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

No response.

By the time I make it to the pool and back with the dogs, Brandie’s car is in my driveway, and she’s standing on our lawn beside Noah and my brother.

Noah hugs me. “Hey, Kate.”

Okay. Didn’t know we were hug friends. Noah’s not a bad hugger, though—at least it’s not one of those fakey loose hugs like Lana Bennett’s known for. Also he smells good. Gotta love when boys shower. I’ll give him extra props, too, because I’ve heard showering in a cast is complicated.

Brandie squats down to pet Charles, who goes straight into belly-up surrender position. “Charles, have some self-respect,” Noah says. Then, glancing back at me, he adds, “So I was thinking we could all walk down to the playground?”

I stare at his arm. “Did you draw boobs on your cast?”

“No,” he says. “Jack Randall did.”

Of course he did. “So you’re just going to walk around like that,” I say, and then it hits me. “Wait, the play! How are you—”

“Okay, first of all, long-sleeved costumes exist,” Noah says, looking extra amused. “Second of all, let’s not forget my man is named King Sextimus, which is clearly the name of a king who appreciates boobs.”

“Wow. You’re gross.”

“And third of all, I’m getting a replacement cast on Tuesday. Boob-free.” He smiles. So I’m not going to ruin your play, Little Garfield.”

“It’s not my play, Kappy. It’s my musical.”

“Hey,” Brandie reminds him. “It’s your musical, too.”

Scene 35

By the time we set out for the playground, I’d say it’s a fairly-legit party, in the sense that the dads all seem to have acquired coolers of beer. Livy Kaplan somehow catches up with our group, which is pretty impressive for a seven-year-old in Disney heels. But Livy in heels is fast enough to keep up with Ryan and Brandie, who are at the front of our pack. They’re too far ahead for me to make out what she’s saying, but she’s been talking nonstop since she joined us.

“Has she even taken, like, one breath?” I ask Noah. We’re the stragglers, a couple of yards behind Brandie and our siblings.

“Absolutely not. That would be a criminal waste of valuable talking time—OH.” Noah’s voice drops. “This perv. Look.” He juts his chin out, just barely, toward a yard at the center of Remington and Pine. There are probably twenty tiny kids there, plus their parents, all clustered around a duo of tiger mascots in hoodies.

“Isn’t that—” I start to say, but then the words somehow vanish.

Because Noah’s hand is on my hand. His right hand, the one without the cast. And just the back of it, not the palm. But still. Noah Kaplan’s hand. Pressed all the way up against mine.

Which is weird. Next-level weird. Wow.

Except, as fast as it happened, it’s gone. Total retreat.

“He wears. No pants,” says Noah.

“Who, Daniel Tiger? Isn’t he a child? And a cartoon?”

“His dad’s not a child.”

“So Daniel Tiger’s dad is the perv.”

“Kate, he’s a grown man. A father. Wearing no pants.”

“He is a cartoon tiger,” I say, sounding calmer than I feel. There’s still this fluttery knot in my stomach. “I hate to break it to you, but sometimes cartoons don’t wear clothes.”

“Then riddle me this. Why is he wearing the hoodie?”

“Did you just say ‘riddle me this’?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Noah looks at me sidelong, grinning. And then he does the hand thing again! Wow. That split-second, back-of-the-hand contact—what is that? Some kind of new f-boy move? An alternative to the eyegasm?

“I’m just saying,” Noah continues, “here we’ve established a world where the animals wear clothes, they talk, they walk around. They’re anthropomorphized.”

“How much thought have you put into this?”

“Years,” Noah says. “Years of thought.”

We reach the playground, and Livy flings herself onto a swing, stomach first. “Guys, this is gonna be epic. Noah! Come on. I want to film a YouTube.”

“Hold on,” says Noah.

“Don’t forget to smash that like button!”

I turn to Noah incredulously. “Livy’s on YouTube?”

“Livy thinks she’s on YouTube.” He pulls out his phone. “Future blackmail material.”

“A-plus big brothering,” I say, watching him drift toward the swings.

My own brother is standing a few yards away, arms crossed—not in an angry way. Just self-conscious, I think. He’s talking to Brandie, who’s already climbed into the play structure and is sitting at the edge of its platform, legs dangling down. Brandie’s counting something off on her fingers, and Ryan’s nodding along. It’s funny. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them interact before, other than Ryan mumbling hi from the couch when the squad comes over.

Speaking of the squad, it’s been a good few minutes since I texted the dog selfie to Anderson. So I sneak a peek at my phone to see if he’s responded.

He hasn’t.

Which is a total gut punch. I know it’s stupid to get this antsy over a text I sent twenty minutes ago, but in Kate-and-Anderson time, that’s centuries. And it’s a text with a selfie, too, which makes the lack of acknowledgment even worse. It’s like when your scene partner’s supposed to cut you off and overlap your line, but they don’t. That same quiet beat of panic and awkwardness.

But I’m being ridiculous. Andy’s probably just not checking his phone. And there are lots of reasons why he might not be checking his phone, reasons that have nothing to do with Matt. His phone could be charging, for example. He could be peeing. Or driving.

And today’s so strange in general, that I keep feeling like I’m drifting along two steps behind my body. I blink, and somehow I’m sitting at a picnic table across from Noah, who’s got both arms stretched across the table, illustrated boobs winking in the sunshine. And that alone is mind-boggling. Just being here with Noah Kaplan. It almost feels like a time warp.

The Kate-Noah friendship didn’t last all that long, between Noah moving here and my parents’ divorce and Noah becoming an f-boy. But we were briefly a duo, mostly due to Sunday