Malik has been waiting for this moment. Word gets around. It’s Cape Town. Everyone knows everyone. That damn high school reunion. The idiot so-called friend he’d confided in, who shared it with everyone on the big nostalgia WhatsApp group, all 180 of them.

What’s Malik up to these days? He’s very quiet on here.

Oh, he’s queer now! And he’s acting in pornos! In Amsterdam!

And now, finally, it seems word has reached his colleagues at Primrose High, where he was once a pupil and has now returned as a freshly minted teacher. And today’s the day. As he walks into the staff room, Mrs. Engels goggles at him. Of course it would be her. His former geography teacher, who seemed old when he was in twelfth grade, let alone now, five years later. She is positively ancient and has managed to stay behind in the previous century. She gives him a side-eye and quickly glances away when she sees he’s noticed, busying herself with the kettle, making a whole production of scooping out the Ricoffy and spooning it in.

Malik walks over and stands next to her, getting down the rooibos tea, a blank mug. “Can I ask you something?” he says, cheerful.

She makes a strangled sound in her throat. “Hnnh?”

“Is your strategy going to be avoiding talking to me about this and just being weird around me the whole time we work together? Because if you have any questions for me, I’m available. I’m happy to do this. Let’s have at it.”

“Oh no,” she flusters, her hand poised above the kettle. “Oh no, I was just wondering, is all. I remember you were such a good student.”

“Thank you.”

“Such a good brain.” She manages to look him in the eye. “Why did you have to resort to this, Malik?”

He almost laughs in her face. How many times has he heard variations on this? Usually from the same white guys who are exultant that they’re so open-minded as to be having sex with a person of color. But you’re so well spoken. You’re so smart. Why are you doing this?