Page 18 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“That’s actually not a bad opener,” she says.
I side-eye her. “Rita. No. I can’t. I won’t.”
“Why not?”
Because I’ve never asked anyone out. Because I’ve spent my whole life being invisible, and I don’t know how to handle being seen. Because the thought of Jameson Hart staring at me with pity and rejecting me with kindness fills my stomach with acid.
“Because I know how this goes,” is what I end up telling her. A half-truth. “I’ve watched Adam and Robbie do this dance hundreds of times. They like someone, they ask them out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But they’re them. Athletes. They’re confident and know what they’re doing. If a girl says no, they move on to the next one.”
“And you don’t think you’re confident?”
“Do I look like someone who radiates confidence?”
“You’re on stage all the time.”
“That’s different. On stage, I’m not Kevin Pryor. I’m Townsperson Number Four. I’m a spatula come to life. I’m a teen from Bomont. I have lines and know what happens next.” I lie back on my towel and stare at the sky. The clouds are white and puffy and floating in a sea of marvelous blue. I’m a dull gray. “In real life, I don’t have a script. I don’t know my cues or how to act. Am I reading the scene right, or am I about to make a complete fool of myself?”
Rita absorbs my monologue, lying down beside me and taking my hand in hers. “Not every interaction has to be perfect, Kevin. People fumble all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather not fumble in front of Jameson Hart.”
“So, you admit you like him then?”
I throw my arm over my eyes. “I admit that I find him aesthetically pleasing and that his knowing my name made me feel noticed. That’s all.”
“I don’t think it is,” she says softly.
She’s right, but I don’t tell her that.
We lie there for a while, enjoying the sounds of a day at the beach. The crashing waves. The squawking gulls. Children laughing and adults reprimanding. Occasionally, a lifeguard blows their whistle and shouts at people not to go past the buoys.
I love summer and all that it brings. The fact that we must go back to school at all disheartens me.
Beside me, Rita tugs at her bathing suit, which has bright red polka dots and an absurdly high-waisted bottom. The halter top accentuates her shoulders and brings out a confidence that, according to her, was “born in the wrong decade.” She always goes for bold, vintage fashion—last summer it was cat-eye sunglasses, this year it’s all about pin-up girl swimwear. The suit flatters her figure: she’s stick-thin in some ways, but her hips curve enough to fill out the cut.
“Hey,” she says right as I’m about to fall asleep. “Want to go get ice cream with your brothers?” She points to the edge of the boardwalk, where they stand, waving to us and licking imaginary ice cream cones. “You can eat your feelings like a normal person.”
“Okay. But I’m anything but normal.”
As we traipse across the sand, I catch sight of a familiar figure jogging along the waterline. Bleached hair, long legs. Enormous footprints left behind in the sand.
“Is that?—”
“No. We’re getting ice cream,” I say quickly, grabbing her arm and tugging her farther away from a scene straight out ofBaywatch.
Soft serve icecream drips down my cone faster than I can lick it away. I ordered vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. Adam has a cone of rocky road, Robbie picked mint chocolate chip, and Rita went for something called “unicorn explosion” that she says tastes of cotton candy and regret.
“Oh! Brain freeze,” Robbie announces, pressing his palm to his forehead and scrunching up his face. “Worth it, though.”
We weave through the crowd on the boardwalk. The wooden planks creak beneath our feet, worn smooth by decades of summer traffic. A street performer juggling flaming batons captures the attention of some kids. The smell of funnel cake drifts from a nearby stand, making my stomach growl even though I’m filling it with ice cream.
“Can you believe we’re almost done with high school?” Rita asks after taking a careful lick of her unicorn explosion.
“Thank God,” Robbie says. “I’m ready to get out of there.” He bites into his cone with a loud crunch.
“But now it’s college applications and all that stress,” Rita continues. “Have you guys figured out where you’re applying yet?”
Robbie’s face lights up, and he bounces on his toes, nearly dropping his ice cream in the process. “All three of us are going to Arcadia University. No exceptions.”
