Page 45 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

the campfire song

M y pajamas have taken up permanent residence in Adam’s dresser, which tells you all you need to know about the continued state of the Pryor household.

It’s Labor Day weekend, which means every teenager in Arcadia is heading to Archer’s Creek for the traditional end-of-summer bonfire.

“Rita’s here,” Adam announces, walking into his room wearing a red polo shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops.

I grab my backpack stuffed with bug spray, a flashlight, and about seventeen snacks because overeating is my coping mechanism. The house is still fragile; we’re all walking on eggshells that have already cracked, but nobody wants to acknowledge the mess.

Robbie’s door stays firmly shut as we pass. He most likely already left with Matthew and Tyler, the only two people in our friend group who were unaware of Adam and Stanford. They’re his safe space now, the friends who don’t remind him that everything’s changing.

Outside, Rita’s sitting in the backseat of the minivan. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a vintage band tee, her red hair pulled back in an intentionally messy bun.

“Hey, drama king,” she says as I slide in beside her. “Ready for some quality woodland shenanigans?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Adam starts the van, and we pull out of the driveway. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the town. It’s one of those perfect late summer evenings where, while the air still holds warmth, it also carries the promise of fall.

“So,” Rita says, breaking the silence as we turn onto the main road, “on a scale of one to ten, how awkward is tonight going to be?”

“Eleven,” I say. “Maybe twelve.”

“At least Jameson will be there,” she offers.

That’s true. My boyfriend—I still get a thrill using that word—texted earlier that he’d save me a spot by the fire. It’s been weird navigating this new relationship while my family implodes, but Jameson’s been patient. Understanding. Perfect.

The drive out to Hartley Woods takes about twenty minutes. We pass the strip mall with the nail salon where Rita got her prom nails done, and the rest stop where Robbie once threw up an entire Slurpee on his shoes.

Adam turns onto the narrow road that leads into the woods. The trees close in on either side, their branches creating a canopy overhead. The pavement gives way to packed dirt, and the van bounces over roots and rocks.

“I always forget how creepy this road is,” Rita says, peering out the window at the darkening forest.

“Remember when Matthew convinced us a serial killer was living out here?” Adam asks, navigating a particularly rough patch.

“That was Robbie,” I correct him. “Matthew went along with it.”

Adam’s hands tighten on the steering wheel at the mention of our brother, but he doesn’t say anything.

The road opens into a clearing where cars are parked haphazardly on the grass.

“I think half the school’s here,” Rita says.

We park and grab our stuff. The path to the creek is well-worn from years of teenagers making the same pilgrimage.

It winds through the trees, marked by the occasional beer can or carved initials that date back decades.

The sound of voices and laughter grows louder as we get closer to our destination.

“You guys go ahead,” Adam says suddenly. “I forgot something in the van.”

Rita and I exchange a glance but don’t push the issue. Adam’s been doing that a lot lately—needing little moments alone to process everything.

The path curves, and suddenly the trees part to reveal Archer’s Creek, reflecting the orange sky like polished glass. The old railroad trestle stretches across one end, its beams rusted but sturdy. Some brave soul has already climbed up there, their silhouette visible against the sunset.

The beach area is honestly nothing more than a strip of sandy dirt, but generations of Arcadia teens have claimed it as sacred ground.

A fire burns brightly in the stone ring that’s been here since our parents were in high school.

Coolers dot the landscape, and the scent of lighter fluid blends with the aroma of pine and creek water.

“Kevin!”

I turn to see Jameson waving from a cluster of logs arranged around the fire.

He’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly good in the firelight.

My heart does its usual gymnastics routine.

Ethan is nearby, talking to a couple of friends; he waves when he sees me.

“Go,” Rita says, nudging me. “I’ll find the theater people and complain about the mosquitoes with them.”

I make my way over to Jameson, trying not to trip on the uneven ground. He shifts to make room on his log, and I settle beside him, our thighs touching.

“Hey,” he says softly, his breath warm against my ear. “You okay?”

“Better now,” I admit.

His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing, and some of the tension I’ve been carrying eases.

Around us, our classmates are in full end-of-summer celebration mode.

Someone’s hooked up speakers to blast music.

A group near the water is attempting to skip stones in the dying light.

The fire crackles and pops, sending sparks spiraling upward.

