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

his nose like a dork. And he smiles. I smile back.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and when I check it, it’s confirmed. Anderson Walker can officially read my mind. Want to grab fancy waffles after this? Just us. I think we should figure out the Matt stuff, for real.

Scene 31

We leave just as the sun’s setting and set out for the Belgian waffle place on Canton Street. Andy sets us up with some music—thankfully, no messages from God this time. It’s just his Broadway and off-Broadway playlist, which I’ve heard fifty million times—Be More Chill, Next to Normal, The Last Five Years, the song order so firmly associated in my head, it’s starting to feel more right than the actual soundtracks.

The song switches to “A Heart Full of Love” just as we pull into the parking lot, which leaves us no choice but to invoke the Formal Kate and Anderson Les Mis Protocol. Andy parks the car and turns the volume up, and we don’t even bother taking off our seat belts, because there’s no leaving the car until we’ve sung it all the way through. It’s not even the best song on the soundtrack, but we’re both suckers for anything with Éponine. Because Miss Éponine Thénardier is literally us. The true patron saint of trench coats and unrequited love. By the time we get to her verse, we’re practically howling.

He was never mine to lose.

If anyone walked by Anderson’s car right now, they’d probably run away screaming. God knows Kate Garfield Singing™ isn’t exactly a vision of adorableness. But somehow when I’m with Andy, all the bullshit fades into the background. It hardly even exists.

“All right, Katypie,” Anderson says, once we’re inside and in line. “We have got to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules? Like a No Kiss—”

“No, come on. We’re us. We have no game. We don’t need a No Kiss List.”

“That is an excellent point.”

“I just think we need some guidelines. Because—I feel like we’re on the same page with Matt, right? Like okay. We both like him. We both think he’s awesome. But we’re not letting this get in the way of us.” He presses one fist to his heart. “We come first.”

“Definitely.” My heart flips. “Andy, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know—”

The barista asks if we’re ready to order, and my brain jumps straight to waffles. We order a whole bunch to share: strawberries and cream, pink drizzle, and chocolate dunked. They need a name to call out when it’s ready—Anderson doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Kandy with a K.” Our portmanteau.

“So here’s the thing,” Anderson says, as we drift toward the water dispenser. “I know you’re not trying to hurt me, obviously. And I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Of course. Yeah. I know.”

“And we don’t even know if Matt’s into guys or girls or both or who or anyone, so obviously that’s a thing, and then even if he is into whatever genders he’s into, that doesn’t mean he likes us.”

“Uh, then he has no taste,” I say.

“Obviously. But here’s what I’m thinking.” Anderson pauses to fill a cup with water, which he hands to me. Then he fills a second cup for himself. “We both know there’s no point in trying to talk ourselves out of liking him. The heart wants what it wants.”

“The heart wants Matt.”

“Exactly,” he says.

“So . . . what do you propose?”

“Why, Kate Eliza, I’m glad you asked.” He settles into a chair, sets his cup down, and clasps his hands like a CEO. “After careful consideration, my proposal is this.” He pauses. “I think we should be happy for each other. Like, let’s promise each other—no matter what happens, we’re going to be really, truly happy for each other. Even if we’re disappointed.”

“Even if we’re disappointed.” I bite my lip. “So you’re saying . . . we both pursue him?”

He laughs. “Katy. When has either of us ever pursued?”

“Seventh grade. Eva Cohen’s bat mitzvah. The choir robe room.”

“Mmm. That was all you.”

“Oh, that’s funny, Andy.” I cup my chin in my hands, grinning up at him. “Very, very funny. Especially funny coming from a guy who went right for the boobs. Wham. Second base.”

“Ahem. I was figuring stuff out.”

“At synagogue. We were in a synagogue.”

“You’re the one who said it was a reform synagogue,” Andy says. “Listen. All I’m saying is that, given that neither of us are particularly . . . aggressive when it comes to pursuit—”

“Kandy with a K?” There’s the barista, beaming down at us. “Okay, plates are warm. Oops. You got them? Okay! Bon appétit!”

“Thank you so much,” we both say. Like, in unison. With the exact same intonation. The barista raises her eyebrows and backs away slowly.

“Are we creepy?” I ask Anderson, setting our plates on the nearest table.

“Little bit.”

We high-five.

“Anyway.” Anderson plops into a chair. “Basically, what I’m thinking is we just roll with it and see what happens? Since we’re both kind of shy”—I snort—“about this sort of thing. Shut up. I’m just saying we’re shy about boys.”

“Yes.”

“So maybe we just let the situation play out, you know? We’ll just be honest with each other.”

“Even if we know the other person might not want to hear it?”

“Even then,” says Andy. “Especially then.”

“Okay, so we’re happy for each other, we’re honest with each other.” I count it out on my fingers. “And what about this: our friendship is the most important thing.”

“Well, duh.”

“I mean it! Like, we could put it in writing. I’ll text you right now, and you take a screenshot.”

“A screenshot. Wow. Kate. Are we ready for that level of legitness?”

“Texting you now.”

“And you want me to screenshot this?”

“Yup. And text it back to me. The whole thing. We’re happy for each other, we’re honest with each other, and our friendship comes first. No matter what.”

“I like it.” Andy grins. “Let’s make it screenshot official.”

Scene 32

But the minute I walk into Monday’s rehearsal, there they are: Andy and Matt, in the very front row of the auditorium, heads a little too close together.