Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  T-MINUS 18 DAYS

  After ten minutes of Cora and Nandini giving me pointed looks and giggling whenever Ace so much as glances my way, I drag him to the library to study instead. I thought that since it was first period, we could have a more leisure-based study session with my friends, but I underestimated how chaotic they can be.

  Ace completely ruins the five seconds of peace I’ve acquired when he opens his mouth. “Wasn’t yesterday fun?”

  Yes, I want to say. I wish we could have lived in that moment forever.

  Instead I sigh, sliding The Great Gatsby across the table. “I guess, but we have to study, Ace.”

  “Oh, so you’re back to being boring,” he says with a pout, but there’s a teasing light in his eye.

  “Shut up,” I say, tapping the book pointedly. I can’t think about the fact that, every time I look at him, my heart skips a beat. “You have to pass the English Regents.”

  “After all the hard work you’ve put in, I don’t see how I could fail,” he says but obligingly takes the book.

  “I’ve tutored you for a week and a half,” I say, shaking my head. Saying the time frame puts a lot of our interactions into perspective. I’ve clearly been spending too much time with him. “You’re not ready to pass the Regents if you still can’t focus on a book for more than ten minutes.”

  “I can focus on a book for more than ten minutes,” he says. He even has the audacity to look fake offended as he unwraps a lollipop.

  “Yeah?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Prove it.”

  “I will,” Ace says, a determined set to his lips. He cracks open the book and flips to the first page while sucking on his lollipop. The first page. Oh my God.

  I leave him to his own devices, taking out the study guide I prepared for this week’s sessions.

  Ten minutes later, I look up, expecting him to be doodling on the table or staring at me. Instead, there’s a furrow to his brows and his eyes are focused on the page. His lips are moving faintly around the lollipop, as if he’s mouthing along to the words.

  I’ve never seen this serious look on his face before. He flips to the next page without glancing up and continues reading.

  I look away. If Ace is reading, if Ace is actually studying, this might be the best development yet. I don’t want to ruin it by distracting him.

  Another ten minutes pass as I work on some of my own stuff. When I look up again, one of his legs is pressed against his chest, bent at the knee, book resting atop it. He’s reading with a thoughtful expression on his face, stormy eyes narrowed with focus.

  I start smiling. I can’t help it. This is the longest I’ve seen Ace pay attention during our tutoring sessions and the most earnest I’ve seen his efforts.

  As if he can feel me watching him, he looks up, and our eyes lock across the table. There’s a moment of strange silence where we’re just gazing at each other, but then he smiles back at me. His eyes are warm and familiar, and his grin is wide and sweet.

  He’s beautiful.

  Oh. Oh.

  Oh no.

  My cheeks burn, and I look back down at my work, trying to temper my expression, but it’s not going well. I glance up surreptitiously for half a second and find that his attention has turned back to the book. It’s almost worse than if he was looking at me.

  We’re fake dating. I know that. It’s all a pretense.

  And yet, despite knowing that, I think I might have feelings for Ace Clyde. Real feelings.

  This is really, really bad.

  * * *

  At the start of English, Ace passes me a brown paper bag. I look inside curiously, only to find a slice of cheesecake.

  My lips part, my heart caught in my throat. “When did you get this?”

  He shrugs, which almost certainly means he skipped part of his last class to get me dessert. There’s something seriously wrong with him.

  Yet my skin is warming all the same.

  “Consider it my late promposal,” he says, grinning. “Have to convince you to go past three weeks, right?”

  There isn’t enough air in my lungs.

  “Right,” I echo.

  Nandini and Cora sit in front of us now that they’re aware of the whole situation, but when Cora catches sight of me blushing, I wish they were anywhere else.

  “Group chat, now,” Cora says, and I sigh as I slip out my phone, hiding it behind my binder.

  Ace doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes focused on the whiteboard for once. Ugh, of course he is. Why is he doing this to me? For some reason beyond my understanding, him paying attention to school makes me feel strange.

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  KARINA IS BLUSHING WHAT IS HAPPENING

  Nandini Kaur:

  WHAT

  Nandini glances back at me, and my cheeks burn even more, blood rushing up so fast that I have to suck in a deep breath to keep calm. Ace looks me over, his expression twisting with concern, and he rests a hand on my elbow.

  I don’t want to admit it, but his concern kind of helps. I offer him a small, grateful smile, and feel both Cora and Nandini’s gazes sharpen on the side of my head.

  Welp.

  Me:

  STOP STARING AT ME OMG WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU BOTH PAY ATTENTION TO THE LESSON

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  wHY ARE YOU BLUSHING? WHAT’S IN THE BAG? DID HE BRING CONDOMS?

  Me:

  WHAT? oh my god no he did not bring CONDOMS what is wrong with you we’re FAKE dating

  Nandini Kaur:

  so What’s In The Bag

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  I’ve legit never seen u blush this is wild UR LITERALLY TURNING RED???

