Page 52 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“It’s not haunted,” Adam says, ever the pragmatist. “The Hutchersons just travel a lot.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” Robbie intones dramatically. “But at night, you can see lights moving from room to room. Ghostly figures in the windows. The sound of piano music from the parlor?—”
“Stop,” I beg. “I don’t need nightmare fuel.”
We pass the dilapidated drive-in church. The parking lot is empty. The sign out front wilts in the heat. The letters are slightly askew. reading: “Faith is the AC for the soul.”
“That’s terrible,” Rita giggles. “Even churches are making heat jokes now.”
The road straightens out, cutting through a section of woods. The trees form a tunnel overhead, the branches intertwining. It’s darker here, cooler by a few degrees, and I breathe it in deeply.
“Almost there,” Adam announces as we emerge from the trees.
The Starlight Drive-In appears, its massive screen rising from a field. It’s a monument to simpler times. The neon sign buzzes and flickers. The script letters spell out “Starlight” in pink and blue. Cars are already filling the rows.
“Keep an eye out for Matthew’s Jeep,” Robbie says, craning his neck.
Adam navigates the gravel paths between speaker posts, following the hand signals of a teenage employee in a reflective vest. The sound of engines running mingles with music from various car radios, creating a unique summer evening soundtrack.
“There!” I spot the distinctive yellow Jeep near the middle of the field. “Three rows from the concession stand.”
My heart does that stupid flip-flop thing when I recognize Jameson’s blue Honda a couple of rows over.He’s here.
Rita squeezes my hand. “Breathe,” she whispers.
Adam pulls into the space beside Matthew’s Jeep, and suddenly, two hours of trying not to stare is impossibly optimistic. Through the window, I watch Jameson in the driver’s seat, laughing at something Ethan is saying. The setting sun turns his hair into a halo, and I have to turn away before my brothers catch me staring.
“Perfect timing,” Matthew says, leaning over Tyler to shout at us through the open windows. “Movie starts in twenty.”
We pile out of the van, and the evening heat wraps around us. But there’s something about the drive-in, about the anticipation of the movie and being in the presence of friends, that makes it bearable.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says, and I turn around to find Jameson standing feet away, hands in his pockets, and that heart-stopping smile on his face. “Glad you guys could make it.”
My brain stops working. Rita restarts it by subtly elbowing me in the ribs.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Can’t missGrease. It’s a classic.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, and is it my imagination or does his smile widen? “Ethan’s been singing ‘Greased Lightning’ all day.”
“It’s a good song,” I offer weakly.
“It is,” he agrees. We stand there for a moment, the space between us sparking with something I can’t name.
“Kevin knows all the choreography,” Rita announces, because apparently, she’s decided subtlety is now overrated. “He learned it for a summer camp production when he was twelve.”
I’m going to murder her. Slowly. With jazz hands.
Thankfully, for her sake, Jameson laughs. “That’s awesome. Maybe you can teach me sometime. I’m terrible at dancing.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say without thinking.
His eyebrows rise. “Oh yeah? Has Ethan been telling stories about me?”
“Maybe a few.”
“Traitor,” he calls to his brother, who’s already heading toward the concession stand with Matthew and Tyler. “Guess I’ll have to work on my reputation.”
“Nah,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t give a damn about your bad reputation.”
