Two hours and several Cosmos later, we are both feeling about a million times better.

Alcohol is a wonderful thing, it really is.

I’ve always been a bit cautious of it in the past because I’ve seen so many people at parties falling around and puking their lungs out. But just the right amount works wonders.

By my third Cosmo, I’m a completely different person. I’m wittier, sexier, and chattier. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that I know nobody in the room. Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet, right?

As soon as we stop feeling self-conscious, Steph and I make loads of friends. Loads.

Before we know it, we’re sitting in the middle of a mellow group of graduate students chatting about colonialism and – what was that other thing again? – existentialism. That’s right.

Normally I run like a rabbit when people start getting all academic on me. But not tonight. With three Cosmos under my belt, I feel like I could take on a professor.

Like, there’s this one guy called Sibusiso …

Or was it Sibongile?

Or Sibumile?

Anyway, never mind. I’ll just call him Sibu for short.

So he asks me what I think of the rising tide of materialism that is currently sweeping Grahamstown. Of course I tell him that I think it’s not too bad, but I won’t really be happy until a Young Designers Emporium opens up in High Street. He gives me a slightly strange look, but becomes quite interested when I tell him all about how I shop on the Internet. And he really perks up when I explain how he could buy a leather jacket on eBay for next to nothing.

Steph has been cornered by some guy who is grilling her about Mensa. I watch them for a moment, wondering if she needs to be rescued. But she’s looking all animated and interested, and the guy is really quite nice-looking, so I decide to leave them to it.

I glance around the room. Who should I talk to now? I’m the unstoppable chatting machine. Why should I just sit here quietly when I’ve got all this wit bubbling away inside me?

Then I spot him. Farouk. Mr. Poetry Tutor in person.

I’ve been ducking him all evening, but now I’m thinking – why should I? Why don’t I just go up and talk to him? He’s just a guy, isn’t he? Just a normal human being like everyone else.

I take a deep slug of my fourth Cosmo and rise to my feet, wobbling slightly. As I cross the room towards him, the last tiny sensible part of my brain is trying to tell me that this is Not a Good Idea. But I ignore it easily. It’s like I’ve finally got a volume control for my sensible self. I turn her protests down to a whisper and march confidently up to Farouk.

He is deep in conversation with someone and has his back turned to me. I poke him firmly in the ribs. A little too firmly perhaps, because he jumps and spills Windhoek lager down his sleeve.

He turns around with an annoyed look on his face. Then he sees who it is and his frown turns to a smile.

‘Miss Sandton 2001!’ he says softly. ‘I thought you were scared of me.’

‘Dutch courage!’ I say airily, making a sweeping gesture with my hand. The sweeping gesture almost knocks his drink over again, so I pin my arms to my sides and decide to keep them there.

‘And anyway, what about you?’ I say challengingly. ‘I thought Muslims weren’t allowed to drink.’

This is something I always tease my Muslim friends about whenever I catch them sneaking a Smirnoff Spin or whatever. The tiny voice in my head is trying to remind me that this isn’t one of my buds from school, but by now I can hardly hear her.

‘I’m not Muslim,’ he says, looking a bit surprised.

‘Oh, come on. You must be. Your name’s Farouk, isn’t it? Don’t you have to be Muslim if you’re called Farouk? I thought it was like, the law or something.’

‘My mom’s Muslim,’ he says, looking amused. ‘And I did take some classes in Islam when I was a kid. But my Ouma and Oupa would have had a fit if I hadn’t been confirmed into the Dutch Reformed Church. And so I was. Not that I’m a card-carrying member or anything. I’m not much of anything really. Just a secular guy.’

‘Do you have an Ouma and Oupa too?’ I say delightedly. ‘So do I!’

Someone clears their throat sharply, and we both turn round. The girl that Farouk was talking to before I barged in is looking more than a little pissed off.

‘Oh, sorry!’ he says quickly. ‘Padma, this Trinity Luhabe. Trinity, this is Padma Moonsamy.’

She extends a slim hand and gives me the up and down. ‘Luhabe?’ she says coldly. ‘Any relation of …?’

‘Uh, yes – he’s my dad,’ I say quickly. I always like to get that part over with.

‘Interesting. Well, Farouk – I’ll see you later.’

She gives me a last once-over and slips away into the crowd.

