Read Online Love and Other Unknown Variables by Shannon Alexander - Free Book Online Page B

super-knowledge to engineer me a proper wall.”
    Engineer? I stare at her a second longer before looking at my pitiful wall. Of course it’s falling down. I’m just grabbing at stones and stacking them, but if I were to apply some geometry and basic physics, adjust the angle of the stack, and add some drainage to reduce internal pressure…
    My brain starts to race as I pull down the bit of wall I’ve already built. I run to the car for paper and a pencil to sketch a plan.
    I’ve sorted the rocks and dug a trench for the foundation by the time the sky darkens. I’m laying the base stones when Mrs. Dunwitty shuffles over. I peek at her face as I reach for another stone. She looks pleased as she studies the plan I’ve drawn out, holding it at a shaky arm’s length and squinting at it. I’m surprised to feel pride swelling in my chest.
    “Looks good, son,” she says. “Why don’t you clean up for tonight?”
    I sit back and brush my hands off on my gym shorts.
    “You’ve got potential,” Mrs. Dunwitty says as she hands me back my plan. Coming from Dimwit, that’s like winning the lottery.
    ---
    W hen I walk into my house, I hear singing coming from the family room. It’s a man’s voice, but Charlotte’s buoys it as she sings along. I follow the sound to find Charlotte and Becca watching some old musical. Well, Charlotte is watching, and Becca is reading in the recliner.
    I go up to shower and then work on my MIT application. Last thing Greta said to me this afternoon was, “Grow a pair and finish it, Chuck. MIT is waiting.” And while I think the pair I have is just fine, she is right about MIT. There are fifty-four days until the early application deadline.
    I spend ten minutes tinkering with my short answers. I have seven versions of “ What has been the most significant challenge you’ve faced?” Every last one of them reeks of bullshit.
    I read the next short answer question.
    We know you stay busy with many school and extra-curricular activities. Tell us about something you do for fun.
    Algebra.
    Probably not the answer they were looking for. These questions are meant to show what a well-rounded individual I am. The thing is, I’m not round. I’m straight, like an arrow.
    I doodle a straight line on a scrap of paper. I put an arrow tip at one end. Now my line will go on and on in that direction. I put an arrow tip on the other end. I have no limits in either direction. I am infinite.
    My stomach grumbles. I’m not infinite. I’m hungry. Frustrated, I close my laptop and head to the kitchen.
    I pull a box of cereal from the pantry, trying—and failing—to ignore the flickering light from the TV in the family room. But then Charlotte laughs, and I’m done for. Attracted to her laughter like a moth drawn to the TV’s soft light, I drift into the family room.
    Becca is stretched out on the recliner now. She’s fallen asleep with her mouth slightly agape. I’m pretty sure she was up most of last night reading. I notice she’s nearly done with the giant book resting in her lap. The sound of her light snoring is like the last traces of thunder in a distant storm.
    Charlotte is curled up on one end of the couch. Her sketchbook and a handful of charcoal pencils are on the end table beside her. I crane my neck to see what she’s working on. I can’t make out any shapes from here, just darkly smudged lines.
    “You’re freaking me out,” Charlotte says, not looking away from the TV. “In or out?”
    At the sound of her voice, I jump and crush my box of cereal. I hear the unmistakable sound of the contents being pulverized and spy a crooked smile on Charlotte’s lips.
    “Sorry,” I say, stepping closer. “I needed a break from MIT.”
    “I thought you loved MIT.”
    “Yes, but I don’t love writing application essays.”
    The men on screen are singing some nonsense song. The words are meaningless. Sort of like my answers to MIT’s questions. I sigh. “I’ve got to finish, though. Greta