready for the prairie, huh?”

I think I made some kind of sound between laughter, squealing, and a heart explosion.

“You’re here! You’re really here!”

Mario helped me get closer to her, and I threw my arms around her neck as quickly as was somehow possible in my situation.

“I thought you were… well… I didn’t know… oh my God, you’re here!”

“It certainly looks that way.”

I held her tight.

Not for too short a time.

Beatrice smelled of summer, fabric, and familiarity. Or maybe I was just imagining it. It didn’t matter. To me, she smelled of Fehmarn.

Of railings.

Of “Soak it up.”

Of the moment when I was scared and she was there.

I finally let go a little and looked at Mario.

“You crazy guy,” I said softly. “‘Just’ a photo shoot… yeah, right.”

Then I blew him a kiss.

He smiled so contentedly that I wanted to kiss him and scold him at the same time.

Which, by the way, can be a very healthy relationship dynamic.

Breakfast in the garden with Beatrice was one of those situations that feels both new and familiar at the same time.

I was sitting with her, of course. Where else?

We didn’t talk about big things right away. I liked that. Sometimes closeness doesn’t need a grand introduction. Sometimes it’s enough to be side by side, to smell toast, to hear coffee - yes, you can hear coffee when enough people are moving cups - and to look at each other now and then.

“How are you?” Beatrice asked at some point.

I knew she didn’t just mean whether I’d slept well.

I looked out into the garden.

Then at her.

“Fine,” I said. “Different kind of fine.”

She waited.

“I’m still me,” I said. “Don’t worry. The world isn’t safe from me yet.”

“Reassuring.”

“But Fehmarn has… well.” I searched for words. “Opened a few doors on the inside.”

Beatrice nodded.

“And? Are they still open?”

I smiled.

“Yes. But it doesn’t draft as much anymore.”

She laughed softly.

That was exactly the right reaction.

Not too heavy. Not too superficial.

Beatrice could do that.

Then it was time.

The cowgirl shoot.

Mario went ahead, inspected the area, looked for the right spot. The ground was checked, leveled out a bit - a rock here, a secure footing there. I watched him and felt the excitement growing inside me.

I was wearing the Western outfit.

And yes, I felt fantastic.

That simply had to be stated objectively at this point.

Hat, look, posture - everything was just right. I wasn’t just dressed up. I felt like a version of myself that had always been there in some very unique way. The girl from the country, but with a spotlight in her heart. Close to nature, but with an inner stage. Sassy, but not silly. Sweet, but not harmless.

Mario carried me to the spot.

There was a boulder there.

Not huge, but just right. Rough, solid, somehow determined. As if it already understood that it was about to play a supporting role in my cowgirl moment.

“Here,” said Mario.

He positioned me.

One leg resting on the chunk of rock.

The other leg straight on the ground.

One hand on my hip.

The other on my hat.

My gaze into the distance.

And then he let go of me.

Not completely, of course. Not carelessly. He remained ready. He was close enough to support me immediately if something slipped, tipped, or my balance decided to get dramatic.

But for that moment, I stood.

Free.

I stood free.

To a human, that might sound ridiculous. People are always standing. While brushing their teeth, at bus stops, in lines, in front of the fridge when they’ve forgotten what they actually came to get.

But to me, it wasn’t ridiculous.

To me, it was as if someone had briefly renegotiated the laws of gravity.

I was a puppet.

I couldn’t just get up, start running, throw my arms around Mario’s neck, run through the garden, and spin around in circles laughing, even though that was exactly what I wanted to do most at that moment.

But I stood there.

Almost alone.

And in my head, it was as if a person were flying.

Just a little bit more, I thought. Just a tiny bit more. Then I could take a step. Then another. Then I would run toward Mario and throw my arms around his neck, so fast that he wouldn’t have a chance to prepare for my emotional trajectory beforehand.

My heart ached with joy.

Not a bad kind of ache.

A good kind of ache.

I looked into the distance, just as Mario had said.

But actually, I wasn’t really looking at the distance.

I saw that tiny gap between who I was and who I sometimes wished I were.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel sad.

It felt magical.

Then the camera clicked.

Click.

There it was.

That sound.

Click.

I took a deep breath inside.

Click.

“Very good,” said Mario.

Click.

“Stay exactly like that.”

I could have laughed.

Stay exactly like that.

Sweetie, if only you knew how much I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.

The sun was shining down on me. The hat was in my hand. My leg rested on the stone. I felt strong. Not loud strong. Not “I can do anything” strong.

But: I am here. I am standing. I am being seen. And I won’t fall.

Beatrice was standing somewhere to the side.

I couldn’t look directly at her, but I could feel her attention almost like warmth.

Then Mario changed the pose.

He helped me onto the boulder.

Sitting.

More determined.

My gaze clearer, my posture firmer. No longer just a cowgirl fantasy, but a small statement.

Lisa-Marie, prairie queen without a horse, but with maximum impact.

Click.

Click.

Click.

“That’s strong,” said Mario.

Strong.

I liked that word.

Fehmarn had shown me that I was allowed to be soft.

This moment showed me that soft wasn’t the opposite of strong.

The sun was getting stronger and stronger.

And at some point I noticed that Mario had taken off his shirt.

Simply because it was hot.

Very hot.

The sun was beating down on the garden, on the meadow, on the Western outfit, on Mario, on this whole day, as if summer had decided not to do things by halves.

I looked at him.

Then I looked down at myself.

Then back at him.

“Aha,” I said.

“What?”

“Lisa-Marie in a Western outfit apparently has a climatic effect.”

He laughed.

“Maybe.”

“We should investigate that.”

“Later.”

“Fine. But I want to look good in the research report.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Of course I enjoyed that.

Not that Mario was sweating.

Well, actually he was.

A little.

But lovingly.

Then we moved on to the next scene.

A small wooden bridge.

A stream flowed beneath it. Not big, not dramatic, but just right. Water, wood, shade, patches of light filtering through the leaves. After the sun on the rock, this spot felt like a little blessing.

Shade at last.

Mario actually stepped into the stream to get the right perspective.

I looked at him.

“Is the water cold?”

“It’s okay.”

His face said: It’s not okay.

“So you’re suffering for art.”

“Of course.”

“For me?”

He looked through the camera.

“Of course.”

That was unfairly beautiful.

So I didn’t say anything cheeky.

