Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  In retrospect, I think I’ve always had it. It’s just never been as bad as it is now, with the future looming over my head, so impossibly far away and yet closer than ever.

  Nandini and Cora still think I should push for an English degree. I think my parents might actually disown me if I try.

  But this next month means I don’t have to worry about it. I’m free from the constant weight of their disapproving glares.

  T-27 days. I’m going to try to make every single one of them count.

  “How were your weekends?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the table.

  Cora grins. “Okay, so I found the cutest pair of shoes at the mall. I’ll Snapchat you a picture when I get home, but they’re literally gorgeous. Perfect for junior prom.”

  “Not the junior prom thing again,” Nandini says, leaning her chin on my shoulder. “Cora, that’s for losers.”

  “You guys are so boring,” Cora whines. “Come on, it’ll be fun! We don’t need to go with anyone. It can just be the three of us. It’ll be like practice for real prom.”

  “Good luck convincing my parents to let me go to any kind of prom,” I say. It comes out light, but both Nandini and Cora sober at the words.

  Nandini is fully Indian and Cora is half-Chinese, yet my parents tend to be more strict than both of theirs combined. I’m rarely allowed to do things without guaranteed parental supervision. When I do break the rules, the hellish screaming that comes afterward is hardly ever worth it. I know it’s because they’re protective of me, but it’s still a hindrance on my social life. The situation is complex.

  And as of right now, prom is out of the question.

  “I’m going to start a petition,” Cora says, already taking out her planner to make a note. “I’d like to see your mom argue against five hundred signatures.”

  I choke back a laugh. “Where the hell do you think you’re going to get five hundred signatures? I don’t think five hundred people even know who I am.”

  “Listen, they don’t need to know you. This is a matter of social justice. Your parents are taking away your right to go to prom, and that should be illegal!” She raises her voice even louder. “This is your space. This is your area. They can’t do that to you.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, giggling. “Do you know how you sound right now? Is this because your dad is white?”

  Nandini snorts. “That’s exactly why,” she says. “Cora, you silly, silly girl. I love you.”

  “Don’t be condescending,” Cora says, pointing a lead pencil at Nandini in warning. She hesitates and adds, “but I love you, too.”

  I snort. “You’re both such clowns.”

  “Shut up.” Nandini bumps her shoulder into mine. “If we have to kidnap you ourselves for junior prom, we’ll do it. I could probably fit you in a duffel bag. It would take a little squeezing but between the three of us, we can make it work.”

  “Oh my God, does that mean we’re doing it?” Cora says, nearly screeching in my ear. Some of the people at the end of the table give us dark looks, and I smile apologetically. “It’s official! NCK is going to junior prom!”

  “Why don’t I ever think before I speak?” Nandini whispers, casting a glance skyward.

  I lean my head against Nandini’s shoulder, still smiling. My best friends might be clowns, but they’re mine and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  Nandini slumps to accommodate me and on my other side, Cora interlaces our fingers. “I really wish we could all go to prom together,” I say. “But with my parents... I don’t know.”

  Cora squeezes my hand. “Karina, you know what the poets say. If you want something badly enough, nothing can stop you or whatever. Right, Nandini?”

  Nandini nods, grinning at my exasperated expression. She takes my other hand in hers, looping our pinkies together. “You can’t let the world decide your future for you. It’s your life, babe. If you want to go to prom, we should go to prom. You should put your happiness first every once in a while.”

  “I’m just being realistic,” I say under my breath, but when they both squeeze my hands again, I return the gesture.

  Nandini snorts. “Sure, Karina. We’ll go with that.”

  “I am,” I say, my voice rising.

  Cora hums, arching a perfect brow. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t you both have homework to catch up on?”

  “Oh shit,” Cora says, suddenly flipping through her binder. “Did either of you understand the Italian homework? Because I am so lost. What does question three even mean?”

  I look on as Nandini explains, but I can’t help but reflect on our conversation. My parents aren’t here now, so I have more freedom than before, but that doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want. This will last for only so long.

  Twenty-seven days until they return and my gilded cage slams shut again.

  3

  T-MINUS 27 DAYS

  We part ways for our first class of the day. I sit in the back of the room and tune out my teacher, doodling aimlessly in my journal. I’m not an artist, but sometimes poetry runs rampant in my thoughts, so whenever I have a free moment, I write it down.

  I’m drowning in a pool of moonlight

  my lungs are full of stars

  When the bell rings, I pack my stuff and make my way to my locker through the overcrowded hallways.

  My locker is a visual representation of my brain. Pictures of Nandini, Cora, and me are littered across every surface. There are pictures of TV characters and fanart of my favorite book scenes. Random things I need to remember are scribbled on a whiteboard attached to the inside of my locker door. Hung at the back is a replica of Desdemona’s strawberry handkerchief from Othello, and pinned to the bottom of the material are a few of my poems.

  I put away my textbook and head to my next—and favorite—class, English. It’s a dearly needed breather after AP Physics. God forbid my parents ever realize how much I’m struggling in that class.

