Page 118 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
I take mine carefully, the metal wire cold against my fingers. Matthew produces a lighter from somewhere and starts helping people light theirs. The sparklers come to life one by one, creating tiny galaxies of light across the beach.
Mine catches, and I watch the sparks cascade down, each one dying before it hits the sand. The light is warm on my face and almost too bright to look directly at. Without thinking, I lift it higher, letting it block my view of everyone else. Behind this curtain of sparks, I can pretend life is simple. That Robbie isn’t sitting two feet away, his anger slowly dissipating. That Adam isn’t leaving us in a year. That this isn’t our last Labor Day before our lives change forever.
“Hey.” Jameson’s voice is soft beside me. His hand finds my free one. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Hide.” He gently pushes my sparkler hand down. “I want to see your face.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “I love seeing you happy and present and not worrying about anything else.”
The sparkler trembles in my hand, sending little bursts of light dancing across his face. “I’m notthatinteresting to look at.”
“You’re wrong.” He shifts closer, our shoulders touching. “You have no idea how your whole face transforms when you’re happy. Your eyes shine, and you get this tiny crease on your left cheek that only shows up when you’re truly smiling, like when you’re on stage, performing your heart out.”
“You notice all that?”
“I told you; I notice everything about you.” He reaches up and adjusts how I’m holding the sparkler so it frames both our faces in its glow. “There. Now I can see you properly. This is what I want, Kevin—you, illuminated. Always.”
My throat tightens, ready to squeeze out something dangerously close to those three words I’m not prepared to say yet. The sparkler continues its cascade of sparks, and I realize I’m doing that real smile he mentioned. The one that makes my whole face ache because it’s so big.
“See?” Jameson says. “That’s the one. That’s my favorite.”
I stare at my boyfriend in awe. He’s beautiful in a way I hadn’t realized before. Before, he was the boy with the golden hair, but now, he’s the young man with a heart that beats for me.
The show kicks into high gear as the first firework erupts—a blinding white chrysanthemum that makes the entire crowd flinch back in unison. The sound rattles through my chest and echoes off the water. Another round of fireworks follows, stepping all over each other and painting the sky with impossiblestreaks of colors. People all up and down the beach are cheering, some setting off their own tiny contraband displays.
My attention shifts as the flashes illuminate my family and friends. Adam is resting his chin on his knees, looking older than I ever remember. Robbie is leaning back, legs outstretched, and his toes buried in the sand. Matthew and Tyler are having a sword fight with their sparklers, while Ethan watches on in amusement.
So much has changed since June. When summer began, I honestly believed I’d float through it the way I always float through things—watching from the sidelines, crafting grand musical numbers in my head, pretending my life is better than it is.
I never would have guessed that I’d be here at the finish line, surrounded by friends and brothers and a boyfriend named Jameson Hart, who, as it turns out, noticed me all along.
epilogue
Jameson
Senior year feels like a reward for surviving three years of Arcadia High’s finest and weirdest. I wake up before my alarm, heart already hammering, roll out of bed, and immediately blast my favorite playlist while I shower. By six-thirty, I’m in my car, sunroof open, stereo a little too loud, ready to set a new world record for enthusiasm.
The whole town is awake for the occasion. The coffee shop’s parking lot is jammed with Subarus and minivans, and the line inside stretches out the door. Parents in business casual herd their children up the steps of Dandelion Daycare with a kind of frantic cheerfulness that somehow makes me nostalgic for being five. As I roll down Main Street, Mrs. Delaney from the flower shop waves at me from behind her rainbow-painted window, her hands already smudged with dirt and green dye. She cocks her head, sees my impossible smile, and grins back. I’m stopped at a red light, and for a second, I think she’s going to come outside and ask what’s put me in such a good mood on a Tuesday before eight.
If she only knew.
Three months ago, I was just another football player heading into summer training. Now I’m Jameson Hart, boyfriend of Kevin Pryor, and those four words make my chest expand until I think I might float right out of this Honda.
The steering wheel is warm under my hands as I turn onto Maple Avenue, past the park where we used to have Little League practice. Past the elementary school where I first noticed that being tall meant everyone expected you to be good at sports. Past the corner where Ethan wiped out on his bike last year, and I carried him home, both of us crying for different reasons.
But none of those memories compares to this summer. This absolutely perfect, life-changing summer where I finally—finally—stopped being a coward.
Two years and six months. That’s how long I’ve been thinking about Kevin. I know the exact moment it started, too. Freshman year, the drama club was doingBeauty and the Beast. They were performing for the entire freshman class one day, the sophomores and juniors the next. I was planning to be a rebel and skip, maybe hide out in the gym, but Matthew dragged me into the auditorium with the rest of our classmates, saying we must “support the arts.” I was prepared to be bored out of my mind.
Then this kid walked on stage dressed as a spatula—an actual spatula, with a cardboard handle strapped to his back and tinfoil wrapped around his torso—and I forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t the costume, obviously. It was the way he committed to it. While everyone else in the ensemble looked embarrassed or awkward, Kevin was up there giving his whole heart to being kitchen cutlery.
I never told Kevin this, but I bought tickets for opening night. And the next. Told everyone I was supporting the arts. That my mother was a theater kid herself, and I wanted to give back. But none of that was true. I was there for Kevin. Only Kevin.
The thing is, I’m not good with words. Never have been. I can read defensive formations and catch impossible passes, but ask me to express actual feelings?Disaster.
So I spent three years watching from a distance. Watching Kevin disappear into the ensemble of every show. Watching him light up when talking about musicals with his friend Rita, ones I’d never heard of. Watching him walk through the halls like he was afraid of taking up too much space.
I wanted to tell him he deserved all the space in the world.
