My annoyance might have slipped in while I was writing it, though. In place of formal descriptions are the crude recaps I usually give to my friends. I probably should’ve kept it more professional, but it’s not my fault he didn’t show up.

Nandini and Cora insist I go to the library again, saying maybe Ace had an emergency and I should give him a second chance. I have to remind them exasperatedly that I’m not trying to date him.

God forbid I ever do. My parents would murder me.

There are far too many rules in my household, and not dating is one of the big ones. Some of them, I can understand, but others are more difficult to get behind. I have to be careful with the way I spend my time, I have to be careful with who I decide to hang out with, and I have to be careful about what kind of goals I choose to pursue.

With all of that in mind, getting an English degree is more or less a pipe dream.

Abiding by all these rules day in and day out is exhausting, but my parents have sacrificed too much for me to throw it all away by being selfish. They left behind their lives in Bangladesh and moved here in the hopes of giving me a better life. They want me to grow up and be successful, to be financially stable, to be focused and diligent and hardworking.

I know they’re thinking about my future, but I don’t know how to be the daughter they can gloat about at our community parties, the daughter whose achievements they can praise to their coworkers, the daughter who never steps a toe out of line and does everything exactly as they wish. Still, a part of me wants that—to be enough for them, to have them be proud of me. The rest of me wishes I could crawl into a hole.

I try not to think about it too much.

When I get to English, I don’t see Ace, so I leave the study guide on his usual desk with a scribbled note explaining what it is. Miss Cannon watches me curiously but only offers a smile when our eyes meet.

I exhale in relief. If she saw how awful my commentary was, I think I’d have to drop out of school.

I wait on the edge of my seat for Ace’s arrival, but the clock keeps ticking, Miss Cannon keeps teaching, and the door to the classroom remains closed.

He’s ditching? Seriously?

Right before class ends, someone knocks on the front door. Xander Clyde pops his head into our classroom, and everyone falls silent.

His eyes are a stunning pale blue, and his dark brown hair is slicked back. He looks like every Ivy League college’s wet dream, with his brown loafers, tan khakis, and tucked-in button-down shirt.