When the bell rings, I’m ready to drag Ace into a corner and chew him out. However, before I can say a word, he stands up and walks over to Miss Cannon.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but she looks so overjoyed that all my anger deflates. Fine. Whatever. Instead of bothering with Ace, I walk over to Nandini and Cora, who are sitting on the opposite side of the room, still packing their things.
“Boys are clowns,” I say under my breath, eyes darting to the front of the classroom where Ace is taking his leave.
People are still staring at me, and I really wish they would stop. Ace isn’t even in the vicinity anymore. But I know there’s nothing I can do to dissuade my classmates, short of yelling, which would only draw more attention to me.
As soon as Cora finishes shoving her things in her bag, she grabs my hand. “Forget lunch. Let’s find an empty hallway.” She pulls me toward the door without a second thought. “I baked cookies last night for the student council meeting today. They’re in my locker, and no one will notice if we eat some.”
“And when we’re done, we can try to figure out whether mercury is in retrograde, because Karina’s life is devolving into chaos,” Nandini suggests, following us. “Maybe some witches on TikTok hexed the moon again.”
I groan and let Cora drag me toward her locker. As we enter the staircase, I see Ace in the corner of my eye, leaning against the wall. He’s looking at me and, when he catches my eye, he winks.
Winks.
I contemplate flipping him off, but Cora drags me away before I have a chance.
11
T-MINUS 24 DAYS
I don’t even bother waiting for Ace to show up in the library. I have ninth period free when I don’t have gym, so I make my way to the chemistry wing, a scowl on my face. Cora had to ask a friend of a friend, but I eventually found out Ace’s locker is right near my old AP Chem classroom on the second floor.
Nandini and Cora screeched in my ear all through lunch. It was mostly confused screeching, but still screeching. Rumors have spread through the junior class quickly, and everyone in my grade keeps looking at me as if I’m some kind of alien who randomly landed my UFO on top of Midland High.
No matter how much I want to, I don’t say, What are you looking at?
Nandini does it for me a few times, though.
I was prepared to wait for Ace, but he’s already sitting there, earphones plugged in and head leaning against the wall. His eyes are closed, which is good, because I just stand there for a moment and stare at him.
I’ve been trying to figure out all afternoon why he sat next to me in English, and I haven’t come up with a single answer. Ace is supposed to be this broody bad-boy delinquent who doesn’t give anyone the time of day. He’s still kind of all of those things, but he’s also so much more. He’s ridiculous and mischievous and smiles more than I ever imagined he could. He’s also a pain in the ass.
The longer I stare at him, the more fired up I get. I run with that metaphor, imagining my nonconfrontational exterior melting off like a second skin, heated by the fire inside me and pooling at my feet in a disgusting puddle. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it works for me.
Finally, I walk over and wrench the earphones out of his ears with more gusto than I would with anyone else.
Ace immediately opens his eyes, his gaze flashing with irritation. “What the fuck—?” He cuts himself off when he sees me, and his eyes light up with recognition. “Ahmed.”
That one moment of animosity is more in tune to what I’ve heard about him than anything I’ve personally seen. But now he’s back to the Ace I know, his expression relaxed. It’s strange and perplexing.
“What were you doing today?” I ask, voice hushed. The hallway is void except for the two of us, but classes are still ongoing down the hall, and someone could step out at any moment to use the bathroom or water fountain.
Ace raises an eyebrow. “What was I doing today? Hm. I got up this morning and had some oatmeal. I drove to school. I had AP Physics, Gym, Russian, English—you were there, of course—lunch, AP Calculus—”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Clarify next time.” Ace grins and his dimples press into his cheeks, little indents that brighten his entire face. “Can you rephrase your question?”
“Oh my God,” I say, mostly to myself. I’m going to kill this boy. “Why did you sit next to me during English?”
Ace tilts his head. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats.”
“We don’t, but you can’t just—” I flail my hands, trying to make my point. Maybe I’m not cut out to be an English major after all, if I can’t manage eloquence in a moment like this. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Ace stands up. “Do you always have ninth free?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Answer mine and I’ll answers yours.”
I sigh. “I have ninth free on Mondays and Thursdays.”
Ace tugs his earphones back from me, wrapping them around his phone before fitting it all in his back pocket. “I have it free every day. We should meet earlier on those days.”
“Maybe I have things to do.”
Ace shrugs. “Never mind then. If you want to, you know where to find me.” He hitches a thumb toward where he was sitting.
Then he saunters toward the staircase, and I have no choice but to follow. “You didn’t answer my question, Ace.”
“I will, once we get to the library,” he says over his shoulder.
As I trail after him, some of the juniors in the stairway give me incredulous looks, and my cheeks burn. I’m glad my skin is dark enough that it can be written off.
Soon, we’re in the library and afforded a semblance of privacy. I take the lead once we’re inside, heading for a table in the back, where people are least likely to stare at us.
“Explain,” I say as I sit down.
