Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  Eight.

  Seven.

  Six.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  What? Did he really just say I’m his girlfriend?

  I look at Ace in disbelief, but he’s staring at his dad, a challenging expression on his face.

  “Your girlfriend?” Ace’s father repeats, his tone incredulous. “Since when?”

  Ace shrugs. “I haven’t been keeping track.”

  Neither have I, apparently.

  “And you didn’t think to inform any of us when this started?” his father asks, setting down his knife and fork.

  “Mia knew,” Ace says, waving a nonchalant hand.

  His stepsister blinks slowly, clearly at as much of a loss as I am, but after a moment, she nods. “Yeah, Ace told me a while ago.”

  I try not to sigh. Of course Mia is going along with it.

  Albert turns his gaze on me. “Is this true, Miss Ahmed?”

  And now everyone is staring at me. Great.

  Ace meets my eyes and offers me a hopeful smile. Is he being serious?

  I have absolutely no clue why Ace is telling his dad I’m his girlfriend instead of his tutor, but I also can’t bring myself to deny it. I’m not eager to be at the center of Clyde family drama—I’ll yell at Ace in the privacy of his room and then he can figure out a way to explain to his family that he was lying.

  But for now... I’ll play along.

  I laugh nervously. “I also haven’t been keeping track. I’m sorry, Mr. Clyde.”

  Albert hums, his lips pressed together as he looks between me and his son. “It’s a shame we haven’t been introduced before then.”

  “Better late than never,” Ace says. His foot nudges mine underneath the table, and I nearly jump out of my seat. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

  Sweetie. This boy wants to die by my hand.

  “Yes, honey.”

  Ace winks at me, and I resist the urge to throw my fork at him.

  “We’d love to hear more about you, Karina,” Ace’s stepmother says, which is arguably the worst thing she’s said to me so far. I hate being the center of attention, and I hate talking about myself. “How did you and Ace meet?”

  “We’re in the same English class,” I say, because that at least is true. “He sat next to me and we just...clicked?”

  Ace’s smile widens into a blinding grin. I’m going to kill him. “I took her on a date to a local bakery. She ordered the cheesecake and said it wasn’t nearly as sweet as me.”

  His foot is close enough that I step on it in retribution. He winces but quickly covers it up. It still brings me some satisfaction.

  “Who can blame me?” I offer his stepmother a pretty smile. “He’s just such a sweetheart.”

  “I’ve never seen you two together,” Xander says, watching me like a hawk. If I thought he was assessing my weaknesses before, it’s nothing compared to his sharp gaze now. “Have you even told Mom?”

  “You didn’t know who Karina was before today,” Ace says, his grin obnoxious even as his gaze is dark. “Maybe that’s why you failed to notice. Mom has known for a while now, just like Mia.”

  Xander’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t make any further comment. I restrain the urge to step on Ace’s foot again. There’s no way his mother knows about this—he’s mentioned her to me only once in the passing. Another tangled thread in this web of lies.

  “What do your parents do, Miss Ahmed?” Albert asks after he shares a look with Xander that is far from reassuring.

  “My mom works as a receptionist for a dermatologist,” I say, ignoring the way the back of my neck is prickling. “And my dad is an accountant.”

  “And what about you? Do you have plans for college?”

  I can’t believe I’m being screened right now to see if I’m an acceptable girlfriend when I’m not even dating anyone. I can’t believe this is a real situation that Ace has wrangled me into.

  My smile is flimsy. “My parents are hoping I get into Columbia for their premed track, under a biology major.” And I’m hoping I somehow whisk myself into an alternate universe before then.

  “That’s incredible,” Ace’s father says, and he sounds like he actually means it. His gaze is appraising, but then he looks at Ace and it becomes far less so. “So what are you doing with someone like my son? Do you know he has no intention of even attending college?”

  Wait, what?

  “Dad,” Ace says, his voice cold.

  Oh. Clearly it’s an off-limit subject. It’s not really my business anyway. I have other things to fuss at Ace about—namely, our newfound relationship.

  “What? Shouldn’t your girlfriend know about your aspirations?”

  “If you think shaming me in front of her is going to make me change my mind and suddenly decide to apply to Yale, you’re wrong,” Ace says, his jaw clenched. “Karina, let’s go.”

  “Uh.” I look down at my still-full plate. It’s barely been ten minutes. Then again, it’s not like I’m going to sit here while Ace stomps away. I glance around the table apologetically. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind excusing us.”

  I push back my chair and mutter another apology under my breath as I chase after Ace, who’s disappearing farther down the hallway. “Wait!”

  Ace falters and looks at me. We’re far enough away now that he appears more relaxed, but it reminds me of the calm before the storm. “See? I told you I’d get you out of there quickly.”

  I gape at him. “That’s not—you didn’t—what is the matter with you?”

  Ace smiles bleakly. “Too much to list. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” I say, reaching out to swat him on the arm. “What was that?”

  “Shhh,” Ace says, holding a finger to his lips. He points above us. “Cameras.”

  “What?” I’m definitely in a sitcom. Or maybe a drama. Normal people don’t have surveillance cameras in their homes, even in sitcoms. “Why?”

