Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  —death is desire, k.m.a.

  Desire certainly feels like death. Why would anyone want anything if it means risking this feeling when it doesn’t work out?

  I don’t have the answer.

  When the bell rings again, I contemplate just sitting here and letting what happens happen. But again, the fear of my parents being called spurs me into action, and I head for APUSH with my shoulders slumped.

  I’m almost there when I see a familiar figure across the hallway. My eyes lock with Ace’s, and his expression breaks with relief. “Karina, there you are. I’ve been looking for—”

  No, no, no.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t look Ace in the eye and tell him I tried and it wasn’t enough. I can’t do it.

  I can’t relive that moment again.

  “I’m sorry.” I look away, hurrying inside my classroom, where he can’t follow.

  “Karina!” Ace calls after me. I can’t see his face, but he sounds distraught.

  I swallow roughly but don’t look back. I don’t have the strength to face him. I don’t have the strength to face anyone.

  Even after everything, I still want to be with Ace. That’s the one thing I’m certain of. But I can’t right now. I need time to sew up the gaping wound in my chest, to find a way to grapple with the future I’ve lost.

  By the time Italian rolls around, I have no choice but to see Cora and Nandini.

  They’re waiting for me outside the classroom. As soon as I see them, my hearts starts racing impossibly fast. I don’t want to explain. I don’t want to do anything.

  “Karina,” Nandini says, reaching for me and pulling me into her arms. I comply, mostly because I don’t want to make an even bigger scene. “What’s going on?”

  I shake my head and take a shaky breath, my nose buried in her neck. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “Please don’t make me talk about it.”

  “Was it—was it Ace?” Cora asks in concern, wrapping her arms around both of us, maneuvering us into a three-way hug. “Do I have to kill him? He seemed worried but that doesn’t mean anything. I can sharpen my knives within the hour.”

  I wish I could smile. I wish I had the energy.

  “It was my parents,” I say, and that’s as much of an explanation as I’m willing to offer. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Cora says and hugs me even tighter.

  The bell rings and we huddle through the door, pulling apart. They’re both watching me in worry, and I love them for it, even if I’m not in the headspace to react properly.

  “If you need anything, we’re here,” Nandini says in a hushed voice, squeezing my hand. “Anything at all. We love you.”

  “Anything,” Cora agrees, squeezing my other hand.

  I nod and look away. “Thank you.”

  Class passes by in a blur. Nandini and Cora keep shooting me looks—I can feel them—but I don’t look back. I can’t.

  When ninth period comes, I head for Miss Cannon’s classroom. There’s still one thing left to do.

  50

  T-PLUS 1 DAY

  When I get home, I have multiple texts from Ace. I don’t want to look at them but he deserves better than that. I have to say something, if not everything.

  He deserves that much.

  I light a candle and brace myself to look through the messages.

  Ace Clyde :

  are you okay?

  Ace Clyde :

  what’s wrong? pls talk to me?

  Ace Clyde :

  miss C said you canceled our tutoring sessions for good.

  Ace Clyde :

  pls just text me back

  Ace Clyde :

  karina please

  Me:

  I talked to my parents and they said I can’t be an english major. I don’t want to talk about it. please leave me alone for now

  Ace Clyde :

  that’s bullshit wtf i’m so sorry

  Ace Clyde :

  is there anything i can do?

  Ace Clyde :

  pls talk to someone if not me

  Ace Clyde :

  what does ur dadu think?

  Ace Clyde :

  karina...

  Me:

  ace please drop it I can’t do this rn

  Me:

  can we pause for a few days? just until I get my head on straight. I need some time

  Me:

  this is a line for me please please please don’t cross it

  Ace Clyde :

  okay i won’t

  Ace Clyde :

  even if we’re on pause i’m always here if you need anything

  Ace Clyde :

  just lmk

  I throw my phone away and bury my face in my pillows. The future looks bleak.

  I hate it but I’m helpless to it.

  T-PLUS 5 DAYS

  The week passes in a haze. Oscar Wilde once said, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” I’ve never more thoroughly understood the sentiment than right now.

  I’m just existing. My body goes through the motions, but my brain barely processes them.

  Everyone around me is worried. I know it as well as I know the back of my hand.

  Samir checks in on me every night and finds an excuse to do his homework in my room. He tries to broach the subject of our parents, but after I shut him down for the third time, he settles for providing silent comfort. It’s nice to know he’s stayed true to being in my corner, but it doesn’t make the situation better.

  Cora and Nandini follow me around protectively even when I’m despondent and unresponsive. Ace watches me constantly and texts me near as often. He doesn’t ask about my parents, but he does ask about me. Every day, I get a variation of How are you doing? interspersed with random updates about his day, even though I rarely reply.

  Miss Cannon looks at me with a crease in her brow every time I walk into English. Ever since I told her I had to quit tutoring Ace because of a family issue, she’s been concerned. She offered to talk to my parents, but my vehement refusal stopped her. However, with each passing day she looks like she regrets that decision more and more.

