A View From Forever (Thompson Sisters Book 3) by Charles Sheehan-Miles

Maybe not the same kind of crazy as yours, but crazy.”
    I take a deep breath and squeeze his hand back. Then I find myself, in horror, yawning.
    “Sleepy?” he asks, his smile quirking up.
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “Me too. Why don’t you lay on my shoulder?”
    Oh. My. God.
    Yes, he just said that. I think he even meant it. I do, pulling my legs up close so I can turn in my seat and rest my head on his shoulder. He slumps down a little and leans his head against mine.
    Will I even be able to sleep like this? I’m so aware of his skin against mine. He has a little stubble on his chin, and I can just make out the slight tobacco smell in his hair—not stinky, because it’s very faint.
    His breathing slows, and mine does . I can’t shut off my stupid brain. It circles and circles. We’re only together for a few weeks. Then it’s back to our normal lives. And the thought of going home, of saying goodbye, already scares me.
    I slowly drift off to sleep. And find myself dreaming.
    Dylan is in San Francisco, the two of us walking along Golden Gate Park. It’s a fanciful day, the sky blue, flowers blooming in a riot of colors. A confusing crowd of people surrounds us—crowds in China, a paper dragon, a group of frowning, dour diplomats lined up in a row . But Dylan is smiling and laughing.
    In the way of dreams, however, we don’t stay there. Instead, we’re standing in front of my parents, who stare at me and Dylan in disapproval. Dad is talking, and his words are harsh, but I don’t understand him. But it’s clear enough what he means. Because Dylan lets go of my hand and turns away. Dad folds his arms across his chest, a self-satisfied look on his face. Mom turns her back on him.
    I jerk awake, my heart pounding.
    Oh, God, that was awful.
    I’m still leaning on Dylan’s shoulder, his head against mine. Our hands aren’t touching. He’s breathing deeply—far gone in slumber. I shift position s a little and close my eyes again.
    I reach out and put my hand on his.

Chapter Eight
That was awkward (Dylan)
    Drama.
    It started in the late afternoon, not long before we arrived at the Ein Gedi Guest House after a long journey. Through the course of the day, we’d visited an air base in Be’ersheva, including the museum there which depicted Israel's many wars with its neighbors. From there, we’d gone to an art gallery after lunch, then gotten on the bus again for the ride here.
    Ein Gedi is an oasis not far from the Dead Sea (where we will be going tomorrow) and the Qumran caves, where the Dead Sea scrolls were found. The hostel is almost luxurious, but right now things are tense as John and I get ready to head to dinner.
    That’s because, after all of 12 hours of dating, Elle and John broke up.
    I don’t know what it was about. All I know is that as Alex and I were huddled together in our seats on the tour bus about an hour into the drive, Elle suddenly appeared at my shoulder.
    “Excuse me. Alex, can I talk with you?” Elle’s eyes were filled with tears.
    Christ on a crutch, what now?
    Of course, Alex went with Elle, leaving me sitting alone. After the long day sitting together, walking together in the museums and at the air base, I felt bereft.
    Unfortunately, moment’s later John filled that spot.
    “Kids, stay in your seats,” Mrs. Simpson said. “No more moving around.”
    Great.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “Elle dumped me.”
    “You guys haven’t been together long enough for her to dump you.”
    “No, really.” He looked distraught.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “I don’t know!”
    And that was about as much as I learned during the final thirty minutes of the drive. I was thanking God when we arrived at the hostel. At least I could get something to eat soon, and grab a cigarette.
    It hasn’t gotten any better in the half hour since. John seems despondent, and he has no clue what is going on. I’m no closer to getting a smoke than I was an hour ago. Finally I say, “Hey, I’m going outside