Page 83 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“This is serious for you,” Adam says, his teasing tone softening.
“Duh, it’s serious. Jameson said he wants to finish our beach conversation.” I sit on the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted, even though it’s only four in the morning. “What if today changes everything?”
Robbie scoots closer to me and throws an arm around my shoulders. I lean on him, seeking his comfort. “Then it changes everything. That’s not necessarily bad.”
“But what if?—”
“Nope.” Adam holds up a hand. “No what-ifs. We’re going to get you dressed, and you’re going to have an amazing day onthe water. Whatever happens, happens. You need to quit being dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic!”
“You’re having a costume crisis,” Robbie points out. “That is the most theater-kid thing ever.”
“It’s not a costume, it’s an outfit.” I stand up as renewed determination flows through me. “But you know what? You’re right. I’m overthinking this.”
“Finally, he sees reason,” Adam says to the heavens.
“Help me.” I turn to face them both, hands on my hips. “I need your honest opinions. What would you wear if you were trying to impress someone without coming off as if you’re trying to impress them?”
Robbie grins. “Oh, we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing this.”
“Then we need music.” Robbie connects his phone to the speaker on our shared desk. “If we’re playing dress-up, we’re doing it right.”
The opening notes of “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” fill the room, and I groan. “Seriously?”
“You’re getting ready for your prince,” Robbie says, grabbing a plain white T-shirt from my drawer and tossing it to Adam. “That makes you Cinderella.”
“Which makes us your mice,” Adam adds, holding up the shirt to my chest. “Too boring. Next.”
“I hate you both.”
“No, you don’t.” Robbie pulls out a light gray tank top with a solid white stripe across the chest. “Try this.”
I slip it on, and they circle me like fashion critics at a runway show.
“Shows off your arms,” Adam notes. “You have good arms.”
“I do?”
“All that arm choreography has finally paid off.” Robbie nods approvingly. “But is it too much skin?” He tosses me a navy T-shirt with a small anchor on the pocket. “This. Nautical but not costumey.”
I put on the shirt while Adam selects accessories—my watch, sunglasses, and the leather bracelet Rita gave me for my birthday.
“Shoes?” I ask.
“Your white sneakers,” they say together.
“They’ll get ruined.”
“They’re already beat up,” Adam points out. “Plus, they’re comfortable. You don’t want to be worried about your feet all day.”
Robbie sings along to the fairy godmother’s song, shakes his butt, and does jazz hands.
“I’m begging you to stop,” I say, but then Adam joins in, using my hairbrush as a wand.
Ignoring them, I take in my appearance in the mirror on the back of the closet door. The outfit works. It’s very appropriate for a boat, and nice enough that I won’t be underdressed next to Jameson’s perpetual golden boy glow.
