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

Scene 21

When the last bell rings on Friday, I head straight to the Bathroom Time Forgot. Andy’s meeting me there so we can walk down to Ms. Zhao’s room together. I can’t imagine looking at the cast list without him. Andy has a way of making bad news suck less. And he makes good news feel real.

He’s already there, waiting in the bathroom doorway. No time to bother with stalls. The minute I arrive, he grabs me by the shoulder, rotates me around, and ushers me straight out the door.

I laugh. “I take it you’re ready.”

“I was born ready.”

We’re only a few yards from Ms. Zhao’s room, just around the corner. But it’s impossible to see Zhao’s door, even as we approach it. There’s a throng of theater kids blocking it. People keep pushing their way through—everyone wants to get close enough to photograph the full cast list to analyze later. But here and there, people peel away to high-five or text or cry. Margaret Daskin stalks straight past us with both hands covering her face.

“Okay, it just got real.” Andy exhales. “Should we push our way in?”

I nod quickly. To be honest, we kind of have to. Otherwise, someone like Lana Bennett is bound to spill the news, and if I’m getting cast in a shitty background role yet again, God knows that’s not how I want to find out.

“I see the back of Brandie’s head,” Anderson says. “Let’s do this.” He takes my hand and threads our fingers together, and moments later, we’re weaving through the crowd toward Brandie. She turns around right as we reach her, almost like she sensed us. She’s beaming.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Good news?” Andy asks.

Brandie clamps her mouth shut and nods. It’s hard to know what to make of that. Good news, for sure. But good news for who? Brandie obviously wants to be the jester, since there’s that dance scene, but maybe her excitement is Anderson-related. Or Raina-related.

Or me-related.

I flush and look away quickly, homing in on the back of some freshman girl’s head. We’re dangerously close to the door now. Already, I can glimpse white paper against wood. Anderson pushes through, all the way to the front, and my breath hitches. For a moment, the typed list dances blurrily before my eyes.

Then it clicks into focus.

First character name on the list: Princess Winnifred.

The name beside it: Vivian Yang.

“Oh, Katy.” Andy drops my hand, hooking his arm around my waist instead.

I nod numbly. “It’s fine.”

Princess Winnifred: Vivian Yang.

Wow. So Vivian gets the dream role. First time auditioning ever, and boom. She gets the final bow, the swamp dress, the showstoppers, the kiss with—

Prince Dauntless: Anderson Walker.

Wait.

Prince Dauntless.

Anderson Walker.

“Andy, you did it!” I hug him. “I told you. Holy shit. Mazel tov.”

He laughs. “Mazel tov yourself.”

“Me?”

My eyes flick back to the list.

Queen Aggravain: Raina Medlock.

King Sextimus: Noah Kaplan.

I grin. “Oh, Noah.”

King Sextimus spends most of the play mute from a curse. Would that it could carry over to real life. Would that the curse could extend to all f-boys.

Anderson nudges me. “Keep reading.”

Lady Larken: Kate Garfield.

“Wait . . . what?”

I turn slowly to Anderson, covering my mouth with both hands.

He hugs me sideways. “Not so bad, right?”

I mean, I’m pretty sure my throat’s caving in. No big deal. Just a little touch of choking to death.

It honestly doesn’t compute. Me. A leading role. Lines to learn. Center stage. Rows of eyes. Lights in my face.

Lady Larken. An actual named character who talks and sings and does stuff. My voice, but underlined. Me, but bolded.

“It doesn’t seem real,” I say finally.

I’ve always thought theater was the unrequited love of my life. All those roles I wanted that didn’t want me back. All those auditions leading nowhere. It was starting to feel like shouting I love you into a black hole.

Turns out, getting a lead role feels a lot like I love you, too.

Anderson studies my face. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah.” I nod. Then I peer up at him, smiling. “I mean, I’m bummed that I don’t get to marry you.”

“Uh, look at your Harry.”

“Oh, right!” My eyes dart back to the list, scanning past my own name. And there it is, right beneath it.

Sir Harry: Matthew Olsson.

Holy shit.

Sir Harry: Matthew Olsson.

Sir Harry: my love interest. Matt Olsson is my love interest. And not even a casual love interest. It’s not even subtle. Our characters literally have a love child together.

Forget learning my lines. I need to relearn how to breathe.

Scene 22

The closer we get to Sean Sanders’s house, the faster my heart beats. “Remind me why we’re about to walk into an f-boy party?”

“Because we were invited by the father of your unborn child.”

All evening, Andy’s been calling him that. My impregnator. My baby’s dad. And yeah, Andy’s just being a wiseass, but I swear, there’s this edge to his voice. Like maybe if he jokes about it enough, no one will know it bothers him.

Anderson hooks his arm through mine. “Shall we do this?”

I nod firmly. “Let’s do this.”

So, wow. A real, bona fide house party. Music thumps through the front door, and my heart tracks to its bassline. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of people swaying into each other, tipping back red plastic cups. I glance sideways at Andy, who’s paused on the stoop, staring ahead with giant brown eyes. He looks so utterly lost.

“Psst. You’re a badass,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“A cute badass.”

He looks me up and down, and grins. “You too.”

And okay, yeah, that makes me blush. Because even though admitting it makes me cringe, cute badass was definitely the goal aesthetic. My hair’s fairly well tamed and clipped back at the sides with bobby pins. Anderson talked me into a skirt—short and pleated—with ankle boots and an oversized cardigan. And I’m wearing blush, mascara, and ChapStick, which is about the only makeup I can handle without looking like I let a bunch of toddlers and/or f-boys scribble on my face.

He unhooks his arm, opens