  I even go to Pre-Med Society once. I end up leaving halfway through, unable to stomach that this is my future now, that this is really happening.

  With each passing day, my heart cracks a little more.

  Ironically enough, even my parents have noticed. Everything they ask me to do, I do, but in complete and utter silence. Every time I look in the mirror, my eyes are dead, and I have to assume they’re even more dead when I’m around them.

  Once or twice, Ma gives me a sharp look and asks what’s wrong. I shake my head and continue on my way. Baba only frowns at me. When they think I’m not looking, they exchange inscrutable looks.

  The one person I refuse to let worry is Dadu. I don’t tell her about anything that’s going on. I don’t know how to tell her. I’m afraid that, if she finds out what my parents said, it’ll set something bigger and scarier into motion.

  Back when I thought there was a chance of my parents agreeing, it was okay to involve my grandma. Now, knowing they’re against it, I wouldn’t dare bring her into it. I don’t want to imagine my parents’ anger if they thought I turned her against them.

  Even worse, Dadu might feel guilty for my misery, and I can’t stand that idea. She has enough weight on her shoulders from all the loss in her life, without me piling onto it. It’s not her fault our family’s a disaster.

  Every day is as monotonous as the last. Nothing in the present matters anymore now that my future is written.

  It’s Friday when things are uprooted from the ordinary.

  I’m gathering my things from m
y locker during my lunch period when someone’s shadow looms over me.

  I tiredly turn to face them, and I’m taken aback at the sight of Xander Clyde.

  “What?” I ask. My voice sounds dead even to my own ears. If I had the energy, I’d wince.

  But I’m not going to fake a happy expression for Xander, of all people. He’s low on the list of people whose opinions I care about.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he says, glancing around halfheartedly before looking back at me. There’s no one in the hallway, since it’s already fifteen minutes into lunch and most people are inside the cafeteria or outside enjoying the burgeoning spring weather. “Is now a good time?”

  I turn back to my locker. “No.”

  “You don’t look busy.”

  “Can’t you take no for an answer?”

  “You’re being difficult,” Xander says, closing my locker. “No wonder you and Cora are best friends.”

  I give him a flat look, but there isn’t much heat behind it. He’s an irritating fly buzzing near my ear when I’m in the middle of facing off with a pack of wolves.

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “I...wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything to drive you away from Ace.” Xander looks contrite for the first time since I’ve met him. “I haven’t seen you two together for a while, and I realize I might’ve been a little rude when we last spoke to each other.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. He came to me in concern over Ace?

  “No, you didn’t do anything,” I say. “Now can I please open my locker?”

  “If I didn’t do anything, why are you avoiding him?” Xander says as he furrows his eyebrows. My heart thuds miserably. He and Ace have the same thick brows that seem to commandeer their face.

  “Did Ace send you?” I ask quietly. “Because I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “No, I’m just worried about him,” Xander says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “He’s always been somewhat of a broody asshole, but he’s been extra broody lately. I assume it has to do with you.”

  This is so uncomfortable. Xander Clyde isn’t winning Brother of the Year anytime soon, but apparently he’s trying anyway. I’m glad for Ace that his brother isn’t as much of an asshole as we thought, but I also don’t want to deal with this at all right now. Especially not when there are tears pricking the back of my eyes.

  I turn away from him, blinking away stray moisture. “And what? You came here to convince me to run back into his arms?”

  “I mean...would you?”

  I can’t believe this guy. “I’m sorry, but no. I’m glad you’re trying to be a decent brother to Ace, but please just—just leave me alone.”

  Xander sighs. “I tried.” He starts to turn away but falters and looks back at me. “He really misses you, you know. I’m not just saying that. He’s been playing that song he wrote for you a lot. Drives Mia and me up the wall to hear him go on and on all night, but Dad’s being soft on him now, so he doesn’t make Ace stop.”

  There’s a lump in my throat that’s painful to swallow past. “Xander, please go.”

  “I’m going,” he says, shaking his head. “All I’m saying is that he cares about you a lot.”

  Before I can reply, he turns around and walks away, whistling merrily as if he didn’t just take a dump on my entire day.

  My heart hurts thinking about Ace missing me. My heart hurts thinking about all of the missed opportunities ahead of us.

  I laugh bitterly to myself when I remember prom. It’s out of the question now. I don’t know why I ever got my hopes up.

  No matter how much I wish things were different, they’re not.

  Not that any of it matters anyway. I’m not in the mental headspace to hold a conversation with someone, much less be part of a relationship.

  But I miss him, too, and this is hard.

  For now, this is the way it has to be. I hope I can take us off pause soon, but that future seems impossibly far away and I don’t know when I’ll reach it.

  I can only hope he’s still there when I do.