Not right away.

But then I did:

“Fine. Then please acknowledge my suffering appropriately as well. After all, I’m wearing a cowgirl outfit in the summer sun.”

“Will do.”

Click.

Click.

Click.

The bridge became quieter than the rock. More dreamy. Less “I’m conquering the prairie,” more “I know a secret and might reveal it if you ask nicely.” Mario guided me through the poses, and I let myself be guided. Not passively. Not lifelessly. But with that trust that had deepened since Fehmarn.

I knew what he was doing.

And even more importantly:

I knew how he saw me.

The first shoot was over at some point.

Mario drove me back.

I drank. He drank. Everyone drank. In this heat, that wasn’t a trivial matter, but a survival strategy with a cup.

“Cowgirl Lisa,” Beatrice said when I was back with her.

“Yes?”

“It suits you.”

“Of course.”

She grinned.

“Very modest.”

“I’m still practicing.”

“Please, not too much.”

“Don’t worry. Too much modesty would be dangerous for my image.”

Then came the next shoot.

Bikini.

Mario showed me a blue-patterned bikini.

“Try that on.”

“Oh,” I said. “Summer Lisa is activated.”

After Fehmarn, after all those photo shoots, and with this newfound confidence, getting dressed no longer felt as nerve-wracking as it used to. It was still special, of course. Clothes change you. A bikini even more so. But I felt secure. I knew I wasn’t being presented as just any old thing.

I was being staged.

That was a big difference.

While I was getting ready, Mario disappeared with a few things under his arm.

I watched him go.

“Suspicious.”

Beatrice stood next to me.

“He’s probably just setting things up.”

“That’s exactly what’s suspicious.”

Shortly after, Mario came back, picked me up, and carried me through the garden to an open meadow.

There, a large yellow-and-white patterned blanket lay on the ground. Next to it, a picnic basket. On the blanket, a few fashion magazines and small props. Everything looked so relaxed, so summery, so naturally sweet that I immediately understood what he wanted.

Picnic.

Sun.

Bikini.

Just enjoying the day.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s really cute.”

Mario laid me down on the blanket.

“Cute?”

“And dangerously charming.”

“Better.”

Then he disappeared again.

I lifted my head.

“Now things are getting weird again.”

He came back with a ladder.

Of course.

I stared at him.

“What do you want a ladder for?”

“To take pictures.”

“From where? From orbit?”

A few people laughed.

Mario did too.

“From up there.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

He set up the ladder, checked it, climbed up, and looked down at me.

I was lying on the blanket and suddenly really felt like I was in a summer magazine. Bikini, yellow-and-white blanket, fashion magazines, picnic basket, sun on my skin. So casual it was almost suspicious again.

“Just lie there, nice and relaxed,” Mario said. “Like you’re sunbathing and enjoying the day.”

“Not too hard,” I said. “It’s just as chill.”

And it was.

I didn’t have to pretend I was enjoying the day.

I was enjoying it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

From above.

From the left.

From the right.

From the front.

Then slightly on my side.

One leg different.

Head to hand.

A glance over the shoulder.

Then relaxed on my back again.

Lisa knew the drill by now.

And Lisa was having fun.

Real fun.

In the past, I might have tried to look especially sexy. Or especially cool. Or especially “look at me.” Now I realized that it all worked much better when I didn’t think about it so hard.

I was allowed to just be.

And if that “just being” happened to look pretty good - well.

It happens.

The camera kept clicking.

The garden hummed around me. Voices, wind in the leaves, the distant clatter of something, laughter, footsteps in the grass. Beatrice sat not far away and watched. Sometimes my gaze met hers, and then there was that little, warm recognition.

I wasn’t alone in my happiness.

That made it even more beautiful.

The light softened.

The afternoon crept slowly over the garden without me really noticing. A shoot here, a little break there. Drinking. Laughing. One more pose. One more angle. One more click.

At some point, Mario said, “That’s enough for today.”

I almost wanted to protest.

Just on principle.

But then I realized how tired I was.

Not exhausted. Not empty. More like sun-drenched.

Like a little solar power plant with feelings.

So off with the bikini.

Into a pair of really tight, short denim hot pants.

Perfect for the garden, a party, and burgers.

And perfect for sitting next to Beatrice and pretending that this day wasn’t already a little emotional treasure chest.

The smell of the grill wafted through the air.

Burgers.

And not just any burgers.

That scent promised something bigger. Bread, meat, roasted aromas, a summer evening, people slowly slipping into the cozy part of the day. Conversations got more relaxed. Laughter came easier. The sun sank lower and cast a golden glow over the garden.

I was sitting with Beatrice.

Of course.

“That was a good day,” she said.

I looked at her.

“Was? It’s not over yet.”

“True.”

“Besides,” I said, “since I’m sitting in the garden in hot pants, we shouldn’t be too quick to call the day over.”

“That would be a shame.”

“A real shame.”

We laughed.

But underneath it all was that warmth again. That Fehmarn familiarity. The knowledge that we didn’t have to explain ourselves all the time.

The evening turned golden.

Then red.

Then slowly dark.

And as if someone had decided that this scene needed a completely absurd soundtrack, the frogs began.

Loudly.

Very loudly.

Not romantic croaking in the background.

No.

These frogs sounded as if they had gathered for a nighttime crisis meeting.

I listened.

“Okay,” I said finally. “Those aren’t frogs.”

Beatrice looked at me.

“Then what?”

“It’s a parliament.”

“A frog parliament?”

“Definitely. And they’re having heated debates about world domination.”

Beatrice laughed.

“Who’s winning?”

I listened again.

A particularly loud frog croaked in the middle of it all, as if it had just made a completely absurd proposal.

“Hard to say,” I said. “The opposition is very loud.”

Beatrice laughed so heartily that I had to laugh myself.

And so there we sat.

In a huge garden.

After a cowgirl photo shoot.

After a bikini photo shoot.

With the smell of burgers in the air, frogs on a quest for world domination, and a sky slowly bringing out the stars.

At some point, Mario came over to me.

He looked tired.

Not exhausted. But this day had taken its toll on him, too. Sun, camera, carrying, organizing, running, sweating, camera again, carrying again.

“I’m heading home soon,” he said.

I looked at him.

“And me?”

He smiled.

“Want to stay the night?”

I stared at him.

“Are you kidding?”

“No.”

