A few weeks later, they were celebrating the end of classes at India Palace when Carine casually referred to a high school friend as an Oreo. “Oreo? Wow, that’s pretty racist,” Anton said. “How so? It’s not a description of skin color, per se. It’s describing an attitude—a brother who thinks he’s white.” The flat casualness of her tone irked him, took him back to the night of her exquisite insult. “Do you know how often you do this, Carine, pigeonhole people? You do it all the time. Maybe there are some of us who are, like, you know, not obsessed with skin color.
