Page 16 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

Her words pack a wallop because they’re true. We’ve been the Pryor boys our whole lives. Adam needs to find out who he is apart from that.

“I’ll tell him,” I say, making my mind up. “He deserves that much.”

“Good. When?”

“Soon. First, I need to figure out how to say it without everything exploding.” I rub my face, the weariness settling into my bones and aging me fifty years.

The rain picks up, hammering against my window with renewed force. Downstairs, Adam and Robbie are shouting about who gets to choose what to watch on TV. Normal Sunday sounds that might not be normal for much longer.

“For what it’s worth,” Rita says, “I think you’re being really mature about this. Most people would have immediately confronted him or shouted it from the rooftops.”

“I’m not mature. I’m terrified.” I adjust my laptop, pulling it closer to me. “What if this changes everything? What if we can’t come back from this?”

“Kevin, listen to me.” Her voice is firm. “You three have survived eighteen years together. You’ve survived Adam’s overprotective phases, Robbie’s practical jokes, your dramatic theater kid moments. You’ll survive this too.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Because at the end of the day, you love each other. That doesn’t change simply because you end up in different time zones.”

I want to believe her. I want to trust that we’re strong enough to weather the potential consequences of Adam choosing a different path. But I’m too uncertain.

“I should probably go,” I say. “Think about what I’m going to say to him.”

“Text me later?”

“If I survive the mental stress, yeah.”

“You will.” She blows me a kiss through the screen. “Go be brave and channel your inner Elphaba.”

“Elphaba gets vilified by an entire country and ‘dies.’”

“Okay, bad example. Channel your inner…Elle Woods. She’s brave, and things work out for her. Plus, you can do a mean bend and snap.”

I laugh. “Better.”

After we hang up, I close my eyes and take a nap. In my dreams, telling Adam goes smoothly. He understands why I was in his room, appreciates my honesty in coming forward, and we have a mature discussion about his life plans.

I relish it because the reality is going to be a nightmare.

Dinnertime rolls around, and I’m no closer to figuring out how or when to break it to Adam that I know. Dad made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. The steam rises from my plate, but all I’ve been doing for the past fifteen minutes is pushing the noodles around with my fork.

Dad waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention. “You haven’t touched your food, kiddo. You feeling okay?”

I blink and realize I’m being stared at. Adam twirls his spaghetti with practiced ease. Robbie has sauce on his chin. Diana sips her wine and watches me with those perceptive eyes of hers.

“Sorry, I was thinking.” I force myself to take a bite. The marinara tastes like cardboard.

“About what?” Adam asks. His voice is casual, but I detect something underneath. Does he know that I know? Is this some kind of test?

“Nothing important.”

Robbie grins and leans back in his chair. “You know what I was thinking about today? How weird it is that we park in driveways and drive on parkways.”

Usually, this kind of observation would make me groan or laugh. Tonight, I can barely muster a weak smile.

“And,” Robbie continues, clearly warming up to his audience, “why do they call it a building when it’s already built? Shouldn’t it be a builting?”

Still nothing from me. The pasta turns to cement in my stomach.

“Wow. Tough crowd tonight.” Robbie’s grin widens. “Okay, okay, I’ve got one that’ll get Kevin. What do you call a penis that plays piano?”

Dad drops his fork. “Robert?—”

“An organ!” Robbie delivers the punchline with jazz hands.

Diana chokes on her wine. Adam rolls his eyes. Dad is torn between laughing and grounding Robbie for inappropriate dinner conversation.

But me? I stare at my plate. The word “Stanford” pounds in my head, a broken record.

“Okay, something’s definitely wrong,” Robbie says, his joking demeanor evaporating. “Penis jokes always get you. Remember the last one? You shot milk out of your nose.”

“I’m fine.” My voice cracks on the second word.

Adam sets down his fork. “You’re not fine. You’re…” He waves his hand around in a circular motion, searching for the right word. He snaps his fingers when he finds it. “Sullen.”

I am sullen. But can anyone blame me? How can I sit here, knowing what I know, and pretend nothing’s wrong? “I’m tired,” I mumble.

“From what?” Dad asks. “You’ve been inside all day because of the rain.”