I looked at Beatrice.

Then at the garden.

Then at the sky.

Then back at Mario.

“Stargazing with Beatrice? Endless girl talk? Burger afterglow? Live debates on frog world domination right here?”

“Something like that.”

“Absolutely!”

Mario laughed.

And so did I.

But then I fell silent for a moment.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Yes. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

I nodded slowly.

That was new.

Not frighteningly new.

But new.

Fehmarn had been our trip. Mario, Yasmin, and me. And now I was staying here. Without Yasmin. Without Mario. With Beatrice. In a garden that had only felt familiar to me for a few hours, yet didn’t feel foreign at all.

I could feel how much Mario trusted me.

And how much I trusted myself now.

“Drive safely,” I said quietly.

“I will.”

“And say hi to Yasmin.”

“I will.”

“Tell her…” I thought for a moment. “Tell her I already have about seventeen things to tell her.”

“Only seventeen?”

“For starters.”

Mario gently stroked my hair.

“Sleep well, my angel.”

That made me soft.

Very soft.

“You too.”

Then he drove off.

I watched him until he was out of sight.

Beatrice moved closer.

“Everything okay?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

And that was true.

It wasn’t sad.

Just big.

Another small step.

Not standing free like on the rock. But similar. Somehow.

Staying alone.

And yet not being alone.

Later, I lay in the garden with Beatrice.

The night was clear.

The stars hung above us as if someone had poked tiny holes in a dark cloth and light lay behind them. The frogs continued their discussion, presumably now about the domestic affairs of future world domination. Somewhere, someone was still laughing softly. The day was cooling off.

Beatrice and I talked.

About Fehmarn.

About today.

About Yasmin.

About Mario.

About that strange feeling that some encounters don’t need much time to become important.

“You really helped me back then,” I said at some point.

“At the railing?”

I nodded.

“I thought I was cool enough for anything.”

“And now?”

I looked up at the sky.

“Now I know that I’m allowed to be cool. But I don’t have to.”

Beatrice was silent for a moment.

Then she said, “That sounds like a pretty good outcome.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “And still, of course, I’m still spectacular.”

“Of course.”

“Just wanted to make that clear.”

“It was important.”

We laughed softly.

Then I fell silent.

“I miss Yasmin a little.”

“I believe so.”

“But it’s also nice to be here with you.”

“Both can be true at the same time.”

I looked at her.

“You sound almost like Yasmin right now.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No. That’s a compliment.”

Beatrice put her arm around me, and I let my head sink onto her shoulder.

The sky was full of stars.

The garden smelled of summer, grass, and a barbecue evening slowly dying down.

The frogs were probably still plotting their wet dictatorship.

And I, Lisa-Marie, lay there, after a day full of sun, cameras, a wheelbarrow, cowgirl strength, bikini lightness, and a reunion with Beatrice, and I didn’t feel empty from exhaustion, but full.

Full of everything.

Of friends.

Of love.

Of stories I would tell Yasmin.

Of a home big enough to let new people and new places in.

Just before I fell asleep, I thought about standing freely on the stone.

About that almost impossible moment.

That little flight.

I hadn’t taken a step.

Not really.

But maybe I’d gotten a little further anyway.

And when that thought crossed my mind, I had to smile.

AF, baby.

Life had just started to get exciting again.

The next morning, I woke up in the garden.

That might sound like I’d been rethinking my life somewhere between two bushes after a wild party. But no. It was much nicer. Much more romantic. And significantly less embarrassing.

I was lying in the garden, beneath the still-young morning sky, with Beatrice by my side and the feeling that this place had grown quieter overnight, but no less alive. The frogs had at some point stopped their debates about world domination, or had at least moved to a closed-door committee. The wind blew gently through the trees. Something rustled somewhere. Maybe a bird. Maybe a squirrel. Maybe a little emissary from the frog parliament.

I squinted into the brightness.

The sun was already there.

Not timidly. Not “Good morning, may I perhaps shine a little?” No. The sun was already high in the sky, as if it had resolved to bathe this Sunday in gold, come what may.

I took a deep breath.

Garden air.

Summer air.

A lingering whiff of barbecue from the night before, perhaps. Grass. Earth. Warmth. That unique feeling when a day is still fresh but already promises to be hot.

Beatrice stirred beside me.

“Already awake?” she asked softly.

“I think so.” I blinked again. “At least my body is here. My brain will probably arrive on the next bus.” "

She laughed softly.

I turned my head toward her and looked at her.

For a moment, I said nothing.

That was new. In the past, I would have blurted something out right away. A quip, a remark, some little spark of fireworks, just so there wouldn’t be any silence that might say something real.

But since Fehmarn, I had learned that silence isn’t dangerous.

Sometimes it’s just a place where feelings briefly take off their shoes.

“Glad you’re here,” I said.

Beatrice smiled.

“Glad you’re still here.”

“I wasn’t kidnapped by the Frog Kingdom, after all.”

“Lucky you.”

“The negotiations were tough, but fair.”

Beatrice shook her head, laughing.

There she was again. Lisa in her element. Thank God. Depth is all well and good, but without a certain amount of nonsense, my inner balance would probably tip over.

We didn’t talk much. Not yet. The morning was too gentle for that. And maybe we were both still tired from the long day before. From the cowgirl shoot, the bikini picnic, the burger night, the talks under the stars. I’d told her about Yasmin, about Fehmarn, about Mario, about that feeling of standing free, as if for a few seconds I could do something that was actually beyond my capabilities.

Beatrice had been listening.

Not just casually.

Really.

And I think that was one of her special gifts. She didn’t always have to say much. She was just there in a way that made you feel like you weren’t quite alone on stage inside anymore.

At some point we heard a car.

I immediately looked up.

“Mario.”

Beatrice grinned. “You recognize the car?”

“I recognize the energy.”

“The energy?”

“Yes. Somewhere between coffee, camera, and ‘I’m sure I forgot something, but probably not.’”

Shortly after, Mario showed up.

Early.

Of course.

Mario and early hours apparently had a relationship I didn’t understand but had to respect. He came into the garden, holding a large bag in his hand.

I took a sniff.

“Is that… are those…?”

Mario lifted the bag.

Pretzels.

My heart did a little Bavarian hop.

And to go with them, a Weißwurst breakfast.

With pretzels.

I smiled immediately.

