Page 33 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

“Hey, no.” Jameson reaches across the table. His fingers stop short of mine, as though he was planning to take my hand, then thought better of it. “I want to hear about whatever you want to tell me. That’s what friends do.”

Friends. Right. I pull my hand back to grab my drink.

“It sucks,” I continue after taking a sip of my water. “Adam keeps saying he’ll tell Robbie when the time is right, but when is that? After applications are due? After he gets in? After graduation?”

“That’s tough. Being stuck in the middle of that.”

“Exactly! And the worst part is, I found out by snooping. So I feel guilty about that too. Even though Adam isn’t mad about it.”

Jameson tilts his head. “How long have you known?”

“Um, since early summer. He made me promise not to tell Robbie.” I pick up my second taco. “I just wish he’d rip off the Band-Aid already. The longer he waits, the more it’s going to hurt.”

“Maybe he’s scared,” Jameson offers. “I mean, if you guys have always been a package deal, he’s probably terrified of being the one to end that.”

“I know. And I get it, I do. But Robbie deserves to know. He’s making all these plans for next year, talking about how we’ll get an apartment together near campus, join intramural teams…” I trail off, the weight of it all settling on my shoulders.

Jameson is quiet for a moment as he finishes his lunch. When he speaks again, his voice is thoughtful. “You know, Ethan and I had a similar thing a few years ago. Not about college, but about our dad.”

I look up, surprised. He mentioned his dad leaving, but it wasn’t in detail.

“Ethan was only nine when our dad left. For months, I knew it was coming—heard the fights, saw Dad packing boxes in the garage. But I didn’t tell Ethan because I thought I was protecting him.

” He stares out at the ocean. “When Dad finally left, Ethan was blindsided. He was furious with me for knowing and not warning him. Took almost six months for him to trust me again.”

“That must have been awful.”

“It was. But we got through it. Your brothers will too.” He meets my eyes again. “Though I agree with you. Adam should tell him sooner rather than later.”

“That’s what I keep saying! But he won’t listen to me. I’m just the baby brother who does musicals.”

“Hey.” This time, Jameson does reach fully across the table to brush his fingers against mine. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. From what I can see, you’re the one holding them together. That’s not nothing.”

I stare at where our hands are touching, my brain fritzing. This has to be more than friend behavior, right? The meaningful looks, the personal stories, the hand touching?

“Thanks,” I say.

We sit in comfortable silence, our hands still loosely connected on the table.

His thumb moves slightly, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

The sun is warm on my face, the ocean breeze carries the sound of kids playing on the beach, and for a moment, I let myself imagine this is exactly what it could be. A date.

“So,” Jameson says eventually, pulling his hand back to gather our trash. “Want to go for a walk on the beach? I mean, if you have time. I don’t know if you have plans with your dad or something.”

“I have time,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, yeah, that sounds nice.”

We dump our empty taco wrappers and cups into the nearest trash can.

The food truck rumble fades behind us as we make our way to the boardwalk steps.

I follow Jameson’s lead and kick off my sandals, gripping the wooden railing as we descend.

Sun-baked planks give way to pale sand so hot it pricks my soles.

I yelp and jog the last few feet to the water.

Jameson laughs, his own feet drumming a frantic rhythm across the sand, and nearly bowls me over as he skids to a stop.

The ocean breeze is stronger down here, carrying the salt and some background noise of shouts from a volleyball game a few hundred yards away.

I try to act casual, as though going on platonic strolls on the beach with tall, handsome wide receivers who buy me lunch and rescue my dignity from flustered parental over-involvement is something I do all the time.

As we walk along the shore, our toes sink into the damp, packed sand.

The sun glances off the surf, making me squint, so I tilt my head down and watch the shifting patterns our feet make as we go.

Each step leaves a print, slowly overtaken by the next wavelet.

Walking next to Jameson, I’m suddenly hyper-aware of what little space there is between us.

Sometimes our arms brush, or our hands dangle close enough that if the wind pushed us hard enough, our fingers might actually touch.

My heart beats faster whenever it almost happens.

A kid in a blue rash guard sprints past, trailing a neon green kite. Farther down, a golden retriever chases a thrown tennis ball straight into the whitecaps. A couple sits on a striped beach towel, trading sips from a giant thermos and laughing at something only they can hear.

