I stopped going to Sunday school after my bat mitzvah. I guess I could have gone on to get confirmed, but I never felt like my parents wanted to drive me. And then Noah started dating Genny Hedlund, which added this whole extra layer of weirdness. Even more so when they broke up six weeks later. Apparently it wasn’t like Anderson’s and my breakup, which ended in us crying, hugging, and vowing forever friendship beneath Andy’s eight Teen Wolf posters. All of which, I later noticed, prominently featured Dylan O’Brien’s face.
But by April, Noah was dating Savannah Griffin, and after that, Gayatri Dawar. And then Mackenzie Yates, and Eva Cohen, and Ashlyn O’Shea, and Amy Austin. He just always seemed to have a girlfriend. Or an almost-girlfriend. Or, evidently, two simultaneous girlfriends. I don’t even want to know what his deal was at ninth-grade homecoming.
Anyway, the whole thing just made Noah hard to be friends with. It wasn’t that I cared who he hooked up with. And he’s never been the type to drop off the planet when he’s in a relationship. But it almost started to feel like we were from two different species. You had Noah, flirting and kissing, bouncing from sports games to parties. And then you had me, a slick teenager with slick teenage moves, blowing my hair out to look like Ella Enchanted. Or memorizing the Wikipedia page for Lansing, Michigan. Or playing love songs alone in my room and crying. I just felt so childish compared to Noah. It’s like he moved on to French pastries, and I was still munching on bread balls.
Scene 36
It’s getting warmer, maybe a little too warm, but I’m not quite ready to head back inside. Noah’s winding up about the musical now, which is funny to watch—just hearing the phrase “intensive rehearsal” in the mouth of an f-boy. “Intensive is right. I was like, damn. Mr. D made Brandie and Laura sing the ‘hey nonny nonny’ part thirty-eight times in a row, I counted—”
“You mean Lana?”
Noah looks unruffled. “Well, yes and no. On the one hand, I know her name’s Lana. On the other hand, I have to call her Laura because she keeps calling me Nolan.”
“Fair,” I say, yawning. Sunshine always makes me sleepy. And for a minute, neither of us speaks, but it’s the peaceful kind of silence. Livy’s still on her swing, though she’s talked Noah into letting her play a game on his phone, and Ryan and Brandie are pretty much where we left them. And it’s starting to feel like a moment I could settle into. Like, so what if Anderson and Matt have plans that don’t include me. I don’t have to stress about that. I can just choose not to think about it.
After a couple of minutes, Ryan and Brandie drift back toward the picnic table, and Brandie scoots in right beside me. And I’m flooded with some kind of feeling, some preemptive nostalgia. It’s the kind of moment where I swear I feel a memory forming before I’m even done living it. Brandie must feel it too because she hooks her arm around my waist. So I do the same thing to her, and now it’s like we’re posing for a picture. It’s such a soft, sun-soaked feeling, so quintessentially Brandie. She’s like a walking, talking Xanax. I mean, it’s actually weirdly easy to picture Brandie as a grandma.
Noah yawns, turning to Ryan. “You have your thing tomorrow, right? Georgia State?”
“Kennesaw,” says Ryan. “Nine a.m.”
“Yikes,” says Noah.
Sucks to be Ryan. My parents don’t agree on much, but they’re both fanatical about college. Which means Ryan’s been doing campus tours and info sessions practically every single weekend. I think he’s pretty burned out on them. It’s weird—I never see Ryan all that hyped about college, the way most seniors are. Honestly, I’m not so hyped for him to leave either. Even if he ends up staying local, it’s going to make everything different. It’s like when my parents split. You wouldn’t think Mom moving three miles up the road would be the biggest change on earth. And it wasn’t.
It was more like a million tiny changes.
But then again, Raina says she and her sister actually got closer after Corey left for college, because they started texting more. Though Ryan’s a shitty texter, so maybe that doesn’t apply. Andy thinks I should take over his room when he leaves and turn it into a dressing room.
Except I’m not thinking about Andy. Or Matt. Or their plans.
