Counting Down with You(4)

“Are you serious?” I ask, giggling. “Do you know how you sound right now? Is this because your dad is white?”

Nandini snorts. “That’s exactly why,” she says. “Cora, you silly, silly girl. I love you.”

“Don’t be condescending,” Cora says, pointing a lead pencil at Nandini in warning. She hesitates and adds, “but I love you, too.”

I snort. “You’re both such clowns.”

“Shut up.” Nandini bumps her shoulder into mine. “If we have to kidnap you ourselves for junior prom, we’ll do it. I could probably fit you in a duffel bag. It would take a little squeezing but between the three of us, we can make it work.”

“Oh my God, does that mean we’re doing it?” Cora says, nearly screeching in my ear. Some of the people at the end of the table give us dark looks, and I smile apologetically. “It’s official! NCK is going to junior prom!”

“Why don’t I ever think before I speak?” Nandini whispers, casting a glance skyward.

I lean my head against Nandini’s shoulder, still smiling. My best friends might be clowns, but they’re mine and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Nandini slumps to accommodate me and on my other side, Cora interlaces our fingers. “I really wish we could all go to prom together,” I say. “But with my parents... I don’t know.”

Cora squeezes my hand. “Karina, you know what the poets say. If you want something badly enough, nothing can stop you or whatever. Right, Nandini?”

Nandini nods, grinning at my exasperated expression. She takes my other hand in hers, looping our pinkies together. “You can’t let the world decide your future for you. It’s your life, babe. If you want to go to prom, we should go to prom. You should put your happiness first every once in a while.”

“I’m just being realistic,” I say under my breath, but when they both squeeze my hands again, I return the gesture.

Nandini snorts. “Sure, Karina. We’ll go with that.”

“I am,” I say, my voice rising.

Cora hums, arching a perfect brow. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t you both have homework to catch up on?”

“Oh shit,” Cora says, suddenly flipping through her binder. “Did either of you understand the Italian homework? Because I am so lost. What does question three even mean?”

I look on as Nandini explains, but I can’t help but reflect on our conversation. My parents aren’t here now, so I have more freedom than before, but that doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want. This will last for only so long.

Twenty-seven days until they return and my gilded cage slams shut again.



3


T-MINUS 27 DAYS

We part ways for our first class of the day. I sit in the back of the room and tune out my teacher, doodling aimlessly in my journal. I’m not an artist, but sometimes poetry runs rampant in my thoughts, so whenever I have a free moment, I write it down.

I’m drowning in a pool of moonlight

my lungs are full of stars

When the bell rings, I pack my stuff and make my way to my locker through the overcrowded hallways.

My locker is a visual representation of my brain. Pictures of Nandini, Cora, and me are littered across every surface. There are pictures of TV characters and fanart of my favorite book scenes. Random things I need to remember are scribbled on a whiteboard attached to the inside of my locker door. Hung at the back is a replica of Desdemona’s strawberry handkerchief from Othello, and pinned to the bottom of the material are a few of my poems.

I put away my textbook and head to my next—and favorite—class, English. It’s a dearly needed breather after AP Physics. God forbid my parents ever realize how much I’m struggling in that class.

I slip into my English classroom and sit in the back corner, next to the window. Cora, Nandini, and I claimed this corner in the beginning of the year, since it’s easier to text discreetly here.

“The wildest thing happened during gym,” Nandini says as she drops into the seat beside me. Our teacher, Miss Cannon, is scrawling the opening activity onto the whiteboard, hardly paying attention to us. “I’ll tell you and Cora during lunch.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Can’t wait.”

As the bell rings, Cora rushes into class and takes a seat on the other side of Nandini. “I really had to pee,” she says, chest heaving.

I sympathetically offer her my water bottle.

Miss Cannon claps, drawing attention to the front of the room. “Let’s begin our discussion of The Great Gatsby...”

I’m in a good enough mood today that I raise my hand as soon as the discussion begins. Usually, I’m too flustered unless I have a really good talking point. I don’t like having people’s eyes on me unless I have something smart to say. “I don’t think it truly matters whether Gatsby is telling the truth about himself or his past—because does it even affect his future? He could spin any tale, and it wouldn’t matter nearly as much as the way his love for Daisy is presented. I’d argue it’s the biggest facet of his entire persona.”

“Interesting point, Karina,” Miss Cannon says, smiling. “Would anyone like to counter or contribute further to that?”