Free Love and Other Unknown Variables by Shannon Alexander

won’t quit bugging me until I hit send.”
    “So you’re doing it for Greta?”
    The tension built up inside my chest leaks out between my pursed lips with a sound like air hissing from a tire. “No. MIT is for me.”
    She pats the seat next to her on the couch and thankfully changes the subject. “Ever seen Singing in the Rain ?”
    I grimace.
    She mimics me. “It’s a classic. You’ll like it. Plus, you can pick up some dance moves.”
    I chuckle. “Oh, I’ve got moves.”
    “If you’ve got moves, then I want to see them.” She laughs and then offers to share her blanket with me, but I’m suddenly sweating.
    I set my smashed cereal box on the table by her sketchpad, and steal a closer look. It’s a picture of a girl standing in a downpour, her face tilted upward. Her mouth is open and her eyes are shut. I can’t tell if she’s laughing or screaming. Maybe something in-between.
    I trace the taut charcoal line of the girl’s jaw before moving to sit down. I feel the way that sketched girl looks, caught between desire and fear, and I’m amazed that it took a drawing—Charlotte’s drawing—to help me understand why I keep avoiding my application. MIT may be what I want, but it terrifies me, too.
    I just can’t figure out exactly why I’m afraid.
    I settle on the far side of the couch, and Charlotte catches me up on what I’ve missed. The movie depicts the change Hollywood went through as silent movies were replaced by talkies. That part is pretty interesting, but then out of nowhere, people break into song and dance, which makes me squirm in my seat because who does that?
    Charlotte sings along with the actors. Her voice has a rich texture in the semi-darkness. I’d like to wrap myself in the silkiness of her song. Where did this girl come from, and what am I to do now that she’s here? I study her profile in the flickering light of the TV.
    “You’ll miss my favorite scene staring at me like that.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, but points toward the TV. “You don’t want to miss this.”
    The man in a fedora (Don) kisses the lady in the strange purple hat (Kathy). They’re standing under an umbrella. Kathy tells Don to stay out of the rain.
    Charlotte leans forward, grabbing my knee. Her fingertips are blackened from smudging the charcoal lines of her sketch. She recites Don’s next line along with him.
    “From where I stand, the sun is shining all over the place.”
    She squeezes my knee and then clasps her hands at her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself all together. She sings along with Don as he sings and dances in the rain, her eyes big and glassy in the light from the TV.
    The guy’s soaking wet, splashing around in puddles, and probably going to lose his voice, the one thing he needs to make his new movie, for what? “It makes no sense,” I mutter to myself as Don tap dances through puddles.
    “He’s in love. It makes him happy. What doesn’t make sense?”
    “But why’s he singing and dancing around in the rain? Can’t he just be happy somewhere dry?”
    Charlotte shakes her head. “Please don’t confuse love and logic, Charlie. They aren’t even remotely related.”
    Don keeps dancing, his movements exploding with wild joy, until he runs into a cop who is also out strolling in the rain for no reason I can see. I wonder if he’s in love, too. I still don’t get it, but I do have to admit that by the time Don walks off, humming the tune, I do feel lighter.
    “Have you ever sung in the rain, Charlie?” Charlotte asks when the scene’s over.
    “No.”
    “It’s a romantic notion, but highly overrated. Reality can really suck.” She tucks her blanket around her more tightly. “I read that Gene Kelly had a fever of 103 degrees when they shot this scene. It’s all an act.”
    “It is a movie, Charlotte. It’s not supposed to be real.” I smile, but what she’s said has struck a nerve. That’s why I’m stalling on my MIT application. Reality.