Kate in Waiting Becky Albertalli (best way to read books TXT) 📖

“Good guess. But no.” Noah grins. “Little G, the issue here is that you don’t understand sports.”

“Oh, yay. This again—”

“Hear me out. I’m talking about team stuff, okay? Take Sean, for example. You asked why we’re friends with him, which I get. Super legit question, because, to the untrained eye, sure. That’s what it looks like.”

I sit up straight, scowling. “I don’t have untrained eyes.”

“I’m just saying. You don’t know what it’s like to be on a team.”

“Excuse me? I used to play soccer.”

“You were six,” Ryan reminds me. “You cried every game because you were scared the ball would hit you.”

“Because it did! Right in the foot!”

“That’s the game,” says Ryan. “Like, that’s the whole entire game.”

“Okay, well, so what? I know what teams are—”

“But.” Noah raises a finger. “You don’t get team dynamics. You’re trying to compare it to friendship, but it’s not the same thing. It’s like this.” He grabs my teddy bears, Amber and Ember. “These two. They fucking hate each other, right?”

“Um, no. They love each other—”

“But let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that they hate each other. Wait, no. Okay, it’s more like a vague mutual dislike.” He turns the bears to face each other. “But the thing is, they’re kind of stuck together, right? They’re hanging out here together in your bed all day, and—you sleep with them, right?” He looks at me. “Yeah, you totally do. So all day and all night, these two little dudes—”

“They’re girls!”

“Pardon me! These two ladies. These pretty, pretty little lady bears—”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Just listen! So, what I’m saying is, you’ve got these two fine young women who are basically forced together twenty-four seven. And let’s take it to the next level, okay? So Beary and Bundles here—”

“Amber and Ember! Show some respect—”

“All right, so Amber and Ember are not only constant companions, they also have to work together, right? Let’s say they have some common task to complete. Like . . .” He looks at Ryan, who shrugs. “Okay. I don’t know,” says Noah, “I don’t know bears. I don’t know their lives. But the point is, even though they’re not friends, and they may not even really get along, they pretty much have to find a way to be generally cool with each other. Otherwise it just sucks for everyone.”

I snatch the bears back and hug them. “Got it. Cool story.”

“So what I’m saying,” Noah continues, unfazed, “is that when you’re on a team—”

“You realize this is the exact same dynamic as a theater ensemble, right?”

“No, no, no. It’s different. It’s more like—Ry, help me out here. You know what I’m saying, right?”

“Something about teddy bears?” Ryan rests his chin on his fist.

“Shut up. No. You guys are both—ugh.”

Ryan and I exchange the tiniest smiles.

“You know what?” Noah slides off the bed, turning to face me. “Here’s what has to happen. Kate, you need to go to a game. One game, okay? Promise me. Doesn’t even have to be baseball.”

“I’m not—”

“Football. All right? I’ll make a deal with you. Little Garfield, you go to one football game with me, and I want you to really pay attention to how the players interact. Okay? On and off the field. The whole dynamic. I’ll talk you through it. You’ll get it.”

“How is that a deal—”

“I’m not done! So, if you do that—one game, but you have to really focus, okay? And in return . . .” He pauses thoughtfully. “I’ll sing a whole song onstage.”

I laugh. “That’s not an incentive.”

“Just think about it.” Noah gestures vaguely at Amber and Ember. “You three ladies talk among yourselves—”

I throw both bears at his head before he even closes his mouth.

Scene 19

Three and a half minutes after the final bell rings on Thursday, Andy and I are in the auditorium. Center section, six rows from the front, carefully calculated to be the ideal seat for audition spying. Andy sinks into his chair. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine. Good. Are you nervous? I’m nervous.” I drum my hands along the armrest. “Why does this never get easy?”

Anderson nods without speaking.

“You got this, though. You’re going to be so good, Andy. I swear to God, you’ll get Dauntless. It’s not even a question—”

He cuts me off. “I think Matt’s going to get it.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Seriously? You’ve heard him sing.”

“I’ve heard you sing, too,” I say.

But Anderson just sighs. “Like, what if Zhao does the seniority thing again this year? Or what if I just fucking bomb it?”

“You’re not going to bomb it!”

“You don’t know that. You’re not psychic.”

“Andy, you’ve never bombed an audition in your life.”

And it’s true. If Anderson wants to play Prince Dauntless, I’d be shocked if he didn’t get it. After all, he’s a triple threat. An obnoxiously talented triple threat.

They should make a word for the mix of pride and envy you get when someone you love is really good at a thing. It’s like you want them to win so badly it feels personal. But also the thought of them winning makes you almost sick with longing.

Because when it comes down to it, I’m not as talented as Andy. I’m just not. I’ve never been. I don’t have the magic singing voice or the comic timing or the charisma. I’ve never been the last to bow at curtain call. Maybe I’m just not a final bow person.

I’m more of a “this is so embarrassing, I literally can’t watch” kind of person.

Raina slips in through the side hall, amped and ready. She pats her phone. “Harold says break a leg.”

“Aww. Thanks, Harold. Cutie.”

“I know.” She leans over Anderson and me, craning her neck. “Where’s Zhao?”

“I guess she’s—”

But she cuts me off, eyes narrowed toward the entrance. “And why is Vivian Yang here?”

“What?” I twist around, stomach sinking. It’s not that I dislike Vivian. I mean, I’m not exactly a fan of the way she ditched Andy out of nowhere to join the f-force, but I get that it was ninth grade. It’s just