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

that makes Anderson and me melt. God. The first time we saw Call Me By Your Name, Anderson had to bite his own fist when Oliver asked that, just to keep from screaming. Andy’s got this whole soapbox about consent being sexy, and it’s so fucking true.

But if I’m totally honest, it’s the moment itself that appeals to me. Specifically, the moment right after the question gets asked. Just that breath of a second before the world changes its orbit. Every time I think about it, I literally sigh.

Okay, I’m literally sighing.

Which makes Matt yank his hand back, like my stomach’s a hot stove.

I whisper, “No, you’re fine.”

And then apparently I’m possessed by some other Kate entirely, some badass total queen version of myself I barely even recognize. I find Matt’s hand, hovering about an inch in front of my body. And then I press it back onto my stomach.

“This looks fantastic,” Ms. Zhao says, nodding. “So, Larken and Harry, you’ll hold this pose for a couple of beats after the song ends—good—applause, applause, applause. And then we’ll have you exit stage right.” She pauses to scribble a note in her script. “And . . . great. All right! Let’s keep it moving. Why don’t we skip ahead to . . . Act One, Scene Four, with Queen Aggravain and the Wizard. Raina and Emma, you’re up!”

I drift behind Matt into the wings, and he turns toward me—hands fisted, tucked sweetly beneath his chin. Then he shakes his head slowly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“For all the groping. Are you good?”

“I’m good. Are you good?”

He laughs. “Yeah, absolutely.” Then he reaches his hand out.

Wait.

Am I supposed to take his hand? Is he asking me to—oh.

Oh.

I get it. We’re doing the shoulder thing, not the hand thing. He’s sliding his arm around my shoulders in a nice solid side hug, easily the dreamiest side hug in history.

“Sorry if I made it weirder back there. I just didn’t want to—you know—”

“You didn’t.” I shake my head quickly, trying not to get derailed by the fact that his arm’s still hooked around my shoulders.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, and my heart squeeze-flips, like a roly-poly.

God. If Anderson were here.

And suddenly, Matt slides his arm off my shoulder, like my guilty brain sent him a telepathic message. Oy. Thank God Andy and I aren’t going full Brandy and Monica over this guy, because I wouldn’t stand a chance. Anderson has my own brain running interference for him. Unless—

Okay, maybe the side hug release isn’t a big statement.

Maybe it’s just phone related. After all, now Matt’s reaching into his back pocket, and—

“We should exchange numbers,” he says.

I’m rooted to the spot. I just stand there, blinking up at him.

“If you want to,” he adds quickly. “Just so we can rehearse. But seriously, only if you want to—”

“Yeah, okay. Totally.” I slide my phone out of my own pocket, trying to ignore my thundering heart. “Give me yours, and I’ll text you.”

There’s this guilty twinge in my throat, but I swallow it back. I mean, Anderson already has Matt’s number. He already gets to do the flirting over text thing. Not that I have flirting on the brain. Just—you know. Acting. And rehearsing. And being bros. Just one bro shoving his face against another bro’s stomach.

Anyway. I’m just saying.

If Anderson gets to text with Matt Olsson all night, maybe I do, too.

Scene 28

But we don’t text all night. In fact, Matt doesn’t even respond to the text I sent him with my number. And yes, technically he was standing right in front of me when I sent it. But still. I can’t text him again, since I’m the one who sent that first text. The ball is clearly in Matt’s court.

All I can do is not check my phone fifty million times during breakfast. Or at least be discreet about it.

“Peapod, you expecting a call or something?” my dad asks.

Welp. I mean, Dad didn’t even notice when I decided—a week after the eighth-grade variety show—that I was now a guitar goddess, and therefore needed blue-streaked hair. And that was the same week Ryan kept wearing turtlenecks to hide this red spot on his neck. Mom was pretty much obsessed with it—she must have asked Ryan a zillion times if it was a hickey. Personally? I think Ryan was experimenting with Mom’s curling wand and didn’t want to admit it. But Dad never even asked about it.

So there you have it: even blue hair and neck burns are more subtle than my thirst for Matt Olsson.

I don’t see him at school in the morning at all, which sucks grandly. And there’s no rehearsal on Fridays, so unless a miracle happens, I’ll be Matt-less until Monday. It’s so weird having a crush on someone you mostly see at rehearsal. It flips your whole world around. You start living for Mondays through Thursdays, and everything else is just filler.

Of course, I’m looking for him everywhere. I can’t stop staring at doorways, like Matt’s about to randomly stumble into my history class. I take the long way to the cafeteria, past the senior lockers. And I’m so zoned out at the lunch table, I hardly notice Lindsay Ward and Emma McLeod sidling up. “Hey, mind if we join y’all?”

“Of course!” Brandie scoots her chair sideways to make room for Lindsay.

Emma parks her wheelchair next to Anderson, but she grins right at me. “Kate, your face yesterday during the preggo pose. Oh my God.”

Lindsay leans forward. “Right? You and Matt are so cute. I was like, whoa, I’m watching a rom-com.”

“I mean, Once Upon a Mattress is pretty much a rom-com, right?” I say.

“Actually, it’s a musical,” says Raina.

“Actually, are you Lana Bennett?” I ask.

Lindsay’s and Emma’s jaws drop, but then they both burst out laughing, and now I can’t decide if I’m a comedy genius or an asshole.

Lindsay turns back to me, still smiling. “All I’m saying is, the chemistry was palpable. We were feeling it.