Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  Even though Mia is clearly joking, Daniela’s expression softens. “Yeah, I am.”

  My heart melts in my chest when Mia leans forward to peck Daniela on the lips before pulling back quickly, her cheeks tinted red.

  “You two are so cute,” I say.

  Mia shoots me an abashed smile. “Thanks, Karina.”

  Ace throws his own arm around my shoulders and, instead of shying away, I lean in. Samir promised. It’s okay.

  “We’re cuter than them,” Ace says. “Hashtag Karstair, right?”

  “Oh my God,” I say in sudden mortification. “Have you been speaking to Cora?”

  Ace kisses my nose instead of answering, and I think I pass away. I’m ninety-nine percent certain my soul just exited my body.

  “See?” Ace says, looking back at his sister and her girlfriend. “I told you we’re cuter.”

  * * *

  “What do you guys want for dinner? It’s my and Ace’s treat,” Mia says as we all pile in the car.

  “Mexican food,” Samir says. “I know a great halal place.” I try not to sigh. Mexican food is my least favorite. I’m utterly incapable of eating a taco or burrito without spilling out all the contents.

  Before I can protest, Mia nods. “I’d be down.”

  “I’m always here for Mexican food,” Daniela agrees.

  Ace shrugs. “It’s fine with me. I don’t really care.”

  Well. If everyone is okay with it, I’m not going to be the one to disrupt the peace.

  “Cool,” I say, my shoulders slumping.

  Ace frowns at me, but I turn my gaze away. It’s nothing for me to be upset over. I’ll just have a salad or something.

  When we get there, we order inside and take it to go. I step up to the counter and ask for a salad, but they look at me blankly and say they don’t have a salad option. Of course they don’t.

  “It’s fine,” I say tiredly. “I’ll just have a water bottle.”

  I move out of the way so Daniela can order, heading for the back to wait for everyone. Mia and Ace are speaking to each other quietly, but Ace falters when he sees me, his eyes searching my face.

  I frown. “Is something wrong?”

  He stares at me for half a beat before swiping a knuckle gently across my cheekbone. “You had an eyelash on your cheek.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Should I make a wish?”

  Ace shrugs and holds out his hand, the dark eyelash stark against his pale skin. “Go ahead.”

  What do I want to wish for? There are so many things I want, but using a wish on something that has such a small possibility of happening seems like a waste.

  Then again, it’s not like any wish I make is going to come true because I blew on an eyelash, anyway.

  I wish for happiness, I think wistfully, in whatever form it might be.

  I blow, and my eyelash disappears, lost to the wind.

  “What did you wish for?” Ace asks, head tilted.

  I smile faintly. “I’ll tell you if it comes true.”

  Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of Ace’s house instead of mine.

  “Why are we here?” I ask, puzzled. This must be what Ace and Mia were whispering about. Samir is too busy staring at the Clyde residence in disbelief to pose a similar question.

  “Mia and Daniela are getting out because I have to go somewhere after dropping you off,” Ace says, flicking a finger at his sister. “Let me drive.”

  Mia unbuckles her seatbelt. “I still don’t understand why you won’t tell me where ‘somewhere’ is,” she grumbles.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ace says, booping her nose as they switch places.

  Mia blows a raspberry at him before coming around the back. I’m surprised when she hugs me tightly. “Come by again soon. Ace is so much more fun when you’re around. It’s nice.”

  Something warm passes through me. “You’re so sweet, Mia. Thank you for inviting us to come out with you.”

  “Any time,” Mia says, finally pulling away. “Bye Rafiq! Try not to bruise your ego any further!”

  Samir rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. I think he enjoyed himself today despite losing miserably to Mia and Daniela. “I’ll do my best.”

  Daniela murmurs a soft goodbye, reaching over to pat my hand, before exiting the car and joining her girlfriend. Ace backs out of the driveway, leaving them behind holding hands.

  It’s another ten minutes before we arrive at my house. I reach for the handle as he shifts the car into Park, but Ace says, “Wait.”

  I pause and Ace turns to Samir, holding out his fist again. “Thanks for coming out with us today. It was really cool to meet you, bro.”

  Bro. Sometimes I seriously wonder if Ace has multiple stunt doubles he switches out based on his mood.

  Samir fist bumps him back. “Yeah, bro, you too.”

  Before Samir can open the door on his side, Ace pulls out his wallet and removes a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Don’t tell Mia.”

  Samir looks between the bill and Ace in disbelief before breaking into a grin. “I knew you were on my team, dude. Bros before hoes.”

  “No,” Ace and I say at once.

  I give Ace a surprised look but he’s still looking at Samir. “Dude, respect women as much as you respect everyone else.”

  “And stop calling them hoes,” I add darkly.

  Samir rolls his eyes, but there’s an embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “Yeah, okay.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “So you’ll stop being misogynistic when a man tells you to?”

  My brother groans, the tips of his ears turning red. “Don’t start. It’s not that deep.”

  Before I can say how deep it really is, Ace touches my wrist, staying me.