Ace takes all the time in the world settling into his seat, even though he doesn’t have a bag to situate. He slowly shrugs off his leather jacket, revealing yet another fancy designer sweater underneath it, and I give him an irate look.
Once he’s finally done, he waves a hand toward my expression. “That’s why.”
“What?”
“How annoyed with me are you right now?”
I snort. “On a scale of one to ten? Fifty.”
“Exactly.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ace leans forward across the table, his gaze dark and hypnotic. “There’s a spark in you, Karina Ahmed.”
“A...spark?” I shake my head. Maybe Ace is high. Maybe he’s been high all day. That would explain a lot, actually.
“A spark,” he repeats. When he reaches for me this time, I don’t shy away. He waits a beat, staring at me, but when I still don’t move—I don’t think I can—he slowly takes my hand, his fingers running down my palm lines. “I want to light a match and send you up in flames. You’re a forest fire waiting to happen.”
A fire. Is it possible Ace read my thoughts earlier?
“That was almost poetic,” I say, even though my heart is beating irregularly now. I’m glad he doesn’t have his fingers pressed against my wrist, where my pulse is jumping. The way he’s looking at me through hooded lids is dangerous, his voice measured and careful like he’s spent a lot of time thinking about this.
“I want to know what makes you come alive,” he says, leaning even closer but he’s grinning now. The brush of his skin against mine feels like a slow burn, lighting me up from the inside. “What are you passionate about?”
“You sound ridiculous,” I say and attempt to turn the conversation back around, hoping it’ll help me stop feeling like a stranger in my own skin. “What are you passionate about?”
Ace’s gaze travels across the planes of my face before he leans back. “I’
ll show you.”
He pulls his phone out from his pocket again and unwraps the earphones. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he offers one to me.
“If it’s a jump scare, I’m going to kill you,” I say. I don’t seem to have much restraint left in terms of speaking to him like I would Nandini and Cora. He’s wormed his way under my skin faster than anyone I’ve ever met before.
He waits until I put it in my ear before he presses play on his phone. Lilting piano music begins to play, as hypnotic as Ace’s gaze.
Unable to look at him any longer, I close my eyes and listen, waiting for the words to come.
But they never do. Instead, the music builds into something deeper and more intense. The sounds overlap, multiple melodies weaving together to create something beautiful and moving.
I blink my eyes open and find Ace staring at me, waiting for my response.
“You love music,” I say breathlessly. “Classical music.”
His lips are pulling up again, and this time his smile is warm. His eyes shift from the roaring sea into a calm and gentle river. “I like any kind of music, really. It doesn’t have to be classical, but I do have a soft spot for instrumental music. The Cinematic Orchestra, Sleeping at Last, Lindsey Stirling, artists like that.” He pauses. “I... I like to play the piano.”
I blink. That’s not something I would have ever predicted. “The piano?”
He nods, his gaze distant. “I’ve been playing since I was a kid. It feels like home for me, I guess.”
“Wow.” I blow out a breath. “I had no idea music meant so much to you.”
“Maybe I would’ve told you, if you wanted to do anything besides study for more than two seconds,” he points out, tugging the earphone away from me.
I bite my lip, chagrined. Perhaps I’ve been approaching this studying situation wrong. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, before lifting his chin at me. “What about you, Ahmed? What are you passionate about?”
“Literature,” I say. He makes a face like he doesn’t believe me, and I hurry to add, “Writing is what helped me gain confidence in myself. There’s something really special about being able to express yourself with words. I love stories and I love poems and I love learning more and more with each word. I think it’s amazing.” My words run together in a nervous jumble, but it seems to be enough.
Ace’s disbelieving expression melts off his face. “I’m sorry, too, then.”
“Don’t be,” I say in return, giving him a half smile. The dead butterflies in my stomach are apparently practicing necromancy, because they’re fluttering around now instead of weighing me down. “Maybe we can meet in the middle. I really do want to help you.”
“Yeah,” he says, considering the books in front of us. They’re not ours, but a copy of The Great Gatsby is sitting at the top. “Maybe we can.”
Our studying session that day is much more productive than I could ever have anticipated. I run through some analyses about The Scarlet Letter, and Ace listens attentively.
Every now and then, his gaze flickers across the room, but his eyes always eventually return to me.
Finally, I ask, “Are you looking for someone?”
He startles, as if he wasn’t expecting me to bring attention to it. “Oh. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, lowering his gaze. “Not really. I was looking for my brother. You said you saw him in here yesterday.”
I furrow my brows. “Do you need to talk to him?”
“No.” Ace’s mouth curls with distaste. After a moment, he sighs. “I don’t want him to know I’m being tutored. I’ll never hear the end of it if he finds out.”
I tilt my head, considering his expression. “Are you...embarrassed? It’s okay to ask for help, you know.”
“No, I’m not embarrassed,” he says immediately. “My brother’s just an asshole sometimes. It’s better if he doesn’t know.”
It’s clear from the tight set of his shoulders that there’s more he isn’t saying, but I decide to let it go. “Should we head to Pietra’s then?”
Ace looks up and a breathtaking smile breaks across his face. “Really?”