  Me:

  omg stop please tell me ur joking

  Nandini Kaur:

  well...

  Me:

  he literally just brought me cheesecake!! it’s not that deep

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  and yet you’re getting flustered...

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  why??????

  Me:

  STOP it’s not that serious omg

  Me:

  he just said it was a late promposal

  Nandini Kaur:

  AND UR BLUSHING BC...? TRY AND TELL ME U DON’T LIKE HIM

  Me:

  DOES IT MATTER? HE’S WHITE!!!!!!!

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  WHAT DO YOU *MEAN*

  Nandini Kaur:

  YEAH. HE’S WHITE. BUT LIKE??? PERHAPS THIS ONE (1) SINGULAR WHITE BOY IS WORTH YOUR TIME

  Me:

  that’s not what I meant

  Me:

  my parents would MURDER me if I even THOUGHT about a white boy

  Me:

  I told you guys before

  Me:

  no dating allowed. highkey wouldn’t be surprised if their plan is to find me a “perfect” husband after college

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  that’s a dumbass plan...

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  anyway! they don’t need to know!!!!!!!!

  Me:

  you know it’s not that easy

  Me:

  I just can’t

  Me:

  even if I liked ace it would never work out

  Me:

  we don’t have a future together

  Nandini Kaur:

  it’s high school you don’t NEED to have a future together

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  in all seriousness forget about ace for a minute

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  this isn’t about some random white boy

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  this is about you!!!

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  I know th
ere’s obvs a lot I don’t understand bc of our cultural differences and stuff. but you know what I do know?

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  you deserve to be happy

  Me:

  I don’t want to talk about this anymore. can we please pay attention to the lesson?

  I flip my phone over and look at the whiteboard. My skin is crawling and the room feels like it’s shrinking around me.

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

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

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

  The bell rings, jarring me out of my slow counting. I’m thrown for a moment. How did the class go by that fast?

  “Hey, Karina,” Nandini says, coming to stand in front of me. She’s biting her lip. “Sorry about earlier. I know it’s not our business. It’s just—we want what’s best for you. You’re our best friend.”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine.” My voice is weaker than I want it to be, and Nandini’s expression falls further. “I think I’m going to have lunch on my own today. I need some fresh air.”

  Cora comes up behind Nandini, frowning. “We’re really sorry, Karina. Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

  “It’s fine,” I say again, lowering my gaze. “Next time, okay?”

  “Okay,” Nandini says, reaching forward to squeeze my hand. Cora’s hand comes on top of hers. The weight is heavy. Usually, it would be comforting, and I am grateful to my friends for being so understanding about my anxiety, but right now it just feels like too much. Just having someone touch me is causing nausea to bubble up inside my stomach.

  “Love you,” Cora says, retracting her hand after seeing my face.

  “Love you,” I say and pull my hand back into the safety of my lap.

  Nandini sighs but nods at Cora, gesturing toward the door. They leave after one last glance at me.

  I completely forget Ace is sitting next to me until he raps his knuckles against my seat. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m just not feeling well,” I say quietly, willing him to understand.

  Ace observes my expression. “Is there anything I can do?”

  I shake my head. “I—” My voice falters. “I’ll see you later for our studying session, okay?”

  I pack my things, carefully tucking away the brown paper bag. Ace doesn’t protest as I leave. I’m glad. How can I speak to him right now, knowing that if I ever act on the feelings sprouting in my chest, we’re doomed to a relationship full of lies and secrets?

  we’ll pretend it’s a game of lost and found

  or maybe even hide-and-seek

  and perhaps for a while

  in the darkness of the night

  it will be enough

  until the sun comes bursting from the east

  and we fall to the flames

  25

  T-MINUS 18 DAYS

  I wander through the halls after gym class, my mind a haze of colors. I’m supposed to head toward the library for my tutoring session with Ace, but my feet seem to have a different plan.

  Somehow, I end up in a staircase, my back against a radiator and my gaze somewhere far above me.

  I can’t stop thinking about what Cora and Nandini said. You deserve to be happy. Just yesterday, Dadu said I look happy.

  But does this brand of happiness fit in my life? Can I have it? Am I allowed to?

  Since childhood, I’ve always tried so hard to make my parents proud. If that meant behaving the way they wanted, then I did. If that meant cutting television time to study math and science, then I did. If that meant staying home while all my other friends went to each other’s houses, then I did.

  Everything they’ve asked of me, I’ve given. I’ve given and I’ve given and I’ve given, and I continue to give. But it’s never enough. There’s never a limit to what they ask of me.

  There’s never a limit to what I’m willing to give.

  All the years flash through my mind rapidly, and a horrible feeling rises in my chest, pushing up and up, battering against my rib cage and spreading through my lungs. It creeps up my throat, past the God-awful lump that I can’t get rid of, and through my veins.

  Tears pool in my eyes and I suck in a deep breath, trying to hold them back, but they spill anyway, wet and hot, sliding down my cheeks.