  “Just do me a favor and respect your own sister, if no one else.” He waves the ten-dollar bill toward Samir again. “Anyway, do you mind if I speak to Karina privately for a minute?”

  Samir grins suddenly. “Sure, dude. Whatever.” He takes the money, salutes Ace, winks at me again, and exits the car.

  I sigh after him. “I hope he’s not such a dumbass in a few years. I feel bad for his future girlfriends.”

  Ace laughs quietly. “I want to talk to you.” He gestures to the passenger seat. “Before you argue, I’m going to use the magic word. Please come up front?”

  I close my mouth silently, wondering when Ace came to know me well enough to predict my actions. I grudgingly climb into the passenger seat and turn to look at him. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until later?”

  “Put on your seatbelt.”

  “What? Your car is in Park.”

  “Still,” Ace says. “Come on, Karina. It’ll take a second.”

  “Who knew Ace Clyde was a safety nut,” I say under my breath. “For all intents and purposes, you should be riding a motorcycle.”

  Ace gives me an amused look. “Why’s that?”

  “Your whole thing you’ve got going on,” I say, gesturing vaguely. It’s kind of hard to make a point when he’s wearing a peacoat instead of his leather jacket. “With your...other jacket. And stuff.”

  “You and my leather jacket,” he says in exasperation. “I’m not even wearing it.”

  “Still!”

  “Hm. Seatbelt?”

  I sigh and buckle myself in. “Happy?”

  “Elated,” he says and shifts the gear, pulling out of his parking spot with absolutely no warning whatsoever.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, staring at him with wide eyes. “Is this the part where you finally murder me?”

  “Yes,” Ace deadpans.

  I continue staring at him with wide eyes. I don’t actually think he’s going to murder me, but Allah knows what he has in mind. I might die anyway. If I die because of a white boy, my
parents are going to bring me back to life just to kill me again. I’m almost certain I should be making better life choices, but it’s hard when Ace is so... Ace.

  “You don’t have to look at me like that,” Ace says, alarmed. “I can turn the car around. I was only joking.”

  “Right,” I say and lean back in my seat, sending a silent prayer to Allah that tonight doesn’t seal my fate.

  “I was, I swear. I’m not kidnapping you or anything. I’m just taking you out to eat. Where do you want to go?”

  That shocks me out of my reverie. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Where do you want to go?” Ace repeats, stopping at a red light. “Do you have any preference? Or should we just hit up a Burger King or something?”

  “We just ate,” I say. “Not even half an hour ago. You had a chicken burrito, remember?”

  “And what did you have?”

  I fall silent.

  “Yeah, I thought so. There’s a diner up ahead. Do you like fries and milkshakes, or should I keep driving? The milkshakes aren’t as good as the ones at Pietra’s, but they’re still decent.”

  “Fries and milkshakes are fine,” I say, mystified. No one has ever paid this close attention to me before.

  “Are you just saying that?” he asks, giving me a quick look as he turns into the parking lot. “Because there’s a pizza place down the road and a Chinese restaurant the next street over. It doesn’t matter to me where we go. I just want you to be happy.”

  My pulse quickens and I fight to keep my voice steady. “I love fries and milkshakes, Ace. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Always, Karina.”

  Always. It’s such a big word, with promises of so much more.

  I don’t know about always, but I know about right now.

  And right now, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at this boy’s side.

  32

  T-MINUS 15 DAYS

  Ace drops me off thirty minutes later, after we finish eating french fries in his car. I take half my milkshake home and smile as I walk to my front door, the moonlight shining faintly overhead.

  When I come inside, Dadu is sitting on the couch with a distressed look on her face.

  I immediately rush to sit beside her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Dadu looks at me, startled. “Myra. You’re back.” Her face crumples, and it sends a horrible sense of foreboding through me. It’s the same look Dadu had when we were informed my cousin Nabila got kicked out of her house. “Your parents said to call them. They want to talk to you.”

  My skin prickles uncomfortably. “About what?”

  “Samir...told them about how you went outside today with that Alistair boy.”

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  I left him alone for half an hour and he went and blew my cover. I shouldn’t have put any faith in him. How could I be so stupid?

  “What did he say?” I ask, my heart racing. Ten, nine, eight—

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Myra.”

  I nod, my leg jiggling up and down. “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

  “I love you,” Dadu says as I stand, squeezing my hand. “I gave you permission to go outside with him. Okay? Tell them that.”

  Ten, nine, eight, seven—“I love you, too.”

  I take the steps two at a time, hurrying to Samir’s room. I knock once before letting myself in without waiting for his response.

  “What did you tell Ma and Baba?”

  He looks up from his laptop, bemused. “About what?”

  “About going outside with Ace and his sister, Samir. Don’t play dumb,” I say, my jaw so tense I’m afraid it’s going to break. I can’t believe he told them. I can’t believe that, after he promised me, after I asked him not to, he told them. “What did you tell Ma and Baba? You promised me.”

