Page 65 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

Me

Obviously, yes.

And just like that, we’re back to our easy rhythm. Adam’s warnings fade into mere whispers as Jameson tells me about immortal jellyfish and sends me screenshots of the most ridiculous-looking species.

Maybe thisisjust friendship.

Maybe I’m reading too much into his messages, choice of emoji, all of the late-night conversations.

But sitting here in my room with my phone warm in my hands and that stupid smile back on my face, I can’t bring myself to care.

Jameson

Okay, but seriously, this one resembles an alien disco ball.

[image attached]

Nature is WILD!

Me

That’s without a doubt an alien. You can’t convince me otherwise.

Jameson

Then I won’t

The heart emoji makes my own heart do backflips. We keep texting for the rest of the day, the conversation flowing from sea creatures to our favorite movies to what we’re having for dinner.

Each message reveals something new. He alphabetizes his bookshelf, but his room is otherwise a disaster. He can’t sleep without some kind of white noise. He’s terrified of butterflies after one flew into his mouth when he was six.

I share random facts of my own too. I still sleep with a stuffed elephant named Mr. Peanuts when I’m home alone. I practice acceptance speeches in the shower for awards I’ll never win. I can’t eat salads because of their texture, but I love wraps.

Jameson

You’re wonderfully weird, you know that?

Me

Says the guy who’s afraid of butterflies.

Jameson

They’re unpredictable! All that fluttering around with no clear flight path!

Me

You catch footballs while 250-pound guys try to tackle you, but butterflies are where you draw the line?

Jameson

Yes. At least defensive ends follow predictable patterns. Butterflies are chaos agents.

I’m laughing hard enough for tears to fill my eyes that I almost miss Adam walking past my room again. He pauses, sees me on my phone, and shakes his head slightly before continuing down the hall.

I stick out my tongue at his retreating form. Let him disapprove. Robbie’s right—this is something good. Something real. And I’m not going to let my brother’s overprotectiveworrying ruin it. Besides, he still hasn’t told Robbie about Stanford. He shouldn’t be throwing stones.

Jameson