Page 82 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“No,” Adam and I say in unison.
“You guys are no fun.” Robbie sits up, pouting. “I’m at least bringing my sunglasses. The cool ones that make people think I’m a pilot.”
“You look like a douche in those,” Adam informs him.
“A cool douche,” Robbie counters.
As my brothers bicker about sunglasses, I text Jameson back.
Me
Wouldn’t miss it. And I’m holding you to that conversation.
Jameson
I’ve been thinking about it all week.
Saturday can’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER 19
we sail the ocean blue
I’m standing in front of my closet in nothing but my underwear and having a midlife crisis at the ripe age of eighteen.
“Too casual,” I mutter, tossing aside my favorite pair of jeans. “Too formal.” The button-down joins the growing pile of clothes on my bed. “Too theater kid.” MyPhantom of the Operashirt lands on Robbie’s flip-flops.
“What’s happening in here?” Adam appears in the doorway with a coffee mug in his hand. “Did your closet explode?”
“I can’t find anything to wear.” I hold up two shirts—one navy, one green. “Which one says ‘I’m approachable but also date-worthy’ without screaming ‘I’ve been planning this outfit for three days?’”
“Youhavebeen planning this outfit for three days,” Robbie says, squeezing past Adam to flop onto my bed, carefully avoiding my clothing avalanche. “I’ve watched you.”
Adam sets down his coffee and sorts through my discarded options. “Okay, first of all, it’s a boat. You need to wear something that you’re fine with getting wet.”
“But not something that says I’mexpectingto get wet,” I counter. “That would be presumptuous.”
“Presumptuous?” Robbie laughs. “Kev, it’s a boat. Getting wet is part of the experience.”
I grab a pair of khaki shorts from my drawer. “These?”
“Absolutely not,” both brothers say in unison.
“They make your butt look weird,” Robbie adds helpfully.
“They do?” I ask, appalled.
“Yes. We should have told you sooner, but how did we know you were going to wear them all summer?” Adam pulls out my light blue swim trunks with the small pineapple print. “Here, wear these.”
“Pineapples might be trying too hard,” I mumble.
“The pineapples are subtle,” Adam insists. “You have to get up close to notice them.”
“Oh, I bet Hart will volunteer to get up close,” Robbie singsongs, dodging the flip-flop I throw at him.
“What about up top?” I gesture at my bare chest. “Tank top? T-shirt? Do I bring layers?”
Adam and Robbie exchange a look I’ve seen a thousand times—the silent communication of brothers who’ve shared everything from chicken pox to driving lessons.