“Your brother’s over there,” Jameson says, nodding toward the shoreline.

I follow his gaze and spot Robbie with Matthew and Tyler.

They’re laughing about something, and Robbie appears relaxed in a way he hasn’t at home.

He must sense me watching because he glances over.

Our eyes meet across the beach, and his smile falters.

He looks away quickly, turning back to his friends.

“Give it time,” Jameson says, squeezing my hand.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Because it’s true.” He shifts closer. “My cousin and I didn’t talk for three months after a wedgie fight. Now we text memes to each other daily.”

“This is bigger than a wedgie fight.”

“Maybe. But the principle’s the same. Family’s complicated.”

Adam appears, settling on Jameson’s other side. “What’d I miss?”

“Kevin brooding attractively,” Jameson says, which makes me blush.

“His specialty,” Adam agrees. “Though usually he adds some dramatic sighing.”

“I can hear you both,” I grumble.

“We know,” they say in unison, which should be annoying but makes me chuckle.

More people arrive as darkness falls. The fire grows bigger, fed by someone who clearly knows what they’re doing. Marshmallows appear, along with graham crackers and chocolate. The music shifts from pop to something more chill, matching the mood.

I watch the flames dance, letting myself get lost in the moment.

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Adam says. “You guys want anything?”

We shake our heads, and he wanders off toward the coolers. Almost immediately, Tyler takes his spot, grinning widely.“Yo, Hart. Now that you’re dating Kevin, we should talk.”

“Tyler, no,” I groan, knowing where he’s going with this.

“What? I’m being a good friend. Looking out for you.” He leans forward, fixing Jameson with what I think is supposed to be an intimidating stare. “What are your intentions with Kevin Theodore Pryor?”

“Oh, my God.” I bury my face in my hands.

But Jameson takes it in stride. “I intend to treat him with respect, make him laugh, and convince him that movie musicals are as valid as stage productions.”

“Controversial take,” Tyler says, nodding approvingly. “I like it. Also, fair warning—if you hurt him, you’ll have to deal with me, Matthew, and the Pryor brothers.”

“Just Adam,” I mutter through my hands. “Robbie’s not speaking to me.”

Tyler’s expression softens. “He’ll come around, Kev. He’s just being a stubborn ass right now.”

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Fine,” Tyler says. “But I’ve got my eye on you, Hart.”

The night deepens, and the party takes on that dreamy quality that happens when you mix firelight, teenage emotions, and the knowledge that summer’s coming to an end.

People drift between groups, voices rise and fall, and I think someone sneaked in something stronger than cheap beer because there’s a distinct wobble to a few people’s gaits.

Rita appears with a group from the drama club, dramatically reciting Shakespeare, because theater kids can’t help themselves. I catch her eye, and she waves, happy despite the mosquitoes she was dreading.

“Want to walk?” Jameson asks.

I nod, and we stand, brushing sand off our clothes. We wander away from the fire, following the shoreline. The music fades to a distant thrum, replaced by the sound of water and night insects.

“I love it out here,” Jameson says. “Used to come fishing with my dad before…” He trails off.

“Before the divorce?”

“Yeah.” He picks up a stick and drags it through the sand as we walk. “Everything was simpler then. Or maybe it only felt that way.”

“I know what you mean.”

We reach a fallen tree that extends partially into the water, and Jameson climbs onto it. He holds out his hand and helps me up. We settle side by side, our feet dangling above the dark abyss.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask.

“Always.”

“I keep waiting for things to go back to normal. Like maybe I’ll wake up and Robbie won’t be mad, Adam won’t be leaving, and everything will be how it was.” I lean against Jameson’s shoulder. “But I’m starting to think maybe there’s no going back, that this is how it is now.”

“Maybe that’s not entirely bad,” Jameson says carefully. “I mean, if things hadn’t changed, we might not be here right now.”

He’s right. In the version of life where Adam never considered Stanford, where Robbie wasn’t betrayed, and where I never had to stand up for myself, Jameson and I would’ve stayed in our separate orbits forever.

“When you put it that way,” I concede.

He turns his head and kisses my temple, soft and sweet. “Change sucks. But sometimes good things come from it.”

A shout echoes across the water, followed by a splash. Someone’s been pushed into the water.

“We should probably head back,” I say, though I don’t want to move.

“Probably,” Jameson agrees, not moving either.