Page 32 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

first date/last night

M y fingers strangle the door handle as the familiar streets of Arcadia blur past the window. Normally, I love taking in my hometown, but today, I can’t appreciate it. I’m this close to throwing up.

“You’re going to rip that clean off if you’re not careful,” Dad says, glancing at me with that knowing smile that means he’s about to ask questions I don’t want to answer.

“I’m fine.” My voice cracks on the second word, completely undermining my attempt at appearing calm, cool, and collected.

“Sure you are.” He turns onto the main road, and the salty air drifts through the cracked windows. “That’s why you asked your old man for a ride to the beach instead of having Adam or Robbie take you.”

“They’re busy.”

“Uh-huh.” Dad drums his fingers on the steering wheel to whatever classic rock song is playing softly on the radio. “So this lunch date?—”

“It’s not a date!” The words explode out of me. “Sorry. It’s just two friends getting tacos. Completely platonic Mexican food consumption.”

“Right. And that’s why you changed shirts four times before we left.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “You saw that?”

“Your bedroom door was open. Hard to miss the fashion show.” He slows for a red light and turns to face me properly. “Is this the same person you were all twisted up about when we went to the bookstore last month? The one you couldn’t quite bring yourself to name?”

I study the dashboard and notice the stickers Robbie must have stuck there the last time he was in here. There’s also a small crack in the plastic near the air vent that wasn’t there before. No doubt from Robbie putting his giant-ass feet where they don’t belong. “Maybe.”

“Kevin.”

“Okay, yes. Same person.” I risk a glance at him. “It’s Jameson. Jameson Hart.”

Dad’s eyebrows rise slightly, but the rest of his face doesn’t move an inch. “The wide receiver? Adam and Robbie’s friend?”

“That’s the one.” I brace myself for warnings about getting my hopes up, about reading too much into things, about all the ways this could go wrong. Basically, a rehash of everything Adam has already said.

Instead, Dad nods thoughtfully. “Solid choice. Kid has good hands, great field vision, and from what I’ve seen, he’s a decent human being off the field too.”

“Dad, you’re analyzing him like a recruit.”

“Force of habit.” He grins sheepishly. “But my point stands. If you’re going to have a crush on someone, at least you picked quality.”

“It’s not—” I begin to protest, then deflate.

“We’ve been texting for two weeks now, and he asked if I’d want to get tacos with him.

Naturally, I said yes, and now I’m probably going to make a complete fool of myself.

” I notice the light turns green and gesture at Dad to put his foot on the gas pedal.

“Why would you do that?” He turns his attention back onto the road and lowers the volume of the radio so he can hear me without problem.

“Because I’m me? Dad, I once tripped over my own feet walking across a completely flat stage.”

Dad chuckles. “That was a classic.”

“And no one in the drama club will ever let me forget it,” I deadpan.

We turn onto Ocean Avenue, and the boardwalk comes into view.

My stomach does a series of increasingly intense flips.

The parking lot is already full, typical for a Saturday afternoon.

Families with beach chairs and coolers weave between cars.

A group of kids races past, their laughter swept away on the breeze.

“You know,” Dad says as he searches in vain for a parking spot, “when I took Diana out for the first time, I was so nervous I accidentally ordered six milkshakes.”

“Six?”

“Couldn’t decide on a flavor, panicked, and kept ordering.” He slides into a space not too far from where the taco truck is. “She thought it was hilarious. Said anyone who was that indecisive about frozen drinks was exactly her type.”

“That’s adorable.”

“My point is, being nervous is normal. It means this matters to you.” He puts the minivan in park but doesn’t turn off the engine yet. “And if Jameson asked you here, it probably matters to him too.”

I spot Jameson before he sees us. He’s facing the ocean, leaning against the wooden railing that separates the boardwalk from the beach, and scrolling through his phone.

The afternoon sun makes his hair glow. He’s wearing board shorts, a tank top that shows off his biceps, and a pair of yellow flip-flops.

The longer I stare at him, the more I realize I can’t remember my name, my address, anything.

“Is that him over there?” Dad asks.

“Yeah.” The word comes out embarrassingly breathy.

“Want me to wait until you get over there?”

“Please.” I reach for the door handle, then freeze. “Actually, no. If you wait, I might chicken out and ask you to drive me home.”

Dad turns off the engine. “Then I’ll walk you over. Moral support.”

“Dad, no, that’s worse.”

But he’s already out of the van, and I have no choice but to follow.

