Page 119 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

The Pryor house comes into view, that familiar two-story colonial with the oak tree in the front yard. My heart does this stupid jive thing it’s been doing all summer in anticipation of that day on the boat when I finally said the words I’d been rehearsing for years. The way Kevin’s face transformed when I told him about the spatula—God, I’ll never forget that expression. Like I’d handed him the entire universe wrapped in tissue paper.

I pull into the driveway and check my hair in the rearview mirror. Still bleached from summer and slightly messy despite my attempts to tame it this morning. Ethan said I looked like a “lovesick golden retriever,” which is probably accurate, but also grounds for hiding all his underwear or something even more heinous.

The front door opens before I can even text that I’m here, and Kevin emerges.

My brain explodes. My jaw pops open. My hands grip the steering wheel, turning my knuckles white as my toes curl in my new sneakers.

He’s wearing dark jeans that fit him perfectly and a green button-down that accentuates his slim but toned body. His hair is styled differently, and the bracelet I gave him catches the morning light on his wrist. But it’s his smile that destroys me.That real smile, the one with the tiny crease on his left cheek that only appears when he’s genuinely happy.

He’s smiling that smile atme.

The realization hits me with the force of a tackle, knocking all the air from my lungs and rearranging my insides into a twisted knot.

I love Kevin Pryor.

Not in the way I thought I did, not as some multi-year crush or summer romance. This is the real thing. The kind of love that rewrites your DNA and changes the rhythm of your heartbeat. The kind that makes you understand why people write songs of everlasting love.

I love the way he overthinks everything. I love how he sees the world as a stage waiting for its next performance. I love his terrible volleyball skills, his beautiful singing voice, and the way he hides behind humor when he’s scared. I love that he let me into his complicated, messy, wonderful family. I love that he trusted me with his heart.

Kevin opens the passenger door and slides in, bringing the scent of his shampoo and making my eyes roll back. “Ready for senior year?” he asks, buckling his seatbelt.

“Ready for anything,” I say, and mean it.

Because how can I not be ready when Kevin Pryor is beside me, wearing my bracelet and that smile? When the boy I’ve loved since freshman year is finally, impossibly, miraculously mine?

“You’re staring,” Kevin says, his cheeks turning pink.

“Yeah,” I admit, not even trying to look away. “I am.”

He ducks his head, but he’s still smiling. “We’re going to be late if you don’t start driving.”

Right. Driving. School. Senior year. All those things that seemed important five minutes ago but now pale in comparison to the truth bouncing around my chest.

I put the car in reverse, stealing one more glance at Kevin as he fiddles with the radio. He finds a station playing show tunes and looks at me hopefully.

“Whatever you want,” I tell him, meaning so much more than just the music.

As we drive toward Arcadia High, Kevin humming along to some song about living in America at the end of the millennium, I make myself a promise. Sometime this year—maybe not today or even this month, but soon—I’m going to tell Kevin Pryor that I love him. I’m going to say those three words that have been building in my chest since I was fourteen years old.

And maybe, if I’m the luckiest guy in Arcadia, he’ll say them back.