Page 93 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
She grips my face between her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Kevin Pryor, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing. We’re still friends, and I’ll text you tomorrow.” Her voice is fierce, protective. “This isn’t your fault.”
But it feels like it is.
Rita releases my face and climbs out of the van. She pauses at her front door, glancing back once before disappearing inside.
Dad pulls away from the curb, and the silence rushes back in to fill the space Rita left behind. The rest of the drive takes approximately seventeen years. When we finally pull into our driveway, Robbie’s out of the van before Dad even puts it in park. He storms into the house, his shoulders rigid with anger.
I catch up to Robbie in the foyer, where he’s kicking off his flip-flops with unnecessary violence. One flies into the wall with a thud. The other soars into the living room, smacking the back of the couch.
“Robbie, can we talk?” I ask.
“No.” He doesn’t even look at me.
“Please. I know you’re upset.”
“I said no, Kevin.” He heads toward the stairs.
Something snaps inside me. All the disappointment, all the ruined joy of finally being with Jameson—all of it boils over. “This was supposed to be a happy day for me!” The words explode out of my mouth, louder than I’ve ever thought was possible. “Do you get that? For once in my life, something good happened to me—no, something amazing—and youruinedit!”
Robbie freezes on the sixth step and slowly turns around. His face is flushed, eyes blazing.
“Are youseriouslymaking this aboutyouright now?”
“Yes!” I’m shaking now, but I can’t stop. “Yes, I am! Because for once, just once, I wanted something to be about me. Not about you or Adam or football or any of it. Just me and the fact that Jameson Hart wants to be with me. But you couldn’t let me have that, could you? You had to throw your tantrum and make everything about how you were betrayed.”
“Atantrum?” Robbie thunders down the stairs, and we’re face-to-face now. “You and Adam have been lying to me for months, and you think I threw atantrum?”
“You did! You turned what should have been a celebration into a disaster. And yeah, maybe Adam should have told you sooner, but that wasn’t the time or place to blow up about it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to check your social calendar before having emotions about my family falling apart.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“You know what your problem is, Kevin?” Robbie cuts me off with words sharp as glass. “You think the world revolves around you. You think you’re the main character in some Broadway show, and the rest of us are here to support your big moments. But news flash—in the real world, you’re nothing but a supporting character to everyone else.”
The words hit me harder than a physical blow ever could. I take a step back, my vision blurring.
“Robbie!” Adam’s voice booms. I didn’t even hear him come in. “That’s a low blow, and you know it.”
Robbie’s face shifts from anger to regret as he reflects on what he said.
“Kevin, I—” He runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” My voice is steady, even though I’m breaking apart inside. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe I am nothing more than a supporting character. But even supporting characters deserve to have their moments without someone else stealing the spotlight.”
Robbie’s shoulders sag. “I’m happy for you and Jameson.” He gestures helplessly. “It’s just—everything is changing, and I can’t handle it right now. I need some space.” He rushes up the stairs. When he reaches our bedroom door, he pauses. “Find somewhere else to sleep tonight.” Then he goes inside and shuts the door. The click of the lock engaging sounds impossibly loud.
I stand there staring at the closed door, feeling more alone than I have in my entire life. My brother—the one who’s shared a room with me since birth—has literally locked me out.
“Hey.” Adam says. “You can crash with me tonight.”
I nod, unable to speak.
“You’re nobody’s supporting character.” He wraps his arms around me. “Not to me. Not to Jameson. And deep down, not to Robbie either. He’s hurting and taking it out on the wrong person.”
We head to Adam’s room, and I collapse onto his bed while he grabs extra pillows from the closet. My phone buzzes again, but I still can’t bring myself to look.
“You want to talk about it?” Adam asks, settling into his desk chair.
