Page 67 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

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 tomake 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 topthat 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.