Except, of course, the playground has been spoiled—her face falls at the memory of the burned swing and slide. Nobody was allowed to go near the playground during recess or lunchtime today either.

But where is Abba? As minutes pass, the fear that she’s been forgotten mounts. The teacher on watch is engrossed in her cell phone—Amina pushes open the door quietly and trudges to the end of the front porch, toward the parking lot, dragging her backpack behind her. Here she waits some more, dangerously close to tears, chewing at the corners of her hijab even though she knows she’s not supposed to. But it feels as though everyone has forgotten her—including the teacher on watch—and with a stifled sob, she slips under the yellow tape into the enclosure of the playground.

It’s a desolate and strange new country. In the center of the playground the charred structures tower over her like skeletons of dinosaurs. Huge blobs of deformed plastic are scattered beneath them, blackened animals in various attitudes of agony. The colors she admired—bright reds, greens, blues, yellows—are sooted. The soft white sand she liked to scuff is streaked through with gray ashes and debris. The odor of burning—Amina scrunches her nose—still lingers over everything.

And her favorite slide is no more. Only a tongue remains at the very top, twisted and fierce. Underneath it is a shapeless lump of plastic, which the tongue reaches toward as though it wants to lap it back up. Her stomach knots, like whenever she imagines something happening to Asma doll.

She whimpers: Who would do something like this to her slide?

“Bad men,” Farah Miss had said in class that morning.

Farah Miss is Amina’s favorite teacher. Farah Miss is young, tall, wise, kind, and always pretty in her light-colored hijabs and jilbabs—cream, lavender, rose. Allah will punish the bad men, Farah Miss explained. There are two angels writing down everything a person does, one sitting on the right shoulder, Raqeeb, who writes down all good deeds, and one sitting on the left shoulder, Atheed, who writes down all bad deeds. And one day when everyone is standing in front of Allah, Allah will consult with Raqeeb and Atheed and decide whether to reward or punish. On that day the bad men who had burned the playground will be thrown into the fires of Jahannam.

Farah Miss made the children recite their kalimas, Allah being the only one powerful enough to protect them from the evil work of the Shaitan and his helpers. Farah Miss then made them blow into their palms and down their chests to create an armor around themselves, so the evil Shaitan couldn’t harm them. And Farah Miss went around the room, blowing on the forehead of each child, before starting the day’s lessons.

The prayers work their magic again: standing with her eyes closed in the playground, Amina recites the kalimas—the first few fully, the last couple mumbled where she’s forgotten some words—opening her eyes only after she’s done blowing down her chest. Now all that remains is to walk around and blow over every object here, both fallen and standing.