Not just because food is generally a very convincing argument for good cheer. But because it touched me. Softly. Warmly. Right in a place that wasn’t noisy.

I came from southeastern Bavaria. From the foothills of the Alps. From a region where such things weren’t just food. They were memories. Tradition. A piece of home on a plate. Something that sounded like Sunday mornings, like familiar voices, like villages, like meadows, like mountains right next to them, and like a world that might sometimes seem small but was deeply rooted within me.

And now I was sitting here.

In a huge garden.

With new friends.

With Beatrice beside me.

With Mario, who brought pretzels.

And somewhere at home, Yasmin was waiting for the story I would tell her later.

I had a heritage.

And I had a new home.

One didn’t erase the other.

It just made me bigger.

“Weißwurst breakfast,” said Mario.

“You know,” I said, “that you’re just winning over my Bavarian soul with that.”

“That was the plan.”

“Very successful.”

We had breakfast outdoors again. And it was wonderful. People gathered, voices grew more alert, coffee passed from hand to hand, pretzels were shared, someone laughed, somewhere people were talking about last night. The sun settled over everything, as if it, too, had decided to join us for breakfast.

Beatrice sat next to me.

Of course.

I don’t think anyone would have seriously tried to separate us. Even the universe recognizes certain things eventually.

“So?” Beatrice asked. “Ready for day two?”

I looked at her.

“Sweetie. Yesterday I got chauffeured through the garden in a wheelbarrow, stood on a rock like a cowgirl, and talked about life with you under the stars. I’m up for anything.”

A brief pause.

“Probably.”

Beatrice grinned.

“Probably is enough.”

After breakfast, we moved on.

Out of the clothes.

Into the next bikini.

When Mario showed it to me, I was instantly smitten.

Pink checkered.

With lace trim.

Cute.

No, not just cute.

Insanely cute.

So cute that somewhere nearby, a diabetic probably wanted to check their blood sugar just to be safe.

“Oh, that bikini is so cute!” I exclaimed.

Mario smiled.

“I thought so.”

“It really has personality.”

“Good?”

“Very good. A little innocent, a little sassy, a little: Oh no, now it’s getting dangerous.”

“So it fits.”

“Absolutely.”

Beatrice looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze.

“It suits you.”

“Of course,” I said. “But it’s always nice when an expert confirms it.”

“An expert?”

“You’re Beatrice. That counts.”

Once again, the large blanket was laid out. The same blanket as the day before, but in a different spot. Different light. Different mood. The garden was hotter, brighter, more alive. The shadows were shorter, the sun more direct. You could already tell that this day wasn’t going to do things by halves.

Mario laid me down on the blanket.

“On your stomach,” he said. “Then sit up. Rest your head on your hand. Look dreamy.”

I looked at him.

“Nothing could be easier.”

“Oh, really?”

“Sweetie, everything here is like a single dream. So I practically don’t have to act at all.”

I said that offhand at first.

But as I lay on my stomach, sat up, rested my head on my hand, and gazed out over the meadow, I realized it was really true.

It was dreamlike.

The garden. The sun. The laughter in the background. Beatrice nearby. Mario behind the camera. The feeling that while my body couldn’t walk, my heart had been constantly on the move ever since Fehmarn.

“Bend your knees,” Mario said. “And cross them.”

“Sweet, dreamy,” I said as he adjusted my pose, “but with potential danger to the circulation of everyone present.”

Mario laughed.

“Something like that.”

“Good. I just want the risks to be known.”

Then it started again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of the camera had become like a familiar rhythm by now. Not a cold, technical sound. More like a small pulse of the day. Every click said: There’s a moment. There’s another one. And another. None of it is lost.

Mario was working from every angle again.

From the left.

From the right.

From the front.

From behind.

And of course, at some point, the ladder came out again.

I saw it coming and sighed with feigned drama.

“There it is again. The ladder to the sky.”

“For photos from above,” said Mario.

“From where? From orbit again?”

“We’ve been there before.”

“And it still holds true.”

He climbed up.

I looked up at him.

“If you could fly, you’d probably hover right above me.”

“Probably.”

“On the one hand, that would be impressive. On the other hand, I’d have to invent a new category for you. Mario, the photographing hummingbird.”

Beatrice laughed in the background.

“That would fit your new album title,” she said.

“See!” I exclaimed. “I think in networks.”

“You think out loud,” said Mario.

“That, too.”

Click.

Click.

Click.

The bikini felt cute. The sun warm. The blanket soft. The day light. We took little breaks every now and then so everyone could have a drink. Especially Mario. Because it had gotten really hot by then.

Very hot.

Of course, it was the sun’s fault.

Probably.

Maybe.

I looked at Mario, who was drenched in sweat even in the shade.

Then I looked down at myself.

A pink-checkered bikini with lace.

Then back to Mario.

“Tell me,” I said innocently. “Is it actually this hot because of the weather?”

He looked at me.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“I’m just asking. Purely out of concern for the garden’s climatic stability.”

Beatrice giggled.

“Maybe it’s the bikini,” she said.

I looked at her with feigned horror.

“Beatrice! That’s so like you!”

“What?”

“I’m proud.”

We both giggled.

And yes, of course I enjoyed it a little.

That Mario was sweating.

That he was looking at me.

That this cute bikini wasn’t just appealing to me.

Fehmarn had taught me that being seen could be something profound. Something dignified. Something that didn’t make you smaller, but bigger.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to enjoy it when Mario visibly struggled with the heat at the sight of me.

I had matured emotionally, not died.

It went on. Another pose. Then a drink again. Then a small adjustment. Then a laugh. Then the camera again.

At some point, Mario disappeared briefly.

“Just grabbing a drink,” he said.

I watched him go.

“Oh.”

Beatrice was sitting not far away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You sound like it’s not nothing.”

“Mario says ‘just a minute.’ That’s kind of like the little sister of ‘just a photo shoot.’”

Beatrice smiled but didn’t say anything.

Mario came back.

With drinks, yes.

But then he sorted through a few things. Rummaged around a bit. Adjusted something that didn’t really need adjusting. Busy. Very busy.

So busy that it was suspicious again.

I watched him.

“He’s doing that thing right now,” I whispered.

“What thing?” Beatrice asked.

“That Mario thing. When he acts like he’s just organizing stuff, but there’s actually something up his sleeve.”

Beatrice leaned slightly toward me.

