Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  “He likes you,” Ace says, smiling as he lets go of my hand and leans against the wall. “He’s a good judge of character.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say. God, I’m getting way too comfortable being around him.

  Ace raises his hands above his head. “I can’t even give you a compliment?”

  “No.” I pet Spade once more, feeling warm inside, before pulling away. Ace was right. He is gentle. “Now let’s get to work. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  “If we can’t take a break to pet dogs, Ahmed, then what do we have left?”

  “Your dramatics, apparently.”

  Ace reaches out and flicks my nose. I allow it, more out of shock than anything else. I’ve initiated more physical contact between us than he has at this point, but it’s strange that we’ve somehow gained this level of familiarity in such a short time. Ace clearly thinks nothing of it, because he turns around and starts walking again. I follow him, and Spade happily trots along at my side.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” Ace says, pushing open the door at the end of the hall.

  I step inside and stop in my tracks, gazing around in wide-eyed wonder. The room is large, with high ceilings and copious amounts of free space. Solar systems are painted all along the walls, with small planets hanging on thin wires from built-in ceiling spotlights. A telescope sits by his dresser, and near his window is a sleek black grand piano covered in sheet music.

  “You really do play,” I say, glancing at one of the pages, unintelligible scribbles written in the margins.

  He nods, his fingers ghosting over the keys. “Yeah, my mom taught me when I was four,” he says, his gaze far away. “I used to practice in the living room, but since I usually play for three hours a day, it kind of...disrupts the peace. After my stepmother and Mia moved in, it was just easier to keep the piano in my room.”

  “Wait. Three hours a day?” I repeat, looking at him in surprise. “Are you any good?”

  “I hope so,” he says, offering me a mild smile. “My instructor says I’m not his worst student, for whatever that counts. Don’t think I’d fly out for international competitions otherwise.”

  I blink. “International? Where have you been?”

  Ace plays a single note, eyes drifting up to meet mine. “London, Paris, Tokyo. The works. My last competition was in Vienna. After our sets, me and one of the other competitors—Ben—snuck out midway through the competition and went for ice cream instead. You should have seen the look on his girlfriend’s face when she realized he didn’t bring her any back. I seriously thought she was about to dump him and book the next train to Slovakia just to get away from him.”

  I snort at the mental image. “Sounds fun.”

  “It was,” Ace says, his smile stretching wide across his face. “You would like Vienna.”

  My brows raise of their own accord. “Would I?”

  He nods, fingers skating along the keys one last time before he moves away from the piano. I almost want to ask him to play me something, but it feels too intrusive. I wouldn’t want him to ask about my poetry.

  the moon falls from the sky

  and a boy rises from the ruins

  carved by celestial dust

  My gaze catches on the telescope again and I gesture vaguely. “And...what about this? Are you into space, too?”

  He shrugs a shoulder, sitting down on his bed. “Somewhat.”

  “What do you mean, ‘somewhat’?” Then I realize something far more important. “Oh my God, you like space and your name is Ace. Space. Ace. This is incredible.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before from Mia,” Ace says, rolling his eyes. “Rest assured, if there’s a space pun with my name involved, I’ve been a victim of it.”

  “Can you blame her?” I ask, reaching up to touch one of the low hanging planets. I’m still in awe of how beautiful it is. My moonlight metaphor grows more powerful by the minute. “All of this is so cool. Are you actually into astronomy or do you just like the aesthetic?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You think I have a telescope for the aesthetic?”

  “You’re rich,” I say. “I definitely think it’s within the realm of possibility that you would buy a telescope for the aesthetic.”

  Ace contemplates that and concedes to my statement with a shrug. “Fair enough. It’s not, though. I genuinely enjoy astronomy.”

  I pause where I’m examining a scattering of stars on his wall and look back at him curiously. “Okay, no offense, but...are you actually smart? Have you been holding out on me? Everyone talks about you like you’re failing all your classes.”

  Ace startles into a laugh. “Are you asking if I’m stupid, Ahmed?”

  My cheeks warm. “I—that’s not...sorry?”

  He keeps laughing, his eyes crinkling. “Jesus Christ. You’re bold.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” I say, flustered. I’m starting to think I might be the stupid one. Who even asks something like that? I’ve lost my mind.

  “You didn’t,” Ace says, his laughter settling into a wide grin. “I’m not stupid, contrary to popular belief. I have As in most of my classes. I just don’t care about most of them.”

  I squint. “How can you not care about your classes?”

  “They’re just not interesting.” He gestures to the room around us. “But space is cool.”

  I don’t say it, but I can’t help but think that’s such a privileged way to approach academics. I can’t imagine doing the same. Despite hating math and science, I still put in a lot of effort to retain the GPA my parents expect to see.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have to care,” I say quietly before gesturing to his desk. “Should we start studying?”

  Ace’s expression falls. “Did I say—”

  Before he can finish his sentence, the door opens, and Xander Clyde sticks his head inside.

  I bite my tongue in surprise. I should have expected to see him again sooner rather than later, but I also thought Ace’s room would afford us privacy. Apparently not.

