Page 106 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
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 myhand down. Last year, during callbacks forOnce 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 forFootloosesophomore 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.