“Maybe there really is just stuff up his sleeve.”

I looked at her.

She looked way too innocent.

Way.

Too.

Innocent.

“Hey, sweetie?” she asked suddenly. “Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.”

She came closer and sat down next to me on the blanket. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if this were exactly the moment that was supposed to happen right now.

“That’s a really cute bikini,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said and grinned. “And I think that’s why Mario’s sweating even more.”

“I can see why.”

“Beatrice!”

“What? I’m just saying.”

We giggled again.

Then she got a tiny bit quieter.

Not dramatically.

Just different.

“Heyyyy, Lisa?”

I looked at her.

“Yeah?”

“By the way, I’ve got something else for you.”

I blinked.

“Huh? What? For me?”

She reached behind her back.

And pulled out a gift.

A real gift.

Beautifully wrapped in white marbled wrapping paper.

With a red ribbon.

For a moment, I was completely silent.

And that’s saying something.

I looked at the gift. Then at Beatrice. Then back at the gift.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said softly. “You’re crazy. You didn’t have to do that.”

I felt a warmth inside me.

Not the warmth of the sun. Different. Softer. More personal.

Beatrice was here again. That alone would have been enough. More than enough. And now she was sitting next to me on the blanket, in this huge garden, on this hot Sunday, holding a gift for me in her hands.

For me.

I felt my eyes glistening dangerously again.

“Don’t look like you’re about to run away,” Beatrice said.

“I don’t run much, as a rule,” I said automatically.

She laughed.

“Open it.”

“Wait.” I looked at her suspiciously. “You already knew I’d be here?”

“Maybe.”

“Beatrice.”

“Open it.”

I turned my head toward Mario.

He still looked busy.

Way too busy.

I looked back at Beatrice.

“What’s going on here?”

She just grinned.

Fine.

The gift felt light.

Soft.

I held it in my hands, and suddenly the air around me felt different. Not heavy. But charged. As if somewhere just beyond the next second, a little fireworks display was waiting.

“Come on,” said Beatrice. “Go ahead.”

I took a breath.

“Let me guess,” I said. “I’m about to start crying my eyes out again, right?”

“Could happen.”

“Unfair.”

“Lisa.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I tore the paper open carefully.

Not wildly. Not frantically.

Just a corner at first.

Then a little further.

White marbled paper unfolded, the red ribbon slid to the side, and underneath I saw fabric.

Blue.

I paused.

“Oh.”

More paper.

A strap.

Then white.

Then a shape.

My brain was half a step too slow.

My heart was already three miles ahead.

I pulled out the fabric.

And then I saw it.

The whole outfit.

Blue.

White.

Yellow.

Sporty.

Cute.

Incredibly cute.

Not just any outfit.

Not a dress.

Not a bikini.

Not cowgirl.

My breath caught in my throat.

Then it all hit me all at once.

Dream.

Stage.

Music.

Pompoms, even though I hadn’t even seen them yet.

Lights.

Applause.

Lisa-Marie as a cheerleader.

And then I exploded.

“OH MY GOD!”

I think at least one cup fell somewhere in the garden because of that scream.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

I held the outfit up as if I’d just recovered a treasure from a sunken city.

“Oh my God! Honey! Look! Look! A… a… a… A CHEERLEADER OUTFIT!”

My voice cracked.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about anything.

“Whoa, Beatrice… that’s… that’s… so… so beautiful!”

I looked at her, and suddenly I was that girl again who had always dreamed of it. Of cheerleaders. Of energy. Of radiance. Of that image from American movies, music videos, schoolyards, stadiums, light, and movement. Not because I wanted to be someone else. But because that image struck a chord within me.

Something that said:

I want to shine.

I want to cheer.

I want to be part of something.

I want to be allowed to be cute, to be strong, to be loud, to be seen.

“Honey,” I called out to Mario, now completely out of control, “Honey, I… I… I want to put this on right now! Please, please, please, please, pleeeeease!”

Then I saw the camera equipment.

The blanket.

All the stuff set up.

The photo shoot.

Oh, right.

We were actually in the middle of taking photos.

I looked at Mario.

“Hmm… or did you want to take some more photos?”

Mario looked serious.

So serious that my heart skipped a beat.

“Well,” he said slowly. “Actually, yes.”

Oh.

“Yes,” he continued. “Actually, I did want to take a few more photos.”

For a tiny moment, I felt sad.

Just a tiny bit.

Then I saw the look in his eyes.

That little sparkle.

Almost invisible.

But I knew it.

That sparkle always gave him away.

When Mario was planning something. When he was already three steps ahead in his mind. When he was looking forward to my reaction so much that he tried not to show it - and, of course, that’s exactly how he gave everything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, I wanted to take some photos.”

Pause.

“Of you.”

My heart leapt.

“In that cheerleader outfit.”

I stared at him.

“With this.”

And then he pulled something out from behind his back.

Color-coordinated.

Shiny.

Soft.

Unmistakable.

Pom-poms.

POM-POMS.

“POM-POMS?!”

I think I squealed.

Not just a little.

For real.

“POM… POMS?! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

I looked at Beatrice.

Then at Mario.

Then back at Beatrice.

Back at Mario.

And slowly, the puzzle came together.

The gift.

The box.

The suspicious sorting.

That far-too-innocent “just a photo shoot.”

I looked at both of them, feigning outrage and wearing a grin that was probably brighter than the sun.

“YOU TWO? Behind my back?”

Beatrice and Mario exchanged a glance.

A grin.

A wink.

I gasped.

“Let me guess: Yasmin knew about it too?”

Mario nodded.

“Yes. From the very beginning. Every detail.”

Oh.

Yasmin.

My Yasmin.

That angel.

That’s why she’d stayed home. That’s why she’d smiled so calmly. That’s why she’d let me drive, even though I’d have loved for her to come along. That’s why she’d been leaving the room every now and then lately when she looked like she was about to explode with tension.

She had known.

And she hadn’t said a word.

Even though I now know how hard that must have been for her time and again.

She had given me this moment.

Without applause.

Without putting herself in the spotlight.

Just like that.

Because she was Yasmin.

I swallowed.

“Sweetie,” I whispered, as if she could somehow hear me, “you’re such an angel.”

Beatrice leaned toward me a little.

“Well,” she said with a grin. “But come on. Now show us what you’ve got.”

That was the right thing to say.

