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

probe in front of Matt. Finally, I just text him. Are you coming to Ryan’s birthday?

A moment later: Ehh . . . I need a break. You’ll be fine.

Wait really?? You’re not coming?

Anderson’s always there on Ryan’s birthday, at least for birthday dinner. Otherwise, it’s just my family—Ryan, Mom, Dad, and me—which is the most awkward combination of people in existence. But when Andy’s there, at least there’s a buffer. And he’s just so good at managing that kind of situation. He knows how to derail all the weird, tense parts and keep a conversation funny and airy.

You’ve got Matt. And then, a moment later: He lives at your house now, remember?

Idk what M&E are even up to tonight!

“Hey, are you guys doing Ryan’s birthday dinner tonight?” Andy asks out loud.

Matt glances up at the rearview. “Oh, yeah—I think my mom mentioned it. Taco Mac, right?”

“You should go,” Andy says matter-of-factly. “Taco Mac’s really good.”

There, you’re welcome, he texts a moment later, and it’s so frosty and curt, I get a pit in my stomach. I’ve seen this sharp-edged, walls-up version of Anderson before, but that’s for other people. Andy’s never put up the fortress against me.

I hate that I’m sitting directly behind him. If I could just see his face, even in profile, maybe I could figure out what he’s thinking.

But I can’t. So I just stare at my phone.

Nothing.

Nothing. Okay, ELLIPSES! Wait for it, wait for it . . .

More nothing.

Oof.

Scene 48

Dad’s meeting us at Taco Mac, but Mom insists on driving the rest of us in Ryan’s Altima. It’s a real kids-in-the-back ride, with Ellen in the passenger seat. Ryan spends the whole time texting, probably coordinating logistics for whatever party he’s going to tonight. And sure enough, just as we pull into the parking lot, Ryan asks, “Oh hey, is it cool if I hang out with some people tonight?”

The classic request. First we have oh hey, spoken with carefully calibrated nonchalance. Then we have hang out, which is obviously code for get drunk, and some people, aka f-boys. Ryan’s timing is smart, because even though Mom’s obviously going to say yes either way, she’s distracted enough that she won’t remember to ask awkward questions. Mom gets a little scatterbrained when we’re about to have dinner with Dad. Like, she drops things and forgets things and sometimes turns left when the GPS says right. Once I heard her say on the phone, “Every time I see Neil, I’m all the bad parts of being twenty-one again.”

Anyway, Taco Mac is one of those sports bar places with TVs hanging down in all directions and a multitiered chicken wing classification system. No surprise that it’s my brother’s favorite restaurant of all time. It’s always slammed on Saturdays, though, so Mom and Ellen head inside to get on the wait list for a table. We’re about twenty minutes early to meet Dad, which is most certainly an Awkward Time Pocket—an ATP, as Ryan used to call them. Too long to stand around waiting, but too short to go anywhere. So, Ryan, Matt, and I end up walking across the shopping center parking lot, toward Walgreens. And of course, my troll self can’t resist asking Ryan if he’s going to buy condoms.

Ryan’s eyes widen. “What?”

He’s blushing, which makes me blush, because I’m a terrible troll, and that makes Matt blush, and THIS IS WHY WE NEED ANDERSON. “Because you’re eighteen,” I say quickly. “That’s a thing.”

“You don’t have to be eighteen to buy condoms,” Ryan says.

“You don’t?” By now I’m blushing so hard, my cheeks are the ones that should have their own multitiered classification system: mild, medium, hot, habanero, death. I don’t dare look at Matt. He’s probably pity-wincing hard, because I pretty much admitted that I’ve never even tried to buy condoms. Yup. Here I am. Wide-eyed virgin with all the sophistication of Rapunzel. I die a little. I die a little. I die a little.

But Matt just says, “You could buy cigarettes.”

Ryan shakes his head. “That’s twenty-one now.”

“Which doesn’t matter,” I add, “because he doesn’t smoke. Right?” Ryan shakes his head, but I stare him down anyway. “Don’t you dare start in college, either. I’m serious, I will drive to your dorm and smell your clothes every single day, and you better believe I’ll tell Mom.”

Ryan nods. “I believe you.”

“Good,” I say firmly.

“Do you know where you’re headed?” Matt asks.

Ryan pauses. “Not sure yet. What about you?”

“Definitely somewhere in-state,” Matt says. “Or maybe somewhere back in Alabama.”

“Well, I personally think Ryan should pick Kennesaw,” I say, “because A, it’s the closest, and B, they have not one, but two Pokémon leagues.”

“And you know this . . . how?”

“It’s this totally obscure site called Google,” I say. “You should check it out sometime.”

“Noted.” Ryan smiles, but his eyes seem to snag on some point in the distance. Then he looks back at me suddenly. “Hey, do you guys want to come out tonight?”

I stare at him, gobsmacked. “To your party?”

“It’s not my party. It’s just people hanging out at Michelle’s house. You can bring your squad if you want.”

“Michelle McConnell?” I raise my eyebrows. She’s an f-girl from the soccer team, Ryan’s grade. I’ve never actually interacted with her, but she’s lowkey famous for snorting Ritalin in French class and getting away with it, even after getting caught in the act. Andy says her parents made a massive PTA donation, and therefore, Michelle McConnell is the reason the math department has new SMART Boards. Anyway, Ryan hanging out with Michelle is weird, but not that weird, because they’re both athletes. But Ryan inviting me to join him is absolutely unprecedented. He’s usually great at keeping his cool friends and his dorky family very firmly separate. I mean the only f-boy who ever really comes over anymore is Noah, which barely even counts—he’s our neighbor. But suddenly I’m on the guest list?

I mean, I’m obviously not going. Not in a million bazillion years. Michelle McConnell’s house? That’s practically Fuckforce Headquarters.

But here’s the weirdest