Eleven O'Clock Number

MUSICAL #6: SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

06: DO YOU SEE THE UMBRELLA, ALLISON?

« she can't act, she can't sing, she can't dance. a triple threat. »

THE WEEK AFTER Allison watches Chicago with Toby, it rains. 

Hard. 

To be quite honest, Allison has always liked rain in New York, has always been fond of the way it glistens on the pavement and mists the air so she can only make out the bright yellow of the taxi cabs and the dark coats and umbrellas of pedestrians all blur together. Daniel always liked it too - she knows that because of their first kiss.

"Oh my God!" she manages between breathless laughs. "My clothes are soaked!"

He laughs, and the sound does strange things to her knees. "Same," he grins, gesturing to his clothes.

"No way," she shakes her head with a playful smile. "You were wearing a jacket. You're way drier than me."

"Oh, is that so?" he's inched closer, and suddenly, she's hyper-aware of everything - the pitter patter of the rain just outside the small section of roof they're standing underneath, the car horns in the distance, the way a drop of water sits on a curl of Daniel's hair that's resting on his forehead - 

"Yeah," she breathes, eyes searching his face and trying to ignore the water dripping from his hair that's made its way to his lips. 

"Well," he reaches a hand to tuck some loose strands of hair around her ear, and with that, Allison knows she's a goner, knows that this a tried and tested move that leads up to something else, knows that she wants the something else to happen, knows that if it does she'll let it. "Your hair is kinda dripping," he says softly. She can feel his thumb moving across the side of her jaw, and the movement makes her warm but still manages to send shivers down her spine - and then he's moving in, bending his head, but it's too slow, goddamnit, so she surges up to meet her lips with his, and he's smiling, pressing the curve of his smile to hers, and  - and she feels happy.

✦

 "Precipitation," Lydia declares over the early morning tune of the slamming of lockers and sleepy voices. 

"What about it?" Allison asks.

"It is the bane of my existence," she sniffs. 

"Last week, Emmett was the bane of your existence," Allison points out with a raised eyebrow. "The week before, the bane of your existence was ponchos."

"Okay, firstly, I'm still struggling to deduce how ponchos were ever in," Lydia defends. "As is everyone with a pair of working eyes.  Secondly, rain has always been the bane of my existence. I mean, it ruins everything!"

"Everything like what?"

"Like my hair," Lydia opens her locker, adjusting said hair with the help of the mirror affixed to the inside of the locker door. 

Allison rolls her eyes. "Okay, Lydia."

"You know, not all of us are born with such a casual disregard for their appearance, Allison," her friend tells her, still fixing her hair. "You're lucky that you are actually blessed in the looks department."

"Thanks, Lydia," she replies dryly. "Really appreciate it."

"Of course you do. You appreciate that I appreciate that you're gorgeous," Lydia is now re-applying her lipstick, but her speech is somehow still completely understandable, a skill she mastered long ago but Allison has yet to even be close to having.