Page 25 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

friday at the drive-in

“ Y o. Drive-in tonight!” Adam announces, sliding the back door open with enough force that it bounces back and almost clocks him in the side.

“Matthew texted me. They’re playing Grease at the Starlight.

He and Tyler are going. They said that if they get there before us, they’ll save us a spot.

” His phone pings. “Oh, and Hart’s in too. And he’s bringing Ethan.”

Rita’s elbow finds my ribs with surgical precision. She’s practically vibrating with excitement beside me. “Yes, let’s go!” she says, her voice pitched too high for my liking. “I mean, it’s Grease . Classic summer movie. And it’s probably cooler at night, right?”

“I don’t know,” I hedge, already imagining two hours of trying not to stare at Jameson in the dark. “I’m pretty tired from all this floating.”

“It’s Grease ,” Adam says, staring at me with those big brother eyes that see too much. “Last week, you made us listen to ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ on repeat for no other reason than to torture us.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“It just was.”

“Come on, Kev,” Robbie says, swimming over to me and wrapping me up in a hug.

“When’s the last time we all hung out together?

” He rests his chin on my shoulder and pouts at me.

“Plus, you love the drive-in. Remember when we saw The Greatest Showman there a few years ago and you cried during ‘This Is Me?’”

“Everyone cried during ‘This Is Me.’”

“I didn’t,” Adam says, raising his hand.

“That’s because you have no soul,” Rita informs him primly. She turns to me with eyes that promise future hurt if I don’t agree. “We’re going. This is happening. The universe is handing you a perfect opportunity on a silver platter.”

“A perfect opportunity for what?” my brothers ask simultaneously.

“To kill us with heat,” I mutter, not daring to tell them the truth.

Two hours later, I’m in the back seat of the minivan with Rita, watching Arcadia transform from a beach town to something more rural. The sun hangs low and fat on the horizon, painting nature in shades of amber and rust.

Adam navigates us through downtown, past the gazebo where the community band plays on Sundays, past Santo’s Pizza with its orange pizza sign flickering. The sidewalks are still crowded with people, despite the record temperatures.

“What do you guys think? Keep the AC on or windows down?” Adam asks, his hand hovering over the controls.

“Windows,” Robbie says immediately. “I need actual air, not this recycled stuff.”

Adam obliges, and warm wind rushes through the van. It’s not exactly refreshing, but I get it. Rita’s hair escapes from its bun in wild tendrils that whip around her face.

We pass the high school, empty and somehow smaller looking without students filling its halls. The football field sits silent, its lights dark, the bleachers empty except for the ghosts of games past.

“Remember when you threw that sixty-yard touchdown against Central?” Robbie asks Adam. “That was insane.”

“Hart caught it,” Adam reminds him.

God, even Jameson’s last name makes my pulse quicken.

I focus on the scenery in an attempt to calm my hormones.

The houses grow farther apart, separated by stretches of grass burned brown by the vicious sun.

Someone’s sprinkler sends arcs of water across a dehydrated lawn, creating brief rainbows in the evening light.

The road soon becomes winding, following the lazy path of Archer’s Creek. Through the trees, I see that the water is low between the exposed rocks.

“God, even the creek has given up,” Rita observes, peering out her window. “This weather is apocalyptic.”

We pass Miller’s Farm Stand, closed for the evening but with signs advertising sweet corn and tomatoes.

The red barn needs painting; its color faded to the soft pink of an old scar.

Next comes the veterinary clinic where we took our childhood dog, then the nursery with its greenhouse glowing in the dimming light.

“I’m gonna play some music,” Robbie says, already reaching for the auxiliary cord.

“No,” Adam and I say in unison.

“What? Why not? My playlist is fire.”

“Your playlist is a crime against humanity,” I tell him. “Last time you had the aux, you played that remix of ‘Baby Shark’ for twenty minutes.”

“It’s catchy!”

Rita laughs. “Let Kevin pick. He has the best taste.”

I scroll through my phone in search of something that fits the mood. The opening notes of “Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts fill the van, and even Robbie doesn’t complain.

The landscape continues to shift as we drive. Corn stalks stand like tired soldiers in neat rows. A red-tailed hawk circles overhead, riding thermals in the still air. The sky deepens from amber to violet, that magic hour when the world resembles a painting.

“There’s that house,” Rita says suddenly, pointing to a Victorian mansion set back from the road. “The one everyone says is haunted.”

It does look haunted in this light, all Gothic towers and gingerbread trim gone to seed. The windows are dark, reflecting the sunset in its empty eyes.

