Kate in Waiting

by Becky Albertalli

  You’ve got Matt. And then, a moment later: He lives at your house now, remember?

  Idk what M&E are even up to tonight!

  “Hey, are you guys doing Ryan’s birthday dinner tonight?” Andy asks out loud.

  Matt glances up at the rearview. “Oh, yeah—I think my mom mentioned it. Taco Mac, right?”

  “You should go,” Andy says matter-of-factly. “Taco Mac’s really good.”

  There, you’re welcome, he texts a moment later, and it’s so frosty and curt, I get a pit in my stomach. I’ve seen this sharp-edged, walls-up version of Anderson before, but that’s for other people. Andy’s never put up the fortress against me.

  I hate that I’m sitting directly behind him. If I could just see his face, even in profile, maybe I could figure out what he’s thinking.

  But I can’t. So I just stare at my phone.

  Nothing.

  Nothing. Okay, ELLIPSES! Wait for it, wait for it . . .

  More nothing.

  Oof.

  Scene 48

  Dad’s meeting us at Taco Mac, but Mom insists on driving the rest of us in Ryan’s Altima. It’s a real kids-in-the-back ride, with Ellen in the passenger seat. Ryan spends the whole time texting, probably coordinating logistics for whatever party he’s going to tonight. And sure enough, just as we pull into the parking lot, Ryan asks, “Oh hey, is it cool if I hang out with some people tonight?”

  The classic request. First we have oh hey, spoken with carefully calibrated nonchalance. Then we have hang out, which is obviously code for get drunk, and some people, aka f-boys. Ryan’s timing is smart, because even though Mom’s obviously going to say yes either way, she’s distracted enough that she won’t remember to ask awkward questions. Mom gets a little scatterbrained when we’re about to have dinner with Dad. Like, she drops things and forgets things and sometimes turns left when the GPS says right. Once I heard her say on the phone, “Every time I see Neil, I’m all the bad parts of being twenty-one again.”

  Anyway, Taco Mac is one of those sports bar places with TVs hanging down in all directions and a multitiered chicken wing classification system. No surprise that it’s my brother’s favorite restaurant of all time. It’s always slammed on Saturdays, though, so Mom and Ellen head inside to get on the wait list for a table. We’re about twenty minutes early to meet Dad, which is most certainly an Awkward Time Pocket—an ATP, as Ryan used to call them. Too long to stand around waiting, but too short to go anywhere. So, Ryan, Matt, and I end up walking across the shopping center parking lot, toward Walgreens. And of course, my troll self can’t resist asking Ryan if he’s going to buy condoms.

  Ryan’s eyes widen. “What?”

  He’s blushing, which makes me blush, because I’m a terrible troll, and that makes Matt blush, and THIS IS WHY WE NEED ANDERSON. “Because you’re eighteen,” I say quickly. “That’s a thing.”

  “You don’t have to be eighteen to buy condoms,” Ryan says.

  “You don’t?” By now I’m blushing so hard, my cheeks are the ones that should have their own multitiered classification system: mild, medium, hot, habanero, death. I don’t dare look at Matt. He’s probably pity-wincing hard, because I pretty much admitted that I’ve never even tried to buy condoms. Yup. Here I am. Wide-eyed virgin with all the sophistication of Rapunzel. I die a little. I die a little. I die a little.

  But Matt just says, “You could buy cigarettes.”

  Ryan shakes his head. “That’s twenty-one now.”

  “Which doesn’t matter,” I add, “because he doesn’t smoke. Right?” Ryan shakes his head, but I stare him down anyway. “Don’t you dare start in college, either. I’m serious, I will drive to your dorm and smell your clothes every single day, and you better believe I’ll tell Mom.”

  Ryan nods. “I believe you.”

  “Good,” I say firmly.

  “Do you know where you’re headed?” Matt asks.

  Ryan pauses. “Not sure yet. What about you?”

  “Definitely somewhere in-state,” Matt says. “Or maybe somewhere back in Alabama.”

  “Well, I personally think Ryan should pick Kennesaw,” I say, “because A, it’s the closest, and B, they have not one, but two Pokémon leagues.”

  “And you know this . . . how?”

