Love and Other Unknown Variables by Shannon Alexander Page B

dark circles under her ocean eyes. “We need to talk.”
    “Ugh,” I groan as I toss my keys on the counter. “I’m no good at talks.”
    The half-smile on her lips makes my blood rush audibly past my eardrums. “Regardless,” she says, pulling me toward the table. “We need to talk.”
    Charlotte sits at the kitchen table, her knees facing me with her ankles crossed and fingers intertwined in her lap. It reminds me of Mrs. Web, my third-grade teacher; nothing good ever came out of her mouth when she assumed this position.
    I flump into a hard wooden chair beside her and fight the urge to put my head down on the table. “Okay. Talk.”
    “I appreciate whatever it is you’ve been doing to drive my sister crazy.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “But—”
    I can no longer hold my head up. It thuds to the table.
    “I was wondering if you could maybe do something else.”
    “But this is working. You said this was working.”
    “It was, but—”
    “She’s miserable at school.” I lift my head.
    Charlotte bites her lip and turns her face to look out the window. “I think that has less to do with you and more to do with me.”
    She pauses, taking a deep breath and forcing a weak smile. “Look, Jo’s been acting as surrogate mom to me since our mother died fourteen years ago.” She shushes the condolences on my lips. “I don’t remember my mother.” Charlotte covers my hand with hers. “I’m only telling you to illustrate the depth of experience I have in the field of Jo-isms. She’s not going to give up on you because you ignore her. I’ve tried. She has ways of getting in.”
    I’m looking at my dry, cracked fingers under hers as she continues to speak. Her fingernails are painted a pinkish orange, like the roses in Mrs. Dunwitty’s garden. I envision the tips of her rosy fingers tracing circles down the back of my neck just before I kiss her. Obviously, I’m not listening anymore.
    Charlotte removes her hand and snaps her fingers in my face to awaken me. I feel my ears flame up. An apology tumbles off my lips. “Sorry.” Why am I always apologizing to this girl? Greta’d have a fit if she saw how easy it is for me.
    “Me, too,” Charlotte says, her voice full of disappointment. She pushes away from the table and stands with her hands in fists on her hips. I can tell I’ve missed something during my daydream.
    I stand to face her, even risk putting my hand on her shoulder. “Look, Charlotte, I want to help you. I think I mean that.”
    She shrugs away from me. “But?”
    I don’t want to hurt her, but I need her to understand I’m doing the best I can. “You don’t know me. You don’t know that I feel like I’m constantly teetering on a fine edge of madness and the only thing that keeps me balanced is focusing on a steady horizon. My carefully planned future is what keeps me sane—a future I’ve been working toward since well before I met you.”
    Charlotte’s lips part as a breath hisses past her teeth.
    “This is my future.” I pick up the MIT catalogue. “This is who I am.”
    “Some ass puppet on the front of a brochure?”
    A hybrid scream/groan gurgles up from my chest. “Why do you need my help?”
    Charlotte looks away, her breathing ragged. “I need more time—”
    “For what?”
    Charlotte practically spits her answer in my face. “To figure my shit out.”
    “See? I don’t know what that means.” Frustration, fueled by anxiety, is crawling up my spine. I don’t even try to keep my voice low. “We’ve all got shit to figure out!”
    My outburst surprises us both. We’re inches from each other, too close. In the aftershock of my yelling, we each take a step apart.
    “You’re right,” she says before she turns and walks away, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Just forget it. Forget the whole thing.”
    The front door slams right about the same time the adrenaline washes over me with a wave of jitters so violent my skin crawls. Now that