  51

  T-PLUS 12 DAYS

  Another week passes. It’s no surprise that I forget our poetry projects are due in English the upcoming Friday. I realize only after I walk into English—heading for the front of the room, alone, rather than the back where Nandini, Cora, and Ace are—and take a seat.

  I did my project. After I quit tutoring Ace, I didn’t want anything tying me back to the sessions, so I finished the project in its entirety. I refuse to present it, though. If I’m called up, I’ll take the grade reduction in favor of skipping the presentation.

  “Alistair Clyde,” Miss Cannon says, drawing my attention. “You’re first to present.”

  Oh. Right. I forgot I was there during that conversation.

  For the first time in two weeks, a quiet part of me stirs. I never read anything he wrote. I don’t know if he even finished his project.

  Ace stands and makes his way to the front of the classroom. He’s as beautiful as the first day we met, and it hurts.

  He hands Miss Cannon a stapled set of papers but takes out a folded sheet of loose-leaf from his pocket to read from. It’s slightly crumpled, and Ace smoothes the edges.

  Then he turns to look at me.

  “This is my free verse poem. It’s called ‘Lionheart,’” Ace says, his intense gaze meeting mine. “I wrote it for someone special to me.”

  My breath catches. He wrote a poem for me? He’s going to present a poem he wrote for me?

  “Here goes nothing,” Ace says under his breath. I’m lost to his next words.

  promises are meant to be broken, that’s what people always say

  but what if I want to keep mine?

  to this day, I’d sooner break my bones

  than go back on any of the words I said

  so dearly to you

  we’re so young, God, we’re so young

  only sixteen with a pocketful of big dreams

  the world is in our hands, that’s what people always say

  but what if I’m afraid to carry it?

  what if I don’t want to be Atlas?

  you, my dear, are unshakeable

  you hold your cards close to your chest

  courage finds a home in the space between your ribs

  I’m too young to understand, that’s what people always say

  but I am old enough to see

  there’s a forest fire in your eyes that sets me alight

  a bravery in your heart that beats in tune to mine

  my darling, you’re something out of a story

  poetry doesn’t begin to do your soul justice

  change is inevitable, that’s what people always say

  but what if that change is good?

  there’s a lightness to my steps there wasn’t before

  there’s a brightness in my heart there wasn’t before

  if you held me up to a candle,

  my silhouette would be covered in your name

  before you, I used to care what people always say

  your lovely heart led me astray in unexpected ways

  sometimes I think I’m going to burst into flames

  from the spark you struck inside my chest

  I wonder, how do you keep from setting yourself afire?

  but then comes the startling yet undeniable understanding

  you are fireproof, lionheart

  and now I am, too

  Silence follows the last line. My pulse is rocketing under my skin, pressing against my neck as if it’s trying to escape. I’m barely breathing.

  Tears threaten to spill from my eyes and I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

  I get to my feet and run out of the c
lassroom, despite the protest I hear from Miss Cannon.

  I run into the staircase and heave a deep breath, my tears flowing freely. You are fireproof, lionheart. Then why do I feel like I’m burning alive?

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

  Despite pressing the heels of my palms forcefully into my eyes, the tears won’t stop. I just want them to stop.

  I just want everything to stop.

  “Karina.”

  “No,” I say, voice cracking. I can’t face Ace right now.

  “Please just look at me,” he says softly. His hands are gentle when they touch my wrists, tugging on them until I finally drop my hands from my face.

  “What?” I wish he wasn’t staring at me. I don’t have to look in a mirror to know I look as horrible as I feel.

  Ace frowns, his thumbs swiping across my cheeks carefully. “What’s going on?”

  I laugh hoarsely. “I wish I knew.”

  He keeps staring at me with his wide, concerned stormy eyes, and I don’t know how to explain, how to say what’s happening, how to say his poem hit somewhere deep inside of me that’s still trying to heal.

  Tears pool in my eyes again and Ace shakes his head, murmuring, “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m so lost,” I say through harsh breaths. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, pulling me toward his chest. He rests his chin against the crown of my head and strokes a hand down my back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

  “It’s not okay,” I say, my voice muffled. It’s so hard to breathe. “It’s not okay.”

  “Shhh,” Ace murmurs, his lips pressed against my hair. “You’ll figure it out, whatever it is. I know that. I know you.”

  “I don’t even know me,” I say, wishing it wasn’t the truth. I’m a stranger in my own skin. I’m a puppet on strings, playing out my parents’ dreams.

  “Of course you do,” Ace says before squeezing my shoulders. “Please breathe. Follow me, come on.”

  I exhale deeply and try to breathe with the movements of his chest. It clears my head enough to say, “Nothing about me is even real. I’m just the person my parents want me to be.”

  “No,” Ace says, his voice fierce enough to jar me. I’m suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings, of his wool sweater pressed against my cheek, the faint scent of cinnamon in the air, the thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear. “That’s not true. How can you not be real? You’re the realest thing I’ve ever known.”