Exactly the right one.

Because if I’d thought about Yasmin any longer, I probably would have started bawling before I even got changed, and while that would have been completely understandable emotionally, it would have been logistically inconvenient.

So I raised my arms immediately.

“Lift me up! Get me changed! Now! Right this second! No arguments!”

Mario laughed.

And I’ve never been so cooperative.

No messing around with my arms.

No delaying.

No “but just one more line first.”

I wanted to put on this outfit.

Right away.

I wanted to know what it feels like when a dream suddenly takes shape.

When I wore it, I fell silent.

Just for a moment.

But truly silent.

The cheerleader outfit fit me perfectly - blue and white, cute and sporty, playful and full of energy. It wasn’t just clothing. It was a door. One I’d stood in front of for a long time, without believing it would ever open.

Beatrice looked at me.

Mario held the pom-poms ready.

I looked down at myself.

Then I looked up.

“I look…”

My voice almost broke.

No. Not now.

I took a breath.

“I look fantastic.”

Beatrice smiled.

“You do.”

Mario handed me the pom-poms.

And there it was.

Complete.

Not just the cheerleading outfit.

Pom-poms.

In my hands.

My heart was officially no longer within safe operating limits.

We walked to an open area.

Or rather: Mario took me there, because even though I was already running through the garden in my mind, my body was still a doll and not some suddenly awakened athletic prodigy. Which I found a bit unfair, but accepted graciously that day.

Beatrice was already standing there.

And not just her.

People had gathered.

Dolls were there.

Faces that smiled.

Cameras.

Sun.

Garden.

A small stage made of grass, light, and love.

Someone called out with feigned solemnity:

“Ladies and gentlemen: Lisa - the cheerleader! Applause, applause!”

And then they clapped.

They really clapped.

For me.

I immediately had tears in my eyes.

Of course.

Because my body had apparently decided by then that tears were standard equipment.

But this time it was different than on Fehmarn.

There, the dams had broken because my coolness suddenly lost its footing. Because beneath the mask, everything became visible that I had covered up with words for so long.

Today, nothing broke.

Today, something shone.

The tears weren’t a breakdown.

They were tears of joy. Glitter in liquid form.

I wiped them away.

“Whatever,” I said. “The show’s about to start.”

And start it did.

I was unstoppable.

No, I couldn’t actually jump. I couldn’t run across the field. I couldn’t do any real dance moves. No lifts, no pirouettes, no wild cheerleading moves where pom-poms fly through the air and everyone thinks, “Wow, what was that?”

But in my heart, I did all of that.

And somehow, you had to have seen it.

Mario positioned me, aligned me, helped me raise my arms, place the pom-poms, turn my head. But I wasn’t just being positioned. I was right there. In every pose. In every glance. In every smile.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The pom-poms rustled softly.

The sun sparkled in them.

“Arms up,” said Mario.

“With pleasure!”

Click.

“Look at Beatrice.”

Oh no.

Dangerous.

I looked at Beatrice.

She stood there and smiled.

So proud.

So loving.

As if she hadn’t just given a gift, but recognized a dream before I even knew how much I needed it.

Click.

My eyes welled up again.

“Don’t cry,” I murmured.

“Yes,” said Beatrice. “It fits.”

I laughed.

“Cheeky.”

Mario stepped slightly to the side.

“Now more Lisa.”

I looked at him.

“More Lisa? Do you really want to risk it?”

“Absolutely.”

All right.

Anyone who asks that won’t get any mercy.

I gave him more Lisa.

A lot more Lisa.

Cheeky.

Flirtatious.

Sweet.

Radiant.

Over-the-top.

Happy.

With pom-poms in her hands and a grin that was probably visible from outer space.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I was a whirlwind, without running.

A little rocket, without taking off.

Energy brought to life, concentrated in an overjoyed doll in a cheerleader outfit.

The crowd clapped again.

Someone laughed cheerfully.

Someone shouted something encouraging.

And I didn’t feel like I was being put on display.

Not even for a second.

I felt celebrated.

That’s a difference bigger than the whole garden.

I wasn’t the joke.

I wasn’t “Lisa playing cheerleader.”

I was Lisa.

And everyone played along because they understood that this moment was real for me.

That this dream wasn’t some little joke.

But a part of me.

Beatrice took a step toward me.

But I was faster.

As soon as Mario helped me, I threw my arms around her neck.

“Thank you,” I sobbed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the best. I love you so much.”

I planted a big kiss on her cheek.

Not elegant.

Very heartfelt.

Perfect Lisa.

Then I held her tight and rested my head on her shoulder. The pom-poms were squished somewhere between us, but I didn’t care at all. A little glittery crumple zone doesn’t hurt a friendship.

Beatrice held me.

“You really are the ultimate in cuteness,” she said.

I sobbed and laughed at the same time.

“That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“You deserve it.”

I hugged her tighter.

“You gave me my dream.”

“No,” she said softly. “I just gave you something that already belonged to you.”

Great.

Another one of those lines.

Who had given her permission to speak straight to my heart right in the middle of my cheerleading ecstasy?

I didn’t say a word.

I just held her.

Some answers are hugs.

At some point, I looked over at Mario.

“I never, ever want to take this off again.”

Mario raised his eyebrows.

“Well… okay.”

Then that little wink.

“Every now and then, though.”

It took me half a second.

Then I grinned.

“Wink wink?”

“Wink wink.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But only for practical reasons.”

The afternoon was suddenly upon us, as if someone had sped up time with a mean trick.

An incredible aroma had been wafting through the garden for a while now.

Pulled pork.

It had apparently been simmering away for a long time and had decided, in the meantime, to slowly but surely drive everyone present into culinary despair. It smelled fantastic. Warm, spicy, smoky - like summer and hunger.

But first, there was a group photo.

And one thing was absolutely clear:

I was sitting next to Beatrice.

No discussion.

No vote.

No cosmic force.

No rule of photographic composition.

Nothing, absolutely nothing in the known universe would have been able to separate us at that moment.

Mario knew that, of course.

Everyone knew that.

So I sat next to Beatrice, in my cheerleader outfit, pom-poms in my hands, eyes still a little shiny, heart so full that it really should have been in the photo too.

The group photo was taken.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Lots of dolls.

Lots of people.

Lots of light.

Lots of love.

And I thought: This is exactly what belonging feels like.

