Page 121 of Sexting the Pakhan

For the restof the program, the photo sits inside my head like a lit match.

Please delete it.

No answer.

I put the phone in my bag, zip the bag shut, and tell myself that if I can’t see the message, then I can be a normal mother for the next forty minutes.

It doesn’t work.

Mila stands in front of the room with her paper leaf crown slipping over one eyebrow, singing louder than the rest of the class combined. Nadia stands beside her, serious and exact, mouthing every word like she personally wrote the song and is disappointed by everyone else’s commitment to rhythm.

Parents laugh softly. Teachers smile.

Karina nudges me with her elbow and whispers, “Mila is giving lead vocalist energy.”

I whisper back, “She thinks backup singing is a personal insult.”

Karina tilts her head toward Nadia and whispers, “And Nadia looks like she’s about to file a complaint with the music department.”

I try to laugh. It comes out too thin.

Karina glances at me, her face shifting from amused to alert. “Zoya.”

“I’m watching,” I whisper.

“You’re panicking,” she whispers.

“I accidentally sent my daughters’ picture to a stranger I’ve been inappropriate-texting for six years,” I whisper back through my teeth. “Panic feels reasonable.”

Karina’s eyes widen even though she already knows most of it. “Six years? That guy?”

“Yes,” I say. “He’s like a guilty pleasure at this point. And before you say anything, I know how bad it is.”

Karina glances toward the girls, then back at me. Her expression is strange now. Not only fear. Something else. Guilt, maybe. Or dread. She takes my wrist gently. “Zoya, there’s something you should know.”

My skin goes cold. “About what?”

She looks toward the classroom door, where the girls are waiting for their folders, then lowers her voice. “About that number.”

I stare at her. “What do you mean, about that number?”

Karina opens her mouth.

The first shot cracks outside. The sound cuts through the hallway so violently that every parent turns at once.

For a second, nobody moves. The whole room holds its breath, trying to make the sound into something harmless. Then the second shot comes, closer than the first, and one of the front windows bursts inward.

Screaming fills the hall.

Karina grabs my arm. “Girls.”

I spin toward the cubbies. “Mila! Nadia!”

They were there.

They were just there.

Now there are bodies everywhere. Parents bending for children, teachers pushing people away from the windows, bags falling, paper folders scattering across the floor. Someone slams into my shoulder and nearly knocks me into the snack table.