We head over to the reception area, we greet, and the receptionist addresses Amanda, asking for a name. I stare, a little bit bewildered. Why does she assume Amanda must be the one in charge?

Amanda and Palesa turn to look at me.

“Mihlali Jojo,” I say.

She searches for my name and looks up to ask Amanda to spell it for her. As if I am invisible.

She finds the name and once she notices that we’re on the VIP list, she gestures to one of her colleagues to take us through. She comes and walks right past me, addresses Amanda and Palesa. It takes everything in me to stop myself from shouting, “I AM THE VIP and they’re my guests!” But I let it slide.

We go in, and she asks what we want to drink, there’s champagne and wine. I didn’t realise it was a private viewing. Lockham is doing too much!

They both look at me again. The lady, I think her name tag says “Nthabi”, looks at them looking at me and looks at me and I think that’s when it registers for her that they’re here with me and not the other way around.

“Have whatever you want, I’ll take champagne, please,” I say.

“That will be three glasses,” say Amanda and Palesa, in unison.

Just as the drinks arrive, Lockham and his hubby arrive too.

“My favourite student!” Lockham says, as they stroll in, hand in hand.

Lockham Two looks at Amanda, Palesa, and then me, I think to try and associate us with whatever information his husband fed him about me.

“You’re searching for me. I guess he,” I point at Lockham One, “didn’t tell you I am the dark-skinned one,” I say, to put him out of his misery.

Lockham laughs, looks at his husband and says, “I told you she was a firecracker.”

I frown.

“What I mean is you’re smart and have a lot to say and that I enjoy your company,” he says, lifting his hand for a shake.

“This is Amanda, and this is Palesa,” I introduce them to the Lockhams. They shake hands.

“Which one is the girlfriend?” asks Lockham.

Oh FML!

It becomes awkward for a few seconds.

“This is my husband, Riaz.”

“I can speak for myself. I am Riaz,” he says, with a French accent.

An export, well done Lockham!

“I am Jonathan, her art professor, but you can call me Jon,” Lockham says, pleased with himself.

“BTW, I read the assignments and saw the drawings. I know you did all the work. I’ll mark you down for working solo,” Lockham says.

I don’t have the energy to protest, plus he’s already made the decision.

“You don’t have any smart response?” he asks, enthusiastically.

“Nope!” I say.

“Aren’t we here to marvel at the art, why are we standing talking?” I ask.

We go around admiring the art. We see the works of Katlego Tlabela, Talia Ramkilawan, Lunga Ntila, Athi-Patra Ruga. Naturally, Amanda is fixed in front of Heidi Hadaway’s “Descending” sculpture. Hypnotised, she is. I understand. I am certain she is telling herself that one day it will be her sculpture and her name displayed here. I walk over to her.

“One day it will be your piece and your name,” I whisper, as I touch her shoulder and keep moving. I look around and I find Palesa looking at us as if she is watching a confusing scene from a movie. Dammit, Lockham!

Two hours later, we’re sitting at some fancy restaurant, which we’re completely under-dressed for. Everyone is chewing and drinking. I am thinking about Palesa and what is going through her mind. If I had superpowers, I’d want to read minds, nay, I’d want to read only Palesa’s mind. I don’t want to know the things Lockham is thinking.

“Can we go talk for a bit?” I ask Palesa, in a whisper. We try to quietly manoeuvre our way out of the table but fail dismally.

Lockham gives me the ‘oh, she’s the girlfriend’ wink. I ignore him. I don’t know if he is my professor or my enemy at this point, although he is feeding me and my friends right now.

Amanda gives me a reassuring look. But that’s not what I want to talk to Palesa about.

We get to the foyer, and luckily there are no people around. The best thing about going out on Sundays is it’s not too crowded.

“So this grandiose exhibition we experienced today is Professor Lockham’s way of bribing me to do this amateur drawing competition. He thinks I have the potential. There’s a monetary prize, which is very enticing, but I am not sure if I should do it. What do you think?” I say.

I notice that she is a bit disappointed because this is not the conversation she was anticipating but I’ll deal with that later.

“What is it that is making you sceptical?” she asks.

I tell her the whole story, about the diversity thing and how I feel morally conflicted, and how though I am not 100% sure I will win, I do need the cash prize.

“Plus, it would earn me points with my scholarship, it will give them some idea that I am worth the investment,” I add.

“I think grab this opportunity regardless of the diversity bow it’s wrapped in. At the end of the day you don’t want to let go of an opportunity so easily when it practically arrived on a silver platter. Plus, you don’t know what doors it may open for you, and other artists who look like you,” she says.

“You’re making valid points,” I say.

“Why did you want my opinion anyway? What does Amanda think?” she asks.

Ah, so she’s feeling some typa way.

“‘Cause I value your opinion, you’re just as close to me as Amanda is,” I say.

“And your teacher?” she asks.

“Lockham? Oh, Mrs Nkosi? She says I must go for it!” I respond.

She nods and starts walking back to the restaurant. When we walk in, they all look at us, waiting inquisitively. I shake my head. We sit down, and I blurt out.

“I’ll do it!”

“The competition,” I add the context. “It’s not because you bought me with art and food!” I say.

Lockham smiles, and orders another bottle of wine.

Tell us: What would you have done if you were in Mihlali’s shoes?