Page 69 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“The usual suspects. State schools mostly. But honestly?” He picks at his taco wrapper. “I love football, but I don’t know if I want it to be my whole life, you know?”
“I get that. It’s the same thing for me with theater. I love it, but sometimes I wonder if I should have a backup plan.”
“Exactly.” He leans forward slightly. “What about you? Where are you thinking?”
“The plan was always Arcadia University. All three of us together.” I pause, the weight of Adam’s secret pressing against my chest. “But plans change, I guess.”
Jameson must hear something in my voice because his expression shifts. “Are you okay?”
He looks at me with such patience and interest that I find myself opening up. “Remember that night at the drive-in? When Adam and I were being weird in the ice cream line?”
“Yeah, you said it was brother stuff.”
“It was. Is.” I set down my taco, needing both hands free to gesture. “Adam’s applying to Stanford. He hasn’t told Robbie yet, and it’s killing me to keep it a secret.”
“Stanford? Wow. That’s on the other side of the country.”
“I know. I’m happy for him, truly. If that’s what he wants, he should go for it. But we’ve always done everything together, and now he’s planning this whole separate future, and Robbie has no idea.” I stop myself, realizing I’m rambling. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear all of my family drama.”
“Hey, no.” Jameson reaches across the table. His fingers stop short of mine, as though he was planning to take my hand, then thought better of it. “I want to hear about whatever you want to tell me. That’s what friends do.”
Friends.Right. I pull my hand back to grab my drink.
“It sucks,” I continue after taking a sip of my water. “Adam keeps saying he’ll tell Robbie when the time is right, but when is that? After applications are due? After he gets in? After graduation?”
“That’s tough. Being stuck in the middle of that.”
“Exactly! And the worst part is, I found out by snooping. So I feel guilty about that too. Even though Adam isn’t mad about it.”
Jameson tilts his head. “How long have you known?”
“Um, since early summer. He made me promise not to tell Robbie.” I pick up my second taco. “I just wish he’d rip off the Band-Aid already. The longer he waits, the more it’s going to hurt.”
“Maybe he’s scared,” Jameson offers. “I mean, if you guys have always been a package deal, he’s probably terrified of being the one to end that.”
“I know. And I get it, I do. But Robbie deserves to know. He’s making all these plans for next year, talking about how we’ll get an apartment together near campus, join intramural teams…” I trail off, the weight of it all settling on my shoulders.
Jameson is quiet for a moment as he finishes his lunch. When he speaks again, his voice is thoughtful. “You know, Ethan and I had a similar thing a few years ago. Not about college, but about our dad.”
I look up, surprised. He mentioned his dad leaving, but it wasn’t in detail.
“Ethan was only nine when our dad left. For months, I knew it was coming—heard the fights, saw Dad packing boxes in the garage. But I didn’t tell Ethan because I thought I was protecting him.” He stares out at the ocean. “When Dad finally left, Ethan was blindsided. He was furious with me for knowing and not warning him. Took almost six months for him to trust me again.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It was. But we got through it. Your brothers will too.” He meets my eyes again. “Though I agree with you. Adam should tell him sooner rather than later.”
“That’s what I keep saying! But he won’t listen to me. I’m just the baby brother who does musicals.”
“Hey.” This time, Jameson does reach fully across the table to brush his fingers against mine. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. From what I can see, you’re the one holding them together. That’s not nothing.”
I stare at where our hands are touching, my brain fritzing. This has to be more than friend behavior, right? The meaningful looks, the personal stories, the hand touching?
“Thanks,” I say.
We sit in comfortable silence, our hands still loosely connected on the table. His thumb moves slightly, and I have to remind myself to breathe. The sun is warm on my face, the ocean breeze carries the sound of kids playing on the beach, and for a moment, I let myself imagine this is exactly what it could be. A date.
“So,” Jameson says eventually, pulling his hand back to gather our trash. “Want to go for a walk on the beach? I mean, if you have time. I don’t know if you have plans with your dad or something.”
