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Back A Show for Two Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise for Counting Down with You
  4. Dedication
  5. Author’s Note
  6. Opening
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. Intermission
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. Closing
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. Five Years Later
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Excerpt from Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan
  67. Booklist

I press my sweater against my lips to muffle any sounds that might escape my mouth, but my shoulders are still shaking uncontrollably.

I have nothing left. I don’t have Anam, I don’t have Rosie, I don’t have Emmitt, and I don’t have this city.

All I have are my dreams, and I’m beginning to realize that might not be enough.

49

The moment I close my bedroom door behind me, my knees buckle and I hit the ground with a quiet thud. Ma and Baba aren’t home, which is the only relief in the midst of all the overwhelming panic crowding my chest.

I draw in a ragged breath, my hands curling helplessly at the carpet.

What am I supposed to do to mend the hole in my heart? Is there even anything I can do?

Why is everyone pushing me away? Why are my dreams standing in between us? USC was supposed to make things better, not worse.

Going to California was supposed to mean being free. Going to California was supposed to mean being happy. USC has been my dream for so long now, a light at the end of an awful tunnel, and now I’m questioning if there was ever any light at all.

Why won’t this nightmare end?

Another sob escapes me, and I shake my head, forcing myself to stop thinking. I stand and walk to my bed on shaky legs, even though every step seems to widen the empty cavern between my ribs. I make it only halfway there before I have to stop, gripping the back of my chair, my knuckles straining with the effort not to break something.

USC flyers and pamphlets and information brochures are splayed across my desk, and I look at them blankly, trying to make sense of the words swimming in my vision.

How can going to USC be worth it if I’m this miserable before I’ve even gotten my application status back?

I close my eyes, trying in vain to stop the onslaught of tears. There has to be something I can do to fix this—there has to be.

But there isn’t.

How is that fair? Why is everything so hard? Why can’t there be an easy answer? When will it finally be my turn to live the life I deserve, one where I get to thrive and chase my dreams and keep everyone I love at my side?

And suddenly, I’m so angry. Why can’t I be happy? Why is that asking so much of the world?

I grab one of the USC flyers, crumpling it in my fist. It satisfies some of my rage, but not enough to stop the water still pooling in my eyes, not enough to stop the shallow sobs escaping my lips.