Short snippet of what I’m working on, a prequel to Just Remember to Breathe. Alexandra Thompson’s point of view:
She arches an eyebrow. “Oh? Tell me. Wait… is it… a guy?”
I frown. “Carrie….”
She smiles. “You can tell me anything. Cross my heart.” She does, first making a sign of the crucifix, which would drive Mother insane if she saw it, then pretending to turn a key in her mouth and throw it away. But we’re interrupted when the waitress appears. Both of us order specialty rolls, and Carrie orders white wine for both of us. The waitress gives me a very skeptical look, but doesn’t ask for ID.
“There is a guy who fascinates me on this trip,” I say.
“What’s his name? Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know anything about him,” I say. “That’s why I’m so intrigued. His name’s Dylan Paris—he’s a senior, from Atlanta—and that’s all I know. He doesn’t really talk with anyone.”
I shake my head. “The opposite, I think. All of the other guys are preppies. He’s not, and I think maybe he’s intimidated.”
Carrie smiles. “You should take him under your wing then, before you guys leave for Tel Aviv.”
“Well, I’d have to get up the courage to talk with him first.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “You’ve got a point, sister. Do keep me up to date. You’re running off to a foreign country with a strange guy.” She gives the barest of mischievous smile as she says, “It’s very romantic.”
“He’ll probably turn out to be gay,” I say.
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