Page 24 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“He played three chords and gave up.”
He rolls his eyes. “The point is, we all get crushes. It’s part of being human. Whoever this mystery person is…I don’t know, talk to them?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Because the person I have a crush on is so far out of my league.
Because Jameson Hart exists in a different universe than theater kids who can’t play volleyball.
Because the last time someone of his status paid attention to someone like me, it was to stuff me in a locker.
But I can’t say any of that.
“It just isn’t,” I say quietly.
Connor finishes up my haircut, brushing the loose hair from my neck. In the mirror, I look younger with the buzz cut, more vulnerable. It’s almost as if all my thoughts are visible now that there’s less hair to hide them.
“Looking good,” Connor says, whipping off the cape. “That’ll be fifteen.”
I dig out my wallet while Robbie gets his final touches. His undercut looks decent—modern and styled in a way that Mr. Hudson never could have managed.
“Seriously, though,” Robbie says as Jake finishes up, “whoever it is, you should go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I can think of about fifty worst-case scenarios without even trying, but I keep them to myself. We pay, leave generous tips that make both barbers smile, and head back to the van.
“Want me to drive?” I offer, watching Robbie eye the parallel parking situation with dread.
“God, yes.”
We switch places, and I manage to extract us from the space with only minor difficulty. As we drive home, Robbie keeps shooting me looks.
“It’s really not Matthew?” he asks one more time.
“It’s really not.”
Robbie shrugs. “For what it’s worth, if it was and you’re just not telling me, I’d be cool with that. I don’t know if Matthew swings that way, but even if he didn’t and you asked him out, I’m certain he’d take you on a date.”
I balk at Robbie. I can’t imagine Matthew ever doing that. Not because he’s a homophobe or anything—he’s far from it—but because nobody isthatnice.
“You’re a cool guy,” Robbie says simply when he notices my shocked expression. “And you two have more in common than you think. He watches musicals with his mom.”
I shake my head in disbelief, trying to wrap my mind around Robbie’s confession. “Just because he watches musicals doesn’t mean we’re a match made in heaven. You watch musicals too. I don’t see you suddenly gaga for Rita,” I counter.
Robbie’s eyes go wide, almost comically so. “Rita terrifies me,” he admits with an exaggerated shiver. “But she’s a badass. I like badasses.”
He says it with such sincerity that I slam my foot on the brake instinctively, earning an irritated honk from the driver behind us. I snap my head toward Robbie, doing my best impression of a goldfish.
“What?” Robbie asks, feigning innocence with a smile that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Does Robbie have a thing for Rita? It’s not as though I’ve ever caught him ogling her or giving her affectionate glanceswhenever she’s been at our house. Has he been expertly hiding it, the same way that I’ve been with my unrequited feelings for Jameson Hart?
No way, Robbie’s not that stealthy.
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?” I probe, hoping for clarity even as his smirk widens obnoxiously.
“Maybe I am,” he teases in a singsong voice that makes me want to throttle him—or at least pull over and demand answers right here and now. “Maybe I’m not.”