  “It’s this totally obscure site called Google,” I say. “You should check it out sometime.”

  “Noted.” Ryan smiles, but his eyes seem to snag on some point in the distance. Then he looks back at me suddenly. “Hey, do you guys want to come out tonight?”

  I stare at him, gobsmacked. “To your party?”

  “It’s not my party. It’s just people hanging out at Michelle’s house. You can bring your squad if you want.”

  “Michelle McConnell?” I raise my eyebrows. She’s an f-girl from the soccer team, Ryan’s grade. I’ve never actually interacted with her, but she’s lowkey famous for snorting Ritalin in French class and getting away with it, even after getting caught in the act. Andy says her parents made a massive PTA donation, and therefore, Michelle McConnell is the reason the math department has new SMART Boards. Anyway, Ryan hanging out with Michelle is weird, but not that weird, because they’re both athletes. But Ryan inviting me to join him is absolutely unprecedented. He’s usually great at keeping his cool friends and his dorky family very firmly separate. I mean the only f-boy who ever really comes over anymore is Noah, which barely even counts—he’s our neighbor. But suddenly I’m on the guest list?

  I mean, I’m obviously not going. Not in a million bazillion years. Michelle McConnell’s house? That’s practically Fuckforce Headquarters.

  But here’s the weirdest thing of all: I kind of like that Ryan asked.

  Scene 49

  By the time we head back to Taco Mac, Mom, Dad, and Ellen are just kind of hovering around the hostess stand. Dad hugs us and gives Ryan a card that no doubt contains money, and then he shakes Matt’s hand and says, “You don’t look like Anderson, so I’m guessing you’re Matthew.”

  “Anderson’s not coming,” I inform Dad. “He flaked out.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad! I had a great bank robber story to tell him.” Once in ninth grade, Anderson dutifully nodded along while Dad yammered about criminals who screwed up and got caught, so now Dad thinks Anderson’s really into incompetent criminals. He’s not.

  “I’ll fill him in,” I say.

  We end up at a table, not a booth, which is a good thing in this case. But I’m smack-dab between my parents, who have Ryan in their crosshairs. “So baseball’s keeping you busy, huh?”

  “Neil, it’s the off-season.”

  Dad laughs. “Then, Ry, I’d like to know where you’re running off to every afternoon.”

  “To the gym.”

  “It’s part of their training,” Mom chimes in. “Ryan and his teammates are doing a sixteen-week program. From what I’ve seen, it’s very challenging.”

  “Matt, do you train as well?” Dad asks.

  “Do play rehearsals count?”

  “Ah, you’re a thespian,” Dad says. “So you and Kate probably spend a lot of time together.”

  Matt nods.

  “Now tell me, how do you balance that? Theater and baseball. I bet that gets busy.”

  Mom and Ellen exchange totally unsubtle weary glances.

  “Dad, Matt doesn’t do baseball. He just said that.”

  “Well, he said he wasn’t training—”

  “You have to train. If you do baseball, you have to train,” I say, like I know anything about sports. But Ryan just smiles wryly and nods. I smile back at him, looking quickly away. It’s funny. I always forget how extra close I feel with my brother at family dinners. Like our parents are an event we have to cringe through together.

  Luckily, Dad saves the biggest cringe for after dinner, sidling up as we head out to the parking lot. He waits until everyone’s a few yards ahead before lowering his voice. “Now, are you and Matt an item?”

  I freeze in my tracks. “Da
d.”

  “Just asking.” He tips his palms up. “Since you brought him to family dinner—”

  “Okay, first of all, not a date. Second of all, definitely not a date. Third of all, his mom is literally right there.” I shake my head. “Dad, they’re staying with us. I told you that.”

  “You did? Oh, that’s right, the tree.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re not officially dating? He seems like a good kid.”

  “We’re not officially dating or unofficially dating or any kind of—”

  “Kate! You coming?” Matt calls. He’s standing next to Mom’s car, waving me down.

  I don’t even realize I’m smiling until Dad raises his eyebrows. “Not dating,” I repeat firmly.

  But then again, the way I feel sliding into the back seat next to Matt, maybe my heart never got the memo.

