‘What?’ Mojaba shouted, his promise of keeping his voice low thrown out of the window.

‘Yes! You ruined my life, Mojaba. I hate you; you hear me? I hate you!’ The line cut and Mojaba removed the phone from his ear and saw that the call was terminated.

‘What?’ he asked himself in disbelief. But he had heard clearly. Pontso said he leaked their sex tape on a popular site called Postit, and she was the talk of the town—no, not of the town, but of the country—because she was trending number one. But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be, Mojaba said to himself, quickly scrolling down his phone menu and opening his Postit app. He turned on the mobile data and refreshed his Trending page.

TRENDING IN SOUTH AFRICA

1. J and P

2. Cassper Nyovest

3. Cyril Ramaphosa

4. UNISA

5 . Siya Kolisi

Mojaba stared at the trending list and saw it was all normal. But what was ‘J and P’? He quickly pressed it and the page loaded and opened the posts.

‘J and P, best sex tape ever! LOL!’ one post said.

Mojaba scrolled down.

‘Now, that’s how you do the strokes. Men, take notes,’ another post said.

He scrolled down quickly.

‘Holy shit! I know them. They are from my school!’

Scroll.

‘Jabs and Pontso? This can’t be true!’

Scroll.

‘Did you see that butterfly tattoo under her belly button? That’s Pontso’s, I know it!’

Scroll.

‘Jabs is the man!’

Scroll.

‘Guys, where is the video? I didn’t see it,’ post after post came rushing in. Mojaba’s face felt hot. He saw Pontso’s name a couple of times, and so did his. He pressed the last post and saw a link to a short video. He pressed it. Five seconds didn’t pass before he stopped playing it. He had recognised the video. It was the one he had watched a couple of times alone in bed at night after taking it on that long weekend, and it was the one he had shown Sifiso and Moses in the morning today at school. But, how did it get here?

Mojaba quickly closed the app and turned off his mobile data. He was breathing heavily. His chest was rising and falling with every breath. His face was hot, the cool air outside didn’t do it any good.

Mojaba tried to walk to the house but his knees failed him. He fell on the stoop and sat there for a couple of minutes, breathing in and out. He was fucked. He was really, really fucked! What was he going to do? Should he tell his parents? No, that would make everything worse. Not only were they going to be mad that a video of him having sex with a girl they didn’t know was published for the whole world to see, but they were also going to be mad that he’d brought a girl here in their house, on her mother’s couch, and had sex there.

Blood started flowing down to his legs and he heaved himself up from the red stoop. He was stable, although a bit shaky. He put the left leg in front of the other, right foot in front of the left, and so on until he arrived at the door.

‘What took you so long?’ Sophie asked when Mojaba stepped inside the house. She was preparing the dishes on the dinner table, with a big smile on her face. ‘Sit down, your father is joining us soon.’

‘No,’ Mojaba heard himself say.

‘No? What do you mean?’ Sophie chuckled.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Mojaba said slowly.

‘Nonsense,’ Sophie brushed him off.

‘I have a searing headache, Ma, and I think I will take a nap,’ Mojaba said, walking past his confused mother in the dining room to his bedroom.

‘I will bring you Panado, then,’ Sophie said behind him.

Mojaba closed the door and leant on it with his back. He stood there, facing his bed but looking into space. What must I do? he asked himself. Call Pontso back!

Mojaba reached for his phone and dialled Pontso’s number. It took him straight to voicemail, which he didn’t bother to leave.

‘Fuck!’ he hissed. He came to sit on the edge of the bed, his head spinning. How did the video get leaked? he asked himself. I know I didn’t do it. I had my phone with me the whole time! I didn’t borrow it to anyone at all, and that . . .

Just like the washing machine whose countdown had reached zero, Mojaba’s mind instantly stopped spinning with a loud ding!

No, it can’t be, Mojaba told himself after the realisation came flooding in. He wouldn’t. He’s my best friend. Mojaba’s finger scrolled down his contacts list and tapped the name.

The phone rang once. Twice. Thrice. It had never rung this long before, Mojaba told himself, panic coming back again. He was about to end the call when a click sounded, then silence.

‘Moses?’ Mojaba said as if testing his friend’s name for the first time.

‘Mojaba,’ the voice simply said from the other side.

Mojaba? When had he started calling him by that name? What happened to Jabs?

‘Moses,’ he said after composing himself, ‘did you do it?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t ask me what; you know what you did!’ Mojaba shouted into his phone.

Moses was quiet. If Mojaba wasn’t hearing the breathing sounds over the line, he would have thought Moses had hung up on him.

‘You leaked that video,’ Mojaba said. ‘I lent you my phone today at school to take pictures of the notes on the chalkboard, but you sent the video to yourself and leaked it on Postit.’

‘I didn’t,’ Moses said, cutting the call.

Mojaba removed the phone from his ear slowly and stared at the blank screen unbelievably.

‘Here’s the Panado and the glass of water,’ Sophie said, getting inside the bedroom without knocking, but Mojaba didn’t hear or see her.