Page 90 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

“I need space,” Robbie says, his voice hollow now. “I can’t stand to look at any of you right now.”

He stalks toward the stern, as far from the rest of us as he can get on a boat. We all stand frozen, watching him go.

“Well,” Ethan says into the horrible silence. “This is awkward.”

“Ethan,” Damien warns.

“What? It is!”

Rita collapses onto the nearest bench, her book landing on the deck beside her with a dull thump. There’s no drama in her crying—it’s silent at first, her shoulders shaking, hands clamped over her mouth, trying to hold in a scream. Then the tears fall, streaking her cheeks and dripping off her chin and onto her clothes.

For once, she has nothing witty or biting to say, and that, more than anything else, is how I know the damage is real.

Adam leans against the boat railing with his whole body hunched forward. His jaw is set hard, and his eyes are glassy and haunted.

Jameson stretches a tentative hand toward mine, fingers brushing my wrist, but I flinch away. I can’t do comfort right now, not when it’s completely undeserved.

For a while, no one moves, no one breathes. We might as well be on the moon, isolated and weightless. The wind has died down, and the sunlight has turned cold, reflecting off the water in harsh, blinding patches.

Suddenly, I wish I were back on stage, where lines are predictable and the ending is written down in the script.

I sink onto the deck, knees pulled to my chest and stare out at the endless blue. Every second that ticks by without Robbie on this side of the boat is another reminder of how badly we’ve all messed up.

“Should someone go after him?” Tyler asks quietly.

“Give him time,” Dad says. “He needs to process.”

Process. Like Robbie’s some kind of computer that just needs to reboot. Like we haven’t shattered his trust.

I catch Adam’s eye, and the guilt there mirrors my own. We did this. We broke our brother.

The splash cutsthrough the air like a gunshot. For a split second, our brains refuse to process what we’ve heard. And then my voice rips through the air, shrill and raw. “ROBBIE!”

I tear down the slippery deck, palms smacking into slick fiberglass as I scramble toward the stern. I catch flashes of people out of the corner of my eye—everyone sprinting, colliding, knocking over a cooler in the mad dash to get to Robbie.

My feet slide out from under me, and I slam into the railing hard enough to leave a bruise. I almost go face-first over the side, but I snatch hold of the cold metal and hang there, gasping, arms trembling.

Behind me, Rita screams, her voice splintering into hiccuped sobs between each shout. “Robbie! Robbie, get back here! Robbie, please!” She’s running up the side, nearly tripping herself, her cheeks still streaked with tears.

Dad’s hand claps down on my shoulder, half steadying, half pulling me out of the way to take command.

I peer over the railing and see the water churning in a frothy mess. Then, maybe twenty feet from the boat, Robbie’s head pops up, his wet hair plastered to his skull, arms slicing the water with reckless energy. He’s swimming with the kind of power I’ve only seen when he wants to beat Adam in a race, but this is different. He’s not trying to win. He’s trying to escape.

“Shit,” Adam mutters, and then he’s yelling, “Robbie! Come back here!”

But Robbie either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. He’s already doubled his distance from the boat, swimming perpendicular to our course, away from the marina, away from everyone. A surge of horror punches me in the gut. There’s nothing out there except open water.

I’m about to vault over the side myself when Jameson appears at my elbow, eyes narrowed and focused on the water. “He’ll cramp,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “That water’s freezing.” He’s already working the orange life ring loose from the bracket by the rail, fingers flying. “Kill the engine!” he yells to Damien, who’s already halfway to the controls.

Rita is on her knees now, her hands pressed hard against the deck. “Don’t let him go under, don’t let him go under,” she repeats like a prayer that’s punctuated by little gasps as she tries to catch her breath.

Behind us, Matthew and Tyler are shouting, their voices overlapping in panicked chaos.

“He’s not even wearing a vest.”

“Somebody has to go after him!”

Dad’s bark cuts through. “Stay put—nobody else goes overboard!”