  “In case of intruders,” Ace says, shrugging a shoulder. “Dad’s a cutthroat businessman. Has a lot of enemies.”

  He seems like a cutthroat father figure too, but it isn’t my place to comment. Maybe everyone’s family is secretly messed up.

  “We’re going to talk about this later,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I have a lot of words I’d like to say to you.”

  A smile tugs at Ace’s lips. “Save it for the bedroom, sweetie.”

  I call him a dick in Bengali so the cameras won’t pick up on it. He raises an eyebrow but keeps smiling, so I don’t really feel like I insulted him. I have a feeling he’d smile even if I said it in English.

  “I told you there was a spark in you, Ahmed.”

  I groan and shove him, walking ahead to get to his room. “Just take me home.”

  Ace only laughs.

  17

  T-MINUS 23 DAYS

  In the car, I don’t have a chance to yell at Ace about the dating thing, because at the last minute Xander shows up and requests a ride to Walmart. There are approximately six cars in the Clyde estate’s extensive driveway, and I know for a fact Xander has his license, because I saw him get into his own car earlier today.

  There’s obviously some ulterior motive here. Xander has a calculating look in his eye, and Ace looks one word away from punching his brother, so I quickly agree for the both of us.

  When I put my address into Google Maps, Xander leans forward between the seats. “You don’t know where your girlfriend lives?”

  “No, he does,” I say quickly. I have a feeling that if Ace replies, I’m never going to get home. “But he’s never driven to my house before, and it’s good to have Google Maps just in case, right? You can never be too safe.”

  Xa
nder hums, clearly unconvinced. Ace’s knuckles strain as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, but neither of them say anything as we turn onto the next street.

  It’s somehow the most awkward car ride of my life, and my family has had more than our fair share of awkward car rides.

  Ace drops me at home first, and I mutter a goodbye before slipping inside my house, my mind whirring.

  I’m home way later than usual, but all Dadu does is ruffle my hair and tell me to warm up my Mughlai paratha for a minute. I thank her with a hug, then wonder how my life came to this.

  I take a moment to process the events of the night and blow out a harsh breath. God. What in the world?

  I think about texting Nandini and Cora about this chaos but decide against it, because it’ll blow over by the end of the weekend. If I haven’t figured it out by Monday afternoon, I’ll explain the situation to them. Otherwise, it isn’t worth the headache.

  As I’m going to bed, my phone starts ringing with a FaceTime call from my parents. After a moment of deliberation, I slide my thumb across the screen, answering it.

  My dad’s face greets me this time. “Myra, where is your brother?”

  “Uh. I don’t know?” I say, glancing in the direction of my bedroom door. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” my dad says. “I wanted to ask him to send me a link for the last Knicks game. He said Dadu deleted it off the DVR, so I tried to find it online, but I can’t.”

  Looks like Samir took my advice. “I can find it for you,” I offer hesitantly. “If you want.”

  “Really?” Baba’s eyebrows rise. “Can you show me how?”

  “Yeah,” I say and move to my laptop, opening up a YouTube tab. I flip the camera so he can watch as I click the official NBA account and find a highlights reel of the game. “I’ll text you the link so you can watch it.”

  “Thank you so much,” my dad says and the gratitude in his eyes settles some of the rocks floating in my stomach. “So how was your physics lab? Did you finish it? Ma told me you were working on it late today.”

  “Yeah,” I say, offering him a tight smile as I flip the camera back around. “Sorry I haven’t called every day. There’s been a lot of schoolwork recently. I think they’re piling it on because spring break is in a week.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot about that,” my dad says, scratching his beard. “Maybe you should use that time to work on those new SAT workbooks I bought for you.”

  “Yeah, definitely,” I say, even though the idea of spending my break studying gives me a headache. “Do you think Cora and Nandini could come over to our house one of those days?”

  “Ask your mom, not me,” Baba says, shaking his head.

  I sigh. “Can you ask her for me?”

  He considers me for a moment. “Okay. No promises, though.”

  This time, my smile feels genuine. “Thanks. How is Bangladesh?”

  Baba’s face twists. “Your mother’s family is...loud.”

  I snort, remembering the last time I visited, over five years ago. “I know.”

  He relays a little more about the last few days, and I listen until my eyes start to droop. My dad must notice, because he waves me off when I insist I’m still awake. “Get some rest, Myra. You worked hard on your lab tonight.”

  A flash of guilt runs through me. “Yeah.”

  “Good night,” Baba says, waving at me through the camera.

  “Good night,” I say in return and set my phone aside after he hangs up.

  I’m used to lying to my parents. I have no doubt Samir lies to them, too. It’s the way it has to be. But sometimes, I can’t help but feel bad about it. I remind myself that tutoring Ace is a white lie—nothing that has any bearing on my relationship with my parents. It’s not something they have to know about.

  I fall asleep to that thought.

  T-MINUS 22 DAYS

  When I wake up Saturday morning, I stare at the posters of poetry hung on my bright yellow ceiling and bask in the comfort of not being called lazy for getting up at 11:00 a.m.