Not because everyone is the same.

But because everyone is participating.

Because everyone sees what a moment means.

Because a garden full of people and dolls is suddenly not just a backdrop, but a community.

Then dinner.

Finally - the “pulled pork” that had been smelling so tempting the whole time.

And I can confirm: It tasted as good as it smelled.

However, I ate with the concentration of a surgeon performing heart surgery.

I just couldn’t spill anything on the cheerleader dress.

By now, that dress was no longer just a piece of clothing.

It was a sanctuary.

“If sauce gets on it,” I said, “someone will have to observe a moment of silence.”

Beatrice laughed.

“Then just move the pom-poms a little further away.”

“The pom-poms are innocent.”

“For now.”

“Beatrice!”

The evening grew darker.

The sun had long since set. The garden grew cooler. Voices sounded softer. Somewhere, things were being tidied up. The light changed, and with it came that feeling I didn’t like, even though it’s part of beautiful days.

Farewell.

Beatrice came over to me.

I could tell before she said anything.

“Well,” she said quietly. “We’re going home now.”

There were the tears.

Immediately.

I raised a hand.

“See,” I said. “Now I’m crying after all.”

Beatrice smiled sadly.

“It was almost to be expected.”

“I’m so infinitely grateful to you.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean…” I had to swallow. “Not just for the outfit. Not just for today. For Fehmarn. For the railing. For ‘Suck it up.’ For yesterday. For the gift. For understanding that cheerleading isn’t just cute to me.”

Beatrice looked at me.

“I get it.”

That was all she needed to say.

I nodded, but the tears kept flowing anyway.

“Give Yasmin my best regards,” she said.

“I will.”

“And tell her…” Beatrice smiled. “Tell her she has a pretty wonderful best friend.”

I laughed through my tears.

“I’ll tell her exactly that. And then she’ll act like she’s embarrassed, but inside she’ll be happy.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Then I hugged Beatrice.

For a long time.

So long that saying goodbye didn’t get any easier, but it felt right.

I didn’t want to let her go.

But I did eventually.

Mario held me as I waved goodbye to her.

I rested my head on his shoulder.

Beatrice waved back.

And then she slowly faded from this weekend.

Not from my heart.

Just from the garden.

I didn’t say anything for a while.

Then I whispered, “I love her so much.”

Mario gently stroked my back.

“I know.”

“Are we going home now, then?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

Back into the wheelbarrow.

In my cheerleader outfit.

With pom-poms.

I’ll be completely honest: it was the most glamorous wheelbarrow moment of my life. And since I’d gained some experience with wheelbarrows by then, you can take that assessment seriously.

I lay there, clutching the pom-poms, and said:

“I hope you realize that this ride is historic.”

Someone laughed.

“Cheerleader Lisa in the wheelbarrow,” someone said from somewhere.

“Majestic,” I murmured.

And that was it.

Sort of.

Then we got into the car.

The drive home.

A starry night.

The road lay dark before us. The car was warm, the day in my head even brighter than any streetlight. I sat next to Mario, still in my cheerleader outfit. The pom-poms lay beside me, as if they were little fluffy proofs that this day had really happened.

We drove in silence for a while.

Not an empty silence.

A full silence.

Then I said quietly, “Mario?”

“Hm?”

“Will you ever do something like this with Yasmin?”

He glanced at me briefly.

“Something like this?”

“Not exactly this. So please, no cheerleader outfit for Yasmin. That’s my territory.”

He laughed softly.

“But something… special. Something that belongs to her. Just like today belonged to me.”

Mario was silent for a moment.

Then he said, “Of course. Next time, Yasmin comes along. And you stay home.”

I nodded.

And I was surprised at how right that felt.

Not just easy.

But right.

“That’s absolutely fine,” I said. “And totally fair.”

I thought of Yasmin, how she’d smiled that Saturday morning. How she’d let me go. How she hadn’t diminished that moment just because she wasn’t there herself.

“She deserves it so much,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” said Mario. “She does. And believe me - I’ve already got something planned for Yasmin, of course. I think it’s going to blow her away just as much!”

Of course.

One meeting has just ended, and Mario already has fully fleshed-out plans in his head, complete with a checklist and a meticulous schedule.

“Kinda figured as much. Want to spill the details?”

“Not yet - but of course, when the time comes, you’ll be in on it from the very beginning too!”

And that was all I needed to know.

My weekend was full. Packed to the brim. Right up to the glittery lid. Everything else belonged to Yasmin at some point. And when the time came, I’d be sitting at home, probably pretending to be completely relaxed, but inside still wanting to ask every five minutes if she was happy enough yet.

I was getting tired.

Really tired.

Not just my body. My emotions, too.

My head grew heavy. The pom-poms blurred a little before my eyes. The road hummed. Mario’s hands rested on the steering wheel. The night passed by.

“I love you so, so much,” I said.

My voice was small.

Honest.

No act.

Mario replied softly, “I love you too, my angel.”

I closed my eyes.

“I’m going to close my eyes for a bit, okay?”

“Go ahead.”

I hesitated a little longer.

Then I said, “I know… both hands on the wheel and all that… but… would you please hold my hand every now and then?”

“Yes.”

That one word was enough.

I drifted off.

Not completely.

Not right away.

More like floating.

Between the street and a dream, between a cheerleader outfit and starlight, between Beatrice’s embrace and Yasmin’s waiting smile.

And again and again, during the drive, I felt Mario’s fingers on the back of my hand.

Just briefly.

Gently.

A light touch.

Then both hands back firmly on the steering wheel.

Then, at some point, another brief, warm touch.

As if he were telling me: I’m here. Sleep peacefully. Everything is fine.

And everything was fine.

At some point, I heard his voice.

“Okay, my angel… you should slowly wake up now. We’ll be home soon.”

I blinked.

At first, everything was soft.

Then clearer.

Outside, the night.

Familiar streets.

And then I saw the house in the distance.

Our house.

The lights were on.

Yasmin was still awake.

Of course she was still awake.

My heart immediately perked up again, even though the rest of me looked more like an overjoyed, slightly melted pom-pom disaster.

Mario pulled into the driveway.

Totally crooked, of course.

Parking properly could wait.

He looked at me.

“Yasmin first?”

“Of course.”

He helped me out of the car and carried me inside.

And there she was.

Yasmin.

My Yasmin.