The conversation shifts before I can answer. Diana asks about school, and suddenly, the conversation turns to senior year. Potential class schedules. Football season. College applications.

My stomach tears itself in two at that last one.

“Speaking of college,” Robbie says, and I grip my fork hard enough that my knuckles turn white, “we should sign up for that Arcadia University tour. They’re doing one specifically for athletes in early September.”

“Great idea,” Adam says. He sounds enthusiastic. Sincere, even. “We can check out the dorms, maybe talk to some current players.”

“Kevin, you should come too,” Robbie adds. “They’ll probably show us the theater facilities.”

“I need to pee.” I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor.

“Kevin—” Dad starts, but I’m already heading down the hall, my vision blurring.

The bathroom door closes behind me with a soft click. My legs give out, and I slide down against the door until I’m sitting on the cold tile floor.

The tears come then, hot and silent. I press my palms against my eyes, but it doesn’t stop them from flowing. My shoulders shake with the effort of keeping quiet. The last thing I need is someone checking on me.

How did we get here? How did we go from three brothers with a plan to this?

I think about all the things we’d dreamed of. The apartment near campus. Late-night study sessions. Adam and Robbie at football games while I’m at rehearsals, but always meeting up after. A future where we’re still us, but older.

A knock on the door stops my sobbing.

“Kevin?” It’s Adam. “You okay in there?”

I wipe my face with toilet paper and try to steady my voice. “Yeah, it’s…stomach stuff.”

“Do you need anything?”

I need you to tell me the truth. I need you to stop pretending. I need you to stay. “No, I’m good.”

I hear him shift outside the door. “Look, if something’s bothering you…”

The words are right there, pressing against my teeth. Say it, Kevin. Tell him what you know.

But all that comes out is, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

His footsteps retreat. I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection. Red eyes. Blotchy cheeks. I’m the spitting image of someone who’s been crying uncontrollably in the bathroom.

I can’t do this. I can’t sit at that table and talk about campus tours and dorm rooms. I can’t focus on a future that might not exist. But I also can’t hide in here forever.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and unlock it, my fingers trembling.

Rita

How did it go?

Me

Haven’t told him yet. Currently hiding in the bathroom like a cowardly lion.

Her response is immediate.

Rita

You’re not a cowardly lion. You’re Kevin Pryor, future Tony Award winner. You’re processing. Big difference.

Me

What if I never tell him? What if I just let him go?

Rita

Then you’ll regret it forever. You know this.

I take a deep breath and unlock the door. Time to go back downstairs and pretend my world isn’t falling apart. Time to smile and nod and pretend I don’t know my brother is planning to leave us in the dust.

The dining room falls quiet when I return. Four pairs of eyes track my movements.

“Better?” Dad asks when I sit down.

I nod and pick up my fork. The spaghetti is cold now, but I force myself to eat it anyway.

“We were talking about the musical,” Diana says, clearly trying to restore normalcy. “Robbie says you’re thinking about auditioning for a lead role this year?”

“Maybe.” The word comes out flat.

“That’s exciting,” she continues. “What show are they doing?”

“We don’t know yet. Mr. Rodriguez announces it during the first week of school.”

“I hope it’s something with lots of death,” Robbie says. “Like Sweeney Todd. I want to see Kevin covered in fake blood.”

“Sweeney Todd requires a strong baritone,” I say automatically. “I’m more of a tenor.”

“Whatever that means,” Robbie laughs.

The conversation continues around me. Normal family dinner talk.

Dad tells us about the compliments he’s been getting on his dad bod at the beach club.

Adam and Robbie discuss football strategies, and Diana fills us in on her day at the bank.

But I’m back in my head, imagining how different these dinners will be next year.

I excuse myself again as soon as the table is cleared, claiming I need to finish some summer reading. Nobody stops me this time.

Back in my room, I sit at my desk and open my laptop. A blank document stares back at me. The cursor blinks. I need to figure out what to say to Adam, how to tell him I know his secret without ruining everything.

But first, I let myself imagine one more time that none of this is happening. That we’re still the Pryor boys with a simple, shared future. That life-changing secrets don’t exist, and brothers don’t leave.

Then I type.