We walk across the hot asphalt, dodging a family with a wagon full of beach toys. My legs are this close to crumbling to dust. Each step brings me closer to either the best afternoon of my summer or complete humiliation.

Jameson glances over his shoulder as we approach, and his face breaks into that easy smile that makes my insides melt. “Kevin! Hey!”

“Hey,” I say back, proud that actual words come out.

Dad steps forward with his hand extended. “Jameson. Good to see you again.”

“Mr. Pryor.” Jameson straightens up, clearly trying to make a good impression, and shakes Dad’s hand.

“Now, before I skedaddle, I wanted to ask what your intentions are with my son.”

“DAD!” I want to dissolve into the boardwalk. I want the sun’s rays to set me on fire. I want to be anywhere other than here right now.

Jameson’s eyes widen. “I—we’re just getting tacos, Mr. P?”

“Relax, son, I’m kidding.” Dad claps him on the shoulder with enough force to make Jameson stumble slightly. “I’m glad he’s made another friend. Whenever Rita isn’t around, he’s all by himself, cooped up in his room. I swear if I didn’t know my son as well as I do, I’d think he was?—”

“Okay!” I grab Dad’s arm and pull him back toward the van. “Thanks for the ride, you can go now, bye!”

Dad laughs, but lets me drag him a few steps. “Have fun, boys. Jameson, make sure he stays hydrated. It’s hot out. But don’t let him drink too much—the kid has a tiny bladder.”

Oh, God.

“Uh, will do, Mr. Pryor.”

“Call me Marcus.” Dad winks. “Text me when you need a ride home, Kev.”

He finally, blessedly, heads back to the minivan. I stand frozen, watching him go while trying to stop my cheeks from burning.

“So,” Jameson says, sidling up to me once Dad disappears into traffic. “That wasn’t awkward at all.”

I turn to face him, expecting to see mockery or at least amusement. Instead, his expression is warm, maybe even fond.

“I’m sorry. He’s not usually that—actually, no, he’s exactly that embarrassing all the time.”

“It’s cool. He cares about you.” Jameson tilts his head toward the taco truck. “Ready for the best tacos you’ve ever had?”

A small line has formed at the taco truck. The savory scent of grilled meat and spices makes my stomach rumble. Jameson orders for both of us—three tacos each, plus drinks—and when I reach for my wallet, he waves me off.

“I got this,” he says, already handing cash to the vendor.

“But—”

“Kevin, seriously. My treat.”

My heart flutters faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Friends buy each other food all the time, Kevin. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it could, especially when he guides me to a picnic table overlooking the beach with his hand lightly grazing my lower back.

We sit across from each other, the Atlantic Ocean stretching out beside us. Seagulls circle overhead, hoping for dropped food. The tacos arrive a few minutes later, wrapped in foil. Steam escapes into the air when I peel back the edges.

“Oh, my God,” I moan after the first bite. “This is incredible.”

Jameson grins. “Told you. I come here at least once a week during the summer.”

“How have I lived in Arcadia my whole life and never tried these?” I take another bite, trying not to think about how, to an outsider, this looks exactly like two guys on a date.

The ocean view, the shared meal, the way Jameson keeps smiling at me between bites of juicy meat, sour cream, and more toppings than you could imagine. “Are you ready for senior year?”

He groans. “Between football, college applications, and knowing I’m going to have to keep my GPA up, I’m already stressed.”

“Where are you applying?”

“The usual suspects. State schools mostly. But honestly?” He picks at his taco wrapper. “I love football, but I don’t know if I want it to be my whole life, you know?”

“I get that. It’s the same thing for me with theater. I love it, but sometimes I wonder if I should have a backup plan.”

“Exactly.” He leans forward slightly. “What about you? Where are you thinking?”

“The plan was always Arcadia University. All three of us together.” I pause, the weight of Adam’s secret pressing against my chest. “But plans change, I guess.”

Jameson must hear something in my voice because his expression shifts. “Are you okay?”

He looks at me with such patience and interest that I find myself opening up. “Remember that night at the drive-in? When Adam and I were being weird in the ice cream line?”

“Yeah, you said it was brother stuff.”

“It was. Is.” I set down my taco, needing both hands free to gesture. “Adam’s applying to Stanford. He hasn’t told Robbie yet, and it’s killing me to keep it a secret.”

“Stanford? Wow. That’s on the other side of the country.”

“I know. I’m happy for him, truly. If that’s what he wants, he should go for it.

But we’ve always done everything together, and now he’s planning this whole separate future, and Robbie has no idea.

” I stop myself, realizing I’m rambling.

“Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear all of my family drama. ”