Page 22 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“Nailed it,” Robbie says, turning off the engine.
“If by ‘nailed it’ you mean ‘barely avoided causing a ten-car pileup,’ then sure.”
We climb out, and I catch the red truck’s driver watching us from across the street. Robbie gives him a thumbs-up. The man does not return it.
Hudson’s Barber Shop hasn’t changed since probably 1962. The spinning barber pole out front has faded from its original red, white, and blue to a new palette of pink, beige, and baby blue. A brass bell jingles when we push through the door, and the smell hits me immediately—aftershave, hair tonic, and something mysteriously medicinal.
The black-and-white checkered floor is scuffed from decades of foot traffic. Four barber chairs, the old-fashioned kind with cracked red leather and chrome fixtures, line one wall. The ancient mirrors bend reality just enough that my already-awkward body stretches like saltwater taffy in places it definitely shouldn’t.
But instead of Mr. Hudson’s familiar grumpy face greeting us, it’s two guys who can’t be much older than us behind the reception desk. They glance up from their phones when we enter.
“Hey, you must be the Pryor boys,” the taller one says. He has a tattoo sleeve and gauges in his ears—definitely not Mr. Hudson’s usual hire. “I’m Jake. This is Connor. Mr. H is in Florida for two weeks, so we’re covering.”
“Thank God,” I mutter, earning me an elbow to the ribs from Robbie.
“Who wants the window seat?” Connor asks. He’s shorter, with bleached tips and a nose ring.
I glance at the dreaded window chair. The thought of sitting there on display like a mannequin while strangers walk by and judge my haircut in progress makes me want to cry.
Robbie must notice my apprehension because he bounds over to it before I can move. “I’ll take this one. I love to people watch.”
I shoot him a grateful look and settle into the chair next to him. He winks back.
Connor wraps the cape around my neck. “So what are we doing today?”
He runs his lithe fingers through my mess of hair. Maybe it’s because he’s kinda cute that the action causes my toes to curl in my sandals. Something that never happens when Mr. Hudson does the same move.
“Just a regular buzz cut. Nothing fancy,” I tell him.
“You sure? I could do something with more style. Maybe leave it longer on top?”
“Nope. Buzz it all. Number three guard should work.”
Beside me, Jake consults with Robbie.
“I want the sides buzzed but keep the top long,” Robbie says. “Like a disconnected undercut but not too disconnected, you know?”
“I got you,” Jake says, already reaching for his clippers.
The buzz of the clippers fills the shop, and chunks of my hair fall onto the cape. In the mirror, I watch my shaggy mop transform into something neat and tidy. It’s oddly satisfying.
“So,” I say to Robbie, trying to sound casual, “have you ever had a crush on someone?”
Robbie’s eyes snap to mine in the mirror. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh my God. You have a crush on someone.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t have to. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’m Kevin and I’m being awkward about my feelings’ look.”
Jake chuckles as he works on Robbie’s hair.
“I’m asking theoretically,” I insist.
“Theoretically, my ass.” Robbie leans forward as much as the cape will allow. “Who is it? Come on, you can tell your favorite brother.”