  His hair is a little more rumpled now, and the top button of his shirt is loose, but he still looks intimidating. I try not to cower when his gaze lands on me.

  “Alistair, Mia said you had a guest,” Xander says, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “I came over to introduce myself.”

  “Knock next time, Alexander,” Ace says, his tone dark. “My guest knows who you are. There’s no need for introductions.”

  “Ah, but I don’t know your guest,” Xander says, giving me a charming grin. He doesn’t have dimples, so it’s not quite as effective as his brother’s. “I’m Xander. It’s nice to see you again.”

  Ace’s eyes narrow with the mention of again, but I ignore him.

  Instead, I nod my head politely, even though I kind of want to disappear. I don’t want to be on the student body president’s radar. I should barely be on Ace’s radar. “I’m Karina. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  “How do you and Ace know each other?” Xander asks, leaning against Ace’s doorway. “He’s never mentioned you before.”

  I open my mouth to reply but suddenly Ace is standing up, blocking the view of his brother. “Get out.”

  His brother widens his eyes, but it looks too practiced. Xander Clyde is definitely a politician in the making. I guess Cora will have competition in the 2040 election, too. “What did I do, Alistair?”

  “I said get out,” Ace says, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “No one wants you here.”

  “Calm down, Alistair,” Xander says dismissively. “I would hate to tell Dad you lost your temper.”

  Ace’s expression grows infinitely darker. “Get the fuck out.”

  Without another word, Ace shuts his door and Xander jumps out of the way to avoid being hit in the face.

  I blink, stunned. That was
a little more Clyde family drama than I ever intended to witness. “Are you okay?”

  Ace flinches and looks at me in surprise. I think he might have forgotten I was here.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head, running his fingers through his messy hair. “My brother is just...a lot.” He pauses, looking up at me. “You two have met?”

  I shake my head. “Barely. He saw me waiting by your car earlier.”

  Ace takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did. Wow.”

  A million questions rise to the tip of my tongue, but the look on Ace’s face is enough to keep my lips closed. At least, in terms of invasive questions. I still say, “So...studying?”

  Ace gives me an incredulous look before laughing breathlessly, the tension slipping out of him. “Yeah, Ahmed. Studying.”

  * * *

  I lose track of time as we make our way through my notes.

  It only hits me how late it is when someone knocks on the door. “Ace, may I come in?”

  “Yeah,” Ace says distractedly, his gaze focused on a list of study questions I slid his way. “Sure, Tina.”

  A beautiful dark-skinned woman who can only be Ace’s stepmother pokes her head in the room.

  “Hi,” she greets, addressing me. I falter where I was writing something down. “I was just wondering, Ace, if your friend would—”

  Ace immediately looks up, eyes wide, and shoves our notes underneath his comforter. I make a face, thinking of all the crinkles we’re going to have to straighten out, but I don’t say anything with his stepmother in the room.

  I catch a glimpse of Ace’s expression, which is a strange mixture of panic and warmth. His voice is strained when he says, “Sorry, Tina. What was that?”

  Is he okay? Why does he look like he stubbed his toe and he’s happy about it?

  “Dinner is in five minutes. I was wondering if your friend would like to stay?” she asks. “We can set an extra plate.”

  I inhale sharply. I’m pretty sure my oxygen went down the wrong pipe. I look at Ace for help, but he has a passive expression on his face. “I—er—really should get going.” I motion hopelessly toward the windows, but Ace’s stepmother is too busy looking at Ace.

  I have absolutely no idea what she reads on his face, but her expression lights up. “Nonsense. I’ll call your parents if I need to. You’re having dinner with us. I’m glad that’s settled.”

  I don’t even have a chance to refuse again before she walks out. I open and close my mouth twice before looking at Ace. “I really shouldn’t—”

  “She’s not going to let you leave,” he says. Instead of an apologetic smile, he’s grinning cheerfully. There’s something seriously wrong with him. “Might as well accept your fate. I’ll do my best to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

  I don’t believe him. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Consider it a practice in trust,” Ace says, before holding out his hand. “Come on.”

  I ignore his hand but climb off his bed with a sigh. I had a pillow between us for separation but, when he stands, we’re entirely too close. It makes our height difference extremely apparent, since the top of my head barely comes up to his chin.

  His shoulder grazes mine, and I take a step back, hoping my blush isn’t visible on my cheeks. “Let’s go.”

  15

  T-MINUS 23 DAYS

  I don’t know how it slipped my mind that dinner at the Clyde residence means dinner with everyone. That includes multimillionaire businessman Albert Clyde, who’s sitting at the end of a small table.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper and attempt to make a getaway. I have nothing against the man, but the same way that I don’t want to be on Ace’s or Xander’s radar, I definitely don’t want to be on Albert Clyde’s radar. I don’t make it far, because Ace’s hand on my wrist immediately pulls me back.

  “Relax,” Ace says in a quiet voice. “He’s not going to bite.” A pause. “Or, well, he won’t bite you, at least.”