  I slip into my English classroom and sit in the back corner, next to the window. Cora, Nandini, and I claimed this corner in the beginning of the year, since it’s easier to text discreetly here.

  “The wildest thing happened during gym,” Nandini says as she drops into the seat beside me. Our teacher, Miss Cannon, is scrawling the opening activity onto the whiteboard, hardly paying attention to us. “I’ll tell you and Cora during lunch.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Can’t wait.”

  As the bell rings, Cora rushes into class and takes a seat on the other side of Nandini. “I really had to pee,” she says, chest heaving.

  I sympathetically offer her my water bottle.

  Miss Cannon claps, drawing attention to the front of the room. “Let’s begin our discussion of The Great Gatsby...”

  I’m in a good enough mood today that I raise my hand as soon as the discussion begins. Usually, I’m too flustered unless I have a really good talking point. I don’t like having people’s eyes on me unless I have something smart to say. “I don’t think it truly matters whether Gatsby is telling the truth about himself or his past—because does it even affect his future? He could spin any tale, and it wouldn’t matter nearly as much as the way his love for Daisy is presented. I’d argue it’s the biggest facet of his entire persona.”

  “Interesting point, Karina,” Miss Cannon says, smiling. “Would anyone like to counter or contribute further to that?”

  Someone else raises their hand. “I agree with Karina. On page 150, it says...”

  I nod, flipping to the mentioned page in the book.

  The conversation continues for another ten minutes before we split up into groups. Naturally, Cora, Nandini, and I push our desks closer together.

  “Okay, so I didn’t read any of it yet,” Nandini admits after checking to make sure Miss Cannon
is attending to a different group. “I had a late shift at the movie theater yesterday and I still had to finish the physics lab, so...something had to give.”

  “I skimmed most of it but didn’t really understand,” Cora says, scratching her nose. “Karina, can you explain?”

  I roll my eyes, unsurprised. We all have our strengths when it comes to school subjects. Nandini loves science, Cora loves history, and I love literature. “So you basically want Gatsby for Dummies?”

  “That’s exactly what I want,” Nandini says.

  I sigh, but nod. “All right. So Nick and Gatsby are basically driving together, and Gatsby is like blah, blah, blah, here’s my whole life story, and only God knows why Nick cares. Then Gatsby’s all like bro, I’ve done all kinds of wild shit you wouldn’t believe. I collected all these jewels in Europe and hunted big game and had mad medals awarded to me during World War I from tons of European countries. And Nick is like...huh? And Gatsby is all like look here’s my medal from Montenegro and me and my bros playing cricket in Oxford, yada, yada, yada.”

  “I love you,” Cora says sincerely. “You are an angel and I would absolutely die for you. I am never going to read a book again.”

  “That is the exact opposite of what you should do,” I say, kicking her underneath the desk. “Please read a book.”

  “We’ll see,” Cora says, waving a nonchalant hand.

  I explain the rest of the chapter, and we decide on a talking point for our homework just before the bell rings. We stand up to head for lunch, which we have next, but as we head for the door, Miss Cannon says, “Karina, can you come here for a second?”

  I falter and look at my friends.

  “We’ll wait outside,” Nandini says, patting my arm. I smile gratefully and go over to Miss Cannon’s desk, which is overflowing with books and papers.

  Miss Cannon is my favorite teacher. She’s only a few years older than us and always has the most interesting lessons. When I told her I love to read everything from classics to young adult fiction, she offered me some of the best recommendations and then asked me if I’d be her assistant during after-school tutoring, which runs for an hour every day after ninth period.

  I hesitated at first, because I’m not good outside my social bubble of Nandini and Cora. But tutoring means helping someone one-on-one for a few minutes, and even for me, that’s manageable.

  Getting my parents’ permission was another problem, but Miss Cannon talked to them. Unsurprisingly, they demanded an in-person meeting before agreeing to let me stay after school from 3:00 to 4:00 p.m. every day.

  Of course, they have no qualms about me staying late for Pre-Med Society on Tuesdays, even though it means another hour at school, since clubs don’t start until after tutoring. I wish they were as lenient with everything else, but that’s asking too much. I rarely go to the meetings anyway. No one cares if you skip club activities unless you’re on the e-board. And I most certainly am not on the e-board for Pre-Med Society.

  As soon as I lean against one of the desks, Miss Cannon says, “Before you say no, hear me out.”

  “Yikes,” I say. “That doesn’t sound promising, Miss Cannon.”

  “I know, I know.” Miss Cannon sighs quietly, toying with a red dreadlock. “As you know, the English Regents are coming up.”

  I nod. Regents Exams are state-mandated exams we have to take every year as per New York law. This year, I have them for English, Physics, Italian, and US History.

  “A student in my class reached out for help,” Miss Cannon says. “We’ve worked together a little, but I think he’d benefit more from one of his fellow classmates’ perspectives. Would you consider privately tutoring him?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Me? I think you’re talking to the wrong person.”

