Page 34 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

confident

“ G od! It’s like an interrupted orgasm!”

“Rita!” My eyes bulge out of my head at my best friend’s inappropriate way of describing Jameson’s almost-maybe-confession.

Our favorite workout ritual is in full effect.

The two of us are in my basement, facing the TV, and making our way through a session of Just Dance .

The room is a mess of scattered popcorn, half-drank cans of soda, and the fancy LED party lights I insisted on for “ambience,” which really means “overkill.” We’re both in shorts and T-shirts, and even though the hour is barely eight at night, we’re ready to go all night.

“What else would you call it?” She spins around, her wild red hair whipping as she nails the moves to “Toxic” by Britney Spears. “You’re sitting there, the moment is building, he’s about to say something life-changing, and then—BAM! Tyler shows up and ruins everything.”

I stumble, completely off-beat. The screen flashes “MISS” repeatedly, but I’m too distracted to care. “It wasn’t life-changing. He was probably going to say he had fun, which is what he ended up saying in a text message.”

“Kevin Pryor, you are the worst liar in the history of liars.” Rita doesn’t break her rhythm as she calls me out. “The boy held your hand. Multiple times. He bought you lunch. He took you for a romantic beach walk.”

“It wasn’t romantic.”

“You talked about feelings and family drama. That’s intimate.” She hits a perfect score on the chorus while I flail helplessly. “Plus, you said he kept ogling you with those brown eyes of his.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all.” The song ends, and Rita scores five stars to my pathetic two. She grabs her soda from the coffee table and takes a long drink. “Okay, next song. And this time, actually try.”

The opening beats of “Shut Up and Dance” fill the basement. Rita bounces on her toes, ready to demolish me again. I try to focus on the screen, on matching the silhouette’s movements, but my mind keeps drifting back to that rock on the beach. To Jameson staring at me with such weight behind it.

“He was definitely going to confess something,” Rita says. “Nobody starts a sentence with ‘I need to tell you something’ and then follows it with casual observations about the weather.”

“Maybe he was going to tell me he’s moving. Or that he has a girlfriend in Canada.”

“A girlfriend in Canada?” Rita snorts so hard she misses a move. “What is this, middle school?”

“It could happen!”

“Kevin, the boy has been texting you constantly for two weeks. He asked you out?—”

“He asked if I wanted tacos.”

“—and then spent the entire afternoon making heart eyes at you.” She pauses the game mid-song, turning to face me with her hands on her hips. “When are you going to accept that Jameson Hart likes you?”

“When he actually says it out loud?” I collapse onto the worn sectional couch, my legs already sore from attempting to keep up with Rita’s dance expertise. Broadway dancing, I can do. This is nothing like that. “Until then, it’s all speculation.”

Rita sits beside me, tucking her legs under herself. “You know what you need?”

“A time machine to go back and prevent Tyler from existing?”

“Better. You need another opportunity to be alone with him.” She grabs her phone from the side table. “Let me check if there’s anything happening tonight?—“

The basement door creaks open, and Adam’s voice carries down the stairs. “You two decent?”

“Unfortunately!” Rita calls back.

Adam appears at the bottom of the stairs, hair still damp from a shower. Robbie’s right behind him, wearing a tank top that Rita immediately zeros in on.

“We’re heading to Tyler’s,” Adam announces. “His parents are in the Hamptons for the weekend, so he’s throwing a house party. You guys want to come?”

Rita practically levitates off the couch. “A party? Yes! Absolutely! Kevin and I are so there!”

I stay seated. “I don’t know. Tyler ruined my afternoon. I’m not really in the mood to celebrate his existence.”

“Come on,” Robbie says, plopping down on my other side. “It’ll be fun. Besides, when’s the last time you went to an actual party?”

“I go to parties all the time.”

“Cast parties don’t count,” Adam says. “Those are just you and a bunch of other theater kids singing show tunes and drinking sparkling cider.”

I gape at him. “Those are legitimate parties!”

“The whole team will be there,” Adam continues, checking his phone. “Tyler’s got a fire pit, his dad’s sound system, and apparently Matthew’s older brother is bringing?—“

“The whole team?” I interrupt, my heart suddenly racing.

Adam looks up from his phone. “Yeah. Everyone.”

Rita elbows me so hard I nearly fall off the couch. “Then that settles it. We’re going.”

“I don’t have anything to wear to a house party,” I protest weakly.