  Scene 50

  Mom and Ellen head out to a movie around eight, and then a Jeep full of f-boys swings by to pick Ryan up at nine. It’s not that I’m trying to keep tabs on the household or anything. I’m just messing around with my guitar, and I happen to be on my bed, facing the window, and the blinds happen to be open.

  And it just so happens I’m alone in the house now with Matt.

  Except fifteen minutes later, Matt leaves, too, without even trying to talk me into coming. Maybe I shouldn’t have shot Ryan down so forcefully about that party. I mean, Matt’s taking his own car, so he’s clearly planning to stay sober. We could have been the token sober people together. I can just picture it. Matt and I, tucked onto a couch somewhere, drinking plain orange juice and taking bets on which f-boy will be the first to puke. Just a couple of wry outsiders.

  Unless Matt’s not actually an outsider.

  Who knows? Maybe he and Michelle McConnell are actually friends. Maybe they’re “friends” in the way Noah and that girl Madison are “friends.” I’m sure Noah will hook up again at this party, too. And maybe Matt and Noah will do that dudebro fist-bump-hug thing when they see each other. Maybe Noah will change into a crisp, preppy button-down like Matt did, and neither of them will mention the fact that they spent their whole day painting sets for the school musical.

  It just bugs me. So much that I whip my phone out to whine about it to Anderson. I even type out a text, OMG guess where our boy is going right this second, except—

  Something stops me from hitting send.

  Maybe it’s the fact that Anderson’s been so weird about Matt staying here. It’s hard to know where his head is with it. Literally, one day he’s making gleeful declarations about sexy toothbrush encounters, and the next day, he’s sending passive-aggressive texts. He lives at your house now, remember?

  I shove my phone under my pillow. I know I’m being cowardly and avoidant. But thinking about Anderson hits me in this weird, guilty place, and I need a break from that now. I just want to play guitar and sing, and I have the house to myself, so why not. I start with “On My Own” from Les Mis, because it’s the ultimate pining crush song. But it ends up reminding me too much of Anderson—go figure—so I switch to a slow, acoustic version of Abba’s “Super Trouper.” And then “Our House,” which I privately dedicate to Ryan in honor of his birthday, even though he’s generally unimpressed these days by anything involving me and guitars. It’s actually one of the first songs I taught myself, back in eighth grade.

  But now I just feel odd, almost disconnected. I finally give up halfway through, my left hand still pressing the frets for an F chord.

  I can’t stop thinking about Anderson.

  It’s like one of those flashback montages from a movie, the way my mind cycles back through every little moment from set painting. How wistful Andy looked when Matt and I were singing, even though he’s the one who practically begged me to sing in the first place. The way he bragged about me to the set crew girls anyway. And how Matt and I had that eye-lock moment. Anderson sort of folded into himself after that. I’ve never seen him look so heartbroken and depleted.

  And I’m the one doing that. I’m breaking his heart.

  I mean, I’m following the ground rules. I am. And if it turns out that Matt likes me, I’m sure Andy will follow them, too. He’ll be happy for me. At least he’ll act like he is. But then what? What happens when it starts to hurt too badly? He’ll stop texting me? Or he’ll text me, but it’ll be formal and obligatory. He’ll stop spending the night and inviting me over. We’ll lose our language. Our inside jokes will just vanish.

  And what about me? The ground rules say I have to be honest. But I know I won’t be. It’s not that I’ll want to lie. But I’d never gush to Anderson about what kissing Matt feels like. I couldn’t. Not when I know how deeply that would cut. But the thing is, the minute we start holding stuff back, we’re done for. The Andy-and-Kate who share everything are done for.

  It can’t happen. I can’t let it happen. But how on earth do I stop it?

  I could step away. Dial back the chemistry. Snuff out my feelings, or at least try to contain them. But say Matt asked me out tomorrow. Could I say no? I don’t think I have that kind of willpower. I don’t think anyone does.

  If I could stop this crush, I would. I’d slam that brake so hard, with the full force of my brain. It’s just that I know it won’t work. I don’t think my brain’s in the driver’s seat.

