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

And—oof.

The party slams into every single one of my senses. Wall of sound. Smell of beer. Multicolored Christmas lights, proving Sean Sanders to be a festive hero among f-boys. My whole body drapes onto Anderson, almost without me realizing. “Do you think Matt’s here yet?” I ask.

“I dunno. Let’s do a lap.”

Do a lap. Anderson, wow. Just whipping out that party language.

I try hard not to look too terrified at the prospect of weaving through this thicket of fuckboys. Funny how only hours ago, Anderson elbowed us through a crowd of theater kids. Same maneuver—but now, instead of dyed hair and Hamilton shirts, it’s gray sweatpants and jerseys and tiny skirts and crop tops. I spot my brother in the corner with a group of baseball guys, laughing. I’ve never been to a party with Ryan, but I’ve seen pictures on Instagram where he’s smiley and pink-cheeked. I guess a part of me figured Ryan probably drinks, but I wasn’t entirely sure. After all, he’s never holding a cup in any pictures.

But there we go. Mystery solved: my brother is definitely drinking. And something about it being confirmed makes me feel weird and small and a million miles away from him.

A bulky blond guy hulks his way in front of us, flexing his muscles, and yelling, “LES GOOO.”

“Oh dear God.” Anderson clutches his throat.

Something crashes down in the next room, followed by laughter and howling and lots of drawn-out cuss words. It’s all a little louder than it needs to be. Even the couch squatters are startled out of their makeouts.

Maybe we’ve stepped into an alternate universe. Everything’s slightly off its axis. Take the baseball caps, for example. It’s like the minute an f-boy walks into a party, he forgets how hats work. Maybe f-boys don’t want to commit to fully wearing them, so they just flip them around backward and perch them halfway on their heads. It’s the only possible explanation.

“We should turn a fan on,” Andy says, reading my mind, as always. “Just like, whoosh, oh no! Did your hat just fly off? Maybe you should have, I don’t know, actually pulled it down onto your fucking head.”

I blink. “Is Matt . . . anywhere? I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he’s in one of the other rooms. Should we divide and—”

“Are you insane?” I gape at Anderson. “Don’t you dare leave me. I could get killed.”

As if on cue, a girl in a tie-dyed crop top staggers into me, barely catching her drink before it tumbles. “Oh my God.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s . . . fine,” I start to say, but she’s already mowing back into the crowd.

“Okay, let’s be systematic,” says Anderson. “Why don’t we start moving toward the drinks table?”

“You’re drinking?”

“No!” Anderson presses his lips together gingerly. “But we should get red cups of water or something, to blend in. I don’t know. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“Ugh.” I wrinkle my nose. “Fine.”

I swear, there’s a bubble around us. We move through the party, and no one talks to us. Occasionally, someone steps out of our way to let us pass—otherwise, I’d be convinced we were actually invisible.

As it turns out, Vivian Yang is hovering in the doorway near the kitchen, clutching a red cup to her chest. She’s wearing a tank top, maxi skirt, and makeup, which kind of throws me. At school, she basically lives in track gear. Vivian’s so pretty, though, with her golden-brown skin and dark eyes and halo of hair. She just may be the only person in the world who makes florescent kitchen lighting look like sunshine. She looks up with a start when we join her. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” replies Andy, too brightly.

“Hey,” Vivian says again. “So this is really—”

“Hey, congratulations!” Anderson says, at the exact same time.

“Hey, you too!”

Five heys in the span of ten seconds has to be some excruciating new record. Honestly, I don’t get their weird chemistry. It’s not romantic chemistry, but it’s something.

Andy hesitates. “Really cool hearing you sing again,” he says finally.

It’s hard to know where they stand. I don’t know much about what happened between them, other than the basics. Ninth grade. Vivian liked this guy Jeff Jacobs, from the track team, and I remember it being this whole big thing. Maybe it was supposed to be a secret crush that people found out about anyway. Or maybe Jeff had a girlfriend. I legit can’t remember. But the point is, Vivian joined track and basically stopped talking to Andy. And that’s it. There wasn’t even a fight. It was more like turning the volume down on their friendship.

Vivian tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “That audition was intense. God. I was so nervous.”

“It didn’t show,” Andy says.

“Well.” Vivian looks from Anderson to me. “You guys were both incredible.”

My cheeks go warm. “No, you were! Oh my God. You were seriously wonderful.”

“Oh!” She smiles sheepishly. “Thank you.”

She’s so sincere, I’m almost startled. I mean, how badass is Vivian? Just a plain old thank you, with no deflection or denial. Maybe I’m just wired wrong, but I don’t even know if I’m capable of that. When someone compliments me, I always, always feel the need to counter it. I take your compliment . . . and raise you a BIGGER compliment.

But Vivian just let the compliment land—and it makes me feel so weirdly buoyant. Like maybe my compliment actually meant something to her. Maybe she cared about my opinion enough to let it touch her.

“Anyway,” says Andy. “Have you seen Matt?”

Vivian tilts her head. “The new guy? I don’t think so.”

I peer past her into the kitchen. No blond Matt heads, not even half hidden beneath an improperly anchored baseball cap. Not that Matt would ever wear an improperly anchored baseball cap. He would never. And he’s apparently nowhere. Though—wow. Or as my mom would say: oy.

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that . . . Noah?”

I mean, it’s definitely