Page 114 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

Jameson cracks one eye open and checks the drawing out. “Looks perfect to me,” Jameson says, ruffling his brother’s hair. Ethan ducks away, smiling.

We settle into that lazy beach rhythm—applying sunscreen, debating whether the water’s too cold to take a dip in, eating snacks we brought, and building sandcastles. I’m sure our group looks like actors in a commercial for summertime. But we’re not acting, we’re in love with this season.

“Alright, let’s pick volleyball teams!” Tyler announces once enough “relaxation time” has passed. “I call captain.”

“I call the other captain,” Matthew says immediately.

It looks like we’re going to do the whole schoolyard pick thing, and I’m prepared to be chosen last. But Jameson grabs my hand and pulls me over before they can call out the first name. “Package deal. If you want me, you get Kevin too.”

“That’s not how this works,” Tyler says.

“That’sexactlyhow this works.”

“Fine.” Tyler sighs dramatically. “But if we lose, I’m blaming your boyfriend.”

My stomach flutters at the casual use of the word by someone other than Jameson or Adam. I’m being accepted for who I am. It’s a wonderful feeling.

The teams end up being me, Jameson, Tyler, and some poor fella named Cameron, versus Matthew, Robbie, Adam, and a college guy named Brett. Ethan volunteers to keep score, which mostly means he’ll watch for a while before getting distracted by his sketching.

“I wish Rita were here,” I say quietly to Jameson.

She was supposed to come with us, but she texted me this morning saying that she was going with her parents up north for the day. I know she and Robbie both said that if anything came between them that it wouldn’t affect our friendship, but I think it has.

“She’ll come around,” he says back, squeezing my hand for good measure.

“Okay, ground rules,” Matthew says, spinning the volleyball on one finger. “No spiking directly at Kevin’s face?—”

“Hey!”

“—and no using your height advantage to block the shots, Hart.”

“That’s literally the point of being tall,” Jameson pouts.

“New rule: Jameson plays on his knees.”

“New rule: Matthew stops making up rules.”

They go back and forth, and I notice Robbie watching me. Not obviously, just these little glances when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Each time our eyes do meet, he turns away, suddenly interested in adjusting his bathing suit or checking his phone.

When the game starts, I quickly remember why I avoid all sports. The ball comes at me with alarming speed, and my instinct each time is to duck rather than hit it.

“Kevin!” Tyler shouts as the ball lands in the sand behind me for the tenth time. “You’re supposed to hit it!”

“I’m protecting my face! Plus, Matthew said no spiking it!”

“He meant their team spiking at you, not the general ball!”

Jameson appears at my side. “Here, like this.” He demonstrates the proper form for bumping the ball. “Arms together, bend your knees, let the ball come to you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not afraid the ball has a personal vendetta.”

He laughs. “The ball doesn’t have feelings, Kevin.”

“That’s exactly what it wants you to think. Have you never seenCast Away?”

The next serve comes our way, and this time I manage to bump it. Not well, not gracefully, but it goes up for Tyler to set it, and for Jameson to spike it over for a point.

“Yes!” I throw my hands up, and Jameson high-fives me.