Page 15 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

pick-a-little, talk-a-little

R ain drums against my bedroom window, creating the perfect soundtrack for hiding under the covers and avoiding the world.

I burrow deeper into my blankets, laptop balanced on my knees as Rita’s face fills the screen.

Her hair is wrapped in a towel that keeps threatening to unravel, and she’s painting her nails a shade of black that matches the storm clouds outside.

“What do you think of Robbie?” I ask her during a lull in our conversation about the newest episode of Below Deck .

Rita pauses mid-stroke, the nail polish brush hovering over her pinky. “Your brother, Robbie? The one who once ate an entire pizza by himself and then threw it up in the pool?”

“That was three years ago.”

“Time doesn’t erase that image from my mind, Kevin.

” She finishes painting her pinky, caps the polish, and waves her hands to dry them.

“But he’s pretty sweet when you think about it.

Remember when I twisted my ankle during Footloose rehearsals sophomore year?

He carried my backpack for a week without me even asking. ”

My eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”

“Yeah, every day between classes. He’d stop by at my locker, sling it over his shoulder, and walk me to my next period.” She blows on her nails. “And last winter, I got locked out of my car in the school parking lot during that snowstorm. He stayed with me for forty minutes waiting for AAA.”

I frown. “I didn’t know about that either.”

Rita’s expression softens. “Oh, Kevin. That’s because you’re always off in la-la land.”

I want to protest, but she’s right. I tend to drift through life in my head, constructing elaborate musical numbers while real life unfolds around me. “I guess I do miss a lot,” I say glumly.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she assures me quickly. “It’s what makes you such a good performer. You can immerse yourself completely in your imagination. Most people can’t do that.”

“Sometimes, I think I spend too much time there,” I admit. “But it’s easier that way.”

“Easier than what?”

Easier than acknowledging that I’m developing feelings I have no idea what to do with for a boy who merely knows me. Or that facing the reality of senior year terrifies me, that my brother is carrying a secret that could change the future.

“Just easier,” I say instead.

Rita studies me through the screen with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. “This is about your crush on Jameson, isn’t it?”

I groan. “Can we go back to talking about Robbie?”

“Nice try, but no.” She settles back against her pillows, clearly ready for a long conversation. “What’s going on in that Broadway-obsessed brain of yours?”

The rain continues to come down in buckets, enveloping my room in a cocoon of white noise. It’s safe here, talking to Rita through a screen while the world outside drowns.

“Adam and Robbie were watching game tapes last night from last season,” I say. “They invited me to join them.”

“And?”

“And I tried my best to pay attention. Adam was pointing out defensive formations, and Robbie was analyzing field goal angles and all this technical stuff that went completely over my head.” I take a shaky breath. “But all I could focus on was…”

Rita’s eyebrows arch, daring me to finish my sentence. I keep my mouth clamped shut for a solid five seconds, but she knows when I’m stalling and is immune to dead air. If I don’t say it, she’ll stare at me until I break. And I don’t hold up well under torture.

“Gee, Kevin. What could be more interesting than your brothers’ football strategy session?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, cheeks already burning. “Jameson Hart in Lycra.”

Rita squeals loud enough to wake the dead. I lower the volume on my laptop, not wanting my brothers, or worse, my dad overhearing us discussing the finer attributes of Jameson Hart.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it. Why are football pants that tight? It’s scientifically unnecessary.”

Rita’s grin grows until it threatens to split her face. “For aerodynamics, maybe?”

I cover my face with one hand. “Every time he ran, I could see how it stretched…back there.”

She leans in, eyes wide. “Kevin, you are blushing so hard your cheeks could double as a heat lamp.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence, mainly because I hide under my covers until my cheeks return to their natural color.

Rita’s cat, Persephone, steps into the frame and sniffs at her damp towel.

Rita scratches her behind the ears, then returns her attention to me.

“It’s more than just his ass, though, isn’t it? ”

I nod. “Do you know how many people outside of the drama club know my name at school?”

“How many?”

“Maybe twenty, if I’m being generous.” I shift position, and my laptop slides slightly. I grab it before it can fall off the bed. “But Jameson knew it. He stared right at me and said my name as if it was nothing.”

Rita’s expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t ‘nothing’ to him.”

“We’ve been through this already, Rita. He was being polite. That’s all.”

