To my family, especially my Dadu, for believing in my dreams—and to Zareen Khan, Fabia Mahmud, and Shannon Ali, for being my touchstone.

To S and T, for everything always.

And finally, to Tom Holland, for inspiring this idea in and of itself. Like I said in the author’s note, Emmitt Ramos is remarkably different from Tom Holland (although both are iconic!), but he exists in part because of him. Thank you for coming to Bronx Science and thank you for giving me a fictional story to spin out of the surreal circumstance of meeting you, Tom. I’ll forever be grateful.

And that’s a wrap! Thank you all for tuning into the ASFT Oscars! Have a wonderful night!

Excerpt from Counting Down with You by Tashie Bhuiyan

Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

1

T-MINUS 28 DAYS

Airports are the true chaotic evil.

There are too many things happening around me. Too many people in a hurry, too many people lazing around, too many announcements on the overhead speakers, and way too many tearful goodbyes.

Anarchy reigns in my little corner. My mom is on the phone, saying goodbye to her ten million friends, and my dad looks like he already regrets agreeing to go on a month-long trip to Bangladesh with her. Even with my earphones in, JFK Airport is too loud.

I wish I were anywhere else.

My younger brother, Samir, stands next to me as I sip the drink I forced him to buy me at Starbucks. In my other hand, I have a book flipped open to pass the time.

Dadu, my grandma on my paternal side, is busy fretting over my dad’s shirt. “Tuck it in,” she says in Bengali.

I hide my smile behind my drink when he reluctantly tucks in his shirt. Dadu isn’t someone to mess with.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” I ask Samir, taking out an earphone.

“Who knows,” he says. “Whenever Ma finally gets off the phone.”

That was decidedly unhelpful. “So…never.”

I still think the beginning of March is too chilly to go on vacation, but knowing my parents, plane tickets were probably cheapest today.

Even though I love my parents, I’m happy to see them leave for a month to visit my mom’s side of the family. A part of me wishes I could go, since I love visiting Bangladesh and soaking in the beautiful, bustling energy of Dhaka, but the idea of spending an entire month surrounded by only my relatives is horrifying. Thankfully, high school takes priority over seeing extended family. Being sixteen is a good thing sometimes.

Only sometimes.

My mom finally gets off the phone and gestures to their suitcases. “Come help me, Samir.”