‘Oops!’ I say with an exaggerated grimace. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to chase her away. I hope she’s not your girlfriend or anything.’

I’m fishing, I know. But I’ve actually been wondering about his relationship status for a while now. Because … well … because it’s helpful to know these things about one’s teachers.

Farouk gives me a wry smile. ‘On-again, off-again,’ he says. ‘After tonight it will probably be off-again.’

‘Oh, right.’

Of course he has a girlfriend.

Of course he has.

A guy like that is hardly going to be running around Grahamstown unclaimed, now is he? And he would be going out with a super-brainy girl with a great personality, wouldn’t he? I know this about her because only someone who is very confident of their brains and personality would wear such drab black clothes.

‘Excuse me a moment.’ I dart across the room to retrieve my drink. I don’t know what I was thinking – trying to have a conversation without it.

‘So how are you enjoying varsity life?’ he asks when I get back. ‘How is Rhodes treating you?’

‘Oh, it’s great! I’m loving it. The only thing is …’ I pull a mournful face, ‘my arch-enemy has come to town.’

‘Your arch-enemy?’ He looks utterly fascinated. ‘Tell me about your arch-enemy’.

‘Her name is Sophie Agincourt. She’s a complete cow and I hate her. She hates me too. In fact, she started hating me first.’

‘Why? Why did she start hating you?’

I take a sip of my Cosmo and try to gather my thoughts. My lips are going numb, which is making it just a little difficult to talk.

‘It all started when I won the Miss Sandton competition,’ I explain. ‘Up until then we’d always been quite friendly. Although I can’t say I ever really trusted her. It was just a feeling I had. That if I turned my back she’d stick a knife in it. You know what I mean?’

He nods solemnly. ‘Very Rachel and Leah.’

‘Exactly.’

Rachel and who?

‘Anyway, it all came to a head when we both entered the Miss Sandton competition. I won, and Sophie was made First Princess. She’s never forgiven me. She started up a dirty tricks campaign against me when we were eleven, and the tricks have just got dirtier and dirtier.’

‘Really? Like what?’

I take another sip of my drink. Gosh, look at that. It’s almost finished!

The numbness is creeping from my lips to my tongue, and my words are starting to sound slurry. Goodness knows what’s wrong with me. I must be tired or something.

The rest of the party has receded to a faint, background roar. I’m totally focused on Farouk’s sympathetic face. There even seems to be a kind of flickering halo around his head. I rack my brains trying to think of an example of Sophie’s treachery that will convince him how evil she is.

‘Well,’ I say, suddenly inspired. ‘The other day, right? She put up this huge poster on the notice board in res pretending that I’d left my red thong panties in the College House bar.’

He makes a choking sound.

‘You’re not laughing, are you? Because it isn’t funny at all.’

Farouk’s mouth twitches, but he controls it. ‘Of course not.’

‘Good. And over Christmas she told everyone I had … chlam … chlamyd…’

‘Chlamydia?’

‘That’s it! Which was such a total lie!’ I say hotly, seized with sudden indignation. ‘And do you know why? Because I never even got round to losing my virginity!’

‘You didn’t?’ He looks completely riveted.

‘It was the only item on my to-do list that I didn’t manage to tick off,’ I say sadly. ‘The only one!’ This strikes me as so poignant that I can feel tears welling up behind my eyes. I sniff a little and look away. My eyes collide with Steph’s. She is standing a few feet away from me with an expression of bemused horror on her face, like someone witnessing a terrible car crash.

Catching my eye seems to jolt her into action. She surges forward and takes my glass firmly out of hand.

‘Home time!’ she says brightly, putting the drink down out of my reach.

‘But I’m not ready to go yet,’ I complain. ‘I’m still having fun.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Yes I am!’ All of a sudden, I’m quite pissed off. Who is Steph to tell me when it’s time to go home? I’m going to stand my ground and fight for my rights.

‘Please, Trinity,’ she begs. ‘We really need to go home now. I’ve … I’ve got my period,’ she whispers desperately.

‘Oh, all right.’ I grumble.

‘Good girl!’ Steph grabs my arm and pulls me irresistibly towards the door where our coats are hanging.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she says over her shoulder to Farouk as she drags me away.

He is watching us with an amused expression on his face.

‘Likewise.’

Tell us: Would you be embarrassed the next day?