  “Nothing,” he says, giving me a strange look. “They asked me what I did today, so I told them we hung out with the dude you were tutoring. I didn’t mention anything about the crush. I wouldn’t break a promise. What’s the big deal?”

  The big deal is that Ace is a boy and they’re going to kill me. The big deal is that Ace isn’t Bangladeshi or Muslim and they’re going to kill me. The big deal is that I trusted you to understand when you never will and they’re going to kill me. The big deal is that you don’t think before you speak and now they’re. going. to. kill. me.

  “How could you do that, Samir? God, you’re the worst,” I say as my throat tightens painfully, and I turn, ignoring the way his face falls as I leave his room.

  In the privacy of my own walls, I brace myself for the conversation I’m about to have.

  I light three different candles and take a deep breath.

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

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

  In and out. Inhale and exhale.

  I press call.

  “Myra,” my dad says. Already, there’s heavy disappointment in his voice. I wish for once, for once, he would take my side when it matters. I know it’s too much to ask of my mother, but he was raised by Dadu. Just once, can’t he let me have this? “Samir said you were outside with a boy today.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. There’s only one card that’s going to let me go unscathed: the reminder this is all for school. “Yes. I’m tutoring him because my teacher asked me to.”

  “On a Saturday?” my mom asks. Even through a phone screen, she’s intimidating. “You should have told your teacher it’s against your religion to be alone with a boy.”

  Stop blaming your rules on our religion. I don’t say that. It won’t matter to them.

  “We’re never alone,” I lie. “We always study in the library, so there are lots of people around.”

  “What are you tutoring him in?” my dad asks, eyes narrowed.

  This isn’t going to go over well. I inhale deeply and murmur, “English.”

  A silence follows before my dad shakes his head at me. “That’s a waste of your time. Assisting your teacher is one thing, but tutoring this random boy one-on-one is another. If we’d known Miss Cannon was going to leave you on your own, we wouldn’t have agreed to let you help her. You should be focusing on science anyway. Samir said you do this every day.”

  I want to strangle my brother for his obliviousness. Why would he ever tell my parents that? It wasn’t enough to say I was tutoring a boy, he had to go into depth about it? I never took him to be that clueless.

  “It counts as a grade,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. The copper taste of blood floods my mouth. “Miss Cannon is substituting it for one of my projects.”

  My mom scowls. “So? Tell your teacher you can’t do it anymore. She can’t force you to tutor this boy if you don’t want to.”

  But I do want to. Maybe it was a forced situation in the beginning, but it’s far from that now.

  “Private tutoring will look good on college applications,” I say instead, lowering my gaze.

  “Yeah, and will bowling with him look good on college applications, too?” Ma asks. “What were you thinking, Myra? How could you be so irresponsible?”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, but I know it’s a futile attempt.

  “Oh, is that so? You don’t think you did anything wrong?” My mom looks at my dad, clear disappointment written in her gaze, causing my blood to curdle. In response, my dad’s own expression darkens. It’s always like this. As soon as she’s upset, he follows suit. I hate it so much. “This is the daughter we’ve raised. Imagine what people will say once they find out. Astaghfirullah.”

  Why does anyone care? I want to scream. Why do people care how I spend my time? Why do my parents care what those people think? What does it matter?

&nbs
p; “It was just one time,” I say, and my voice cracks, making me wince. They’ll see it as another sign of weakness. “It’s not a big deal, Ma.”

  “You have no respect,” my mom says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No respect for Allah or for us. That’s why you’re acting like this. No one else’s daughter behaves the way you do. I thought we raised you better.”

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six—

  “Say something, Myra,” Ma says. “Don’t just sit there silently. Why would you go bowling with this boy? And why would you take Samir with you? You know he should be focusing on his robotic competition next week, but you’re distracting him. You can’t even focus on your own grades, and now you’re dragging your brother down with you? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

  “Sorry,” I croak. I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know what to say. I hate disappointing them. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, Myra,” Baba says, his gaze heavy. “This boy is a bad influence on you. Staying out late...dragging your brother into your foolish acts...prioritizing English over your more important subjects. It’s a shame.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, not knowing how else to fix this. My mind blanks out as they continue to berate me, berate my actions, berate all I’ve done in the past. I keep repeating a different variation of my apology, but it doesn’t seem to do the trick.

  Twenty minutes later, my dad puts an end to the conversation. “We will discuss this further upon our return, Myra. You will stop tutoring this boy at once. If there’s a problem, we will speak to your teacher ourselves.”

  “And I better not hear anything else about you hanging out with him, much less dragging Samir with you,” my mom says. “Now go to sleep. You’ll have to get up early to make up for the studying time you lost today.”

  “Of course,” I say quietly. “Good night, Ma. Good night, Baba.”

  “Good night, Myra. Remember what we told you.”

  Like I could forget.

  They hang up, and I set my phone down. It takes two seconds for tears to slip free from my eyes, and I start sobbing, burying my face in my hands.

  Nothing I ever do is enough.