Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  I admire him more every day. “You’re so different from what I thought you’d be.”

  “Not the bad boy you expected?” he teases.

  “Not at all,” I say, but can’t help adding a quip. “Although, you should probably stop wearing a leather jacket.”

  He laughs and gently shoves me. I pretend to flail but he wraps an arm around my waist before I can fall. “Sit still for a moment, okay? I really do have something to show you.”

  I make a show of rolling my eyes. “O-kay.”

  Ace ducks his head, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing the dimples pressing into his cheeks. “You already know I play the piano but, uh, I like to compose songs, too. I haven’t had a lot of inspiration lately, but...something changed these last few weeks.” He takes my hand and presses his lips against the inside of my wrist. “This song is called ‘Spark.’”

  My breath catches. There’s no way Ace wrote a song for me.

  I don’t know what to say. But maybe I don’t have to say anything, since Ace’s focus is on the piano now.

  He starts with one hand, pressing down lightly on the keys. With each soft note, my heart begins to melt. As he repeats the keys over and over, he grows more confident and presses down with more enthusiasm. Soon after that, he adds his second hand.

  The tempo strums on my heartstrings. I don’t know what to look at.

  I have the option of watching Ace’s capable hands dance across the keys, his rings stark against the black and white. His wrists look incredibly delicate, and I’m all but held captive by the way his hands move.

  But there’s something about Ace that’s even more arresting: his expression. A look of peace settles across the planes of his face, soft and open, as he presses key after key. He’s losing himself in the familiar motions, and it’s strange, because it looks so natural—like Ace was born to play the piano.

  For the first time since I’ve met him, Ace looks naked with emotion. With each note, I feel more alive.

  He’s stunning like this. I wish I had a way to capture this moment, to put it on billboards and magazines. Everyone in the world deserves to know that Alistair Clyde is completely and utterly beautiful.

  My eyes begin to water, because there’s something familiar in this tune. I don’t know how to place it, but there is. It’s me. He’s somehow turned me into a song, into a series of notes.

  The song starts slow and quiet but there’s a strength hidden, woven through as the song grows more and more intense. Something infinitely tender overlaps with something harsher.

  In this song, I hear everything he thinks of me. I’m a dichotomy between quiet and bold, between soft and brave.

  When Ace finishes playing, he’s hesitant again, the last few notes soft. He presses one final key before he lets out a breath and sits back on the bench. The moment he turns toward me, a tentative expression on his face, everything collapses inside me.

  I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth without thinking. It takes a moment for my own action to register, and I shift away, heat prickling the back of my neck. The song is pulling such a strong reaction from me, and I don’t know what to do with it.

  He blinks at me, lips parted. His shock lasts only a moment before a breathtaking smile breaks across his face. “Karina,” he whispers, my name a gentle caress, before he leans in and presses his lips against mine.

  He’s kissing me.

  Oh my God, he’s kissing me.

  I part my lips and Ace moves closer, kissing me deeper. His mouth is soft, but his teeth are sharp where they catch on my lips, and it’s somehow perfect. One of his hands cups my face, his thumb gently brushing my cheek. My own hands find their way into the dark strands at the back of Ace’s neck and I tenderly card my fingers through them, pressing closer.

  I don’t know how long we kiss, but suddenly Ace is laughing into my mouth and I can’t help the giggle that bursts from my own lips.

  We pull apart, but his forehead rests against mine and he’s still smiling. “Hi,” he says. “Did you like the song?”

  I smile back, closing my eyes. There aren’t enough words to answer his question. “Hi. I did. It was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  Ace huffs another laugh. He’s close enough that I feel his breath against my face.

  I blink my eyes open. “God, you’re ridiculous. Who writes an entire song for someone?”

  “Who said the song was about you?” Ace says as he places a featherlight kiss between my eyebrows. I nearly go cross-eyed trying to watch him. “It could’ve been about Spade.”

  “Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Do you often write songs about your dog?”

  “Perhaps,” he says, his nose brushing against mine. “Spark. Spade. Only two letters off.”

  “Shut up.” I shove him away, laughing. “I can’t stand you.”

  Ace nudges me. “It’s a good thing you’re sitting down.”

  “You’re horrible.”

  “It’s all a part of my charm.”

  I consider him for a moment, from his bright eyes to the sweet dimples indenting his cheeks to his messy unruly hair that I just ran my fingers through. “Yeah,” I say, more breath than words. “It is.”

  * * *

  By the end of the night, I realize I’ve made the worst possible mistake ever, because I’m now terribly, terribly besotted with Ace Clyde. There’s no way to come back from this.

  It’s not like I expected to like him this much—it’s not like I wanted to. But Ace is a ridiculous boy with a warm smile, and he’s so lovely sometimes that I don’t know what to do with myself. He listens to me and respects my boundaries and learns from his mistakes. It’s perplexing and addicting.

  I lie in bed, staring at the poems on my ceiling. This is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. And I can’t help but feel stupid for it.

