Page 48 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

Jameson bumps his forehead against mine and whispers, “You’re a menace, Kevin Pryor.”

I want to say something clever back, but my face is frozen in this stupid grin. “You started it.”

He tilts his head, eyebrow cocked. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

We’re still holding onto each other, barely afloat, when he kisses me again—quick this time, but just as electric. When he finally lets go, I drift onto my back, my arms and legs spread wide. Jameson does the same.

The commotion from the trestle fades into background noise, and the growing silence allows me to think about the kid I was when summer began.

The one who kept his head down and waited for life to happen, who only spoke up if it was for a punchline or a stage cue.

I think about every moment I almost said something but didn’t, every part I wanted but was too afraid to audition for, every secret that was too heavy to let rise to the surface.

None of it matters now.

I’m here in the lake, alive and real and in love, or at least dangerously close to it.

I’m still floating on air when we pull into our driveway. My hair drips water onto the headrest, and my bare feet leave impressions in the floor mat. I do my best not to think about the ass print I leave on the seat, and how it’ll be Dad’s job to get it out.

The second we step through the front door, Robbie brushes past me without a word. His footsteps pound up the stairs, each one louder than necessary. The slam of his bedroom door rattles the family photos on the wall.

“Guess I’m bunking with you again,” I tell Adam, who’s already heading toward his room.

In Adam’s room, I peel off my damp clothes and grab a towel from his closet. The smell of Archer’s Creek clings to everything. It’s a mix of algae and summer that no longer seems gross when you’re in love. Or whatever this feeling is that makes my chest too small for my heart.

“So,” Adam says, pulling his wet shirt over his head, “that was quite the show tonight. And I’m not talking about your American Idol audition.”

I towel my hair, avoiding his eyes. He tosses his shirt in the hamper and turns to face me, arms crossed.

When I don’t say anything, he breaks the silence. “You and Jameson practically swallowed each other’s faces in front of everyone.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “We did not?—”

“Kevin, I saw you. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

I sink onto his bed, clutching the towel around my shoulders. “Was it that obvious?”

Adam’s expression softens. He rolls his desk chair over to me and sits. “Look, I’m happy for you. Really. But we need to talk about some things.”

“Things?” My voice cracks.

“Yeah, things. Like…” He runs a hand through his damp hair, suddenly as uncomfortable as I am. “Like being safe. And responsible. And…God, how do I even do this?”

“Adam, please don’t?—”

“No, we’re having this conversation.” He takes a deep breath. “When a boy and a girl…or in this case, when two guys…”

I bury my face in the towel. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“It’s important!” His voice goes up an octave. “Do you know about…protection? And consent? And—Jesus, I don’t even know what gay guys do exactly. I mean, I have ideas, but?—”

“ Adam. ”

“What? I’m trying to be a responsible big brother here!” His face is now the color of a tomato. “Like, with girls, there’s the whole pregnancy thing to worry about, but with guys…I guess that’s not an issue? But there are still diseases and?—”

“We’ve only kissed!” I practically shriek.

“Yeah, but kissing leads to other things! At least, that’s what Dad told me when he gave me the talk. Though his version was about, you know, straight stuff. Birds and bees. But what about gay birds and gay bees? Do gay bees even exist?”

“Are you seriously asking me about gay bees right now?”

“I don’t know! I’m out of my depth here!” He stands up and paces. “Should I be telling you about lube? Is that a thing? It’s probably a thing. Oh God, I just said lube to my little brother.”

“You’re only older by ten minutes!”

“Still counts!” He stops pacing and faces me, his expression deadly serious.

“Kevin, all I know is that you need to be careful. Go slow. Make sure you’re both comfortable with whatever happens.

And maybe Google some stuff? But use incognito mode.

And for the love of God, don’t do anything because you think you’re supposed to. ”

Despite the absolute mortification of this conversation, there’s something sweet about how hard he’s trying. “Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for caring. Even if this is the most embarrassing moment of my entire life.”

He grins sheepishly. “Including the time you forgot you were wearing your mic, and we heard you complaining that some guy gave you a wedgie?”

“Including that.”

We both laugh, the tension breaking. Adam tosses me a clean shirt, and I head to the bathroom to change. When I come back, he’s already in bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey, Adam?” I climb into the sleeping bag. We’ve decided to take turns, or well, I decided. I felt too guilty sleeping in his bed and making him sleep on the floor. He said he didn’t mind, but I did. “Jameson’s respectful. And we’re taking things slow.”

“Good.” He reaches over to turn off the lamp. “But if he ever pressures you or makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. I’ll kick his ass, teammate or not.”

“My hero,” I say half-sarcastically.

The room falls into darkness. I lie there, replaying the night—the jump, the kiss, the way Jameson held me as though I was something precious. My wrist feels strange, and I reach out to touch the bracelet. My fingers find only skin.

I bolt upright, my heart instantly racing. “Adam!”

“What?” He flicks the lamp back on, squinting at me.

“The bracelet. The bracelet Jameson gave me. It’s gone!” I’m checking both wrists now, as if it might have migrated.

“Are you sure you?—”

“Yes, I’m sure! He put it on me right before we jumped. It was there in the water. But now…” I’m already on my feet, shaking out the sleeping bag, checking the damp clothes I left in the corner.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Adam sits up, fully awake now. “Where could it have fallen off?”

“The creek? The walk back? The car?” My voice rises with each possibility. “Oh God, what if it’s at the bottom of the creek? What if?—”

“Let’s start with the car,” Adam says, already slipping into a pair of flip-flops despite the fact that he’s only in his boxers. “Come on.”

We creep downstairs, trying not to wake Dad or alert Robbie to our mission. The house is dark and quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and Robbie’s music playing faintly through the door.

Outside, the minivan sits in the driveway. Adam unlocks it, and we search. I check the back seat, running my hands along every nook, cranny, and crevice. Adam checks the front.

“Anything?” I ask, my voice tight with panic.

“Not yet.” He’s on his hands and knees now, checking under the seats with his phone flashlight.

I join him on the floor of the van, rummaging around in the darkness. My fingers find a couple of stale frenchfries, a forgotten hair tie of Rita’s, and something sticky I don’t want to identify. But no bracelet.

“Kevin,” Adam says gently, “it’s not here.”

“It has to be!” I’m checking the same spots now, desperate. “He’s had it since my birthday, Adam. He bought it specially for me and waited all this time and?—”

“Hey.” Adam grabs my shoulders, stilling my frantic movements. “We’ll find it. Tomorrow, when it’s light, we’ll go back to the creek. Check the path. Ask if anyone found it. But right now, you need to sleep.”

I want to argue, but exhaustion hits me like a tidal wave. The adrenaline crash from the jump, the emotional high of the kiss, the panic of losing the bracelet—it all catches up at once.

“What if I never find it?” I whisper.

“Then Jameson will understand. It’s not about the bracelet, Kev. It’s about what it represents. And that’s not lost.”

We trudge back inside, and I curl up in the sleeping bag, my chest tight with loss. The perfect night is now tainted.

“Adam?” I whisper into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think this is a sign? Is the universe saying I don’t deserve nice things?”

I hear him shift in his bed. “No, I think it’s a sign that he should’ve waited until after jumping off a bridge to put it on you.”

Despite how I’m feeling, I smile. “Gay bees would’ve had better jewelry awareness.”

“See? This is why we need more research on gay bee culture.”

We both laugh quietly, and somehow, that makes it a smidge better. Not fixed, not okay, but better.