Of course, the minute I decide that, my phone finally buzzes in my back pocket. Four times.
But when I pull it out to check, not a single one of them is from Anderson.
They’re all from Matt.
Want to come over and run lines tomorrow?
Okay anyway I’m free all day tomorrow if you want to, so just text me!
“Okay, you kind of look like you just won the lottery,” says Noah, “but also like you’re about to throw up.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.”
Noah raises his eyebrows. “Must be some text.”
Scene 37
It’s almost noon, and Dad and Ryan still aren’t back from Kennesaw—which sucks hard, because they were my top two choices to drive me to Matt’s house today. I feel weird asking Matt to pick me up at Dad’s house. It just tips the invitation too far out of the realm of casual, I think. And it’s not like I can bum a ride from Anderson, unless I want Anderson present for the line running. And I don’t. Maybe that’s awful, but I don’t.
In the end, I ask Mom. She picks the dogs and me up right after breakfast, which works great—until I casually ask her to drop me off at Matt’s house.
“What?” She gasps. “Katypie, like a date?”
“No, like running lines—”
“And here I thought you liked that boy Alexander!”
“Who?”
“The one you and Andy were talking about at Shabbat dinner. Alexander from Lansing, Michigan?”
“Oh my God. How do you even remember that?”
“But you and Matthew! Now, how cute would that be? He’s just such a sweetheart. And he’s Jewish! Sweetie, grab Charles—he can’t climb on the gearstick like that.”
I scoop Charles back onto my lap. “Not that it matters, but I don’t think Matt’s Jewish.”
“He is! Ellen’s Jewish, so Matthew’s Jewish.”
“Does he go to temple?”
“Do we?” Mom drums the steering wheel, clearly delighted. “Does Ellen know about today?”
“How would I possibly know that?”
“Now, you know I’m going to call her.” Mom’s voice gets suddenly stern. “Six inches. You know the rule.”
Ah yes. The most pointless rule ever. If I’m alone in here with any boy who’s not Anderson, the door stays open six inches. And the same applies to Ryan’s room with girls, or at least it would if Ryan ever had girls over. I have no idea where Mom got the impression I’m capable of sealing any kind of deal. There’s honestly no need to cockblock me. I myself am the cockblock.
“Mom. It’s not a date. We’re running lines.”
“Yeah, kiddo, that’s how it starts. One minute you’re running lines, next minute the script’s on the floor—”
“Whoa. Can we not?”
Mom glances sideways, looking genuinely confused. “Can we not what?”
“Can we not, like, graphically imagine this hookup that isn’t happening?”
“No kidding, it’s not happening. Because that door’s going to be six inches open.”
Scene 38
Mom drops me off at Matt’s house, which is in one of the newer neighborhoods near school. His whole street is a series of identical townhomes, all gleaming and well-maintained, with tiny patches of yard in the front. It’s a different vibe from the swim-and-tennis McMansions in Dad’s neighborhood, and it’s very different from the quirky, woodsy older houses on Mom’s street. But it’s kind of charming and safe-feeling, and just the fact that it’s Matt’s street makes me gooey inside.
By the time Mom parks, my heart’s bouncing around like a pinball. Ellen’s car is parked across from their townhouse, right beside Matt’s, and I can just picture this turning into a Mom Thing. Mom will be like oh, just one quick hello, and that
hello will turn into three hours and several wineglasses, and Mom plus wine plus my crush is a nerve-racking equation.
But Mom doesn’t walk me in, because she doesn’t want to leave the dogs in the car. So I’d like to nominate Charles and Camilla Garfield as Dogs of the Year, canine heroes, saviors, and general MVPs. Mom does, however, wait in the car, like she does whenever she drops anyone off anywhere. “Don’t ever leave until they’re inside.” She must have said this to Ryan and me a hundred times. “You know, your father dropped me off after a date once and sped off before I realized I’d forgotten my key. I was stranded out there for hours.”
