“Thank you so much,” my dad says and the gratitude in his eyes settles some of the rocks floating in my stomach. “So how was your physics lab? Did you finish it? Ma told me you were working on it late today.”

“Yeah,” I say, offering him a tight smile as I flip the camera back around. “Sorry I haven’t called every day. There’s been a lot of schoolwork recently. I think they’re piling it on because spring break is in a week.”

“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” my dad says, scratching his beard. “Maybe you should use that time to work on those new SAT workbooks I bought for you.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I say, even though the idea of spending my break studying gives me a headache. “Do you think Cora and Nandini could come over to our house one of those days?”

“Ask your mom, not me,” Baba says, shaking his head.

I sigh. “Can you ask her for me?”

He considers me for a moment. “Okay. No promises, though.”

This time, my smile feels genuine. “Thanks. How is Bangladesh?”

Baba’s face twists. “Your mother’s family is...loud.”

I snort, remembering the last time I visited, over five years ago. “I know.”

He relays a little more about the last few days, and I listen until my eyes start to droop. My dad must notice, because he waves me off when I insist I’m still awake. “Get some rest, Myra. You worked hard on your lab tonight.”

A flash of guilt runs through me. “Yeah.”

“Good night,” Baba says, waving at me through the camera.

“Good night,” I say in return and set my phone aside after he hangs up.

I’m used to lying to my parents. I have no doubt Samir lies to them, too. It’s the way it has to be. But sometimes, I can’t help but feel bad about it. I remind myself that tutoring Ace is a white lie—nothing that has any bearing on my relationship with my parents. It’s not something they have to know about.

I fall asleep to that thought.

T-MINUS 22 DAYS

When I wake up Saturday morning, I stare at the posters of poetry hung on my bright yellow ceiling and bask in the comfort of not being called lazy for getting up at 11:00 a.m.

My room is relatively sparse. My parents always say less is more, so I’ve kept the decor to a minimum. Instead, there are stacks and stacks of books piled against the walls. My shelves are overflowing, but my parents have yet to buy me new ones.

I’m idly eyeing the stack of books on my bedside, trying to pick one for my weekend read, when someone knocks on the door.

“Myra, are you awake?” Dadu asks.

“Yeah!”