BooksBarbecue
Back Counting Down with You
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  7. Part 1
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. Part 2
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. Part 3
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Not that any of it matters anyway. I’m not in the mental headspace to hold a conversation with someone, much less be part of a relationship.

But I miss him, too, and this is hard.

For now, this is the way it has to be. I hope I can take us off pause soon, but that future seems impossibly far away and I don’t know when I’ll reach it.

I can only hope he’s still there when I do.

51

T-PLUS 12 DAYS

Another week passes. It’s no surprise that I forget our poetry projects are due in English the upcoming Friday. I realize only after I walk into English—heading for the front of the room, alone, rather than the back where Nandini, Cora, and Ace are—and take a seat.

I did my project. After I quit tutoring Ace, I didn’t want anything tying me back to the sessions, so I finished the project in its entirety. I refuse to present it, though. If I’m called up, I’ll take the grade reduction in favor of skipping the presentation.

“Alistair Clyde,” Miss Cannon says, drawing my attention. “You’re first to present.”

Oh. Right. I forgot I was there during that conversation.

For the first time in two weeks, a quiet part of me stirs. I never read anything he wrote. I don’t know if he even finished his project.

Ace stands and makes his way to the front of the classroom. He’s as beautiful as the first day we met, and it hurts.

He hands Miss Cannon a stapled set of papers but takes out a folded sheet of loose-leaf from his pocket to read from. It’s slightly crumpled, and Ace smoothes the edges.

Then he turns to look at me.

“This is my free verse poem. It’s called ‘Lionheart,’” Ace says, his intense gaze meeting mine. “I wrote it for someone special to me.”

My breath catches. He wrote a poem for me? He’s going to present a poem he wrote for me?

“Here goes nothing,” Ace says under his breath. I’m lost to his next words.

promises are meant to be broken, that’s what people always say

but what if I want to keep mine?

to this day, I’d sooner break my bones

than go back on any of the words I said

so dearly to you

we’re so young, God, we’re so young

only sixteen with a pocketful of big dreams

the world is in our hands, that’s what people always say

but what if I’m afraid to carry it?

what if I don’t want to be Atlas?

you, my dear, are unshakeable

you hold your cards close to your chest

courage finds a home in the space between your ribs

I’m too young to understand, that’s what people always say

but I am old enough to see