I roll my eyes and tug his wrist. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I pack up my things, and we head to the sweet shop. I get chocolate chip ice cream this time and when Ace says we should take a short break, I tentatively agree.
“So when do your parents get back?” Ace asks. “They’re out of the country, right?”
The question feels personal, even though it’s hardly revealing of anything. I think the best way to help Ace might be to be his friend, so I decide to answer instead of deflecting.
“Yeah,” I say, toying with my spoon. “They’re visiting family in Bangladesh. They come back April 1st.”
“That’s almost a whole month away,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you going to do with your newfound freedom? Attend parties every night? Go to a rave? Rob a library?”
He’s teasing me. I know he’s teasing me, but it hits home that I would never even attempt any of those things, because even when they’re gone, my parents are still with me.
I sigh more deeply than I intend. “Probably not.”
“You should do something fun,” Ace says, poking me with the end of his plastic spoon. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance.”
“Ace, let’s not do this,” I say, suddenly tired. There are certain things I will never be able to do, and I’m not in the mood to explain our cultural differences to him. The last thing I need is for a white boy to try to fix any of my problems. There’s nothing he can do—and there’s nothing I want him to do. “This isn’t... Let’s get back to studying.”
Ace stares at me for a long beat of silence. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” he says quietly. “Teach away, Ahmed.”
My lips curve upward, and the tension in him eases, a smile flitting past his own lips.
By the end of our session, I feel like we’re genuinely making progress. Ace actually asks me a question about The Scarlet Letter, which is a huge victory.
I leave the shop with a hopeful light in my heart. Maybe this studying thing will go smoothly, after all.
12
T-MINUS 23 DAYS
As soon as I walk into the cafeteria Friday morning, my friends pounce. I yelp in alarm, trying to slip out from between them. “What is wrong with you?”
“Tell us everything,” Cora says, clutching my arm. There’s a wild look in her eye that is all-too-familiar and frightening. When Nandini had a boyfriend sophomore year, this was the same behavior Cora exhibited. It’s extremely alarming that she’s acting the same way right now.
“There’s nothing to tell!” I look at Nandini pleadingly, but she shakes her head. “I told you everything last night.”
“All you said was—” Cora pauses to pull out her phone. I glower at her for keeping receipts. “‘Nvm, everything’s fine. Ace is just being a weirdo.’ What does that mean, Karina? Define weirdo.”
“I mean he’s a weirdo,” I say, slipping out from underneath their arms. “He says he sees a spark in me or whatever.”
“Karina Myra Ahmed, what did you just say?”
I wince. I shouldn’t have dropped that casually into a sentence. “Nothing. I said nothing.”
Cora looks at Nandini incredulously. “Do you hear her? I’m going to kill her. I really am. Will you bail me out?”
“Absolutely,” Nandini says, holding her pinky up. Cora hooks their pinkies together and they shake on it.
I roll my eyes. “Good. Please do. At least then I won’t have to become a doctor.”
“You can’t just say things like that and then pretend it never happened,” Cora says, linking her arm with mine. Nandini does the same on my other side and we exit the cafeteria together, heading for Nandini’s locker since it’s the
closest. “What do you mean he sees a spark in you? What did he actually say?”
I sigh and relay the conversation in a hushed tone as we settle in front of Nandini’s locker. By the end, they’re both staring at me wide-eyed.
“What?” I ask self-consciously.
“I’m not even going to say it,” Cora says, turning away and pressing her face against the side of a locker. “You’re not going to hear a peep from me.”
I squint at her, trying to make sense of those words or catch a glimpse of her expression behind her blond hair, to no avail.
“What is she talking about?” I ask Nandini.
“You’ll see, dude,” Nandini says, patting my head. “You’ll see.”
It really doesn’t get any more cryptic than that. I sigh again and resign myself to the fact that my friends are chaotic neutrals.
* * *
Ace sits next to me in English again. This time, I don’t do anything aside from pointedly slide him a piece of paper and a pencil. “Bring your book bag next time.”
“You’re no fun.” Ace takes the paper and pencil, but not before he pokes me in the side using the eraser. “Also I need to talk to you after class.”
I give him a sidelong look. “About what?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he says, turning his gaze on the whiteboard. Now he wants to pay attention?
The urge to grumble is hard to resist, but I make it through class without a single muttered insult. I consider patting myself on the back for that. I deserve it.
When Nandini and Cora wait for me expectantly at the door, I wave them off. Nandini raises her eyebrows, her gaze flickering toward Ace before she nods.
Cora says, “What—” but doesn’t get to finish her sentence before Nandini pulls her into the hallway.
I turn to Ace. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I can’t make it to the study session today,” he says, his voice quiet. “I have a family thing.”
I blink. “A family thing.”
“My dad insists on having family dinners every Friday,” Ace says, shrugging. “He usually leaves for business trips afterward, so we eat pretty early.” He looks uncomfortable again, like when we spoke about Xander. It piques my curiosity, but not enough to pry.
Counting Down with You Page 7
