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

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I get it. You’re my best friend, and it’s weird. It makes total sense.”

But Anderson was shaking his head. “I think I’m gay,” he said softly.

When I hugged him, he burst into tears.

Scene 26

Anderson’s words hang in the air the whole way home.

Kate, I like him. I think I really, really like him.

I swear, every friend bone in my body is screaming for me to suck the tension out of this situation. It would be incredibly easy. I could do it in one sentence.

“Andy,” I say softly.

Andy, this Matt thing—you should go for it.

I could tell him I’m not interested in Matt. I could offer to be Andy’s wingwoman. I mean, I can’t make Matt Olsson like boys if he doesn’t, but at least it could stop feeling like a competition. Everything could just be normal. Like a normal crush and a normal lovesick Andy and a normal best friend Kate.

The only problem is, I don’t feel normal. Not about Matt.

“I think I like him, too,” I say. I barely recognize my own voice. It’s soft but certain. Like maybe my voice knew how I felt before my brain did. “I really like him.”

“I know.” He sighs.

“But we’ll be fine, okay?” I drum on the armrest, eyes fixed to Anderson’s profile. “Seriously. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Communal crushes. I mean, that’s like our thing, right?”

Andy shakes his head. “Not like this. Not for real.”

We’re both quiet, for what feels like centuries, until finally Andy turns on the car’s Bluetooth player. Like maybe hip-hop will drown out the awkwardness.

But out of every song in the universe, the one that plays is—I’m not even kidding—“The Boy Is Mine.” Like. Holy shit. This song is literally two decades old—more than two decades old. And I don’t even think it counts as hip-hop. The only reason it’s even in Anderson’s music collection is because his mom gets really into Brandy when she’s feeling midlife crisis-y. I cannot fucking believe this song just started playing.

“Is God speaking to us through your Bluetooth?” I ask.

Suddenly, Anderson pulls over, even though we’re less than five minutes from Dad’s house. He jabs the button to turn on his hazards, and for a minute he just sits there, hands over his face. Shoulders shaking. He’s leaning so far forward, I’m legitimately concerned he might honk the horn with his rib cage.

It takes me a full sixty seconds to realize he’s not crying—he’s laughing. “Wow. Are we the biggest clichés ever?”

“I think so.” I grin. “It’s kind of our specialty.”

“Well, we’re not going to do this. Fighting over a boy? That is some grade-A f-force bullshit, and I’m not here for it.”

My heart swells. “Neither am I.”

“Katypie, I’m so sorry. I’m done being an asshole.” He leans over the gearshift and wraps his arms around me tight. “I love you so much. None of this matters. The Matt stuff? Doesn’t matter. I love you.”

I lean into his hug, my eyes prickling with tears. “I love you, too.”

“You smell like laundry detergent,” Andy murmurs, into my shirt. “Just FYI.”

I hug him even tighter.

And that’s how we sit, for five minutes straight. Kind of like one of those drive-through movie makeout couples, but without the movie or the makeouts.

I am so platonically in love with Anderson Walker, it makes my brain hurt.

Scene 27

So we’re fine. At least, I think we are.

But every time I talk to Matt, the Anderson stuff bubbles right back up to the surface. Anderson likes this boy. Anderson really likes this boy. But I really like this boy, too. And it’s all turning out to be a little more complicated than I thought it would be.

Especially at rehearsal.

“So we’ve got Harry kneeling,” says Ms. Zhao. “And, Larken, go ahead and stand right up next to him.” I take a step downstage, toward Matt. “Closer . . . closer. Right next to him, Kate.”

Matt looks up at me, smiling the gentlest smile imaginable.

“And let’s have you lean back a little bit and put your hand on your hip—other hand. Great. Okay, and Matt?”

“Yup!” He straightens his shoulders and does this dorky obedient nod. It’s so cute, it almost hurts. Andy says Matt’s like that in Senior D, too. Super respectful of Ms. Zhao. Like, soldier-level respectful.

“And, Matt, let’s have you rest your head right there on her stomach.”

My stomach. Wow. So now my heart’s like a hummingbird. I know exactly what Zhao’s going for. She’s obviously recreating that iconic pose from the Broadway revival with Jane Krakowski and Lewis Cleale. It’s an undeniably cute pose for a secretly pregnant lady and lord. Larken looks like a total boss mom-to-be, and I love the idea of Harry trying to listen to the baby through her princess skirt. So, artistically? I’m into it. It’s just that I didn’t exactly wake up today thinking Matt’s cheek would be on my stomach.

Matt peers up at me, tilting his head. He’s got this look on his face like he’s asking permission.

Deep breath. I catch his eye and nod.

And . . . okay, so far, so good. I mean, it doesn’t feel sexual or anything. I’m actually not as self-conscious as I thought I’d be. I guess Matt doesn’t really seem like an abs guy. Which is good, seeing as I’m a generally squishy person with no abs whatsoever. Anyway, I’m all layered up today, in jeans and a flannel, which makes for a nice, solid barrier. Honestly, the only weird part of the equation is Anderson.

Who happens to be down in the music room with Vivian and Mr. D, working on vocals. Thank God.

“Great. So, Matt, cheat out just a little bit—good. And put your hand on her stomach.”

Again, he hesitates, catching my eye first—and if this isn’t the most endearing thing in the whole entire world, I don’t know what is. Matt Olsson is obviously the kind of boy who asks if he can kiss you before kissing you, which is a move