  I want to be selfish for once. My parents accuse me of being selfish all the time, but this is the first time it’s ever been true. I rarely do things for myself, but I don’t want to give this up. If this is the only thing I can allow myself, if this is as brave as I can be, then I want this for as long as I can have it.

  Ace is wonderful. Wonderful enough that I’m willing to ignore the possibility of doom in the future. When my parents come home, this beautiful, blossoming thing that we have might wither under the strain. It’ll become lying, hiding, and sneaking around. We both deserve better than that, but it’s all I can offer.

  I’ll deceive my parents if I have to. I’ll find a way to be with Ace, even if it means doing something ridiculous, like sneaking into junior prom in a duffel bag. This isn’t something I’m willing to half-ass.

  If Ace leaves, I’ll let him go. But it’s not going to be me that steps away from this, not unless I have no other choice. I want this. I want him.

  I want to be happy.

  39

  T-MINUS 9 DAYS

  The next day, I look back at the poem Ace found a while back. “Unshakeable.”

  I never finished it. Writing about myself makes me uncomfortable in a way that’s hard to explain.

  It feels too honest, too vulnerable.

  I remember writing it the day after my parents lectured me against pursuing anything that wasn’t STEM. Sitting at my desk and not being able to push down the anxiety. Counting ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, to no avail.

  Then I sat down with my journal and the words poured out for the first time. I couldn’t figure out what happens past it’s dark, it’s light, a hand reaches out then, but now I think about Ace’s smile, Ace’s patience, Ace’s kindness. I think I finally have the answer.

  somewhere there are birds that fly free

  here, I am caged and can barely breathe

  there is so much to say

  these thoughts never fall from my lips

&n
bsp; I am scared of so goddamn much

  afraid these flames will burn

  my fingers, they hurt from clinging so hard

  I’m lost, I’m bruised, I don’t know what to do

  I never thought I’d give up

  but I’m starting to think I’m going to lose

  it’s dark, it’s light, a hand reaches out

  I hold, you pull

  somehow I find the will to keep on

  unshakeable, you whisper

  I exhale my first clean breath

  unshakeable, I whisper

  freedom tastes sweeter than I’d expect

  unshakeable, we whisper

  you guide me through the fire

  unshakeable, we whisper

  you hold every key I thought I’d never find

  some days, my hands, they tremble with doubt

  you take them, you press them

  against your chest where your heart beats steady

  when I shiver, you sing to me

  the sweetest of songs

  the sun is brighter than it’s ever been

  and I think for you, I’d join the fight again

  unshakeable, you whisper

  unshakeable, I whisper

  unshakeable, we whisper

  “Unshakeable,” I whisper to myself. I finished it. I opened myself to that vulnerability.

  Unshakeable.

  It’s what I want to be. It’s what I hope to be.

  I close my journal and take a deep breath, letting that sink in. Unshakeable. If I was unshakeable, there are so many things I would do.

  T-9 days.

  Nine days until my parents are back and everything changes.

  Nothing terrifies me more than my parents’ disappointment. Of losing their respect and love. Those things feel flimsy most days as it is. To lose what little I have is the most horrifying thing I can think of.

  I know I’m not the only one who struggles to find the balance between loving their parents and being who they want. A lot of other brown people I know have dealt with situations like this. My experience isn’t singular.

  But that doesn’t make it any less scary. I might not be entirely alone in this experience, but I am alone.

  Then I think of Dadu in the next room, and her unwavering support of me, and I adjust that thought. I’m not alone. I have her.

  I have to believe that if she can support me, my parents can, too.

  I hope.

  I stumble into Dadu’s room. She’s sitting on a chair, praying. Her knees are too creaky for her to pray on the prayer mat, so an allowance is made for her to do her rackats from a chair. I blink in surprise, but then grab a janamaz, joining her for the Maghreb prayer.

  When I finish, I look from side to side, murmur a few surahs, blow out a long breath into my palms—asking Allah for guidance in the next few days—and turn to look at Dadu.

  “Are you okay, Myra?” she asks.

  I nod. “Just thinking.” Being around her is enough to make me breathe easier. Having someone in my corner—having her in my corner—is more than I could’ve ever hoped for.

  Yet I still can’t bring myself to make the definitive decision to tell my parents about wanting to study English.

  Nine days to decide.

  I technically have until college applications in the fall, but I know if I don’t do it when my parents come back, I probably won’t do it ever. Especially because Dadu will go home to New Jersey and I’d have to do it on my own.

  And facing my parents alone about this? Just the thought makes me want to walk into traffic.

  No, if I do this, it has to be the day they come back.

  But I don’t know if I have the strength. I don’t know if I can throw all my parents’ hard work back in their faces.

  “Dadu, why is life so hard?” I ask, flopping onto her pillows.

  She squeezes my ankle. “Your Dada used to ask me the same thing.”

  “Did you have an answer for him?”

  My grandma laughs lightly and looks at her bedside table. A photo of her, Dada, and the rest of our family is framed there. “Of course not. I don’t think he was ever genuinely asking. Life is hard because it is. There’s no easy answer. It’s just a matter of whether we’re willing to face the hardships. Even when life was hard, your grandpa was always willing to face it with me.”

