I must be going deaf. Why did he say ‘wow’? It’s the punch. I must be drunk, and I am hearing things. He takes a step closer. The moon hangs behind him like a rose petal.

My skin prickles. My senses are going nuts. I’m seeing the world, hearing it, smelling it too. An intensity settles over everything like a fine mist.

“Your outfit!”

This clarifies it. I had forgotten I was dressed like some vampire from Twilight. Just like them, my skin is supernaturally white.

“Oh, yeah, it’s … um…” How do I finish the sentence? It’s home-made? A witch costume? Cost less than a McDonalds burger?

“The handiwork is amazing,” he continues, looking closer at the stitching.

“Thanks.” Then, the words just start to flow out. “My mother made it.” I might as well admit it. I’m tired of excuses anyway. In fact, I think I don’t ever want to make an excuse ever again, for anything.

“Your mother has some mad skills, then,” he concludes, before looking into the sky again. “This evening is really something, isn’t it?”

It is alarming to me the ease with which he can just speak to someone, someone he doesn’t even know. I guess that comes with being good-looking.

“Want to sit? I’ve been on my feet since I got here, taking photos. Let’s sit there.”

He points to one of the white benches arranged on the fringe of the garden.

I find out that his name is Jonah Farrier, that he is half-Jewish, his mother writes books about travelling on a budget, and that his dad was one of the first coloured people to be born in Groote Schuur hospital.

He’s studying photography at Ace College of Advertising, loves a programme called Breaking Bad (I haven’t seen it), and had a girlfriend a year ago but she moved to Australia because her parents split up, and she went with her mother.

I don’t stop to think about why he’s telling me about his girlfriend. I am so shocked that a cute guy is talking to me, I just listen.

Just as I am about to melt into the ground from looking into his dreamy brown eyes, a dreadlocked dude pops his head out the sliding door and yells, “Bro! We’re out!”

“In a minute!” Jonah responds, his voice sailing over the lawn with ease. I even like his voice. It’s a voice you could listen to, murmuring to you on a pillow. He turns to me, and his eyes are alive.

“There’s something I need to ask you.”

He’s going to ask me to marry him. I am totally going to say yes, I fantasize.

“I’m putting together this calendar, for Cape Town Design Month. It’s theme is ‘Unique South Africans’. I’d love to photograph you. Your look is so different, so awesome.”

I’m trying to understand how he has said ‘your look’ and ‘awesome’ in the same sentence. My brain is trying to process it, but failing.

He senses my painful shyness. “Of course, I’d understand if you don’t want to, but – ” He is offering me a way out; I don’t need one. I know I want to do it. I want him to see me. I want him to see me the way I am.

“I’ll do it.”

A slow smile spreads across his soft-looking lips. It is like watching a sunrise. “Really?” He seems genuinely pleased.

“Really.”

“This is going to be amazing!” I can’t get over how excited he seems.

He writes his number on my wrist with a black pen. Because my wrist is white as milk, it’s easy to read.

*****

The days fly by and I am in a dream world. I SMSed Jonah the day after the party to give him my number, and he supplied me the details of the shoot – where to be, when, what to bring.

The shoot is scheduled for the coming Saturday. I daydream about it non-stop throughout the week. How I manage to get any work done is a mystery, I’m so involved in my thoughts about the photo-shoot, and what will happen.

Come Saturday I am a ball of nerves. I get up earlier than usual, brush my teeth, look at my face in the mirror. I’m worried about being photographed.

How will I look in the photo? Will the way I look correspond to the way I feel about myself? Shy, confused, insecure? I want to believe Jonah when he says I have a great ‘look’, but I am scared to, in case it’s not true.

I take the train into town. The studio he is using for the day is attached to the college where he studies and it’s an enormous room filled with natural light. On one side are three gigantic windows. The rafters are high, and the air inside is very still. It’s lovely.

There are about fifteen people involved in the shoot – hairstylists, make-up artists, lighting operators, and camera assistants. Everyone is very sweet and polite to me – immediately I feel a bit like a celebrity!

I relax. I’m safe here. It’s as if they all trust and look up to Jonah. They must think that if he picked me, I must be special.

A very thin girl with hectic green eye shadow does my hair. She asks me what I want done with it. How should I know? They’re the artists, not me! In the end they tease it up in front, so it sticks up in kind of a point.

The make-up artists are two men. One is called Salvio and the other is called Piet. They make a lot of jokes and they include me in them. They’re super friendly. Why can’t people like this go to my school? Life after school starts to seem brighter – I’ll find open, imaginative, accepting people like this to hang out with. Piet and Salvio page through some magazines with me, deciding on make-up.

An assistant comes with coffee, and though I don’t usually drink it (it makes me anxious), I choose a cup and take a few sips. It’s burning hot, and I spill a little onto my T-shirt.

“Whoops!” I cry out, feeling like a real dummy.

“Shame, do you want a paper towel?” says Salvio.

If I had spilled coffee on myself at school, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. I’d be called ‘Drooler’ for a week, or maybe ‘Miss Messy’. Salvio and Piet don’t seem to give a damn, though. I like them, and I’ve only known them for fifteen minutes.

Then a girl with a clipboard asks me if I am ready for wardrobe. I look to Salvio and Piet for confirmation.

“Our work is done,” says Piet.

“She doesn’t need too much – we don’t want to cover up her natural beauty.”

OK, now they are going overboard. Natural beauty? Pull the other leg, please!

Ten minutes later, I am in an avant-garde frock. To me, it looks a little like something from science-fiction. The collar is crazy-huge, and the shoulder pads look a bit like wings. Still, I kind of like it. It has a lot of imagination. And it’s beautifully made – I checked the stitching.

I step out of the change-room and make my way toward the group of people setting up the camera.

I see Jonah walking toward me. I feel shy in my outfit, but not as shy as the first time I met him. He flings out his arms out in a gesture of appreciation.

“Incredible! You look like a work of art!” he says as he approaches.

He guides me over to the working area. It is very bright and the lights have white umbrellas over them to make the light bounce in different directions. My eyes start to water as soon as I sit down.

Jonah’s face falls. “Are you OK? Oh no, are you … crying?”

It’s nothing,” I say, blinking away the tears. “My eyes are just very sensitive. Because of my…” Before I can say ‘albinism’, Jonah nods, understanding, and yells, “Dim the lights!”

He is definitely the boss round here. Instantly the lights become less intense, and I am able to see again. Piet sprints to my side and touches up my make-up.

“Sorry,” I say, as he reapplies some mascara.

“Don’t be sorry! It’s our fault, not yours.”

That makes me feel a little better and the rest of the shoot passes by like a dream, a dream that I don’t want to end.

Jonah tells me I am a natural model, that my face is expressive, and that he likes the honesty I give off when I look into the camera.

I didn’t know being honest was a skill. Still, I’m thrilled.

And every time a bulb flashes, I imagine it is a kiss from his lips.

***

Tell us what you think: Is it strange that Agnes has feelings for someone she has just met?