Thuli seems to know everyone in the room. So does Chelsea. They strut around arm in arm. Thuli occasionally looks back at me and mouths things like, ‘Drink’ and ‘Smile’.

I get a cider and stand against the wall, hoping nobody will see me. Thuli comes up with a boy on either arm. She is such a flirt. One of them I recognise as Thato.

“Thuli has told me so much about you,” says Thato.

Oh god, like what? I think. Like loser stuff.

“Nice to meet you,” I say lamely.

“And this is–”

But before I can say hello to the handsome guy next to him, Chelsea Clarke gets in first. With a shrieky giggle she trips and spills bubbly down the handsome guy’s shirt.

“I am so sorry Ayanda, babe.” She pronounces it like ‘panda’. She dabs at his shirt ineffectively. “Here, come with me to the bathroom and I’ll clean you up.” She drags him off.

“What’s up with her?” I ask Thuli.

“Oh,” says Thuli, “she’s decided she’s going to try, oh let me see how she put it, ‘dark chocolate’. Her parents would freak of course! I am encouraging her to get out of her comfort zone. They’ve already kissed. But she’s still a little jumpy about him.”

She sees my look. “She’s sweet, Lethu. Give her chance; she’s really kind.”

“She’s Chelsea Clarke,” I say. “My mom works for her mom.”

“Barbie doll Chelsea? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I need another drink,” says Thuli “And possibly a cigarette. Meet me on the balcony.”

I head for the bathroom while Thuli gets distracted by Thato. I get my own drink and head for the balcony, where Ayanda is staring up at the night sky. But I bump straight into Chelsea, who seems determined to get there first. She turns to apologise for the cider that has spilled on my top.

“Don’t worry,” I say. She seems to have a habit of doing this. Then I take a deep breath and say, “You don’t recognise me, do you?”

“Should I?” she giggles nervously.

“My mom works for your mom.”

“Oh, Grace. I love Grace; she’s like another mom to me. She practically brought me up! You are Grace’s daughter! This is amazing.” She hugs me.

“I have your Barbie,” I say.

“Oh, God, my mom didn’t give you that old thing? I wondered where it went. I had totally destroyed it … Oh I am so sorry.”

And I think for a second that she’s going to offer me a new Barbie.

“Are you at varsity? I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m looking for a job. I … maybe next year.” I take a gulp of my cider.

“Hey, maybe my dad can help you. He’s got this big company and …” She’s acting like she’s just had the best idea ever. “I’ll tell him all about you. Here’s his number.”

She shouts the number to me over the music and I type it in.

Ayanda is heading back from the balcony and I head for the door.

Even in the fresh air on the pavement I can’t breathe. I just want to go home. I was right. I shouldn’t have come!

I am standing on the pavement when I see Ayanda and Chelsea spilling out onto the street. They seem to be having some trouble in paradise, as she is talking even more shrilly than in the party.

“It’s too soon. You can’t come home, babe. I’ll take an Uber.”

“But I’ve got Vusi’s car,” Ayanda says. “I’m a really good, safe driver.”

“Yes, but my folks … and I don’t know if I’m ready and … I’ll just take an Uber.”

“I’m just driving you home,” Ayanda says. “I won’t even come inside.”

And then Chelsea turns and runs to the bushes and throws up. And Ayanda goes to hold her hair out of her face and rub her back. He’s such a gentleman, I think. And then I think: What the hell is he doing with Chelsea Clarke!? She doesn’t deserve to be driven home by him.

“I just need the toilet,” she slurs, and staggers back into the party.

That’s when Ayanda turns and sees me standing there staring, and he knows I must have heard everything. I want to die. He’s walking towards me.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asks me.

For you, I think. But I don’t say it out loud.

“I … I don’t know anyone in there. I’m not at varsity. And right now I just want to go home. I’ll just call an Uber.”

I don’t have data. I have never taken an Uber. I don’t even have the app or a credit card. What am I thinking?

But he’s just standing there, like he can see right through me. “I’ll give you a lift, really. Where do you stay?”

I tell him. He laughs. “I stay quite near you in fact and I’m not at varsity either.”

I stare at him and then I start to cry. Which is not like me.

“So, if you aren’t at varsity, how do you know Chelsea Clarke?” I ask him, as we head towards Khayelitsha. For all I know Chelsea and him will kiss and make up and next thing he’s allowed into the Clarke’s crazy-paved driveway and into Chelsea’s pink bedroom.

“I work for a company that does contract work for Chelsea’s father.” He stares straight ahead.

“So how did you two meet?”

“Actually, through your friend Thuli. Chelsea invited her to an office party at her dad’s … I was there. We were the two token blacks in the room. Thuli sort of initiated the whole thing. I–”

“Never mind.”

“How do you know Chelsea. I saw you two talking.”

“Oh, my mom works for her mom … cleaning.”

Ayanda laughs.

“She gave me her dad’s number. You know, someone knows someone … I need a job.”

As he drops me off in front of our yard I don’t get out immediately. In fact, I never want to get out of his car. I could just live in here with him.

I see a curtain flicker in the window of our neighbour’s house. Mrs Masha is spying on me. It will be reported back to my mother like this tomorrow morning, first thing: ‘Lethu was sitting in a stranger’s car … Are you sure she’s not working as a prostitute? … You know I know Mrs Somebody’s daughter couldn’t get a job and you know she started … I know she was desperate but …’

“I better go …” I say, opening the door.

“You know, I might be the person who knows someone,” Ayanda says. “Can I call you?”

I don’t know why, maybe it’s the cider or the fact that he’s really lovely, but I give him my number.

“As long as it isn’t Mr Clarke,” I call after him as he drives off.

***

Tell us: What do understand by ‘tokenism’?