“It’s not haunted,” Adam says, ever the pragmatist. “The Hutchersons just travel a lot.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Robbie intones dramatically. “But at night, you can see lights moving from room to room. Ghostly figures in the windows. The sound of piano music from the parlor?—”

“Stop,” I beg. “I don’t need nightmare fuel.”

We pass the dilapidated drive-in church. The parking lot is empty. The sign out front wilts in the heat. The letters are slightly askew. reading: “Faith is the AC for the soul.”

“That’s terrible,” Rita giggles. “Even churches are making heat jokes now.”

The road straightens out, cutting through a section of woods. The trees form a tunnel overhead, the branches intertwining. It’s darker here, cooler by a few degrees, and I breathe it in deeply.

“Almost there,” Adam announces as we emerge from the trees.

The Starlight Drive-In appears, its massive screen rising from a field. It’s a monument to simpler times. The neon sign buzzes and flickers. The script letters spell out “Starlight” in pink and blue. Cars are already filling the rows.

“Keep an eye out for Matthew’s Jeep,” Robbie says, craning his neck.

Adam navigates the gravel paths between speaker posts, following the hand signals of a teenage employee in a reflective vest. The sound of engines running mingles with music from various car radios, creating a unique summer evening soundtrack.

“There!” I spot the distinctive yellow Jeep near the middle of the field. “Three rows from the concession stand.”

My heart does that stupid flip-flop thing when I recognize Jameson’s blue Honda a couple of rows over. He’s here.

Rita squeezes my hand. “Breathe,” she whispers.

Adam pulls into the space beside Matthew’s Jeep, and suddenly, two hours of trying not to stare is impossibly optimistic.

Through the window, I watch Jameson in the driver’s seat, laughing at something Ethan is saying.

The setting sun turns his hair into a halo, and I have to turn away before my brothers catch me staring.

“Perfect timing,” Matthew says, leaning over Tyler to shout at us through the open windows. “Movie starts in twenty.”

We pile out of the van, and the evening heat wraps around us. But there’s something about the drive-in, about the anticipation of the movie and being in the presence of friends, that makes it bearable.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and I turn around to find Jameson standing feet away, hands in his pockets, and that heart-stopping smile on his face. “Glad you guys could make it.”

My brain stops working. Rita restarts it by subtly elbowing me in the ribs.

“Yeah,” I croak. “Can’t miss Grease . It’s a classic.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, and is it my imagination or does his smile widen? “Ethan’s been singing ‘Greased Lightning’ all day.”

“It’s a good song,” I offer weakly.

“It is,” he agrees. We stand there for a moment, the space between us sparking with something I can’t name.

“Kevin knows all the choreography,” Rita announces, because apparently, she’s decided subtlety is now overrated. “He learned it for a summer camp production when he was twelve.”

I’m going to murder her. Slowly. With jazz hands.

Thankfully, for her sake, Jameson laughs. “That’s awesome. Maybe you can teach me sometime. I’m terrible at dancing.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say without thinking.

His eyebrows rise. “Oh yeah? Has Ethan been telling stories about me?”

“Maybe a few.”

“Traitor,” he calls to his brother, who’s already heading toward the concession stand with Matthew and Tyler. “Guess I’ll have to work on my reputation.”

“Nah,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t give a damn about your bad reputation.”

Silence befalls our group. I glance around to see Rita, my brothers, and Jameson all staring at me.

“Wow, Kevin,” Robbie says, shaking his head. “That was bad, even by your standards.”

Adam nods, clearly on Robbie’s side. Rita, on the other hand, is giggling behind her hand. She lowers it just enough for me to see her mouth the word hopeless.

“I thought it was punny,” Jameson says, and the entire group turns to stare at him next. His grin is sheepish but genuine. “What? I like a good Joan Jett reference.”

Adam and Robbie groan in perfect unison, as though they’ve been practicing their disappointed brother routine for years.

“Don’t encourage him,” Adam says to Jameson. “Kevin’s music puns are a menace to society.”

“They’re an art form,” I protest, feeling oddly buoyant now that Jameson defended my terrible joke.

Rita claps her hands together, bouncing on her toes. “You’re perfect for each other! Bad puns and everything!”

My face turns a dark red. “Rita!”

But I notice a flush spread across Jameson’s cheekbones too. It’s the heat , I tell myself. The temperature is still hovering somewhere between surface-of-the-sun and depths-of-hell. That’s why he’s blushing. No other reason. None at all.