  “Alistair, stop whispering in the doorway and join us at the table,” Ace’s father says. “And introduce your guest.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

  “This is Karina Ahmed,” Ace says, gesturing to me with a wave of his hand. “Karina, this is my family.”

  I smile weakly. “Hello.”

  Ace hesitates, and I don’t understand why until he points to the seat next to Mia. “You can sit there.”

  Which means Ace has to sit next to Xander, since there are only six seats at the table.

  Usually, I would refuse because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Ace doesn’t like his brother. However, I also don’t want to sit next to Xander, and I definitely don’t want to cause a scene, so I quietly take my seat across from Ace.

  “Shall we say grace?”

  Ya Allah, I’m in a sitcom. I’m the Muslim girl sitting at a table with a typical all-American family about to say grace. Well, Mia and her mother are Black so at least there’s some solidarity, but this is still incredibly awkward.

  “Dear God,” Ace’s father starts, and I bow my head in accordance, wanting to be respectful of their religion, even if this is one of the strangest situations I’ve ever been in. The few times I’ve been to Cora’s house, her family has never done this even though they’re Christian, too. My family doesn’t even sit down together for meals.

  We eat on a strange schedule, where lunch is whenever you come home and dinner is an hour before you sleep. Since the timing differs for all of us, we rarely have meals together unless we’re hosting guests of some sort.

  This family dinner laid out in front of me is very much uncharted territory.

  “Thank you for your graciousness,” Ace’s father says. “Thank you for the roof over our head and the food on our table. Thank you for the meal we are about to enjoy, made by Tina’s wonderful hands. Thank you for Alexander’s acceptance into Yale University with a full scholarship. Thank you for allowing Cosmia to win first place in Midland High School’s talent show. Thank you for not landing Alistair in detention this week so he’s able to attend our family dinner.”

  I wince. Not landing Alistair in detention this week? Who says that during grace?

  Albert says some more things and finishes with, “Amen.”

  The rest of the family echoes, “Amen,” and I stay silent, busy looking at Ace now that all our heads aren’t bowed.

  He looks unbothered by his father’s statement, his posture as lazy as it usually is. His arms are splayed out on the arms of his gaudy chair, and his legs are spread wide enough that one of his knees is knocking into his brother’s.

  Xander roughly pulls away. “Alistair, move over.”

  “Am I bothering you?” Ace asks, raising his brows. “I thought nothing bothered you?”

  Xander’s grip tightens on his fork. “Aren’t you tired of being so immature?”

  “Immature?” Ace pretends to look shocked. “You know, Mom always says I’m too mature for my age—”

  “Mom hasn’t seen this side of you,” Xander says, his tone biting. “Dad, do you see what I have to deal with?”

  “Alistair, enough,” his dad says.

  Ace opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it after a glance in my direction.

  My gaze flicks among the three of them with rapt awareness, and I look away only when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  I take it out briefly to see a text from my mom. My heart rate rises and I force myself to take a breath, clicking on the notification. Dadu says you’re staying at school late, finishing up a project. What project?

  There’s another text from Samir earlier, which reads: bro I accidentally recorded over baba’s basketball games on the DVR how mad do u think he’s gonna be on a scale of 1-10??

  I reply to my mom first, a lie already prepared
. I make up some nonsense about a physics lab and send a selfie of me and Nandini in goggles, saved in my camera roll from last week.

  Then I respond to Samir, saying: yikes... ask dadu if she’ll take the blame bc he’d never be mad @ her. I don’t think he’d be that mad at you anyway, but if you wanna avoid a lecture... that’s ur best option lmao.

  Samir’s response is immediate. UR SO RIGHT thanks bro!!

  I roll my eyes, looking back up as Ace’s stepmother stands and starts uncovering the various dishes. I try not to sigh when I see a roasted ham as the main course. I don’t eat pork because I’m Muslim, and I’ve never been so grateful Dadu offered to save my lunch in the fridge.

  Bangladeshi food is one of my favorite parts of my culture. It’s so rich and heady, yet so comforting at the same time. One of few things I dread about going to college is leaving behind my family’s homecooked meals. I highly doubt aloo bhorta is on Columbia’s lunch menu.

  “I have snacks in my room,” Mia whispers, drawing my attention as we start passing bowls around and scooping food onto our plates.

  My eyebrows rise. “What?”

  She gestures toward the ham. “You can’t eat that, right? Come by my room afterward. I’ll slip you some potato chips.”

  I blink in surprise, a smile pulling at my lips. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

  “So Miss Ahmed,” Ace’s father says, and my neck nearly snaps as I turn to face him. He looks like he wants nothing more than to dissect me under a microscope. “How do you and Alistair know each other? He’s never brought any of his friends to our home.”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Why is nothing coming out? I can’t think of a single thing to say.

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

  I lick my lips uncertainly. “Um...”

  And then, the same way a meteor strikes a dying planet, Ace says the worst thing of all time: “Karina is my girlfriend.”

  16

  T-MINUS 23 DAYS

  Ten.

  Nine.