“You look fine,” Robbie says, then does a double-take at my Just Dance attire—basketball shorts and an old Hairspray T-shirt with a hole near the hem. “Okay, maybe change your shirt and take a shower. But otherwise, you’re good.”

Rita’s already on her feet, pulling me up with surprising strength. “We’re going. You’re going to look amazing. And you will finish that conversation with Jameson if it kills me.”

“Rita—”

“No arguments.” She turns to my brothers. “Give us twenty minutes to get ready.”

Adam shrugs. “Fine. But if you’re not ready by then, we’re leaving without you.”

They head back upstairs, and Rita immediately goes into crisis mode. “Okay, we need to get you into something that says ‘casual but devastating.’ Do you have any shirts like that?”

“Isn’t that what this says?” I tug at the one I’m wearing.

“Kevin, you dress like you raided a clearance rack at Target.”

“That’s literally what I do all the time.”

She drags me toward the stairs. “This is exactly why you need me.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, spritzed with cologne, and wearing jeans that Rita insists make my “ass look amazing.” I’m also wearing a navy Henley that Robbie left in our room.

It’s too big in the shoulders, but Rita claims that makes it come off as intentionally oversized rather than stolen from my brother .

“You look great,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. She’s changed into high-waisted shorts and a crop top that would get her dress-coded at school but is perfect for a summer party.

“I look like I’m trying too hard.”

“You look like you’re trying the exact right amount.” She grabs my shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re going to walk into that party, find Jameson, and get your answers. No more wondering, no more maybes. Tonight, you find out exactly where you stand.”

“What if all he wants is to be friends?”

“Then at least you’ll know.” Her expression softens. “But Kevin? The way you described your taco date? It wasn’t a “friends hanging out” thing.”

Adam honks the horn outside, and we rush downstairs. My stomach churns with equal parts excitement and dread as we pile into the minivan.

On the way toward Tyler’s house, I stare out the window and try not to think about all the ways tonight could go wrong. Or right. Or wrong-right. Or right-wrong.

My phone buzzes.

Jameson

Are you going to Tyler’s party?

Me

Yes

Jameson

Awesome! Can we talk?

My heart stops, restarts, then stops again.

Me

Yeah. We can talk.

Jameson

Okay, cool. I really need to finish what I started earlier.

Rita reads over my shoulder and squeals so loudly that Adam nearly swerves off the road. “What the hell, Rita?” he shouts.

“Sorry! I’m excited about the party!” She grabs my hand and squeezes. “Tonight’s the night, Kevin. I can feel it.”

As Tyler’s house comes into view—lit up with string lights and already packed with cars—I take a deep breath. One way or another, I’m finally going to know exactly what Jameson Hart wants from me.

Tyler’s house isn’t just big—it’s absurd. White columns frame the entrance, and through the massive windows, I catch a glimpse of a chandelier that costs more than what Dad could afford ten times over. The bass from inside vibrates through my chest before we even reach the front door.

“Holy crap,” Rita breathes. “I knew Tyler’s family had money, but this is next level.”

The foyer opens into a living room that could fit our entire first floor.

Crown molding traces the ceiling, and a marble fireplace dominates one wall.

But tonight, the elegant furniture has been pushed aside to create a dance floor where bodies press together under dimmed lights.

Through the open French doors at the back, I spot the deck overlooking a private lake that feeds into Archer’s Creek somewhere downstream.

Robbie pulls Rita onto the makeshift dance floor. She throws her head back and laughs as he spins her, and something twists in my chest—not jealousy exactly, but a longing for that kind of easy confidence.

I drift toward the kitchen, which is nothing but granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Red Solo cups litter the surfaces, and someone’s mixed a suspicious-looking punch in a crystal bowl that definitely wasn’t meant for this purpose.

The humid night air and the sound of laughter filter in through the window.

I peer out, but there’s no sign of Jameson anywhere.

I check my phone. Nothing new. Maybe he changed his mind.

I pour myself a cup of water and lean against the kitchen island. From here, I watch Rita teaching Robbie some complicated dance moves, Adam dominating at beer pong with Matthew, and Tyler greeting his guests with backslaps and air kisses.

My friends are having the time of their lives, except me.

This is exactly why I don’t come to these things. At cast parties, I know my role. I can belt show tunes and debate Sondheim versus Lloyd Webber. Here, I’m Adam and Robbie’s weird theater brother who doesn’t know how to do a keg stand and definitely can’t throw a ping pong ball into a cup of beer.