Page 117 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

“Rigged,” he mutters.

“Obviously.” I take my turn, aiming for a small octopus that reminds me of Jameson. The claw closes around it perfectly, and for a second, I think I’ve got it, but it slips out at the last second.

“Nice try.” Robbie’s voice is softer than it’s been in days. “Your aim’s gotten better.”

“All those years of watching you and Adam do these things.”

We continue taking turns, not really talking about anything important. Just commenting on the unfairness of claw machines, the questionable music choices of whoever controls the arcade playlist, and the kid at the next machine who’s somehow winning every time.

“He has to be cheating,” Robbie insists.

“Or he’s a claw machine prodigy.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Could be. Maybe there’s a secret claw machine academy we don’t know about.”

Robbie laughs—a small huff of air. “Only you would imagine a claw machine academy.”

“With uniforms and everything, including little claw patches on the sleeves.”

I’m down to my last quarter when Jameson appears. “How’s the Beanie Baby hunt going?”

“Terribly,” I admit.

“Mind if I try?” He holds up a roll of quarters. “I’ve got a theory about these things.”

Robbie tenses slightly but doesn’t move away. We watch as Jameson studies the machine as if it were a defensive formation he needs to decode. He inserts the quarters, positions the claw, and drops it.

“I want the octopus,” I whisper.

With a slight nod, Jameson readjusts, and the octopus rises in the claw’s grip. We all hold our breath as it sways toward the chute.

It drops perfectly.

“No way,” Robbie says, mouth agape.

Jameson retrieves the octopus and hands it over to me. “It’s all about how you move the claw. You need to be gentle; if you go too fast, it makes the whole thing sway.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this,” Robbie says, but there’s no bite to it.

“My cousin and I spent an entire summer perfecting our technique. Won so many stuffed animals, my aunt made us donate them.”

An awkward silence envelopes us. I can sense Robbie wanting to say something, but Tyler’s voice cuts through the arcade noise. “Fireworks in ten minutes!”

We head back to the beach and spread the blankets and towels further out, creating a patchwork viewing area. I end up between Jameson and Robbie, with Adam on Robbie’s other side. Everyone sits in silence as the sun sets and the stars come out.

“Remember when we thought senior year would never come?” Adam says as more people arrive on the beach for the fireworks extravaganza. “It felt like this mythical thing that happened to other people, and now it’s here.”

“All I want is to survive the first half,” I say, getting cut off as an announcer tells us the show will start in five minutes.

“You will,” Jameson says at the same time as Robbie. They look at each other, then at me, and it feels like maybe things could be normal again.

“Sparklers! Get your sparklers!” A college-aged guy with a mesh bag slung over his shoulder weaves through the crowd. “Free sparklers, courtesy of the Arcadia Beach Committee!”

“Oh, hell yes,” Tyler says, practically tackling the guy. “Give me ten. No, twenty!”

“One per person,” the guy says, grinning as he hands them out.