Page 55 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“Oh, I did. Every single step.” I demonstrate a few hand movements from the number, pretending to scrub a dirty floor and nearly smack the window in the process. “I performed it for anyone who would watch. The mailman, the pizza delivery guy, our elderly neighbor, who just wanted to walk her dog.”
“That’s adorable.”
Heat creeps up my neck at him calling me adorable. “My brothers thought it was weird.”
“Your brothers are idiots,” Jameson says matter-of-factly. “What happened after that?”
On screen, Danny is now singing about being alone at the drive-in, but I barely register it. Jameson’s interested in this story.Mystory. My childhood. His body is angled toward me, one arm draped over the steering wheel, giving me his undivided attention.
“I kept collecting musicals. Begged my dad to take me to the record store in the city to buy every cast recording I could find. Learned all the parts—male, female, ensemble; it didn’t matter.” I laugh, remembering. “But the real moment, the one where my family knew I was a lost cause, wasThe Sound of Musicincident.”
“The Sound of Musicincident?” His eyebrows rise. “That sounds serious.”
“Oh, it was.” I shift in my seat, finding myself becoming more comfortable as I tell Jameson my life story. “I was eleven, andI’d done something—I can’t even remember what now. Probably argued with my brothers or didn’t clean my side of the room. Anyway, Dad grounded me. No TV, no computer, had to stay in my room all weekend.”
“Harsh.”
“Right? So, I’m up there, stewing in my preteen angst, when I remembered we’d watchedThe Sound of Musicat this very drive-in the week before.” I gesture toward the screen. “I started thinking about Maria, how she didn’t fit in at the abbey and found her place with the Von Trapp family.”
Jameson’s grin widens. “Oh no. What did you do?”
“I packed a bag,” I say, covering my face with my hands at the memory. “Threw in some clothes, myAnnieCD, and a box of Pop-Tarts. Then I marched downstairs and announced to my entire family that I was running away to be a governess.”
He loses it. Full-on belly laughs that shake the whole car. “A governess? In Arcadia? Seriously?”
“I was very serious! I told them I’d find a family with seven children who needed someone to teach them to sing.” I’m laughing now, too, the embarrassment fading into fondness. “I made it as far as the end of our street—singing ‘I Have Confidence,’ mind you—before I realized I had no idea where to find seven children who needed governing.”
“What did your dad do?”
“He found me sitting on the curb, eating my cherry Pop-Tarts and crying. He sat down next to me and said, ‘You know, Kevin, Maria left the Von Trapps because she thought she didn’t belong, but she did. Maybe you belong with us too.’”
“That’s sweet.”
I nod. “And then he said, ‘So come home, because none of the families around here can afford a governess. The economy’s rough.’”
Jameson laughs again. “Practical dad humor. I love it.”
“After that, they accepted that the theater was in my blood. Dad took me into the city to see Broadway shows and signed me up for summer camps. No one ever questioned it again.”
“I love that. You found something you love and went all in. That’s incredibly brave.”
Our eyes meet, and something shifts in the air between us. The movie plays on, but it’s nothing more than background noise.
“Thanks,” I say. “Most people don’t get it.”
“I get it,” he says. “Maybe not with theater, but finding that thing that makes it all make sense? Yeah. I get it.”
The leather seat squeaks as he settles back. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that has my fingers itching to fix it. “I can’t clean the bathroom without humming ‘Beauty School Dropout’ thanks to my mom.”
The image of Jameson Hart scrubbing a toilet while singing about teenage failure is so unexpectedly perfect that I file it away immediately.
The movie continues, and we provide colorful commentary, pointing out costume details and laughing at the outdated slang. Every once in a while, our arms brush on the center console, but neither of us pulls away.
“Okay, important question,” Jameson says as Rizzo sings about there being worse things she could do. “Which T-Bird would you be?”
“Oh, definitely Putzie,” I answer without hesitation. “He’s got that wholesome energy but can still hang with the cool kids.”
“Solid choice. I always related to Doody.”
