Kate in Waiting by Becky Albertalli (ereader with android txt) 📕

weirdly, no one’s letting me pick Les Mis as my algebra textbook.

Raina’s got algebra due, too, so we’ve taken over my beanbag chairs in the corner. We’ve got our books in hand, but that’s about as far as we’ve gotten. I don’t mean to be a slacker. But it’s just hard to focus on math when there’s an audition to obsessively speculate about.

“No, there’s precedent,” Raina’s saying. “Harold’s school did Once Upon a Mattress freshman year. Female Jester and Minstrel. They just transposed a few notes.”

“And it’s all tenor, right? Brandie, you could probably sing the Jester stuff as is—”

“Confirmed. I’ve heard her do it,” says Raina. “But Minstrel goes a little low sometimes—”

“Okay, who do we think is gunning for the Minstrel? Probably Colin, right, but I don’t think he’ll be able to nail the dynamics—”

“Oh, it’ll be Lana Bennett,” says Raina.

“Ohhhhh. Yup. You’re right.”

“And Brandie, just think!” Raina says. “If you get Jester, you and Lana are going to get to spend so much time together! Yay!”

“Mm-hmm. That’s a lot of ifs, but okay,” Brandie says.

“Best friends.” Raina smiles slyly. “Best, best friends. You and Lana.”

Brandie ignores her, which is her general MO when we troll her about Lana Bennett. But trolling Brandie about Lana is the most delicious pastime on earth.

The problem is, Brandie gives off such buttercup angel energy. She can’t help it. It’s who she is. But Lana seems to take Brandie’s fundamental essence as a specific appeal for lifelong best friendship. So she’s always inviting Brandie to hang out and sending her long, confessional texts about boys, to which Brandie mostly just replies with periodic polite emojis. It’s pretty wild, because Lana seems to vaguely hate the rest of us.

Brandie sets down her book and covers her eyes. “We’re seeing a movie the Friday after next—”

“Brandie, no!” Raina gasps. “How did this happen?”

Brandie peeks through her fingers. “Well, okay. So, Emma was telling me about that movie with Kristen Wiig, and I was like, ‘Oh, I want to see that.’ And then Lana overhears that, and jumps in—”

“The ambush,” says Raina.

“Yeah. I didn’t really know what to say, so I just tried to be vague, like, ‘Yeah, maybe.’” Brandie bites her lip. “But then she starts suggesting specific dates—”

“Uh-oh.” I wince.

“And then you set polite but firm boundaries.” Raina raises her eyebrows at Brandie. “Because you don’t owe anyone your friendship.”

“Well I said I was busy, but then she kept suggesting alternative dates, so I felt kind of trapped . . .”

“Oh, that’s hard, B. I’m sorry.”

“And now she’s already ordered tickets, and I’m just like, okay. So, that’s happening.” Brandie frowns. “I feel so mean.”

“Brandie, oh my God. You’re the opposite of mean.” I shake my head.

“I’m just saying—”

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Come in!” I call out, expecting Mom.

It’s not Mom.

“Hey.”

It’s Matt. In my doorway.

“Hi!” I spring up from the beanbag chair and make a beeline for my bed, kicking approximately six pairs of underwear underneath it. And of course, my phone jumps out of my hands in the process. I don’t even just drop it like a normal person. Somehow it ends up skidding across the hardwoods like a hockey puck. I look up at Matt with my best I-meant-to-do-that smile. “Come on in!”

“Your mom said you were here. She told me to tell you something about . . . six inches?”

“The door,” I blurt, blushing. Why does the phrase six inches sound so . . . penile? Wow, I sure hope Matt thinks I’m speculating about his penis size. With my mom.

Also, what on earth is Mom smoking? Raina and Brandie are here! Like, what the fuck kind of orgy is she even envisioning?

“Anyway.” Matt’s blushing too. “I was just returning a Tupperware. What are y’all up to?” he asks.

My phone starts buzzing—undoubtedly Anderson—but I stretch my leg out to kick it under the bed with my underwear. Andy texts are dangerous. For all I know, he’s just discussing the play, but even then, it could change on a dime. At any moment, he could switch right on over to the topic of Matt’s general gorgeousness and awesomeness and whether or not he’s single. Which would be a recipe for total disaster if Matt happened to glance at my phone.

I plop onto the edge of my bed. Matt hovers beside me, hesitating. “Okay if I sit?”

“Oh, of course! Here.” I scoot closer to Brandie to make room, but she slides off the bed, grabbing her phone. “Raina, we should probably head—”

“Yup!” Raina jumps up. “You two have fun. Be good.”

Then she catches my eye for the barest split second and makes a big show of leaving the door six inches open.

Scene 14

Matt turns to me as soon as they leave. “Hey, you’re auditioning for the musical, right?”

I choke back a laugh. “Yup.”

I mean. I’ve only built my entire world around the school musical, last year, and the year before that, and every other year since sixth grade. I seriously wake up every single morning thinking about the best ways to deliver Winnifred’s lines. I think I’ve listened to the soundtrack from start to finish—I don’t know—thirty times.

“Okay, cool,” Matt says, leaning back. He’s sort of halfway lying down now, legs hanging off my bed. “So, do most people end up getting cast?”

“I think everyone gets cast. Even if you totally suck, Zhao will just stick you in the background. Not you, like you.” I blush. “I don’t mean you suck. You don’t suck. Like, at all. Ha. Yeah, no. I’ve heard you sing.”

Kate. For the love of God. Get your shit together.

“Anyway.” I swallow. “Are you trying out?”

He shrugs, smiling. “It’s a requirement for Advanced Drama.”

“Wait—really?”

Okay, Anderson never mentioned that—which is weird, because Matt being in the play is a pretty big deal in Kate and Anderson world. I mean, yeah, I kind of thought maybe he would be. But now it’s official, which means hours of rehearsal, cozying up backstage and at set design. And it’s more than just the time together. It’s hard