The first mistake of my morning was listening to Whiskers.
"You should fake a fainting spell in front of a cute guy," he said, lounging on my dresser like he owned the place. "Preferably into his arms. Works every time."
I shot him a glare while stuffing my bag with books. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Excuse me?" Whiskers flicked his tail, utterly unimpressed. "This is premium romance strategy."
I scoffed, zipping up my bag. "Yeah, in what universe?"
"In the universe where you're still single and talking to a figment of your imagination."
Ouch. Low blow.
But fair.
Whiskers had been around for as long as I could remember—a black cat only I could see, hear, and argue with daily. A cat whose primary mission in life seemed to be giving me the worst dating advice known to mankind.
"Look," I sighed, grabbing my jacket. "Just because all my friends have boyfriends doesn't mean I need one."
Whiskers hummed knowingly. "Uh-huh. That's why you were staring at that couple in the hallway yesterday like a lonely Victorian ghost."
I ignored him and checked my reflection in the mirror. Messy brown waves? Tamed. Dark circles? Concealed. School uniform? Decently unwrinkled. Passable.
Downstairs, Mom was already rushing out the door with a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other. "Amelia, don't forget you have a math test today!"
"I thought we weren't talking about that," I groaned.
She threw me a sympathetic smile before disappearing outside. I turned back inside to grab my shoes—only to find Whiskers now sprawled across them, purring smugly.
"You know," he mused, "if you don't want to be alone forever, you could at least try my advice once."
I raised an eyebrow. "The last time I did, I spilled juice all over my crush and tripped over a backpack trying to run away."
Whiskers smirked. "Exactly. Memorable."
I threw a shoe at him.