Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

sign.
    “Hi, there, what can I do for you.”
    “Hi… I’m Alex Thompson. We spoke on the phone the other day… my work-study assignment was being switched?”
    “Alex, Alex… oh yes, I remember.”
    I shifted in my seat. “Um… I was wondering if it’s too late to switch to something else. Anything else.”
    She frowned. “That might be difficult. Generally, the work-study assignments are made at the beginning of summer. To be honest, you were lucky to get this one. Doctor Forrester’s contract wasn’t confirmed until last week, which was why we had a last minute opening. What’s the problem?”
    Oh, God. I didn’t really have a good reason. At least, not one I could explain. I’ve been assigned next to my ex-boyfriend. Yeah, that would go over well. I tried to think of something, and stupidly I just said, “I’m not sure it’s a good fit.”
    She sighed. “I can tell you for sure, right now, that there aren’t any other openings. You’re actually the fifth student to come in and ask to be reassigned. It might be possible for you to switch with someone; you could always post something on the bulletin board outside. But I can’t promise you anything. Although you can always check back in a couple weeks. We often drop a few students in the first two weeks. Something might come up.”
    I nodded. Disappointed. This was going to make for a very difficult year. I did not want to be stuck working with Dylan for the entire year. It would turn what had been a pretty wonderful college experience into misery.
    “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” she said.
    Okay, I can take a hint. I was being dismissed. I thanked her, and got out of the office. I could survive a few weeks, and then I’d come back and get a job washing dishes or something equally entertaining.
    Back on the street, I walked toward the dorm.
    I was not going to cry. I refused.
    Crying: Not. Going. To. Happen.
    I remember being charmed and intrigued by Dylan. I’d never met anyone like him. My life was centered around academics. I worked, and worked damned hard. But I also had all kinds of support, from my parents, who hired tutors and piano teachers; to my sisters, who helped each other in subjects we had trouble with. We’d lived a block from Golden Gate Park in a wonderful old rowhouse ever since my dad retired from the Foreign Service.
    Dylan was… so different. He’d been homeless, for God’s sake. He didn’t talk much about the difficult parts of his life… at least not when we first met. But it was clear we were from different worlds. But he was strong. He had to be, to come back from a drinking and drug problem, go back to school on his own, get the kind of grades he got.
    I fell fast.
    We spent the twelve hours of our flight to Tel Aviv talking while most of the rest of the students were asleep. I remember playing a stupid game of questions, until some of them got uncomfortable ( Do you have a girlfriend?) and we changed the subject. To favorite books. Harry Potter. Hunger Games. Both of us hated Twilight, but loved Katniss Everdeen.
    “I love a strong heroine,” he told me with a grin. Oh, my God. How could someone so cute be so perfect?
    But he was also a contradiction. He was passionate about Hemingway, and could get lost talking about his favorite book, The Sun Also Rises. He looked mystified by my attraction to Milan Kundera.
    The exchange students spent the first two nights in Tel Aviv at the Youth Hostel. We attended a bunch of information sessions, then went to a big formal dinner. Dylan looked uncomfortable at the dinner. I don’t think he was used to formal functions like that. Afterward, a bunch of us walked down to the Old City of Jaffa, which we’d seen during an official tour earlier in the day.
    We sat on the pier, looking out at the Mediterranean Sea. He smoked, and we talked. I told him about my sisters (all five of them) and he talked about his friends.
    “We just kind of fell in with each other,” he said. “Bunch of drama geeks, mostly. All the kids who were mostly outcasts in middle school. But… you know how it goes. The wrong person sleeps with the other wrong person, and drama .”
    I laughed. I’d never slept with anyone, but I knew all about high school drama.
    I kept stealing glances at him, and I knew he was doing the same. His blue eyes were incredible, and he had adorably long hair, growing into loose curls. At one point I found myself resisting the urge to run my fingers