Hera Naguib
The Interview
I shuffe past the school’sfortified metal. Guards frisk me as I approach, ask me to leavemy name, phone number, time of day; why I’m here in a book.I think default procedure. Maybe, I’m heartenedby their arm’s gesture, how not one pats me down;says, this way, madam. Maybe this is the way a mind deadensto what …