Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  Ace hums and pops his lollipop back into his mouth. I avert my gaze, looking down at the Italian project.

  “Karina, I found the—” Nandini says and falters, staring at me and then Ace with wide eyes. “Oh. Hi.”

  Ace leans back in his seat and salutes her with two fingers.

  Nandini gives me a wide-eyed look. “Are you two...studying?”

  I shake my head, opening my mouth to express my own confusion, when Ace places his hand on top of my homework, his rings clacking against the table. “Yes, we are.”

  “We are?” I repeat.

  If he’s actually here to study, one would think he’d show a little more effort than manspreading in a chair while sucking on candy.

  Cora comes around the corner then, carrying a stack of textbooks. “I think we can divide the work by—” Her mouth snaps shut. Nandini reaches out and steadies the tower of books before they can fall over. “What’s going on?”

  I grimace, knowing Cora is about to have a field day. I turn back to Ace, smoothing my expression out before he can read my irritation. “You actually want to study?”

  Ace meets my gaze evenly. “Why else would I be here?”

  “Right.” I look at Cora and Nandini, hoping it’s clear from my expression I am begging them not to leave me alone with this dude.

  Cora grins brightly. “You know what? I just remembered my mom wants me home early for dinner. She’s making sesame chicken today.”

  Nandini stifles a giggle. “You should definitely head out then.” She takes a step back, wiggling her fingers in farewell. “I also just remembered I have to work on my Comic-Con costume.”

  I gape at them. I know Nandini saved up to buy tickets to San Diego Comic-Con, but that’s in July. It’s March. And last I heard, Cora’s mom is out of town for some kind of financial conference.

  “Wait, but what about—”

  “No, it’s fine, Karina!” Cora says cheerfully, already moving to the table to start packing up her things. “We wouldn’t want to distract you guys.”

  Nandini nods, shoving her notebook into her Captain America tote bag. “Yeah. We’ll see you during first period tomorrow.”

  Before I can protest anymore, they both press a kiss to the top of my head and disappear behind the tall shelves, laughing among themselves.

  Wow. My friends are the worst.

  I painstakingly look back at Ace. He’s watching me with arched brows, his lollipop spinning between his fingers. I sigh, pushing away my resentment for the time being.

  He’s still a dickhead for not showing up yesterday, and he’s an even bigger dickhead for showing up today without an apology.

  But fine.

  If he wants to study, we’ll study. I’m not going to hold a grudge over the study guide. He is here, after all. I don’t have to let Miss Cannon down.

  I take out the rumpled study guide and place it on the table between us. Something flashes across his face—regret, maybe?—but it passes too quickly for me to decipher.

  I purse my lips. “I thought we could start with the texts we’re learning in class, and closer to the Regents we could focus on individual parts of the exam. Is that okay with you?”

  “Whatever you think works best,” he says, reaching for the study guide. He flips through it idly, but as his eyes flicker over the text, his eyebrows rise. I wince, remembering my irritation when I was making it.

  “Ignore that,” I say, reaching over to take it back. He lets me without protest but as he reclines, he watches me with a different look in his eye. He bites his lollipop, and I hear the sharp crunch of candy.

  I tuck the study guide into my binder. Ace keeps watching me as he sets the leftover stick on the table. Even though it’s so unhygienic, I restrain my urge to throw the stick away. I don’t know if Ace would still be here when I got back.

  “Okay, do you want to start with The Great Gatsby, The Merchant of Venice, or The Scarlet Letter?”

  “Never heard of any of those,” he says, reaching forward to steal my pencil.

  I stare at him, wondering if he’s being serious. There’s no way he doesn’t know those titles. I have to believe he’s joking for my own sanity.

  “I’ll choose then,” I say, moving along. “Let’s start with The Scarlet Letter.”

  Ace gestures for me to go ahead with a flick of his fingers. He hasn’t stopped staring at me, and his intense gaze is making me increasingly restless.