  Scene 51

  Wednesday’s the second Harry/Larken intensive rehearsal, and I think Ms. Zhao might be trolling me. “Okeydokey,” she says, after we run through both songs a few times. “Let’s get this kiss fine-tuned. It’s still looking a little bit stagey. And do let me know if this feels too weird for you. If you’d like, we can rework the blocking so there’s no actual kiss.”

  “You don’t have to—” Matt starts to say, but then he cuts himself off. “I mean, whatever Kate thinks.”

  “It’s fine,” I say quickly. My heart’s beating so loudly, I swear the whole room probably hears it.

  “Fine like let’s keep the kiss, or fine like let’s rework it?” Ms. Zhao asks.

  “We can keep it. Unless Matt—”

  “Let’s keep it,” Matt says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

  So I spend the next twenty minutes kissing Matt. Which is easily my new favorite pastime. That is, as long as I don’t think about Anderson.

  I’m not a monster, right? I’m an actress. I’m just doing what the script says. This is me being professional. Blissfully, euphorically professional.

  Anyway, it’s not continuous kissing. It’s all very dry and quick and stylized, with Ms. Zhao pausing periodically to have us move our hands or tilt our heads differently. “Try not to hunch your shoulders up, Kate. We want this to look really natural, like you’ve been meeting in secret for a while now. Yes! There you go. Much better. Hands just a touch lower on her waist, Matt. Good, hold that pose for a second—let me just make a few notes.”

  “Okay, question,” Matt whispers. “How are you getting home after this?”

  “Oh! I guess—”

  “Because Andy was going to help me find those Oxford character shoes. But we can drop you home first, or leave from here, or—”

  “Wait, Andy’s still at school?”

  Matt looks like he’s biting back a laugh.

  I narrow my eyes at him, smiling. “What am I missing?”

  “Ooh, I love that glance you guys just did,” Ms. Zhao says. “That felt very real.”

  “Well,” Matt says, “don’t look now, but I think there’s someone in the lighting booth.”

  I whip my head toward the back of the auditorium, and sure enough, there’s Andy, waving through the glass partition. He smiles widely, and shoots us a double thumbs-up.

  “Oops!” says Zhao. “Stick with me, you two. Okay, Kate, you’re facing him. Let’s get that head tilt again.”

  I turn back to Matt, flabbergasted. “How long has he been here?”

  He grins. “Literally this whole time.”

  All the air rushes out of my lungs. “What?
”

  “And . . . great,” Ms. Zhao says, clapping her hands a few times. “You guys are great. The chemistry is A-plus. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  But her words barely land. I hardly even feel Matt’s high five. My eyes home straight in on Andy, who’s now making his way through the auditorium aisles, toward the stage. I don’t think he’s upset. I mean, the house lights are pretty dim, so maybe I’m missing some facial nuance. But he really just seems normal. Even after all those head tilts and glances and Matt’s hands on my waist. All that kissing.

  It just doesn’t compute. Andy wasn’t even on the call list. Why on earth is he here? And why on earth didn’t he tell me?

  Matt and I step down from the stage, joining Anderson in front of the orchestra pit. He hugs me as soon as he sees me.

  “You watched our rehearsal?” I blurt.

  “Well I was trying to work on my chem homework. But y’all were more interesting.”

  “I mean.” Matt’s eyes twinkle. “If you’re looking for chemistry, I’m pretty sure Kate and I delivered.”

  “Right. A-plus chemistry. Teacher-approved,” Andy says, with this goofy little eye roll.

  And okay, that just bugs me. Like, Matt and I can’t even have one fairy-tale moment without Andy jumping in to trivialize it.

  But even as I think that, I know it’s desperately unfair. If I’d had to watch Andy and Matt kiss for twenty minutes, I’d definitely be scrambling to rewrite that scene in my head.

  So, that’s me: Lady Kate, Queen of Hypocrites. Shittiest friend in all the land.

  Scene 52

  Ms. Zhao dismisses us early—funny how it’s starting to feel weird leaving school before six. Matt keeps saying he’s happy to drive me home, but I turn him down. I just can’t stomach the idea of riding with Matt and Andy right now—not when I feel this edgy and guilty and strange. So I hit up my brother, figuring I can always catch the late bus if he doesn’t answer. But to my amazement, he texts me back instantly. No prob, on our way.