  My room is relatively sparse. My parents always say less is more, so I’ve kept the decor to a minimum. Instead, there are stacks and stacks of books piled against the walls. My shelves are overflowing, but my parents have yet to buy me new ones.

  I’m idly eyeing the stack of books on my bedside, trying to pick one for my weekend read, when someone knocks on the door.

  “Myra, are you awake?” Dadu asks.

  “Yeah!”

  The door opens and Dadu peeks her head in, smiling. It feels like a breath of fresh air. “Do you want to come grocery shopping with me after breakfast?”

  I smile back. It’s always nice to see Dadu in a good mood. “I’d love to.”

  Later, when I’m walking through the fruit aisle, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I unlock it to see a text from Nandini: have you checked FB?

  I frown. no, I barely go on fb unless it’s for class!! why?

  baaabe. april fools must’ve come early for ace lol

  Cora sends a screenshot of her Facebook app to our group chat the next moment. Ace Clyde is in a relationship.

  The first comment says Mia Jackson: lmao with whomst?

  The second comment says Ace Clyde: karina ahmed, rmbr??

  I curse in surprise, dropping my phone into the shopping cart.

  Dadu comes up behind me, a concerned expression on her face. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I say, shoving my phone away and focusing on the bananas. Is Ace insane? I don’t know what could possibly make him think that was a good decision but he’s going to regret it dearly.

  The most ridiculous part of this is that we’re not even Facebook friends.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket again, but I ignore it. I can’t even think about this or I’ll start screaming, and then I’ll probably get carted out of the grocery store.

  “Are you sure, Myra?” Dadu asks, cupping my face and turning it side to side as if she can diagnose me from a glance. “Are you ill? We have to go to Sana’s birthday party on Friday. If you’re feeling sick, we should get you medicine today, to make sure that you’re healthy by then.”

  I laugh weakly. Going to my cousin Sana’s party on Friday is the least of my concerns. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “I’m not sick, don’t worry.”

  Dadu hums. “If you’re sure. Let me know though, okay?” I nod, and she tugs my shirtsleeve. “Come on, let’s pick the bananas together.”

  “Yeah, maybe some candles, too,” I say, biting my bottom lip as I sift through the various bananas.

  Dadu holds a bunch toward me, perfectly yellow with a few brown spots.

  The strange block in my chest seems to come loose. “You know me so well,” I say.

  She smiles and pats my cheek. “Let’s grab your candles, and then we can get your brother’s cereal.”

  I roll my eyes at the mention of Samir’s special cereal but follow my grandma anyway. “He should just eat the cereal the rest of us eat.”

  “Your brother should do a lot of things that he doesn’t do,” Dadu says, laughing.

  “Yeah, but Ma and Baba let him do whatever he wants,” I say under my breath, tossing a few oranges into our shopping cart as we turn from the fruit aisle.

  Dadu pats my shoulder in understanding. “Boys have it so much easier, don’t they?”

  I snort, thinking of all the times Samir has gotten away with doing things I can’t even contemplate. “That’s an understatement.”

  Dadu would know. She grew up with five older brothers. The sheer thought is horrifying.

  “Hey, how about this, Myra—when we’re done here, we can go to that bookshop you like and I’ll buy you a book for coming with me to the grocery store. They might even have nicer candles there. What do you think?”


  “Really?” I ask, something like lightning zinging through me. “Dadu, you’re the best.”

  She smiles and gives me a one-armed hug before getting distracted by an assortment of mixed vegetables.

  I pull out my phone with the intention of Snapchatting Nandini and Cora about how awesome my grandma is, but then remember the predicament I’m in when I see all my missed notifications.

  Ugh. Ace might not be excelling in his studies, but he’s definitely excelling at giving me a headache.

  T-MINUS 21 DAYS

  Sunday morning brings a horde of Samir’s friends to my house.

  I leave my room at noon to grab breakfast but falter halfway down the stairs when I catch sight of several teenage boys in my living room, playing Wii Bowling.

  I’m kind of hungry, but to pass through, I’d have to walk over their various belongings littered on the floor and make small talk.

  I already dislike dealing with groups of strangers, and one consisting of excitable freshmen is arguably my worst nightmare. I don’t even have a bra on. It’s not worth it.

  I try to catch Samir’s eye as I hover on the staircase, hoping to tell him to hurry up and get his friends out of the living room, but he’s too busy laughing as he shows one of them something on his phone.

  Great. I discreetly go back upstairs and busy myself doing homework while I wait for them to leave. I force myself to ignore the sound of bowling pins falling over and over downstairs. I’m in the middle of attempting to finish my precalc assignment when I get a text from a number I don’t recognize.

  don’t be mad @ me, I’ll explain tmrw.

  I frown at my phone. who’s this???

  In response, I receive a picture of a shirtless Ace and nearly break my phone when I throw it halfway across the room. I must be losing my mind.

  There’s absolutely no way Ace Clyde is texting me shirtless selfies right now. There’s no way this is my life.

  I inch toward my phone slowly. I can’t help but feel like it’s a bomb that’s going to explode at any moment. When I pick it up, it’s blessedly intact, but Ace’s shirtless selfie is still looking back at me unanswered.