  “Okay,” I murmur, taking The Scarlet Letter from my bag and flipping it open. “I thought we could begin with chapter analyses. Since we already read this book in the fall, we’re familiar with the themes and underlying messages, which means we can be more analytical with foresight. Why don’t you tell me your overall thoughts on the book so we can figure out which angle we want to tackle first?”

  Ace furrows his thick eyebrows. “What angle do you want to tackle first? I’ve seriously never read it. I only know it by name.”

  I clench my hands but somehow withhold a sigh.

  “Okay. Well, I prefer looking at Hester’s character in a feminist light and how, despite feminism not existing within the time period this was written, Hawthorne wrote her as being resilient, rebellious, and free to think in ways that stood apart from the rest of society,” I say, pointing to the book. My words are rushing into each other, as I actively try not to ramble. “I know some people think Hester’s choice to continue wearing the A at the end of the book is her conforming to misogynistic ideals, but I think by choosing to wear it instead of being forced to wear it, she’s claiming back her agency.”

  Ace leans forward, and his combat boots knock into my worn-in Converse. His eyes are too pretty and too disconcerting. “You like English.”

  I stare at him blankly, mostly because my expression is threatening to twist with incredulity. What is he talking about? Why would I be here if I didn’t enjoy English? I sure as hell wouldn’t be a math tutor. “Yes.”

  “How strange,” he murmurs, flipping my pencil between his fingers. His mouth pulls up a little higher in the corner, but it’s still not a smile. “Do you enjoy anything else, Ahmed?”

  On the tip of my tongue is: when people actually listen to me. I’d sooner die than actually say it.

  Instead I set my shoulders and say, “Listen, Ace. I don’t want to waste your time or mine. If you don’t want to study, tell Miss Cannon. I’m sure she can figure something else out.”

  And then it won’t be my fault.

  “I didn’t say this was a waste of time,” Ace says. “I’m simply curious about my illustrious tutor.”

  “I promise the book is much more interesting than me,” I say. “Come on, just read the first few chapters. They’re only ten pages each.”

  Ace taps my pencil against his bottom lip in consideration. “Okay.” He holds his hand out for the book, and I pass it over easily.

  He starts to read, and I take the opportunity to write some discussion questions. After thinking of two, I look up to see how much progress he’s made and find him staring at me again.

  “What?” I look down at my outfit, another crop top paired with ripped jeans, and wonder if my mom was right to warn me off them. “Is something wrong?”

  “This is boring, Ahmed,” he says, drawing my attention back to him.

  “English isn’t boring,” I say, exasperated. “The Scarlet Letter is one of the better books in our curriculum.”

  Ace shakes his head. “I think we need to liven it up.”

  I pause. What does that mean? “What are you thinking?”

  “There’s a sweet shop down the block,” Ace says. The look on his face is challenging, which is unfortunate. I generally like to go with the flow, and Ace seems like the person who determines the flow. “Let’s study there instead.”

  “I don’t know,” I say and my voice wavers. �
�I have Pre-Med Society at 4:00.”

  I’m not actually going to go, but that’s none of his business.

  “Just this one time,” Ace says. His gaze is almost titillating. “It’ll help me focus, and I’ll pay for whatever you want.”

  In my head I hear Cora yell, OH MY GOD, HE’S ASKING YOU OUT ON A DATE! even though I’m almost positive this is just his attempt to get out of studying.

  Speaking of Cora...

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I say. Without waiting for his response, I stand and head for the exit.

  I stop in the hallway and take out my phone. There’s an unanswered text from my mom, and I click on it first. She must be jet-lagged if she’s sending messages at this ungodly hour.

  Myra, call us when you get home. Your Nanu and Nana want to say hi.

  I grimace. That conversation is going to be...fun.

  Okay, I text back and move on, shifting to the NCK group chat.

