Page 46 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

We sit there for some time, watching the fireflies come out to play.

“Kevin!” Rita calls out, waving me over when Jameson and I return to the fire. “Perfect timing. We’re trying to get people to sing.” The way she smirks at me, I know that by people, she means me.

“Absolutely not,” I say immediately.

“Come on,” says Louie from the drama club. “We’ve already gotten three people to do solos. Even Jake from the football team did ‘Baby Got Back.’”

“That barely counts as singing,” I say.

“You should sing,” Jameson says suddenly.

I whip around to gape at him. “What?”

“I’m serious.” He settles back onto our log, staring up at me with those earnest brown eyes of his. “I haven’t heard you sing; I’ve only seen you shake your groove thang.” He wiggles his hips for emphasis, and I stifle the groan that threatens to escape me.

“That’s because I’ve always been in the ensemble,” I explain, heat creeping up my neck. “I don’t do solos.”

“Why not?” Ethan pipes up from where he’s roasting a marshmallow. “You’re in all those musicals.”

“Being in musicals doesn’t mean I’m a soloist. I’m perfectly happy being part of the group. Blending in. Being one of many.”

“But you have such a good voice,” Rita insists. “Remember when you sang ‘Step One’ from Kinky Boots in the car that one time? I got literal chills.”

“That was different. That was just us.”

“So pretend it’s just us now,” Tyler suggests, appearing out of nowhere. “Come on, Kev. One song.”

“I…” I swallow hard. “I prefer being the lead in my head, where it’s safe. Where nobody can judge if I crack on a high note or forget the words.”

“Nobody here is going to judge,” Adam says firmly. “Right?” He glances around meaningfully, his eyes promising a world of pain if anyone does.

I sit on the log, staring at the fire, and all I can think about is every moment in my life when I chose not to stand out.

When I actively made myself smaller or quieter because I was terrified of being noticed for the wrong reasons.

When I was eight, my teacher asked if anyone wanted to read aloud, and I kept my hand down.

Last year, during callbacks for Once on This Island , I let everyone else go first. Even at home, I’m the least likely to raise my voice, because I know it won’t carry the same weight as Adam’s or Robbie’s.

I’ve spent my whole life with one foot out the door, ready to retreat at any sign of danger.

But tonight is different. All eyes are on me, and not in a hostile, “let’s see this loser embarrass himself” way for once.

Rita’s got her hands clasped together, eyebrows raised in hopeful solidarity.

Jameson’s smiling, which is supportive and sweet.

Ethan gawks, as if he’s expecting me to throw my body into the fire.

Even the football guys are invested. The only person not staring at me is Robbie.

He’s very deliberately focused on peeling the label off his water bottle.

I know he’s listening to it all, though, and that cuts deeper than if he’d heckled me.

My mouth goes dry. My palms sweat. But then I remember the time Rita and I were doing tech week for Footloose sophomore year, and I sang backup harmonies in the green room with her, and she told me she wished people could hear me the way she did.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I got up and sang. Maybe I don’t need to be the best. Maybe it’s okay to just show up and try.

My heart booms louder than a bass drum. I force myself to stand up and say, “Fine.” I barely get the word out before everyone cheers. “But I’m picking the song, and you all have to be quiet.”

On shaky legs, I move closer to the fire.

The flames cast dancing shadows on the trees.

I clear my throat and decide to sing “The House of the Rising Sun.” I know I could have gone with a show tune; it would’ve been safer to do so.

But if I’ve learned anything over the past couple of months, it’s that I need to break out of the box I’ve been keeping myself in.

The first few notes come out trembling, but I steady myself by gripping my hands together and picturing the words as if they’re lines in a script. Nothing scary about reciting a part, right?

I let the old bluesy melody carry me, closing my eyes to block out the fixed attention of everyone around the fire. The story, full of tragedy and warning and the kind of sadness that lives in your bones, fills the night air.

While I sing verse after verse, I think about all the things that have changed in such a short time: my brothers, my place in our trio, the way my heart beats different when I catch Jameson’s gaze.

And for the first time, I find that all of the good and bad that I’ve endured this summer has made me a stronger person.

I’ve become someone who isn’t afraid to let people see me, who wants people to hear what I have to say.

My voice grows stronger. I’m not singing for myself anymore, but for every person afraid to stand out, or to be left behind, or to admit that they care too much.

When the song comes to its haunting conclusion, the silence that befalls the group tastes sweeter than the world’s must luxurious chocolate.

I open my eyes and blink twice, the world snapping back into focus. My friends are frozen, staring at me as if I’ve turned into someone else.

Jameson’s mouth is slightly open. Rita has her hand pressed to her chest. Adam is crying while Matthew and Tyler console each other. Even Ethan has lost his trademark smirk.

Suddenly, the world erupts. Cheering, clapping, and even a few whistles assault my ears. Someone shouts, “Holy shit, Pryor!” and I’m pretty sure it’s one of the jocks.

“Kevin,” Matthew says, tackling me in a hug. “Why have you been hiding that voice?”

“That was incredible,” Jameson says when I sit back down beside him. His eyes burn brighter than the fire. “You’re incredible.”

“It was just a song,” I mumble, but I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

“Dude, you gave me goosebumps,” Tyler announces. “Look!” He shows off his arm where, yes, the hair is standing up.

“Do another one!” someone calls out, but I shake my head.

“One’s my limit for tonight,” I say firmly.

The attention gradually shifts as someone else volunteers, but Jameson keeps staring at me with this soft expression that makes my heart sing.

“You know what I was thinking while you were performing?” he asks quietly.

“What?”

“That I’m the luckiest guy here. Getting to date someone that talented.”

I hide my face against his shoulder, overwhelmed. “Stop.”

“Never,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

For once, I didn’t hide. I didn’t play it safe. I let people see me, and the world didn’t end.

I glance over at where Robbie’s sitting.

His jaw is tight, and he’s gripping his water bottle hard enough to crumple it.

The longer I study him, the more I think I see something in his expression.

Pride, maybe, or is it regret? But then Tyler says something, and Robbie turns his head, laughing too loudly at whatever joke was made.

“He heard you,” Adam says, appearing on my other side. “He was watching the whole time.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, even though it does.

“Give it time,” Adam repeats the phrase that’s become our household motto.

The fire burns lower as the night wears on. And then someone suggests we all jump from the trestle.