Counting Down with You(109)

“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