Love and Other Unknown Variables Read Online Free PDF Page B

height. She always jokes that she’s 5 feet, 12 inches tall. I’m 6’4”. Still, she’s far more imposing than Dad’s 5’9”.
    “Charlie, please. I’m buried. What’s the big deal?”
    “Nothing,” I say heading for the stairs. I don’t tell her “the big deal” is that for every moment I spend with Charlotte, my mind must then spend many, many more moments analyzing each aspect of our brief interaction. I fail to mention that I think her eyes look like a clear day at the ocean when it feels like the horizon is at your fingertips. And I definitely don’t let on how much all of this bothers the hell out of me.
    The music is louder upstairs. I bang on the door and holler, “Mom says to turn it down.”
    I’m hoping to retreat to my room, but—
    “What?” Becca asks as she whips open the door. Her shoulder length brown hair is falling out of its usual ponytail and her cheeks are pink. “Charlotte’s teaching me a funny dance. I couldn’t hear you.”
    Behind her, I catch Charlotte shimmying to the thick bass. Her slim hips move in a sweet, slow circle. She’s singing along with the music. I’m shocked by how effortless her song is, like a bird in flight.
    Since I’m still not moving, Becca asks, “Did you want to learn?”
    “God, no,” I say, but just as I say it the song ends, so my voice is extra loud in the hallway, crowding us all. “Mom just wants you to turn down the music.”
    “Oh, sure,” Becca says as she’s closing the door. I tell myself not to, but before the door clicks shut, I crane my neck to catch one more glimpse of Charlotte swaying with the melody of the next song.

2.0
    1 2 :38:17 a.m. I want to sleep, but my normally obedient brain will not shut up. I keep imagining myself striding into Becca’s room and sweeping Charlotte in my arms in some elaborate, yet terribly manly, dance move.
    2:09:52 a.m. When Charlotte smiles you can see a small chip on the bottom corner of her central incisor. I wonder how it got chipped. It makes her smile even more appealing. She has a smile with a story.
    I’m getting stupid with sleep deprivation.
    3:14:15 a.m. Pi. It’s pi time. Is there pie leftover? What kind of pie does Charlotte like, I wonder? It’d be some unique flavor, like fig. Fig pie would taste like butt.
    4:57:04 a.m. OhmyGodIamsotired.
    6:00:00 a.m. I rouse myself from half-sleep to a zombie-like state that passes for awake.
    6:20:15 a.m. I must have fallen asleep in the shower. Moving too slowly. I stare at my shaggy, sand-colored hair and decide it would take too much energy to comb it.
    6:29:53 a.m. I’m leaning on the counter with Mom waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. She’s eyeing me, but not questioning me. When Mr. Coffee stops, she pours herself a cup and one for me. She drinks hers black. I give it a try and gag.
    “That’s terrible.”
    Mom laughs. “You’ll get used to it,” she says, adding lots of cream to mine.
    I try another sip and grimace. “Seriously, how do you drink this?”
    Mom shrugs and finishes her mug. “Sometimes, we do what we have to do to get by.” She fills her mug again and holds the carafe out to me for a refill. I shake my head and take one last sip. Blarg.
    6:32:22 a.m. I’ll just have to kick James in the sac if he whines about being tardy today.
    6:41:01 a.m. “You look like crap,” Greta says as I pull out of her driveway.
    James snorts from the backseat.
    I’m too tired to care.
    Greta fiddles with the radio and tunes into a familiar song. My vision is flooded with a replay of Charlotte’s hips moving, pulling me into a chaotic world I have no chance of controlling—the world of hormones. I exhale like a gorilla just punched me in the stomach and reach for the dial to turn the station.
    “Hands off, Chuck. I like that one.” Greta swats at me, defending her tune. I try darting around her, but she’s lead to my gamma rays.
    I’m obviously not paying attention to the road. Which is how I end up driving into a