She looked at me.

And then she saw the cheerleading outfit.

The pom-poms.

My face, probably completely sweaty, exhausted, and beaming with happiness.

And she smiled.

Oh, how she smiled.

I love her smile.

“Look,” I blurted out. “Look! I’m a cheerleader! Doesn’t it look great?”

Yasmin came closer.

“It looks beautiful.”

That hit me.

Of course it hit me.

“You knew,” I said.

She didn’t answer right away.

She didn’t have to.

Her gaze was answer enough.

“You went along with all of this.” My voice softened. “Sweetie… you’re such an angel.”

“You should have this moment,” she said.

So simple.

So Yasmin.

And once again, my heart was on the verge of opening the emergency exits.

“Beatrice sends her love,” I said.

Yasmin’s smile grew even warmer.

“That makes me happy.”

“And she said I have a pretty wonderful best friend.”

Now Yasmin looked away for a moment.

Ha.

Gotcha.

“And she’s so right about that,” I said.

“Lisa…”

“No, not Lisa. It’s true.”

Then I started telling her.

Of course I started telling her.

Like a waterfall.

No, like a waterfall with pom-poms.

“So first there was the Weißwurst breakfast, and then that bikini, Yasmin, it was so cute, pink-checked with lace, and Mario was completely drenched in sweat, but supposedly just because of the sun, and then Beatrice came up to me and had a present, and the wrapping paper was white with a red ribbon, and I thought, I was about to cry, and then there was fabric, and blue, and a strap, and Yasmin, it was a cheerleader outfit, a real cheerleader outfit, this one, and then I thought, okay, too bad, the photo shoot wasn’t finished yet, but then Mario suddenly pulls out pom-poms, POM-POMS, you know, real pom-poms, and of course I knew right away that you were all behind my back - "

I paused for a moment.

Just a brief moment.

To catch my breath.

A fatal mistake.

Because at that very moment, exhaustion caught up with me.

Not politely.

Not slowly.

But like a warm blanket on a surprise raid.

I slumped against Yasmin’s shoulder.

“Lisa?”

“I’ll continue in a minute,” I mumbled.

“Of course.”

“Just closing my eyes for a second.”

“Of course.”

“It was so nice…”

“I know.”

“Pompoms…”

Then I was gone.

Right there on Yasmin’s shoulder.

Completely sweaty.

Unshowered.

Still in my cheerleader outfit.

The pompoms in my hands.

And apparently, as I was told later, with a very slight snore.

But ladylike.

Very subtle.

Almost musical.

I insist.

The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky when I woke up again.

It took me a few seconds to realize where I was.

At home.

Yasmin was there.

The pom-poms were still lying near me.

I was still wearing the cheerleader outfit.

Good.

So the most important things were clear.

“Where’s Mario?” I mumbled.

“He drove back again,” Yasmin said. “He’s helping with the takedown and cleanup.”

I blinked.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Does that guy have a spare battery built in somewhere?”

Yasmin smiled.

“Maybe.”

“I fell asleep while you were talking yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Right in the middle of a sentence.”

“Oh no.”

“You looked very happy.”

“And I was snoring?”

Yasmin hesitated.

I widened my eyes.

“I was snoring?!”

“Just a little.”

“Lady-like?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then my reputation is saved.”

And then I told her.

Properly this time.

Without falling asleep halfway through.

About breakfast. About Beatrice. About the gift. About Mario’s sparkle. About the pom-poms. About the applause. About Beatrice’s comment that I was the ultimate embodiment of cuteness. About the wheelbarrow. About the pulled pork. About saying goodbye. About the drive home. About my question of whether Yasmin would come along next time.

That’s when Yasmin fell silent.

“You asked?”

“Of course I asked.” I looked at her seriously. “You’re coming along next time. And I’ll stay home.”

“Lisa…”

“No, that’s absolutely fine and totally fair. You let me have this. Now it’s your turn.”

Yasmin looked at me.

And there was so much in her gaze that I almost softened again.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “But you have to tell me everything afterward. And if you fall asleep in the middle of it, I’ll snuggle up to you and, of course, take pictures of it.”

“Lady-like?”

“Of course.”

Mario came back around noon.

And you could see the exhaustion on him.

Finally.

I’d almost been worried he was secretly a machine. But no. There he was, tired, sunburned, visibly worn out. The man had spent the whole weekend carrying, photographing, organizing, driving, helping out again, and probably doing fifty other things on the side that no one had seen.

And what was the first thing he did?

Wash my wig.

I looked at him.

“Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“You just got back, you look like the weekend ran you over, and the first thing you do is wash my wig?”

“It needs it.”

“So do I.”

“You’re next.”

Then he unpacked the suitcases and bags.

Of course.

Because “resting” was apparently listed under “maybe later” in Mario’s dictionary.

Finally, he came over to me.

“Come on, Lisa, time for a shower.”

“Ooooh yeah,” I sighed. “I’m already starting to feel like Pepé the skunk.”

“Pepé?”

“You know, that cartoon stinker. Only probably less charming.”

“We can fix that.”

The water hit my skin, warm and strong. A powerful stream from the showerhead washed away sweat and dust. The garden. The heat. The drive home. The feeling of having been wrapped in a little cocoon of summer and excitement since yesterday.

But the emotions remained.

Of course they remained.

They weren’t on my skin.

No water could wash them away.

After the shower, I was powdered. Familiar, gentle, careful. Powder on my skin. Freshness. Softness. That feeling of coming back to myself - only now “myself” was a little bigger than before.

Then I looked at Mario.

“I want to put the cheerleader dress back on.”

He paused for a moment.

Not surprised.

Of course not.

Then he smiled.

“I didn’t expect anything else.”

So I put it on again.

My cheerleader outfit.

My gift from Beatrice.

My dream made of fabric and color.

My proof that friendship sometimes comes wrapped in white-marbled wrapping paper with a red ribbon. That Yasmin is sometimes silent because she’s in the middle of giving you a gift. That Mario, with a little twinkle in his eye, is preparing whole explosions of happiness. That people and dolls can come together in a garden and, for a moment, not just watch but join in the fun.

And if someone asks me what I did over Pentecost, then of course I can casually say:

“Oh, just a photo shoot.”

Then I put on my sunglasses.

Reach for my pom-poms.

And grin.

Because by now we all know what “just a photo shoot” means with Mario.