Mom barely ever talks about Dad, but when she does, it’s always like this. She gets this lemon-mouth expression, and then she calls him “your father,” and then she tells about something he did that was stupid or careless. But she never seems like she’s actually mad about it. It’s funny, I think a lot of divorces happen because someone cheats or there’s fighting or something. But my parents just drifted apart. The way Mom describes it, they just weren’t that close anymore. They stopped telling each other things.
It’s kind of scary if you think about it. Just how easy it is for a relationship to dissolve. And how especially easy it is to stop confiding in each other. Like Andy, for instance. He never did respond to the dog selfie, but when I asked him how his plans with Matt went, he said they watched a bunch of superhero movies and went to Waffle House, and it was fun. And that’s it. I mean, if this were a normal communal crush, Andy would be flipping out in my texts, unpacking every single interaction and shouting about the good parts in all caps. So his restraint, when it comes to Matt, is really unsettling.
But maybe I’m overthinking this whole Andy and Matt thing, especially seeing as I’m literally standing on Matt’s doorstep. For a hangout he initiated. Of course, the word “hangout” is probably overly broad, seeing as we’re just running lines. So in that way, it’s more like a business meeting. It’s just that I’m having trouble thinking businesslike thoughts. Also, this just in: freaking out on a boy’s doorstep is extremely uncool, especially when your mom’s still parked here, watching you. I have to breathe. I have to ring the doorbell.
Right away, footsteps. So now my heart’s just putting a down payment on its new forever home, in my throat. Matt opens the door, smiling sweetly. “You made it!”
Mom honks and waves and finally, finally drives off.
Ellen’s not home, as it turns out, despite her car being here. Matt says she flew to New Jersey for the weekend to help Matt’s great-aunt Sylvia move into a retirement community. As soon as he says that, my brain splits off from my mouth completely. It’s like, here I am saying soothing, heartfelt things about Aunt Sylvia, but underneath all of that, my mind’s spiraling in two totally opposite directions. Because—holy shit—I am—oh my God—alone in a house with Matt Olsson. But on the other hand—
So was Anderson.
Whatever that means.
He gives me a quick tour, and my brain’s sputtering holy shit, holy shit over and over, like the world’s least articulate broken record. The foyer, the dining room, the staircase, the hallway, his bedroom. Matt’s bedroom. Even the idea of it makes it hard to stand upright. I have this sudden urge to send a giddy freakout text to Anderson, and the fact that I can’t makes me wistful. A month ago, a moment like this wouldn’t have felt real unless I shared it with Anderson. But of course, a month ago, a moment like this wouldn’t have been real. Because Matt wasn’t real. Not to us. He was like a concept we invented.
Everything was a lot simpler a month ago.
Matt’s room itself is fairly small and sparse, with just a few fantasy books and some Funko Pops on the dresser. There’s also a big rectangular mirror, lined with unframed photos, like a group of hot, preppy boys sitting on a dock in bathing suits. And an old picture of a blond guy who’s unquestionably Matt’s dad—looks exactly like him, wow—alongside Ellen and Matt as a tiny blond toddler. So cute I could melt. I try not to stare too closely at a more recent one of Matt and a pretty blond girl, clearly dressed for a formal dance. She’s wearing a corsage, and his boutonniere matches, and she’s as straightforwardly gorgeous as any Roswell Hill f-girl. And it occurs to me suddenly how little I know about Matt. I don’t even know if he’s single.
“My room’s so boring,” he says, almost apologetically, coming up beside me at the window. Matt’s room looks out onto a modest backyard—mostly just a deck and a small, fenced-in grassy area, with a few bushes and one tall tree.
“It’s not boring. I think it’s peaceful.”
“We’re renting month to month while Mom house-hunts, so we’re supposed to keep everything neat in case the landlords need to show it.”
I try to wrap my mind around that. I guess in the grand scheme of things, it’s a small inconvenience. But I can’t imagine living like that. Even in their own home, Matt and Ellen hardly get to stretch their legs out. Which kind of defeats the purpose of home in the first place.
