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

hair like that.” He pantomimes clipping his hair back on the sides. I never know how to respond when Noah says stuff like that. I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me.

So I change the subject. “Who’s Madison? And please tell me she’s not, like, in my brother’s bed right now.” I reach across the table to grab a chunk of challah.

“Nah, she went home.”

“And why aren’t you home?”

“Because Livy’s having a slumber party, and you know I can’t go scandalizing the youngsters.”

As if Livy Kaplan could even be scandalized at this point. Not only is she a very worldly seven to begin with, she’s the youngest of four. Noah and Livy have not one, but two older sisters in college.

“So.” Noah props his chin in his hand. “I heard you asked about me last night.”

My cheeks flush. “Excuse me?”

“Vivian said—”

“Vivian said I asked about you?”

He tilts his head back and forth, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t ask about you. I saw you suctioned to your girlfriend’s face, and I asked if it was you—”

“Madison’s not my girlfriend,” he says. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” I splutter.

“And also—” Noah cuts himself off, popping another bite of challah into his mouth. “Also, if you actually saw me suctioned to Madison’s face—”

“I did.”

“Then why did you ask if it was me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said you weren’t asking about me, you were asking if it was me. But you also said you saw me, with your own two eyes, so I’m just asking—”

“Oh my God. Stop.”

He shrugs—and for a minute, I just sit there, glowering at him across the table.

“Okay,” he says, after a moment. “So what’s second of all?”

“What?”

“You said, first of all, you didn’t ask about me, which is absolutely debatable, in my opinion, but you never closed the loop. You never said what—”

“Second of all, maybe you should go practice your lines. Right now.”

Noah shuts one eye thoughtfully. “But my character’s mute.”

“Exactly,” I say, reaching across the table. Then I snatch away the challah, cradling it like a baby as I stalk out of the room.

Scene 24

My hype level for the first day of rehearsal is off the charts. I spend all of Monday trying to activate my clock telekinesis skills, but it’s no use. I’m pretty sure at least ten years have passed by the time the three-forty dismissal bell chimes.

But as soon as I reach the auditorium, I know it’s worth it.

First rehearsals are glorious. They just are. It’s all of us here, even the techies, and the stage lights are off, so everything’s cool and still.

“I’d like to get to our read-through today,” says Ms. Zhao. “But first, I want to focus for a while on ensemble building. I want you to feel comfortable enough to take risks—which is a lot to ask, I know. But I need you to get to a place where you really trust each other.”

Everyone nods solemnly, like this is some earth-shattering wisdom. And maybe it is. Or maybe wisdom doesn’t need to shatter the earth. It just needs to feel true. And sitting here in a metal folding chair, tucked between Raina and Brandie, what could be truer?

“As we move forward, we’ll be splitting into smaller groups sometimes, and we’ll schedule intensive pair or trio rehearsals for some of the principals—Winnifred and Dauntless, Larken and Harry, etcetera.”

Matt catches my eye and winks, and I swear, it makes my organs rearrange. I mean. I don’t think my brain has fully grasped the fact that I’ve been cast in a musical opposite Matt Olsson.

I get intensive rehearsals with Matt Olsson.

And.

I get to kiss Matt Olsson.

“But.” Zhao’s hand goes still, and then she lifts a single finger. “Every week, every Monday, I’d like to come back to this. Full cast, full ensemble. And that may happen even more frequently than once a week. Take a minute to look around.”

I do—everyone does. We all just sit there for a minute, peering around the circle of bodies onstage. There’s Anderson, straight-backed and cross-legged in his chair; Vivian, in navy gym shorts; Matt looking like his usual dreamboat self. Next to him is Emma McLeod, fiddling with the wheels on the manual wheelchair she uses for theater stuff. Devon Blackwell, meanwhile, is idly threading his hair with the tips of his fingers, like his head is the prize in a claw machine.

And there’s Zhao herself, tattoos poking out of her plaid button-down. “For the next two months, we’re family,” she says. “It’s not always going to be easy, but we’re going to build that foundation of trust as an ensemble. And that starts today.”

Turns out, that means theater games. We play a couple rounds of The West Wind Blows, before moving on to the human knot, and then it’s trust falls, which I suck at. Even when I’m paired with Anderson, I suck at them. I can’t stop my body from trying to catch itself. But it’s okay, and no one really judges me, and before I know it, we’re moving on to that game where you have to silently arrange yourselves in order by birthday.

And then it’s time for the read-through.

Pierra, Lindsay, and Margaret don’t really have speaking parts, so they spend the whole time interpreting the script into a dance. A vaguely inappropriate dance, involving a fair amount of crotch grabbing, all of it happening right behind Ms. Zhao’s back. At one point, Pierra lines the spine of her script to her breastbone, opening the pages in a sudden, sexy thrust, like she’s yanking open her shirt. But when Zhao turns around, they all freeze. It’s like one of those old Super Mario games with the little ghosts that look like cream puffs.

So now Anderson and Vivian keep smirking at each other, and the freshmen look completely delighted. Even Brandie’s grinning in her self-contained way. But no one’s enjoying this more than Matt, and it’s the cutest thing ever. Like. I cannot get enough of the little skip in his voice,