  I know everything that my parents have done for me. I know how much they sacrificed for me to be able to live in New York, to live in a house, to go to a good school. They uprooted their whole life so I could have these opportunities. I know all of that. I know they want me to do well in life.

  But sometimes I wonder if they want me to do well for me, or if they want me to do well for them. If all my accomplishments are for their pleasure, rather than mine.

  How can they justify everything I’ve had to go through? All the times they stripped my freedom from me? How could that have been for me?

  It’s small things that become bigger and bigger. It’s the fact I’m terrified to wear shorts, because even flashing an ankle is dangerous in my household. It’s the fact Samir can be as loud and bold as he wants, and I’m expected to be quiet and compliant. It’s the fact that I can’t go anywhere without some kind of parental supervision and, if I do, I face being berated for hours and then locked away in my room to wither in silence.

  It’s the fact that I’m expected to be this perfect daughter that I don’t know how to be.

  It’s the fact that, for the first time in my life, I have freedom because they’re not here to watch over me, and it’s the best I’ve ever felt. It’s the fact that Ace smiles at me when he thinks I can’t see him, and pokes and prods at me, but is always thoughtful when I need him to be. It’s the fact that my friends want to go to junior prom, and a boy I like asked me to go with him, but I don’t know if I can. It’s the fact that I love English more than anything, but I can’t pursue it in college because I’m expected to become a doctor.

  And for what? So they can gloat about it to their coworkers? To their friends? To the people at our mosque? To the rest of my extended family? Why do those people have more of a stake in what I do with my future than I do?

  Why am I selfish if I want to do what I love? It’s my life and my future. Not my parents’. Mine. They gave me the tools to be here, but that shouldn’t mean that they get to make every choice for me.

  I’m not a bad person for wanting a life different than what’s expected of me. I’m not a bad person for wanting to pursue something I love.

  I’m not a bad person for wanting. But I feel like I am.

  Because I don’t want to let them down. I want them to look at me with love and pride. Not disappointment. I want to be as perfect in their eyes as Samir.

  I’ve known for a while that I can’t have both. I can’t live my life the way I want and still expect my parents to love me.

  There’s this suffocating pressure on my shoulders, this suffocating weight of my parents’ expectations, and I don’t have the strength to lift it up.

  I am not Atlas, born to carry the weight of the world

  I am Icarus, wanting and wanting and wanting

  at the risk of exploding when I fly too close to the sun

  Happiness. Such a simple word, and yet the most difficult word I’ve ever had to hold in my hands. If happiness were a bird, it would be fluttering weakly, its heartbeat so faint that it disappears when you look away.

  For the first time, I’m looking and I can hear it. Thump, thump, thump. But I don’t know if it’s mine to have. It’s so close, yet so immeasurably far away.

  I stare at my empty palms through blurry eyes, wondering what would happen if I choose to nurture this bird. This small seed of happiness.

  You deserve to be happy.

  But what if w
hat would make me happy is to live my life the way I want without disappointing my parents? What if I want to get an English degree and I want my dad to pat me on the back with a smile on his face, and my mom to cry happy tears when I accomplish my dreams?

  Why can’t I have both? Why do I have to choose one or the other?

  “Karina.”

  Through a thick wave of tears, I blink up at the person standing in front of me. Warm hands cup my face, thumbs wiping the tears away.

  “Karina.”

  Ace’s stormy eyes are looking back at me. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You need to breathe, okay?”

  Am I holding my breath? I inhale sharply and then exhale. Some of the tension in my chest releases.

  I take rapid breaths, trying to fill my lungs, but what little control I have slips away fast. Before I know it, I’m heaving.

  Ace shakes me lightly. “Karina, follow me. In and out. Watch me.”

  I look at him, half-hysterical. He starts taking exaggerated breaths, puffing out his chest before exhaling.

  “In and out. Come on.”

  I try to follow along, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and my breathing slowly evens out. Tears still fall down my cheeks, but I blink past them to focus on Ace.

  “Sorry,” I choke out.

  “No,” Ace says, his thumbs swiping underneath my eyes again. “Don’t ever apologize to me for this.”

  Ace finally lets go and sits down beside me. When he leads my head to rest on his shoulder, I’m too tired to refuse.

  “You’re okay, Karina,” he says against my hair.

  I nod, trying to believe that. I’m okay. My life isn’t over. If I have to pursue medicine, then I’ll pursue medicine. I’m not dying. My parents aren’t asking for something unforgivable.

  I close my eyes and turn my face into Ace’s shoulder, focusing on my breathing.

  His hand runs through my hair, careful and soothing. “Hey,” Ace says. “I have something for you.”

  I blink my eyes open. In his free hand, he’s holding a packet of Sour Patch Kids.

  A choked laugh slips past my lips. “You remembered.”

  “I’d never forget anything about you,” he murmurs. “Here.”

  He rips open the top and hands it to me. I sniffle gratefully and take the packet.