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

out. Last year was West Side Story. Freshman year was Into the Woods. And they did Bye Bye Birdie when we were in eighth grade.”

“I don’t get it,” says Brandie.

“I’m just saying. The PTA is super cheap, right? So we’re just cycling through two sets of costumes. We’ve got the fifties costumes and the medieval costumes, and they alternate them so no one catches on. Just watch. Any minute, Zhao’s coming out with the sign-up sheet.” Andy’s enjoying this now—drawing out the info, dimples activating. “And you’ll see. It’s a medieval year. Mark my words. Cinderella, Camelot—”

“Or it’s going to be A Chorus Line,” I say, “and you’re going to feel like such a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but.” He lifts a finger. “A Chorus Line in medieval clothes. Follow the money, Garfield. Follow the money.”

Raina and I snort at the exact same moment. But before either of us can make the requisite wiseass remark, Ms. Zhao’s door creaks open.

And the whole corridor goes silent.

Anderson grabs my hand, and my heart’s in my throat. Which makes zero sense, since there’s no suspense here. It’s the same every year. Ms. Zhao announces the fall musical on the first day of school. Then I spend a week or two freaking out for no reason, playing the soundtrack on repeat, letting my daydreams run wild. It’s that same nonsensical thought every time. Maybe this is the year. Maybe this is when the switch flips. But the truth is, I always know exactly where I’ll find myself when the cast list gets posted.

Bottom of the page. Nameless part in the ensemble. I’m an absolute legend in the category of Nameless Parts in the Ensemble.

But somehow this moment gets me every time. The way everyone freezes when Ms. Zhao steps out of the theater room. The way she keeps her face impassive and doesn’t make eye contact with anyone until the sign-up sheet’s officially on the door.

At least that’s how it’s supposed to go.

But when the door flings open at last, it isn’t Ms. Zhao there at all.

Scene 2

Anderson’s hand drops to his side. “Holy fuck.”

Which is how I know I’m not imagining it.

It doesn’t compute, though. He’s not from Roswell. He’s not even from Georgia.

My heart’s lodged high in my throat.

Because Matt. Dreamboat Matt. Coke-Ad Matt.

Is here.

“You guys okay?” Brandie looks concerned. “Do we know him?”

“Shh!”

“He sees us.” Anderson’s voice is choked. “Oh God. What’s he doing here? What—hiiiii.”

He’s walking toward us. THE Coke-Ad Matt is walking toward us, blue eyes flicking between Andy and me. And holy shit. The thirst did not end there. It did not end. It did not, it did not. “Um. Hey.”

His faint Alabama accent.

“Are you . . .” I trail off.

“I just moved here.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“You . . .” I blink. “You go here?”

“I’m a senior.”

“Look at them. Look at their faces,” Raina murmurs to Brandie.

“Love at first sight,” Brandie whispers.

“Or some fucked up communal crush at first sight.”

Wow, guys. Love that subtlety. And that judgment! Raina doesn’t get it. Neither of them do, and I doubt they ever will.

Here’s the truth: crushes are pointless without Andy. More than pointless, they’re painful. Crushing alone is like running lines without a scene partner. No one to play off of, and your voice sounds fake and loud.

But neither my voice nor my brain are even functioning now. The conversation only partially registers. I’m too focused on the fact that Matt just shook Brandie’s hand and introduced himself with his full name. Like a grandfather. It’s adorable.

Matt Olsson.

I can’t believe he’s here.

I was heartbroken to leave him. It’s so dumb, because it’s not like we were even really friends with him. It’s not like we were staying up late with him, swapping secrets in bunk beds. We literally learned this boy’s last name five seconds ago.

But it felt like we knew him. And not just the correctly pronounced Aeschylus name-drop that got Andy so bonered. I don’t care about Aeschylus. I just feel so—I don’t even know. Discombobulated. That’s the word.

Because here’s Matt Olsson, looking like he stepped out of an Archie comic. Sandy-haired and straightforwardly beautiful, standing right in front of us. He’s a senior in high school. MY high school. In my Roswell. Roswell, Georgia, twenty miles north of Atlanta, home of an impressively well-stocked Super Target, infinite Waffle Houses and a staggering number of f-boys.

He meets my eyes. “Your hair looks different.”

“This is so weird,” I say, barely out loud.

Matt laughs. “Yeah, I know. I was just coming down here for first period.” He gestures vaguely at the theater room. “I didn’t think—”

“You have Ms. Zhao for first period?” Anderson’s eyes widen. “Advanced Drama?”

Advanced Drama, better known as Senior D. No idea why, other than the fact that the class is for seniors, and people like saying, “Seen yer D.” It’s the class of legends, though. Zhao won’t even consider you unless you’re serious about drama. And apparently the first two months are strictly about trust building, because stuff gets pretty intense, and it only works if you’re vulnerable. Everyone says you basically come out of Senior D with an acting MFA. I don’t know if I buy that, but I do know that class bonds people for life. Andy and I have been aching to enroll since we were freshmen.

“Anyway,” Matt says. “I’m supposed to bring a form up to Mr. Merced’s office.”

“Right now?” Brandie nods toward the door. “But Ms. Zhao’s about to announce the musical. Like. Any minute.”

“Is it a secret?”

Raina whirls around to face him, eyes narrowed. “She told you, didn’t she?”

Matt smiles the cutest, tiniest guilty smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Tell us.” Anderson clasps his hands. “Please tell us.”

Matt tilts his head. “Should I?”

Okay, how is he already teasing us? How is he this cool? I’m still trying to get my brain to stop spinning, and here’s Matt, gently trolling the squad like he’s known us for years.

“So you’re saying if the musical was Once Upon a Mattress, you’d want to know that?”

“Motherfucker.”