“I mean, I know she likes to tweet with a lot of capital letters and emojis,” I said. “I just can’t name any of her songs. But I know she’s a big deal. You know what else is a big deal? Mean Girls. I’ve seen that movie at least fifteen times.”

+15: Has seen Mean Girls no fewer than fifteen times. (I really shouldn’t be awarded points for this, because do we get points for breathing? No. But I’m the scorekeeper.)

I noticed Jahan smiling at me out of the corner of my eye, like he enjoyed watching me take charge, school the others on my pop culture. He suggested we all get together at his apartment to watch the movie that night, after the bar closed.

A small group of us went back to Jahan’s apartment sometime after four a.m. First, we had to find the movie online, and then Jahan had to fidget with his laptop and some kind of connecting cord, but we got it playing on the TV eventually.

After the movie ended, I asked Jahan what he thought.

“Solidly fetch,” he said, nodding.

The room broke into conversation, then full-on debate. Jahan argued that Cady Heron as a protagonist followed the classic Greek hero’s journey, whereas Giovanni believed it was more of a social satire that didn’t adhere to strict archetypes. People referenced Shakespeare and Greek tragedies. They spoke in a mix of Italian and English. Hands were waving; fingers were pinched. I didn’t realize Italians actually did that.

I sank deep into the cushion and smiled as the room grew more animated. Jahan and Pier Paolo. Neil and Giovanni. The FEMME RAGE woman. They were all so grown-up, having grown-up conversations. Outside, the sky was turning bright blue. I was drifting in and out of sleep. But they were awake and alive as ever.

Interrogation Room 38

Roya Azadi

AT THE FARSI school where I teach, I asked one of my students who was two years below Amir at the high school if she had heard anything. She said there had been some rumors going around that semester—there was clearly something this girl didn’t want to tell me. Then she said she would pray for Amir to come home. That was strange, I thought. We hadn’t told anyone Amir was gone.

I wondered: How did she find out?

Interrogation Room 38

Soraya

ONE NIGHT AFTER rehearsal, my mom and dad were waiting for me in the kitchen. They asked me to sit down. I knew it was serious because my mom poured herself a glass of tea and didn’t add any sugar cubes or have any cookies with it. She said, “I’ve heard some things from my students, Soraya. What have you been telling people?”

I was kind of speechless. I thought she knew. I was all, “It shouldn’t have to be private. I hate how we don’t talk about these things. We just let them bottle up.” My mom and dad looked at me like I had transformed into a unicorn before their eyes.