  “It makes sense,” I say, smiling. “Everything is easier with your support.”

  “Easier,” Dadu echoes, her gaze still focused on the photo. “But not easy.”

  I sigh wistfully. “Yeah. But not easy.”

  40

  T-MINUS 8 DAYS

  With only eight days left, Ace and I agree to make the most of our time.

  For our second date, Ace doesn’t tell me what we’re doing. Instead, he blindfolds me before I can even walk out of my house, which is all kinds of ridiculous. It’s clear how fond of him I am, because I mutter only one insult and indulge him otherwise, even though I’m pretty sure we’re in a different car.

  We drive for maybe twenty minutes before Ace stops the car. “We’re here,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

  “What a lovely view,” I say, still blindfolded.

  Ace sighs in exasperation. “Hold on.” His long fingers come around the back of my head, untying the cloth. His rings brush my ear, cold against my skin.

  It was already late when Ace picked me up. The sun had set a few minutes prior to his arrival. Now, when I pull the blindfold away, the sky is completely dark.

  I look around, trying to figure out what we’re doing, but there’s nothing around us for miles. We’re in a clearing beside a cluster of trees, and Ace is smiling like we’re at the top of the world.

  That’s when I realize what type of car we’re in. It’s some kind of pickup truck that looks like it belongs in a junkyard. I’m surprised we made it this far without the vehicle breaking down. “Who did you rob to get this death machine?”

  He bumps his shoulder against mine. “No one. It belongs to my stepmother.”

  “Are you going to kill me or something?” I’m only half joking. “This truck will definitely lead to my death somehow.”

  Ace rolls his eyes and climbs out of the truck. I laugh and follow him.

  When he pulls away the built-in tarp, I see how nicely decorated the truck’s bed is. There are piles of soft blankets and fluffy pillows alongside a basket filled with junk food and soft drinks.

  Ace watches me with a hopeful expression.

  “What’s this?” I ask softly.

  He shrugs sheepishly and gestures toward the sky. “I thought maybe we could watch the stars? I come out here when I can. It’s a little hard where we live because of light pollution from the city, but it’s pretty clear over here. I thought you might like it.”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask, climbing into the back of the truck. I settle into the blankets and offer Ace a reassuring smile. “I love it. Thank you for putting it together.”

  He laughs and he looks nervous. My heart honestly hurts. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I pat the spot next to me. “Let’s look at some stars, Ace.”

  And so we do.

  We watch the stars, and Ace points at the brightest one and mutters something outrageous about how it’s not as bright as I am. All the while I try not to break my face from smiling too big.

  Ace is beautiful, the pale moonlight washing over him in ways that highlight the shadows on his face. When he speaks, he’s focused solely on whatever he’s talking about. He points out his favorite star constellations and tells me all their stories. He might just be the most captivating human being I’ve ever met. I’m still listening to him talk when he suddenly sits up and shrugs off his leather jacket.

  I’m confused un
til Ace rolls his shirtsleeve up and points at his solar system tattoo. “Sometimes, I bring my telescope out here, and I can see some of the planets when I use the right settings. It’s what inspired me to get this.”

  I smile, lying back on the blankets. “I hope you know your tattoo still contributes to your bad-boy reputation.” I giggle when he hits me with a throw pillow. “What? Am I wrong? You’re a sixteen-year-old with an illegal tattoo!”

  “How can you lecture me about what’s illegal when you’re a thief?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve stolen my heart, after all.”

  I attempt to scowl. I really, really do. It just doesn’t work, not when I have all this bright lightning zinging through me. “That was terrible.”

  “I don’t think you have much of a problem with it,” he says, lips twisting into an impish grin. “You can’t even frown at me.”

  I force my lips into the best frown I can manage, but he just keeps grinning. I hold it for maybe ten seconds before I huff a laugh and shove his chest. “Whatever.”

  “I win,” he says and darts in to kiss my cheek before I can so much as blink. “Lie down with me, I’ll tell you the story of Orion.”

  I start to nod when my phone rings, a picture of my dad flashing across the screen. I sit up abruptly, my breath caught in my throat. “Fuck. Oh my God. Oh my God, what do I do?”

  Ace is half tangled in the blankets as he tries to sit up, looking equally startled. “Uh. Do you want to get back in the car? Maybe you can pretend you’re with your brother or something?”

  I scramble up, almost falling off the truck bed in my haste. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “You got my brother’s number the other night, right? Can you call him?”

  Ace nods, climbing off the truck after me, typing rapidly into his phone. My heart is jackrabbiting, attempting to burst through my chest as I run around the side of the truck.

  We slip into the front seats and my phone falls silent. I wince, knowing my parents are going to be upset I didn’t pick up immediately.

  Ace’s dial tone starts ringing and we wait for Samir to pick up, sitting on the edge of our seats. There’s a rustle on the other end of Ace’s phone and then, “Ace? What’s up, dude? Is my sister okay?”