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

rebel and be fuckboys. But we’ll double down and keep trolling them with videos of us singing “Somebody to Love.” We’re going to Ella our grandkids into submission.

Full-throttle Kate and Anderson, forever and ever and ever.

Scene 77

Three hours until we open, and I’m hiding in the lighting booth with Noah.

And, okay, we’re not really all that hidden—Audrey, the lighting director, could wander back here any minute, not to mention Colin and Pierra. But it’s tiny and cozy and a few steps removed from the usual disarray of opening night. Obviously, we don’t go near the computer or switchboard. But it’s nice, just sitting side by side, out of view of the window, with Noah’s arm tucked around my shoulders. Even nicer is the cloudspun feeling I get when he threads his fingers through the ends of my hair.

“Are you nervous?” I ask. “I panicked so hard before my first show, I almost threw up.”

“Weren’t you, like, a townsperson?”

“Yup.” I grin into his shoulder. “But townspeople can still screw up. Not having lines didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fart into a microphone or something.”

His laugh is so startled and genuine, it makes me laugh too. “Is that supposed to make me less nervous?” he asks.

“Well, I didn’t fart into a microphone. Or at all,” I add quickly.

He hugs me closer. “Are you nervous?”

“Sort of. But I can’t tell if I’m nervous because it’s opening night, or just . . . other stuff.”

He turns to face me, mouth twitching upward. “Other stuff?”

“Other stuff.” I smile slightly.

“I’m up for other stuff,” he says, leaning toward me.

And suddenly we’re kissing. We are honest-to-God kissing in the lighting booth on opening night. It’s not exactly a body-meld embrace—Noah’s knee sort of tucks over mine, and my hands end up pressed flat on the ground. But I kind of love the awkwardness of kissing side by side. It gives me this off-kilter sort of nostalgia—a rush of longing for moments I’ve never even lived through, like handsy middle school makeouts and first summer kisses on moonlit wooden docks.

“Do you have any idea”—Noah’s voice is low and breathless—“how long I’ve pictured this?”

“This in particular? In the school theater lighting booth?”

“Yup.” He kisses me again softly. “And everywhere. Lighting booths, airplanes, bathrooms, airplane bathrooms. You name it.”

I can barely wrap my head around it. The way we keep sliding between joking and talking and kissing, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I guess I always had this idea of kissing as this moment of transformation—with swelling music and faded backgrounds and your brain filled with nothing but the kiss itself.

But it’s not like that at all.

It’s Noah’s lips, and the way they move softly against mine, and the fluttery ache in my stomach. It’s the way Noah can’t go ten seconds without talking, even when we’re actively kissing, and I keep erupting into giggles, and every so often one of us gets paranoid and checks our phones so we don’t miss call time.

But I like that.

I like that when we’re kissing, we never once stop being us.

Scene 78

An hour later, Raina and I attempt to sit still while Brandie does our makeup.

“We’ll be fine,” Raina says, “we’re just gonna get out there and do our thing, same as we’ve always done it, and then no one has to be nervous anymore. It’s smooth sailing. Brandie, why are you putting lipstick on my cheeks?”

“Just trust me,” says Brandie.

In all honesty, Brandie’s the only person on earth I do trust for the job, because she never tries to talk me into globbing on more than I want to wear. And I get it: stage lights wash you out, you need extra definition, etcetera, etcetera. But listen. If the boys don’t have to wear bright lipstick, I’m not wearing bright lipstick. Except on my cheeks, apparently.

I don’t know. I just want to look like me.

Once everyone’s in costume, Ms. Zhao herds us out to the secret teacher parking lot for the ceremonial burning of the program. “We are Roswell Hill,” she says, “and we are one.”

We all chant it over and over. “WE ARE ROSWELL HILL, AND WE ARE ONE. WE ARE ROSWELL HILL, AND WE ARE ONE.”

I wish I could bottle up this moment and keep it for the rest of my life. Tucked up close between Anderson and Raina. Holding hands in a circle in the crisp fall evening air, feeling so flooded with love and belonging.

“Bring it in!” Ms. Zhao says, stomping out the last few flames of the freshly charred program. We all rush to the center for the group hug of the century.

And the next thing I know, it’s six thirty, and Ms. Zhao’s out there in front of the curtain, telling people to turn off their cell phones for the duration of the play.

“Musical,” mutters Lana Bennett from the wings.

The orchestra glides through the overture, and just like always, I lose my breath for a minute. But Noah hugs me. “You’ve got this.”

“Noah, Andy, Raina—stage left please!” Devon whispers sharply.

Noah hugs me again. “Break a wrist.”

And we’re off.

Scene 79

So, once upon a time in eleventh grade, Lady Kate the Starlet steered herself right to center stage.

It’s all so beautifully uneventful. No one forgets to push the mattresses out, no one’s voice cracks. Brandie’s flawless on the soft-shoe, the mics don’t go out, and Matt and I manage not to laugh during our kiss, even with our moms heckling us from the front row.

Raina peeks through the curtains when the house lights come on. “Aww,” she says. “Look who brought flowers.”

I follow her gaze downward, where people are making their way down the aisles, to the exits. Ellen and my parents are gone, which means they’re probably in the lobby, but my brother and some of his teammates are still camped out near the stage. Ryan’s holding a bouquet of blue and purple flowers.

Whoa. Okay. I’m definitely supposed to be changing out of my costume right now. But also,