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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 turn to her slowly, finding it difficult to tear my gaze away from Emmitt, but then my smile blooms back to life at the stars in her eyes. “Yes, we are.”

Intermission

Intermission

“All this time, I hid in the darkness. All this time, I was the light.”

—MINA RAHMAN

(SCREENWRITER, YOU ARE THE LIGHT)

18

Maybe a normal teenager would enjoy midwinter break, but I spend the entire time wanting to scream into the void. I hate being around my parents for extended periods of time. My depression is always worse when I don’t have anything to do, and having them around doesn’t help at all.

Even more, now that winning the Golden Ivy competition is in reach, I’m more anxious than ever about what decision USC will make.

What if I don’t get in? What if I don’t get in? What if I don’t get in?

I feel like I’m about to go stir-crazy, my mental health taking a slow downward turn as I sit at home, waiting and waiting and waiting.

“Poppy,” Ma says, blocking my view of Thoroughbreds (2017) on the television. “Are you listening to me? Poppy!”

I grimace and look up at her, an apron tied around her waist, and an empty colander in her hands. “What?”

“All you do is sit around and do nothing,” she gripes, frowning at me. “Why don’t you help me cook dinner today? I’m making your favorite, ilish pulao.”

My nose wrinkles. It is my favorite, but Ma usually makes plain rice and calls it a day. Baba is the cook in the house. “Why?”

Ma’s frown deepens as she wipes sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. “Do I have to explain everything to you now? It’s not as if you tell us anything.”

My mood immediately drops, an anchor weighing down any lingering curiosity I had. “I wonder why that is,” I say.

“Poppy,” Ma says coldly. “Don’t be so childish. It’s shameful. Imagine if someone saw you being so immature? Come now, help me.” She turns her head in the direction of the dining room, where Anam is on FaceTime with a friend. “Anam, why don’t you join Poppy and me? Afterward, we can all do a puzzle together. I just ordered a—”

“I actually have homework to do,” I say, turning off Netflix with a press of a button. “And it looks like Anam is busy, too, so...sorry.”

Without another word, I head up the stairs, ignoring my mother’s pointed glare.