  Me:

  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LEFT ME ALONE?? now ace wants to go study in some bakery and it’s ALL YOUR FAULT

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  HE ACTUALLY SHOWED UP BITCH WHAT WERE WE GONNA DO??? STAY THERE??? in this house we do NOT cockblock our friends

  Nandini Kaur:

  back up a sec did you say BAKERY... ARE YOU JOKING WTF

  Me:

  NO I’M SERIOUS PLS HELP ME INSTEAD OF YELLING

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  oh my god oh my god oh mY GOD KARINA

  Me:

  H E L P

  Nandini Kaur:

  SAY YES GIRLIE WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR OMG

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  OK BUT THIS IS BASICALLY A DATE GO SAY YES OMG GO GO GO

  Nandini Kaur:

  YEAH STOP TEXTING US AND GO GET UR MANS???

  Me:

  he is NOT my mans!!!!!!!!!

  I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and lean my head against the wall. That was absolutely no help at all.

  With a sigh, I dial my home phone number. After two rings, my grandma picks up. “As-salaam alaikum!”

  “Wa-alaikum salaam,” I say. “Dadu, I might be a little later than usual today. Is that okay, or do you need me to come home?”

  “Oh, Myra!” my grandma says happily. “I’m glad you called. What do you want to eat tonight? Vegetable pulao or khichuri?”

  “Khichuri,” I say before reining the conversation back in. “Dadu, did you hear what I said? Can I stay late, or do you need me to come home? Do you need help cooking?”

  “No, no, Myra,” my grandma says. “Focus on your education. You have your club today, yes? Don’t worry about me. I’ll make dinner and have it ready for you when you come home. Stay safe.”

  “Okay, Dadu. Love you.”

  “Love you,” she says. “Khoda hafiz!” Goodbye.

  “Khoda hafiz,” I say, before slumping against the wall, staring down at my phone. Part of me was seriously hoping she’d say no. My parents definitely would’ve, and it’d be a good excuse to give Ace.

  Now? I’m out of options. I’ve cornered myself.

  With a sigh, I head back into the library to tell Ace we can go to the sweet shop.

  7

  T-MINUS 26 DAYS

  Pietra’s Sweet Tooth is a little shop across the street, tucked between two larger brand stores. When we walk in, I’m taken aback by how warm and inviting it is. The walls are painted a pretty shade of baby pink and cute little plush cupcakes hang from the ceilings. There’s a corner with board games and books on display, and the booths are filled with fluffy pastel throw pillows.

  The menu showcases a wide selection of desserts, from ice cream to cake to doughnuts. A wonderful aroma wafts through the air, making my mouth water.

  The counter has seats hanging from the ceiling like swings, and all the employees wear adorable animal ears. The girl behind the register is wearing bunny ears, and she smiles brightly when we make eye contact.

  I smile back even though I feel like I’m having some kind of strange out-of-body experience.

  “Hi! Welcome to Pietra’s Sweet Tooth,” she says before noticing Ace behind me and grinning even brighter. “Hi Ace. Your usual?”

  He’s here often enough to have a usual? I’ve never even heard of this place.

  “Yes, please,” he says, before nudging me. I jump at the contact, and a hint of a smile flashes across his face. “The strawberry sorbet is amazing.”

  “I don’t like strawberries,” I say, although it’s not true. Still, I feel weird taking Ace’s suggestions. I barely know him, and this entire situation is ridiculous. To the girl, I say, “Can I have a slice of cheesecake?”

  “Of course,” she says. “That’ll be eight dollars.”

  Before I can open my mouth to ask why the hell a slice of cheesecake costs eight dollars, Ace slips in front of me, gently pushing me behind him. “I’ve got it.”

  Right. Ace Clyde is paying for my food. I’m clearly living in some kind of alternate universe. “Thanks,” I say out of obligation.

  “Grab a seat, Ahmed. I’ll bring the food,” Ace says, waving at the booths.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I mutter. He shoots me an amused look, and my cheeks warm. I head for the booth near the book display, wondering why I said that. I glance at my phone and see thirty-five unopened texts from the NCK group chat, which comforts me a little. At least some things will always be the same.

