Page 45 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
Why would Jameson lie about the books? Unless he didn’t lie, exactly. Maybe he bought them for himself. But then why mention Ethan at all? And why ask specifically about romance, and be happy that all I recommended were stories with LGBTQ characters?
“Actually,” Ethan says suddenly, “now that I think about it, Jameson has been acting kind of weird lately.”
I force myself to focus. “Weird how?”
“Just different. He’s been on his phone more, smiling at it randomly. And the other day I caught him reading something on his laptop, and he slammed it shut when I walked in.” Ethan grins. “I figured he was looking at porn or something.”
“Ethan!” I choke on air.
“What? He’s eighteen. It’s normal.” He says this with the confidence of a younger sibling who’s made peace with his brother’s humanity. “But maybe he was researching those books you recommended. Like, pulling up reviews or something. That would explain why he was being secretive.”
My heart picks up speed until it’s beating faster than ever before. The idea of Jameson Hart secretly readingSimon vs. theHomo Sapiens Agendais almost too much to process. I picture him lying in bed, turning pages, maybe getting to the part where Simon and Blue finally meet and kicking his feet.
The whistle blows for another drill, snapping me out of my thoughts. This time it’s tackling practice, and I wince as bodies collide with bone-crunching sounds that I can hear from up here. Jameson takes a hit that would have sent me to the hospital. He bounces back up, right as rain, and laughs.
“He’s tougher than he looks,” Ethan comments, following my gaze.
“He already looks pretty tough.”
“Yeah, but he’s also kind of a softie. Cries at movies all the time.” Ethan mimics wiping tears. “We watchedMarley & Melast month, and he went through an entire box of tissues.”
Another crack in the marble. I file this information away with everything else I’ve learned, building a picture of someone far more complex than the golden boy that he is.
“You’re smiling,” Ethan observes.
“Am I?” I consciously rearrange my face into something more passive.
“It’s cool. My brother has that effect on people.” He says matter-of-factly. “Even the straight guys get a little starry-eyed around him sometimes.”
“I’m not—I mean, I wasn’t?—”
“Relax.” Ethan pats my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “I’m not saying anything. Just observing.”
About a half hour later,practice finally winds down. Players gather around Coach Potter for a final pep talk, exhausted. Their shirts are soaked through with sweat, and they’re leaning on each other for support, moral and physical.
I can’t hear what Coach Potter is saying, but he’s animated and pointing at each guy. Once he’s done, the team breaks with a medieval shout. Adam and Robbie split off from the group, jogging toward the bleachers. They’re both grinning, high on endorphins and success.
“How was it?” Adam calls up.
“Educational,” I reply, which makes Ethan snort.
“You survived your first practice,” Robbie adds, as if it’s some kind of achievement. “Next time we’ll get you down on the field, maybe run some routes with us.”
“In your dreams, brother dearest.”
They laugh and gather their stuff from the bench as Ethan and I descend the bleachers. Other players drift by, some nodding at me in recognition, others ignoring the skinny theater kid entirely.
Then Jameson appears, because apparently the universe isn’t done testing my ability to form coherent thoughts.
“Hey, Ethan,” he says, then his eyes find mine. “Kevin. Thanks for keeping my brother company.”
“No problem,” I say.
Jameson grabs another water bottle, and I absolutely do not watch his throat as he drinks. “What did you guys talk about?”
“Dating, crossword puzzles…books,” Ethan says with a shrug.
Jameson pauses mid-drink, eyes bulging slightly. It’s only for a second, but I clock it. “Books?”
