Page 111 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

“The creek? The walk back? The car?” My voice rises with each possibility. “Oh God, what if it’s at the bottom of the creek? What if?—”

“Let’s start with the car,” Adam says, already slipping into a pair of flip-flops despite the fact that he’s only in his boxers. “Come on.”

We creep downstairs, trying not to wake Dad or alert Robbie to our mission. The house is dark and quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and Robbie’s music playing faintly through the door.

Outside, the minivan sits in the driveway. Adam unlocks it, and we search. I check the back seat, running my hands along every nook, cranny, and crevice. Adam checks the front.

“Anything?” I ask, my voice tight with panic.

“Not yet.” He’s on his hands and knees now, checking under the seats with his phone flashlight.

I join him on the floor of the van, rummaging around in the darkness. My fingers find a couple of stale frenchfries, a forgotten hair tie of Rita’s, and something sticky I don’t want to identify. But no bracelet.

“Kevin,” Adam says gently, “it’s not here.”

“It has to be!” I’m checking the same spots now, desperate. “He’s had it since my birthday, Adam. He bought it specially for me and waited all this time and?—”

“Hey.” Adam grabs my shoulders, stilling my frantic movements. “We’ll find it. Tomorrow, when it’s light, we’ll goback to the creek. Check the path. Ask if anyone found it. But right now, you need to sleep.”

I want to argue, but exhaustion hits me like a tidal wave. The adrenaline crash from the jump, the emotional high of the kiss, the panic of losing the bracelet—it all catches up at once.

“What if I never find it?” I whisper.

“Then Jameson will understand. It’s not about the bracelet, Kev. It’s about what it represents. And that’s not lost.”

We trudge back inside, and I curl up in the sleeping bag, my chest tight with loss. The perfect night is now tainted.

“Adam?” I whisper into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think this is a sign? Is the universe saying I don’t deserve nice things?”

I hear him shift in his bed. “No, I think it’s a sign that he should’ve waited until after jumping off a bridge to put it on you.”

Despite how I’m feeling, I smile. “Gay bees would’ve had better jewelry awareness.”

“See? This is why we need more research on gay bee culture.”

We both laugh quietly, and somehow, that makes it a smidge better. Not fixed, not okay, but better.

CHAPTER 25

seasons of love

The shower water runs cold because I can’t stop staring at my naked wrist.

I didn’t take a shower last night, but that still hasn’t stopped me from checking the drain three times, running my fingers along the tile grooves, and peering behind the shampoo bottles as if the bracelet might be playing hide and seek.

Nothing. Just me, my pruned fingers, and the growing certainty that I’ve lost the most perfect gift anyone’s ever given me.

The water pressure sputters as our ancient pipes protest the length of my pity shower. I turn off the tap and step out onto the bath mat, water pooling around my feet. My reflection in the foggy mirror is as miserable as I me. Red-rimmed eyes, hair plastered to my skull, and that telltale blotchy face that comes from crying in the shower and pretending it’s from the water.

I reach for my towel on the hook, already mentally preparing for another day of wallowing, when something catches my eye.

There, on the bathroom counter, right next to my toothbrush, sits the bracelet.

My bracelet.The comedy and tragedy masks shimmer under the harsh bathroom lights, tiny and perfect and—wait. I knowfor a fact they weren’t there when I got in the shower twenty minutes ago.