Page 35 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

The music switches to a pop song, and suddenly, I feel it building in my chest—that familiar sensation when everything becomes too much and my brain decides to check out and let my imagination take over.

The room shifts. The house lights morph into stage lights. The random party music transforms into the opening beats of “Confident” by Demi Lovato, which was made even more awesome in he’s the happiest one of the bunch. To break his heart, to be the one to distinguish his light, it would kill me as much as it would him.

“Okay, but seriously,” Tyler says, “can we talk about how Kevin was actually getting down on the dance floor earlier? Where did that come from?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I have hidden depths.”

“Very hidden,” Adam teases.

“Hey, I thought he was great,” Jameson says. “Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

My heart goes into overdrive. “You want me to teach you to dance?”

“If you’re willing to take on a hopeless case.”

“No one’s hopeless,” I say, very aware that I’m being watched. “But some are rhythmically challenged.”

Conversation flows around us. Tyler argues with Matthew about which NFL team will win this year.

Rita describes her hope of assistant directing the fall musical.

Adam and Robbie debate whether they should call it a night or let Dad know we’re all staying overnight at Tyler’s. I only half-listen to it all.

My attention is on Jameson’s hands, which have emerged from under the blanket.

His thumb traces circles on the fabric while he stares off in the distance with a content expression.

I follow his gaze, but I can’t see anything interesting other than the shadows of trees on the other side of the lake and the stars reflecting on the still water.

I don’t realize how much time has passed until I notice the fire has burned down to glowing embers. The darkness around us has shifted to something softer, grayer. My legs are stiff from sitting in the same position for hours, and the blanket is damp with morning dew.

“Is that...” Rita’s voice trails off as she points toward the horizon.

The sky above the lake is changing. What was pitch black not so long ago now shows the faintest ribbon of purple along the tree line. Then orange bleeds into it, followed by pink.

“Did we seriously pull an all-nighter?” Matthew asks, his voice rough from talking and laughing for hours.

Tyler checks his phone and whistles low. “Five-thirty in the morning.”

Nobody leaves. We all sit there, transfixed, as the sun creeps higher.

The lake becomes a mirror, doubling the sunrise.

Birds sing their morning calls until the trees around us come alive with sound.

A blue heron glides across the water, its wings barely making a sound.

Somewhere in the distance, a fish jumps, sending ripples across the perfect reflection.

The air shifts from cool to warm as the humidity builds into another scorching day.

“My parents are going to kill me,” Ethan says eventually, though he makes no move to get up. “I was told under no uncertain terms that I wasn’t to follow Jameson to the party.”

Jameson shakes his head ruefully at his younger brother.

“Mine thinks I’m at Matthew’s,” Tyler admits.

“Mine thinks I’m at Jameson’s,” Matthew says, which gets a tired laugh out of us.

The sun is fully visible now, a perfect orange circle above the lake. The fire pit is nothing but ash and a few stubborn embers. Empty cups litter the ground around us. Someone’s phone buzzes with notifications, but nobody checks.

“We should do this again, pull an all-nighter, the eight of us,” Robbie says quietly. “Before school starts.”

“Definitely,” Rita agrees, her head still on his shoulder.

But we all know we won’t. This night—this perfect, unexpected night—can’t be recreated.

A mosquito lands on my arm, and I swat it away. The spell breaks slightly. Matthew stands and stretches, his back popping audibly. “I should probably head home before my mom sends out a search party.”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees. “We should all probably…”

“Five more minutes,” Tyler says.

So we sit there for five more minutes that stretch into ten, then fifteen, until it’s almost noon and none of us has gone home.