Page 13 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“Whoa, hold up.” Jameson plucked the paw off the ground and studied it. “You’ve been talking about being a werewolf since August, remember? You made me watch all those old Universal monster movies and everything.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“No buts. We’re problem-solvers, right? That’s what Mom always says.” Jameson stood up and surveyed the surrounding costumes critically. His forehead wrinkled in concentration. It wasn’t until black spots swam before my eyes that I realized I’d been holding my breath, watching him think.
Suddenly, his face brightened—a smile spreading across his face like wildfire. It wasn’t the practiced smile he wore at school or after a game. It was pure and unguarded, something reserved only for those important to him.
What I wouldn’t do to have that smile beaming down on me.
“I’ve got it,” Jameson said with a snap of his fingers. “We’ll say it’s a body-swap thing.” He ran down the aisle and plucked a costume from the rack. “Like, some weird Halloween magic happened, and now your werewolf costume has grown way too big, and my costume”—he held up a ballerina outfit, a pink, frilly thing—“has shrunk.”
“But you’ll look ridiculous!”
“That’s the point.” Jameson ruffled his brother’s hair. “Everyone will be too busy laughing at me in tights to notice your costume hangs off you. Plus, we’ll win the costume contest for most creative.”
My chest grew warm, and I pressed my hand against it, wondering if I was having a heart attack at seventeen. But no, it was just my stupid heart reacting to Jameson Hart being the sweetest big brother.
“You’d do that?” Ethan sounded so hopeful; it made my eyes well up with tears.
“Dude, I’d wear a banana costume if it made you happy. Come on, let’s go purchase these and then get some ice cream.” He threw an arm around his brother and steered him toward the checkout counter.
I stayed frozen in place, processing. This was the same guy who caught touchdown passes with his eyes closed. The same guy who wasn’t a fan of public speaking. And now I could add, “would humiliate himself in a tutu to make his little brother happy,” to the growing list of reasons why Jameson Hart was more than how he presented himself to be.
“Hey, Kevin!”Robbie’s voice cuts through my memories. “You’ve been wiping that same spot for the last five minutes.”
I glance down at the dust rag in my hand and the shiny section of the table. “I was being thorough.”
“Well, be thorough with some food,” Adam says. “We’re ordering pizza. You want your usual?”
I nod. My usual is Margherita pizza, which they mock me endlessly for. According to Robbie, real men don’t eat pizzas with “leaves” on them.
As my brothers and their teammates debate better toppings, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. After relieving my bladder, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me.
Brown eyes, brown hair, average everything. Nothing like Jameson Hart with his impossible height and sunshine hair.
When I return to the living room, they’re deep in conversation about Jameson’s grounding being lifted. “Two weeks for one party,” Tyler says. “His mom doesn’t play around.”
“But it wasn’t even that wild,” Matthew adds. “There was only one case of beer opened.”
“Still, he took the fall. Didn’t rat out the buyer,” Adam says.
I silently scoff. On top of everything else, Jameson Hart is also noble. He probably helps old ladies cross the street and nurses birds with broken wings in his spare time.
The conversation continues, but I stop listening. My mind keeps drifting back to that English class. To the boy who stood in front of the room, trying hard to keep it together.
Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong. Instead of doing my best not to think about Jameson Hart, perhaps I should have been leaning into it and acknowledging the truth that I’ve been dancing around for nearly three years.
I have a crush on Jameson Hart.
CHAPTER 5
waving through a window
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that any triplet’s birthday party in possession of multiple interests must be in want of a cohesive theme. Or at least that’s how Jane Austen would have put it if she had to plan a triplet’s birthday bash.
The backyard is a hot mess. Football pennants hang next to Broadway posters. Gaming controllers sit on tables covered in musical note confetti. Pool floats of giant Xbox controllers and inflatable footballs keep bumping into already-deflating treble clefs.
I press my forehead against Adam’s bedroom window, observing it all from a distance. The pool sparkles in the afternoon sun, filled with my brothers’ friends. Dad holds court by the grill, flipping burgers. Diana hobnobs with the aunts and uncles. Tyler executes a perfect backflip off the diving board. Matthew follows with something that’s either a cannonball or an attempt to drain the entire pool. The girls shriek and laugh, their bodies gleaming with sunscreen and pool water.