We head back down to the main floor, and Matt asks, “Are you thirsty?” I say no, because I’m not, at least not in the way he’s thinking. So, we end up on the living room couch, with our scripts facedown between us. My eyes keep darting all around the living room, basically everywhere but Matt’s face. The living room is as clean and uncluttered as the rest of the house, with extra-high ceilings like a magazine room. But right away, I recognize a series of those old-time film-camera camp photos, just like the ones my mom has. I open my mouth to mention them, but then Matt looks right into my eyes with a heartbreakingly sweet smile. So of course I forget how to speak.
“Want to see how far we can get without the scripts?”
Uh. Yeah, I’d like to see how far we can get. Maybe we can just slide these scripts onto your mom’s coffee table there, and lean back and—
WOW. Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
But it’s crazy, the way I can’t stop turning every single moment here into the start of a love story. The way Matt goes soft-eyed whenever Harry declares his love for Larken. Sir Harry in the show is kind of a medieval f-boy, but Matt makes him into a guy you could really fall in love with. Which is useful. Strictly from a professional standpoint. Just, you know. Speaking as Lady Larken.
We run through the end of Act One, Scene One, where Larken tells Harry she’s pregnant, and Matt doesn’t miss a single cue. He does little movements and gestures, too, even though we won’t officially be blocking the scene until Thursday. But he does them like he’s caught up in the moment. He’ll thrust his chest out like a knight, or he’ll grab my hands and pull me closer.
And I can’t seem to rein my heart in. I’ve got that giddy, bursting-at-the-seams feeling. Like the joy’s too big for the moment. It keeps leaking out around the edges. We keep giggling in the middle of lines and having to start over. There’s this one line where I’m trying to talk discreetly about the secret baby, and I’m supposed to say to Harry, you know, all knowingly. And for some reason, that line in particular is unbearably funny. I keep saying it in less and less subtle ways, just to make Matt laugh. Rubbing my stomach in circles and winking. You know. Pantomiming rocking a baby. Pointing back and forth between the invisible baby and Matt, like I’m delivering the news of a paternity test. You know.
Matt’s so cute when he laughs. He scrunches his nose and flings his head back and shuts his eyes all the way. Like he’s having a little private laugh-moment, completely with himself. And there’s just this feeling in the air, this palpable energy. I swear, it feels like we could start kissing at any moment. He could scoot closer, or I could. Just a tiny shift in our blocking. But then again, the kissing part feels strangely tangential. Like the conversation itself is the kiss. Maybe some conversations are like that.
The only thing I can’t quite settle my mind about is Anderson. What would he think if he could see Matt and me right now? I didn’t even tell him I was coming here. I’m not entirely sure why. I guess I thought maybe he’d tr
y to join us. Or he’d go weird and silent about the fact that it was even happening. Which, by the way, would be insanely unfair, coming from someone who’s supposed to be happy for me. Especially someone who had his own plans with Matt yesterday.
But I have to admit, Andy and Matt’s plans feel very far away right now. Superheroes and waffles. I mean, yeah, that sounds fun, but it couldn’t have felt this charged. It just couldn’t have. Though I guess there’s a chance Anderson’s given me some neutered, watered-down version of the day. Just like I’ll probably do when I try to explain today to Anderson.
If I even explain it to him at all.
Scene 39
Of course, I end up blurting the whole thing out to Andy the minute he picks me up for school on Tuesday. For a minute, he stays parked in my driveway, eyes fixed on the windshield, looking vaguely confused. “You ran lines?” he asks finally.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” I buckle my seat belt.
I mean, it’s true. We ran lines. And it’s not like anything physical happened, beyond hand-holding, and that was just character work. Except for one particular moment. Not that it was a moment. But Matt and I had finally made it through the whole scene without laughing, so we were feeling very smug and self-congratulatory. And somehow our eyes locked, just for ten seconds, maybe twenty, until he opened his mouth to speak. But the words never came.
Instead, he looked away, so I looked away too, and there was this whole electric minute where we were just sitting there in silence. Inches apart, not facing each other. But I kept sneaking glances at Matt out of the corner of my eye. He had this look on his face that reminded me of something.
Kate in Waiting Page 13