‘Andrew’s sister’s in your class,’ Carral said and then turned to the tall boy. ‘What’s her name again?’

‘Anna,’ Andrew replied. ‘Do you know her?’

I shook my head.

‘Isn’t she the pregnant one?’ Carral said.

‘Yup. Watch out for biology, little Jo,’ he said with a nod.

Carral and Andrew laughed.

‘Look at my lips.’ Carral lifted her head and stuck out her neck as she pointed at them. They had swollen and when she spoke, they barely moved in time with her jaw and tongue. Andrew prodded them.

‘Do they have to be woken up?’ he asked with a wide grin.

‘They’re just wasted,’ Carral answered, ‘sloshed,’ and they both laughed loudly.

‘You’re not like the other girls,’ the manager said.

‘Really?’

His eyes were red. They squinted and studied my face. Again I moved back a bit.

‘You’re not like the girls in the office, or the girls you meet clubbing,’ he said. ‘You’re not … like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like … skirts and high heels … Your hair … it’s short … You’re wearing trousers … So serious …’

‘Really?’

‘And your face … cheekbones … They’re different … Is everyone in Norway so serious?’

His face split in half, his eyes still on me while his lips stretched down for the straw in the drink he held in his hand. His lips covered the straw like a horse’s, tightened and sucked.

‘Serious, I don’t know …’

‘And your English is so fucking great. Serious and clever —’

‘Everyone’s taught English at school in Norway.’

I didn’t enjoy this conversation, how it focussed only on burrowing deeper inside of me. I felt translucent. Could you tell just by looking if someone is a virgin? I looked around the room to find Carral. She was drinking fizzy wine by the pool table and laughing every time Andrew spoke. Her lips were really swollen, and I couldn’t help but think about Miranda Darling’s lips,

full and succulent, the envy of her friends …

As she took aim, the yellow curls in her ponytail fell over her shoulder to rest below her ear. Andrew bent over her from behind, thrusted the cue, and for a moment she looked up, straight at me. A paragraph from Moon Lips came to mind:

He bent over her from behind and parted her legs. She supported herself on the basin and moaned as he teased her underwear down and undid his trousers …

I could feel my palms getting sweaty, and rubbed my hands against the rough denim on my trousers. The Moon Lips stain throbbed in my fingertips. I was surrounded by sex. The scent of salty bodily fluids flooded the room. The manager had followed me down the bar, and mumbled in my ear:

‘I like girls like you, your type, you know … lesbians.’ He poked a finger deep into my arm. ‘Tell me … have you ever … been with a man?’