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

it hits just above the spot on jean shorts where a fashion-forward girl might sew a few patches.

Madison. Noah’s “friend.”

She cups her hand, running it along the floor like a snowplow. “You’re so sweet to do this,” she says. When she gets a bunch of fries piled up, I scoop them into another napkin. “Kappy’s so weird about asking for help. He gets so embarrassed.”

“Kappy?” I almost say—but then it hits me.

Kappy. Wow. I’ll tell you one thing: I’m saving that one for the next time I get called Little Garfield.

“You’re Ryan’s sister, right? Katelyn?”

“Just Kate.”

“Can I just say, I love your brother. He’s hilarious.”

“He is?”

“And he’s such a sweetheart.” She shoots me a megawatt smile. “He was just telling me about his dogs, and how they’re named after the royal family.” Madison laughs. “How cute is that?”

“It’s cute . . . ish.” As in, cute enough to get a surprised chuckle every so often at the dog park. But not cute enough to warrant Ryan being called hilarious by floral-smelling girls. And that’s putting aside the fact that Mom’s the one who named the dogs in the first place.

“Hey,” Noah says, reappearing. He squats down between us, eyes darting back and forth almost nervously—which makes me wonder what kinds of secrets he thinks I’m telling Madison. I mean, if she wants secrets, I’ve got them. I could go full sabotage. Like I could easily tell Madison about the velocity experiment we did in eighth-grade science. Somehow Jack Randall managed to bounce a tiny ball into Noah’s pants without him noticing, and it rolled right out through the cuff as soon as Noah stood up. “Hey, Madison,” I can picture myself saying. “Want to hear about the time your boyfriend’s balls dropped?”

Nailed it.

Though of course Madison and Kappy aren’t even a couple. They’re friends. Friends who suck on each other’s faces at parties, like friends apparently do.

Scene 30

Today’s the kind of weather that’s too perfect to waste, so we end up in Raina’s backyard, sprawled out in the sunshine. Harold shows up with a big Tupperware of grapes, which is just so Harold. He’s like a quiet, scruffy Prince Harry, just with blue jeans and thicker eyebrows.

Before long, Brandie and Anderson have Harold cornered, and they’re bombarding him with rehearsal photos. “Lana’s the Minstrel,” says Brandie, tapping her phone screen. “She’s the one whose voice is so—”

“Annoying,” interjects Anderson. “She has the most annoying fucking voice I’ve ever—”

“Mmm, I wasn’t going to say annoying,” Brandie says, tugging her phone back. “Just, like, kind of operatic.”

Harold furrows his brow. “Is that not a good thing?”

“Can we please not talk about Lana Bennett?” Raina repositions herself cross-legged beside me, facing Harold. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Harold says back.

I swear, the way they look at each other makes me feel like I stumbled into their wedding vows.

I pop a grape and lean back on my elbows, watching Harold laugh along with Brandie and Anderson’s banter. I’m pretty sure he likes us, even though he always seems a little nervous when we hang out in person. It makes me wonder: Are we intimidating? I’ve always assumed people see us as, like, a lovable band of nerds. But who knows? Maybe to Harold we’re as insular as a pack of fuckboys.

Harold catches my eye and does this tiny, sharp inhale, like he’s steeling himself for a new conversation. It seriously makes me want to hug him. I just love shy people so much.

“So, Kate.” He clasps his hands and tucks them under his chin. “I hear you’re pregnant.”

Brandie gives a startled, short laugh.

“Um. Yes?” I grin. “Theatrically speaking.”

“She got knocked up by some knight,” says Raina.

I shrug. “It happens.”

“At least you know it’ll be a cute baby,” says Brandie. She tilts her phone up toward Harold. “That’s him. In the green, next to Kate. Matt.”

“Sir Matt.” Harold smiles. “You guys look nice together.”

“Really?” I beam. God, I love Harold. I fucking love him.

“In case it wasn’t completely obvious,” Raina says, “Our Katy has a giant, raging crush on Sir Matt.”

“As does our Andy,” I say quickly.

“Matt’s one of their communal crushes,” explains Brandie.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that,” says Harold. “Communal crushes.”

Raina pats my back affectionately. “That’s because these two ding-dongs made them up.”

“Oh, okay.” Harold tilts his head. “So it’s like a competition? How does that work?”

“It doesn’t,” Anderson says flatly. “It’s not working.”

My heart plummets. Wow. I’m an asshole. I really am. Here I am, basking in the glow of being teased about Matt, without a single thought for Anderson. Matt and Kate look so nice together! Won’t their babies be cute! Or Emma and Lindsay yesterday. Palpable chemistry. Married by tech week. Andy probably feels like we’re all taking turns punching him in the face. I mean, God knows that’s how I feel every time I catch Matt and Andy whispering in rehearsal. Even thinking about it makes my eyes prickle.

It’s just not supposed to be like this. Not with Andy and me. God knows there are enough people out there just dying to hurt us. The Erics of the world, the Miras, the Gennys. Even the Vivians. The last thing we need is to inflict this shit on each other.

I should change the subject. To be honest, we should probably stop talking about Matt altogether.

Of course, talking’s only half the problem. I don’t want to get ahead of myself or anything, but what if Matt and I started dating? I could never in a million years keep that from Anderson. Which leaves me with two equally shitty choices. Option one: I declare Matt Olsson off-limits, kind of like a Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List situation. But then again, the No Kiss List wasn’t exactly smooth sailing for Naomi and Ely.

Which leaves me with option two: I break Anderson’s heart.

It’s just unbearable.

Suddenly, as if he feels me pronouncing his name in my head, Andy glances up from his phone—he’s been texting—and looks me right in my eyes. Then he nudges his glasses up