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

boy who knows all about my former sad, pathetic crush on him. Oh wait, let’s make it even more fun by adding a Saturday all-day run-through rehearsal where I get to kiss the boy I had a sad, pathetic crush on. Wow. This won’t be awkward at all. And then tech week. And then opening night next Friday. Can’t wait to see how many times Matt pulls me aside this week with gentle pitying eyes because he just wants to make sure I’m okay.

Thankfully Noah—oblivious Noah—doesn’t even seem to realize I’m on the edge of a meltdown. He’s still talking. “—this Tuesday. Finally—”

“Hey, Noah?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry. When’s this party again? Tomorrow?”

“You’re coming? Oh, sweet!” And he looks so genuinely psyched that I feel bad for every mean thought I’ve ever had about f-girls and partying and about Noah. Especially about Noah. “It’s gonna be really chill. You’ll love it.”

“Good. Chill sounds good,” I say, trying to ignore my ricocheting heart.

Scene 62

I don’t know why telling my brother I’m going to a party feels weird, but it does. It feels—kind of thirsty, I guess? Like I’m trying to weasel my way into the f-force. But when I bring it up on the way home from school on Friday, he doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, I was thinking about going to that. It’s supposed to be chill.”

“So I hear.”

“Who are you going with?” Ryan asks, which makes me melt a little, because I know he wants me to say Brandie. But then I mostly just feel awful, since I totally could invite Brandie if I wanted to. And I do want to. Of course I do. But it’s just complicated.

I bite my lip. “Um. I think just Noah.”

Here’s the thing: if I invite Brandie, I have to invite Raina, and if I’m inviting the girls, I have to invite Anderson, and at that point I’d definitely have to invite Matt, and avoiding Anderson and Matt is the whole reason I’m even going.

I mean, it’s most of the reason.

As soon as we’re home, I make a beeline for my room. Matt’s not home yet, if he’s even coming home tonight. It’s highly possible he has better plans. But I shut the door just in case. Ryan doesn’t want to leave for Dad’s house until eight, and he says we should shower and get ready before we go.

There’s nothing lonelier than getting dressed without the squad—if nothing else, we’ve usually got the group text chain going. But it’s that weird squad thing again, where if I text Raina and Brandie, they’ll wonder why Anderson’s not on the thread. And if I tell them Andy and I are fighting, they’ll want to know why. Of course, it’s possible Andy and Matt have already told them, in which case I’m sure they think I’m pathetic and problematic. But if they haven’t, there’s no way to even talk about the situation without outing Matt. And that flat out can’t happen. I won’t let it.

So I just have to keep my distance. Just like how last weekend, Anderson kept his distance from me.

The thing is, I really do get it. I do. I get why Andy was so weird and restrained. And I know it’s downright ridiculous to want him to wait until they had my blessing. The more I think about it, the more I’m embarrassed I said that. I guess in the moment, it felt like every single choice Anderson made was designed to destroy me.

But I know that’s not true. And if I didn’t already know that, I now have a wall of texts to prove it.

Katy I’m so sorry. I never expected this to happen.

I never wanted to hurt you

Please say something

Kate I love you. You know that right?

I know you were blindsided. I feel awful about that.

I hate that we’re fighting

Please text me

It’s so Anderson. He’s a monster about grudges. He really is. Except when it comes to me. Whereas I’m just awful at staying mad at anybody, ever.

But every time I start to type a reply, I fall short. It just feels insurmountable. I keep picturing Andy receiving my apology text. He’ll show Matt, of course. And Matt will scoot closer, resting his chin on Andy’s shoulder. “Told you she’d come around,” he’ll say. I’m sure I’m a regular topic of discussion between them. I wonder if they bonded over pitying me, and if my rage brought them even closer. All my inconvenient feelings.

Every time I think about it, it stings even harder.

Whatever. I’m a grown girl. I can dress myself for a party, even an f-boy party. But when I thumb through my closet, all my clothes feel cringingly overdone. Everything feels like I wore it just yesterday. But I don’t have the energy to be creative. God forbid I attempt to layer things and end up looking like a toddler. Maybe I should just wear jeans and a T-shirt and a flannel. Probably the whole f-force would faint from the sheer underwhelmingness.

In the end, I go for a dress—one I’ve never worn, even though I saved all of last year’s birthday money to buy it. I always feel like it looks really try-hard, which is ironic, because it’s probably the lowest-effort clothing item I own. I mean, you don’t even have to zip it. It wraps and ties around you. But it’s just a little more fitted than what I usually wear, mostly under the boobs, with all these dainty-looking printed flowers. And it’s red, which can feel very WHOA. But maybe whoa is a good thing. Who knows?

I throw a jacket on over it and hope for the best.

Scene 63

By the time Ryan and I get to Dad’s house, Noah’s already waiting, stiff-backed on our living room couch. It’s not weird that he’s here; the only weird thing is that he’s sitting, not sprawled. But then I realize Dad’s there too, sipping bourbon in his recliner like he and Noah are having