“But what if?—”

“I’m the person you vaguely remember was in your class when you go through your yearbook ten years later.”

“You’re selling yourself short.”

I trace patterns on my comforter with my finger. “In my imagination, we strike up a conversation. He laughs at my jokes. Dances with me in the rain because he thinks my obsession with musical theater is endearing instead of weird. But that’s fantasy. In reality, I say nothing at all.”

I hear Adam’s bedroom door open and close. He’s probably heading to the kitchen for his usual Sunday morning cereal binge that he thinks none of us know about.

“You know what I think?” Rita says.

“What?”

“I think you use your imagination as armor. It’s safer to live in a world where everyone follows a script and there’s always a happy ending than to risk putting yourself out there with the rest of us.”

Her words hit closer to home than I care to admit.

“Seriously, Kevin. Maybe it’s time to come out of that fantasy world more often. You might be surprised by what you find.”

“Like the fact that my brother has been secretly taking care of my best friend and I never noticed?”

“Exactly.” Rita’s towel finally gives up and tumbles off her head. She catches it with one hand while keeping her eyes on me. “Speaking of which, why the sudden interest in what I think of Robbie?”

I debate how much to tell her. “I think he might have a crush on you.”

Rita’s eyes widen. “What? No way.”

“He all but admitted it yesterday. Said you terrify him, but that he likes badasses.”

“Robbie said that?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Your brother, who once put a frog in my lunchbox and made me scream, thinks I’m a badass?”

“We were ten. And he apologized for a month afterward. But yes.”

“That’s…unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

Rita bites her lip, considering. “I don’t know. I never thought about him in that way. He’s always been Robbie Pryor, you know? Your goofy brother, who makes terrible puns.”

“He also apparently carries backpacks and waits with people in snowstorms.”

“Stop trying to sell me on your brother!” But she’s smiling. “This is weird. Now I’m going to be all awkward around him.”

“Welcome to my world. Population: me and, now, you.”

Rita shifts on her bed, and I can see her switching into practical mode. “So,” she says, examining her now-dry nails, “I started my college application essays.”

Ugh. The words ‘college’ and ‘essays’ make me think of the one hidden in Adam’s closet. Stanford. California. Three thousand miles away. I’ve done my best to forget about it, but whenever I do, something happens or someone says something pertaining to college, and it comes screaming back.

Rita raises an eyebrow. “You okay? You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

I force a smile. “You know how much I hate writing.”

“Please, you wrote a ten-page analysis of Sondheim’s use of dissonance for fun last month.” She leans closer to the camera. “Kevin, what’s going on?”

The weight of Adam’s secret presses against my chest. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I’m going to explode if I don’t talk to someone about it.

Rita waits patiently for me to answer, knowing me well enough not to push.

“I found something.”

“Found what?”

“A Stanford application in Adam’s room. It’s only half-finished.”

Rita’s eyes go wide. “Stanford? As in California, Stanford?”

I nod miserably. “He’s been working on it in secret. The personal statement talks about wanting to be more than just a triplet.”

“Oh, Kevin.” She smiles sympathetically. “That must have been hard to read.”

“The worst part is, I get it. I understand wanting to be your own person. But he’s lying to us. To me and Robbie. We’re making all these plans, and he’s…going along with it.”

“Maybe he hasn’t decided yet. You said the application was half finished.”

“Maybe.” But I know Adam. Once he sets his mind to something, he sees it through to the end. The fact that he’s even considering Stanford means part of him has already left. “I don’t know what to do, Rita. I can’t keep pretending I don’t know.”

“You have to tell him.”

“He’ll be furious.” I close my eyes, imagining the confrontation. “He’ll say I was snooping, which I was. He’ll say I violated his privacy, which I did.”

“But keeping this secret is going to eat you alive.”

She’s right. I’m a worrywart. Soon, I’ll lose sleep. Then, I’ll start picking at my food. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything. Even my usual escape into fantasy will feel hollow when reality has such a massive secret lurking in it.

“What if he goes?” My voice cracks. “What if he leaves us?”

“Then you’ll adapt. You’ll miss him, but you’ll adapt.”

“We’ve never been apart. Not really. We shared a womb, for crying out loud.” I laugh, but it comes off as more of a sob. “How do you separate from someone who’s been there since before you were born?”

Rita’s quiet for a moment. “That’s exactly why he needs to try.”