Counting Down with You(16)
I’m not sure Dadu caught half of what I said, because I started interspersing English with Bengali halfway through, but she’s beaming like she understands, so I’ll take it. “Very interesting.”
A smile finally graces my lips. “Thanks, Dadu.”
She runs a hand over the back of my head affectionately. “Always, Myra.”
I return to my room, hoping to find a distraction when I catch sight of the clock. I still have time to do the Isha prayer. I head for my closet, grabbing a headscarf and a janamaz prayer mat. Maybe this will help with the unease still coursing through me.
As I set my phone down, an Instagram notification appears at the top of my screen. Ace Clyde (@AlistairClyde) has requested to follow you.
I stare at it for several moments before accepting. His profile is on private, but I press the button to follow back anyway, and wait for him to accept my follow request in return.
In the meantime, I send a screenshot to Nandini and Cora and ignore the twenty texts of screaming that follow, returning to my janamaz. Still, I’m tempted to join them. With the way things are playing out, I can only imagine what tomorrow will bring.
9
T-MINUS 25 DAYS
The school library is different. Nothing about it is out of place compared to yesterday, but it’s definitely different. It feels like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for something.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Xander Clyde, student body president and Ace’s brother, appears in my peripheral vision. I watch surreptitiously as he peruses the aisle ahead of me, looking through cookbooks.
I blink.
He finally seems to find the one he’s looking for and, when he turns the cover my way, I glimpse something about Italian recipes.
Huh.
Xander makes for the self-checkout and I look away, returning to my task of finding another copy of The Scarlet Letter so Ace and I don’t have to share mine. I spot it on the upper shelves and grimace. The upper shelves are my enemies.
I stretch on my tiptoes. I’m almost there, my fingers brushing against the spine, when someone laughs behind me and I jump, my hand knocking into the book. It falls forward, nearly smacking me in the face on its way down.
I part my lips, too shocked to fully process it. What—?
A hand reaches for the book at my feet, and when I look up, Ace is standing there with mirth lining his eyes. He looks like the midnight sky, from the dark vastness of the night to the bright moon and shining stars, and it’s slowly driving me up the wall.
“You could have just asked someone for help.” He looks far too self-satisfied as he leans against a shelf, and I can’t help the indignant noise I release.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the book. I don’t wait for a response, walking past him and back to my table. As I make my way through the aisles, I curse at myself for getting riled up over nothing.
His footsteps sound behind me, and I withhold the urge to roll my eyes. At least he showed up on time today.
As I sit down, he says, “You seem tired,” while looking me over.
I am tired. But that’s too much information. I don’t want him to assume my exhaustion is because of his little Instagram spectacle.
In reality, I’m tired because I spent the better part of last night scouring the internet for better anxiety-coping mechanisms. I decided to try them out for a few days each, to see what sticks. The first one I picked was writing down my thoughts, but even if it does help, I know it won’t be instantaneous.
But I’ll always have my countdown for that. Nandini found the technique on TikTok and sent it to me a few months ago. I’ve adopted it as mine ever since.
When I look up, Ace is still watching me. I feel too hot and too small in my oversized sweater, the sleeves slipping over my wrists. After the phone call with my parents yesterday, I didn’t have it in me to wear a crop top again today.
“Thanks,” I say and point to our books. “Let’s study.”
“Hold on.” Ace disappears between the shelves. I stare after him for a moment before sighing, burying my face in my hands.
Even though I can feel my exhaustion viscerally, I didn’t realize I looked tired. I never wear makeup, mostly because I’m lazy, but I should’ve done the bare minimum and put some color corrector beneath my eyes. I’m sure Nandini would’ve let me borrow hers if I’d thought to ask. We have a similar light brown skin tone.
I shoot Nandini a text asking her to bring it tomorrow, and she immediately replies, did ace say something rude? I’ll throw hands in ur honor!!!
I smile. nothing I wouldn’t say myself!! dw
Ace reappears holding a book. I squint, trying to make out the title.
It’s a book about different types of monkeys...
Monkeys?
Maybe the Clydes made a pact to confuse me with their reading choices.
Unable to help myself, I write it down. A boy who looks like moonlight and reads strange books about monkeys. There’s a poem hidden somewhere in that sentence.
“Did you know some monkeys don’t have tails?” Ace asks as if he can feel my gaze on him. My own lips start to betray me and turn up in amusement. “How weird is that? It can’t be a monkey without a tail, right?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stop whatever the hell it is my lips are trying to do. “Apparently it can.”