Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

national program to visit several other countries. Sort of an ambassador, exchange program. You’ve been nominated.”
    I was in shock. Me?
    “Isn’t that for the smart kids who didn’t get in trouble?” I asked.
    “You are one of the smart kids, Dylan.”
    I noted he didn’t address the trouble part.
    “Look, Dylan, all I’m saying is… it’s a hell of an educational opportunity. I think you should apply.”
    “Okay,” I said, not really believing it. “What do I do?”
    “Write an essay. Here’s the application packet. Explain in your essay why you should have the opportunity.”
    I took the packet home and read over it. To be honest, I was terrified. Seriously. I came from a blue-collar family, with a drunk for a dad, a recovering drunk for a mom, and well… I was a screw-up. I’d be competing with kids with 4.0 grade point averages, kids who were planning to go to Harvard and Yale and other places I couldn’t dream of. But, I wrote the essay. I wrote about growing up with drunks, and becoming one myself. I wrote about putting myself back into school, and catching up with my class. I wrote about how important getting an education was, from the point of view of someone who’d worked the stupid no-skill minimum-wage jobs just to keep myself in food while I was in between homes.
    And you know what? Somehow, I got accepted into the program. Next thing I knew, I’d been selected as one of half a dozen kids from Atlanta who would be traveling to Israel for two months.
    And that is how I met Alex.
    The first time I saw her was right before we left for Israel. I guess there were about forty of us, sitting in a big room at Hunter College on Staten Island. She was clear across the room from me, and that first sight of her is etched in my memory forever. Long brown hair, parted in the middle and flowing down her back. Green eyes that caught me from across the room. Slightly olive skin, full lips. I’m not exaggerating to say that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was so far out of my league that I didn’t even bother to approach her. The fact was, all of these kids were out of my league. Some of them downright brilliant, all of them studious, hard-working kids who had busted their asses for the chance to take part in this program. Frankly, I felt like an impostor.
    Not that that was going to stop me from going. When we got on the plane for Tel Aviv the next morning, by lucky chance that would change my life, I ended up seated next to the beautiful green -eyed girl I’d watched the night before.
    “Hi,” I said. “I’m Dylan.”
    “Alex,” she responded.
    Alex. I rolled the name around in my head. I liked it.
    “Where are you from, Alex?”
    “San Francisco,” she said.
    “Really? Wow. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. Never been out west.”
    She smiled, and I did my best to remain nonchalant. Which was difficult. Really difficult, because her eyes were just… entrancing. It was like getting drunk, but the good kind, with no hangover.
    “This was my first trip east, actually,” she said.
    “Tell me about yourself, Alex.”
    She sat back. “That’s a pretty open-ended question.”
    “I guess. Let me start over. I’m Dylan, and I have lousy social skills. I’d like to get to know you by asking stupid questions. How’s that?”
    She giggled, and I almost died.
    “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll ask a question. Then you ask one. Then I’ll ask one. Got it? They have to be specific. And you can’t lie.”
    I tried my best to look wounded. “Do I look like someone who would lie?”
    “Silly. Your questions are supposed to be about me.”
    This time I laughed. “All right. Hmm… you’re from San Francisco… Do you ever ride on those silly street cars?”
    “Never,” she said. “Those are for tourists.”
    “Ahh,” I said. “Figures. Your turn.”
    “Okay… Hmm… what’s your favorite subject in school?”
    I had to think about that one for a second. “Well … it used to be drama, but I’m not taking any electives any more. I’d have to answer English. I love writing.”
    “Really? What do you write?”
    “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.”
    “Oh,” she said. She grinned. “Fair enough. Your turn.”
    I tried to think of a good question, but it was hard. For one thing, she kept looking at me, and those eyes! Plus, I kept smelling a hint of strawberry. Why the hell did she smell like strawberries? Was it her hair? Whatever it was, it