  Sitting down, I take out our study materials and spread them across the table. I’m going to make sure we get at least some work done.

  When Ace comes back, he’s holding a platter with a large slice of cheesecake, a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and two milkshakes. He sets it down and offers me a drink. “It’s vanilla.”

  Do I even want to know how much this cost him? Probably not.

  “Thanks,” I say again. “Are you ready to start studying?”

  “Give me a moment,” he says, sipping his chocolate milkshake. “I have to acclimate.”

  “That’s a big word for someone who needs to be tutored in English,” I say before biting my tongue, eyes wide at myself. Ace isn’t Nandini or Cora. I can’t just say whatever I want to him. I’m losing my mind.

  “I have my moments,” Ace says. Thankfully, if his calm expression is anything to go by, he seems unbothered. It’s so weird, because I’ve heard the most horrible things about him.

  It all began last year. Rumors started spreading that Ace tried to sabotage Xander’s presidential campaign—rumors that back Cora’s insistence that Ace is the superior Clyde brother—although no one has ever provided proof.

  Before those rumors, Ace could be found hanging around the same social circles as Xander. Everyone knows that with beauty and wealth comes popularity. But even back then, it was pretty obvious he preferred to be on his own.

  Aside from that, he’s been seen in detention on numerous occasions for reasons unknown. People have taken to creating ludicrous excuses—he fistfought a teacher, he blew up a chem lab, he broke into the principal’s office, he graffitied the boys’ locker room.

  I don’t buy into any of it and I don’t really care, either. But I do know that he has a certain kind of intimidating aura that makes it hard to stare at him for too long, much less hold a conversation. On occasion, I’ve seen people stop by his lunch table and speak to him briefly—maybe his old friends? But they’ve never stayed long enough to still be considered that.

  Most people can barely say Hi! to him in the hallways without being met with a glare. I, however, can insult him and receive nothing but apathy in return. I wish I understood anything about what was happening right now.

  My confusion grows when Ace says, “So what’s your deal, Karina Ahmed?”

  “My deal?” I repeat. “What do you mean?”

  “I
mean who are you? Obviously, you’re the best student in our English class, but that’s all I know about you.”

  I don’t know how, but Cora is responsible for this entire situation. I know in my heart I’m here because of her. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

  “We have three months to study,” he says, waving off my concern. His rings glint in the sunlight streaming through the shop’s wide-paneled windows.

  Without meaning to, I admire his hands; how long his fingers are, the slope of his knuckles, the rings on his middle and pinky finger—and a hint of something dark on his wrist that I can’t quite see past the sleeve of his leather jacket.

  I realize he’s waiting for an answer and look back at my notes. “You also have three months to get to know me, so let’s do that another day. We should spend as much time studying as possible. I want you to do well on the Regents.”

  Ace presses his lips together before nodding. He reaches for his ice cream and says, “I’m listening.”

  Surprisingly, he does.

  I outline the first chapters of The Scarlet Letter, because it’s clear he’s not going to read it. Not today, at least. Maybe in a week or two, once I’ve shown him English doesn’t have to be boring. I manage to keep my cool the entire time, which is nothing short of a miracle.

  I lay out the themes and write down discussion questions for our study session tomorrow. Ace doesn’t interrupt me, but he also never contributes, so I’m not sure who’s winning our little tug-of-war. I would say it’s me, because my grade doesn’t hinge on this, but I also just lost an hour of my life, so...yeah.

  As I explain, I pause to eat. The cheesecake is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had, and I kind of understand why it’s eight dollars. I think Ace can tell, because there’s a hint of mirth in his eyes—which now look more green than blue, but are still somehow a mix of the two—when he sees me take my last bite.

  “Would you like another slice?” he asks, and I get the distinct feeling he’s making fun of me.

  “I’m fine,” I say and glance at my phone for the time. I nearly have a heart attack when I see 5:30 p.m. “Oh shit,” I say and start shoving my things in my bag, not bothering to put my papers back into their assorted folders. “I have to go.”