Counting Down with You(22)

“Don’t be,” he says, before lifting his chin at me. “What about you, Ahmed? What are you passionate about?”

“Literature,” I say. He makes a face like he doesn’t believe me, and I hurry to add, “Writing is what helped me gain confidence in myself. There’s something really special about being able to express yourself with words. I love stories and I love poems and I love learning more and more with each word. I think it’s amazing.” My words run together in a nervous jumble, but it seems to be enough.

Ace’s disbelieving expression melts off his face. “I’m sorry, too, then.”

“Don’t be,” I say in return, giving him a half smile. The dead butterflies in my stomach are apparently practicing necromancy, because they’re fluttering around now instead of weighing me down. “Maybe we can meet in the middle. I really do want to help you.”

“Yeah,” he says, considering the books in front of us. They’re not ours, but a copy of The Great Gatsby is sitting at the top. “Maybe we can.”

Our studying session that day is much more productive than I could ever have anticipated. I run through some analyses about The Scarlet Letter, and Ace listens attentively.

Every now and then, his gaze flickers across the room, but his eyes always eventually return to me.

Finally, I ask, “Are you looking for someone?”

He startles, as if he wasn’t expecting me to bring attention to it. “Oh. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, lowering his gaze. “Not really. I was looking for my brother. You said you saw him in here yesterday.”

I furrow my brows. “Do you need to talk to him?”

“No.” Ace’s mouth curls with distaste. After a moment, he sighs. “I don’t want him to know I’m being tutored. I’ll never hear the end of it if he finds out.”

I tilt my head, considering his expression. “Are you...embarrassed? It’s okay to ask for help, you know.”

“No, I’m not embarrassed,” he says immediately. “My brother’s just an asshole sometimes. It’s better if he doesn’t know.”

It’s clear from the tight set of his shoulders that there’s more he isn’t saying, but I decide to let it go. “Should we head to Pietra’s then?”

Ace looks up and a breathtaking smile breaks across his face. “Really?”

I roll my eyes and tug his wrist. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

I pack up my things, and we head to the sweet shop. I get chocolate chip ice cream this time and when Ace says we should take a short break, I tentatively agree.

“So when do your parents get back?” Ace asks. “They’re out of the country, right?”

The question feels personal, even though it’s hardly revealing of anything. I think the best way to help Ace might be to be his friend, so I decide to answer instead of deflecting.

“Yeah,” I say, toying with my spoon. “They’re visiting family in Bangladesh. They come back April 1st.”

“That’s almost a whole month away,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you going to do with your newfound freedom? Attend parties every night? Go to a rave? Rob a library?”

He’s teasing me. I know he’s teasing me, but it hits home that I would never even attempt any of those things, because even when they’re gone, my parents are still with me.

I sigh more deeply than I intend. “Probably not.”

“You should do something fun,” Ace says, poking me with the end of his plastic spoon. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance.”

“Ace, let’s not do this,” I say, suddenly tired. There are certain things I will never be able to do, and I’m not in the mood to explain our cultural differences to him. The last thing I need is for a white boy to try to fix any of my problems. There’s nothing he can do—and there’s nothing I want him to do. “This isn’t... Let’s get back to studying.”

Ace stares at me for a long beat of silence. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” he says quietly. “Teach away, Ahmed.”

My lips curve upward, and the tension in him eases, a smile flitting past his own lips.

By the end of our session, I feel like we’re genuinely making progress. Ace actually asks me a question about The Scarlet Letter, which is a huge victory.

I leave the shop with a hopeful light in my heart. Maybe this studying thing will go smoothly, after all.



12


T-MINUS 23 DAYS

As soon as I walk into the cafeteria Friday morning, my friends pounce. I yelp in alarm, trying to slip out from between them. “What is wrong with you?”

“Tell us everything,” Cora says, clutching my arm. There’s a wild look in her eye that is all-too-familiar and frightening. When Nandini had a boyfriend sophomore year, this was the same behavior Cora exhibited. It’s extremely alarming that she’s acting the same way right now.

“There’s nothing to tell!” I look at Nandini pleadingly, but she shakes her head. “I told you everything last night.”

“All you said was—” Cora pauses to pull out her phone. I glower at her for keeping receipts. “‘Nvm, everything’s fine. Ace is just being a weirdo.’ What does that mean, Karina? Define weirdo.”