It’s not awkward, surprisingly, this extended silence that stretches between us, holding everything taut and upright. I try to catch his eye from time to time, but he’s either looking at the ocean, the beach, or his own feet. I wonder if he’s searching for words, same as I am.

I run through all the advice Rita’s ever given me about first dates, even though she’d kill to know I’m on one.

I chose not to tell her because there’s nothing worse than having to say that he called the whole thing off.

“Let the moment breathe,” I imagine her saying.

“Don’t rush it. The best conversations happen when you’re both a little nervous. ”

We pass a sandcastle that somebody’s fortified with seaweed and sticks. “Five bucks says that’s the work of future engineers,” Jameson says, nodding approvingly. I laugh and agree, and then the silence comes back.

Eventually, Jameson steers us towards a flat rock jutting out of the sand. “Wanna sit?” he asks, and I nod.

We brush off as much grit as we can and plop down, knees bumping.

A spray of cold water hits my ankle, and I gasp.

Jameson doesn’t miss a beat—he grins, then flicks a handful of sand at my shin.

I retaliate, and soon we’re locked in a ridiculous sand-flicking battle, both laughing harder than the situation actually merits.

I let myself look at him, really look. His smile is so wide, and his eyes crinkle at the edges.

I like the sound of his laugh; it’s deep but not forced.

I brush some sand off my shorts and glance at him, waiting.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a few minutes.

“Sure.”

“That night we all got ice cream. You looked surprised when I wiped the ice cream off your face.” He glances at me sideways. “Did you…”

My heart races. Is he asking what I think he’s asking?

“I was caught off guard,” I say carefully. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing, having food on your face.”

“Right. Well, about that. I need to tell you something.”

I stifle a gasp and grip the rock for support. This is when Jameson Hart admits he wanted to kiss me. Where maybe, possibly, he tells me this thing between us is more than friendship.

“Okay,” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t shake. “I’m all ears.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Opens it again. “Kevin, I?—”

“Hart!”

We both glance to our right to see Tyler jogging toward us, kicking up sand with each step.

“Thank God I found you,” Tyler pants when he reaches us. “Emergency practice. Coach called it ten minutes ago. Something about him having an appointment tomorrow, and there’s no other day or time to reschedule.”

“So he wants us now?” Jameson asks, frustrated.

“Yeah, man. He said the whole team needs to be there. No exceptions.” Tyler glances between us, picking up on the unresolved tension. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Jameson says quickly. His eyes flit to me. “Kevin, I?—”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s very much not fine. “Go. Football is important.”

I only wish I were equally as important.

Tyler’s already heading back up the beach, calling over his shoulder for Jameson to hurry up. Jameson gives me one last look—apologetic and something else I can’t quite read—before jogging after him. I stay there on the rock until they’ve disappeared up the steps to the boardwalk.

The moment is gone. Whatever Jameson was about to say has been swept away, same as our footprints in the tide.

My phone buzzes.

Dad

Need a ride yet?

Me

Yeah. I’m ready.

As I walk back to the boardwalk to wait for Dad, placing my feet right next to Jameson’s larger footprints, I replay our lunch.

The way Jameson paid, the hand touching, the personal stories, the almost-confession.

It all points to something more than friendship, but without hearing what he was about to say, I’m still stuck in this limbo of not knowing.

My phone buzzes again.

Jameson

I’m sorry about that. Tyler has the worst timing in the history of the world.

Me

It’s okay. Team comes first.

Three dots appear and disappear several times. And then…

Jameson

Today was really nice, Kevin. The best afternoon I’ve had in a long time.

Me

Same.

I add a smiley face emoji, then delete it. Add it again. Delete it. Finally, I hit send without it because I’m overthinking.

Dad pulls up a few minutes later. I climb in, no doubt looking worse for wear.

“How’d it go?” Dad asks, pulling back into traffic.

“It went well.”

“That’s my boy.” He reaches over to ruffle my hair.

As we drive home, I hold onto the idea that being Jameson Hart’s boyfriend could be more than wishful thinking. That someone as innocuous as I could be the apple of someone’s eye. That one day soon, I could be loved and appreciated, flaws and all.