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

before dinner, all right? You can join me if you still want to talk.”
    Of course he does. He follows me down the hall, to the stairs, then out front. I want nothing more than to be left alone right now. Well, that’s not true. I want to see Alex right now. But if I can’t do that, then let me have some blessed solitude. That’s been the one downside of this trip— I just don’t get enough time alone.
    That doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon. I find my way out of the hostel to a balcony overlooking the valley and the Dead Sea below. It’s a remarkable sight. Just on the other side of the promenade, and stretching all the way to the Dead Sea and the mountains beyond, is a barren brown landscape. In the distance, the mountains of Jordan tower over the Dead Sea, fading into deep reds and purples. The sun will be setting soon.
    The oasis, surrounding the guest house, is green. Lush trees and bushes, palm and olive trees, thick grass.
    I cup a flame in my hand, lighting my cigarette, then take a deep drag. The smoke going down my throat is calming, and I close my eyes and just soak in the environment. The air is warm, and the smells from the lush plantlife of the oasis are sweet, almost floral.
    This would be a good place to meditate.
    Well, it would be if I didn’t have John standing beside me.
    “I just don’t understand why ,” he says.
    “Maybe you should ask her.”
    “Ask her? What am I supposed to say?”
    I sigh. And open my mouth. Then close it, because nothing I would say right now would be constructive. What goes through my head is that Elle is a giant bitch, and she’s probably just playing with him. Normally I’m not this judgmental of people—no, seriously. But in this case, I’m pretty sure I’m right. Yesterday she was all over him like a cheap suit, and now she’s dumped him? She’s playing some kind of game with him, and it isn’t very nice.
    “I don’t know, man,” I finally say. “I don’t know Elle that well, but it seems to me, if you guys can’t stay together for more than twelve hours….”
    “Don’t say it,” he replies.
    I shrug and take a last drag of my smoke. The cigarette, a Palestinian brand called Farid, has a noticeably sweet, pungent smell, nothing like American cigarettes—but also much cheaper. I stamp it out under my foot, then toss the filter in a trash can and head back inside, trusting that John will follow.
    He does. A few minutes later we walk into the large dining hall in the hostel. The students from our group take up four large round tables. Each table has plain brightly colored plates in front of each place, and several large dishes in the center. Hummus, meats of various kinds, breads, desserts.
    Alex and Elle are sitting at the same table, with two empty spaces beside them, which may prove to be awkward. I don’t consult with John about this—instead, I walk directly toward Alex and slip into the seat beside her.
    “Hey,” I say.
    She immediately brightens, her teeth showing white, and that makes me want to touch her lips. We haven’t kissed.
    I don’t know when or if we will.
    But I want to.
    Then John sits down in the seat next to Elle, who looks decidedly ornery. Neither of them speaks. In fact, none of the others at the table say a word. Instead, they all watch the unfolding drama that is John and Elle.
    I’m not getting into that. Instead, I reach forward and pull a half sandwich to my plate along with some pita bread, then take a large helping of hummus. There are several pitchers on the table, including a carafe of what looks like coffee. Score. I pour myself a cup of coffee, mix in too much sugar and milk, and get started eating.
    “Baby,” John whispers, as if the rest of the kids at the table weren’t straining their ears trying to listen in.
    “Shut up,” Elle responds.
    “So,” Megan says. “What did you guys think of the art museum?”
    Well, that’s awkward.
    Mike adds to the awkwardness by saying,