  “No, I definitely chose the right person,” Miss Cannon says, smiling, before her expression shifts to serious again, her lips pursed. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but instead of helping me during after-school tutoring sessions, you could spend that time with him.”

  My mouth dries. “For five days a week?”

  Miss Cannon winces. “Yes, preferably, since it’ll be substituting the time you spend helping me here. It’s only for three months, and you’re my best student, Karina. I know you can do this.”

  I shake my head, my pulse hammering. “Miss Cannon, I don’t know if—”

  “If you do, you’ll be excused from having to do the poetry project,” Miss Cannon says, cutting me off. “I’ll count this as your grade instead.”

  I falter. The poetry project is worth twenty percent of our grade. She wants us to write ten original pieces following the specific parameters of different poetry formats—haikus, limericks, freestyle, and so on. We have to turn it in next month and choose one of the ten poems to present in front of the class.

  Even though I love poetry, I hate public speaking. More than that, I hate the thought of saying my deepest, most vulnerable thoughts aloud. Being free of that obligation just to tutor some random dude during the time I’d be helping Miss Cannon anyway? It might be worth it.

  But still...

  “Karina, your grades are consistently the highest in the class, and you’ve been a great help to the other students,” Miss Cannon says, squeezing my shoulder. “No one is more capable than you.”

  I know she’s trying to encourage me, but her words are making me more anxious. I don’t want to let Miss Cannon down, not when she believes in me this much.

  The idea of facing her disappointment twists my stomach.

  With painstaking reluctance, I say, “Okay.”

  Miss Cannon’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you so much, Karina.”

  “So...who’s the student?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets to hide the way my fingers are shaking.

  “He’s in this class,” she says, waving a hand toward the left side of the room. “Alistair.”

  An uneasy feeling spreads through me, like a heavy weight settling on my shoulders. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

  “Alistair?” I repeat. “Alistair Clyde? As in Ace Clyde?”

  Miss Cannon pauses. “Yes. Will that be a problem?”

  I almost laugh hysterically. The world is clearly plotting against me. “No. Of course not.”

  She eyes me, her brows rising as she scrutinizes my expression.

  Her face starts to fall, and my heart feels like it’s pushing against my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe. The smallest hint of disapproval always sets off my anxiety beyond words. It’s hard to believe I never realized this until a few months ago, because it’s so achingly obvious now.

  “Should I still come to your classroom after ninth period?” I ask, pushing forward. I can do this. I will do this.

  Miss Cannon is still staring at me, so I paste a smile on my face, swallowing past the uncomfortable lump in my throat.

  Slowly, she smiles back. “If you could go directly to the library, that’d be perfect. I’ll tell him to meet you there,” Miss Cannon says, handing over a folder. “I’ve already outlined a tutoring schedule, but feel free to deviate if you find a better way that works for both of you.”

  My smile strains. “Okay. Thank you, Miss Cannon.”

  After putting the folder away in my bag, I leave the room and see Nandini and Cora standing across the hall, speaking quietly.

  They both smile when they see me, but Cora’s face falls almost immediately. “Are you good? Are you in trouble?”

  “No,” I say, clutching the straps of my bag tighter. “Everything’s fine. Everything is...” I falter, unable to say more.

  Cora starts to move toward me, her features clouded in concern, but Nandini wraps a hand around her wrist.

  “Cora, give her some space,” Nandini says. A silent understanding passes between us, and I feel so grateful I could cry. “W
hat’s up, babe?”

  I shake my head and run for the closest bathroom. Inside, I enter a stall and slam the door shut, then force myself to take a deep breath, pushing the heels of my palms into my eyes. I just need a moment. A moment, and I’ll be okay again.

  I barely know Ace Clyde, but tutoring him sounds like my worst nightmare. He’s notorious for slacking off.

  The idea of letting Miss Cannon down causes my lungs to constrict painfully. How am I going to do this?

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

  Okay. I’m okay. I can face the world again without fear of bursting into tears.

  I lift my head and unlock the stall. Cora and Nandini are standing in the bathroom doorway, but they don’t say anything as I walk to the sink and splash my face.

  I look in the smudged mirror and have a vivid flashback to the night I asked my parents about hypothetically changing my major. My expression then was worse, tear-streaked and devastated. But the manic light in my eyes is still the same as then.

  I grappled with the concept of having anxiety for a while. It took me a lot of Google searches and conversations with Nandini and Cora, but I’ve slowly come to accept it. It’s part of me, and it always will be. I just have to remember my countdown, and everything will be fine.

  It’d be nice to get professional help, but that would require telling my parents. Maybe one day, when I’m in college and have more freedom, I can attend counseling. Until then, I have to make do with what I have.

  I force myself to take one final deep breath. I’m okay.

  “So?” Cora asks, shifting forward to stand in front of me. She holds out a pack of tissues. “What did Miss Cannon want?”

  I offer her a tight smile. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “She wants me to tutor Ace Clyde.”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  Another.

  Another.

  Another...

  ...And then Cora drops the tissues. “What?”