The Cat Who Saved My Social Life

The bathroom counter was the only safe space at Jessica's party. I stared at my reflection—caked concealer, straightened hair that already started frizzing from the humidity, and the desperate look of someone trying too hard.

I'd spent two hours getting ready, only to spend the last forty minutes hiding in here.

"You alive in there?" a voice called. Sierra.

"Just fixing my... water." I'd grabbed the blue Gatorade from the cooler like an idiot. Who brought blue anything to a party? It was like wearing a neon sign that said I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.

The door creaked open. Sierra's fake eyelashes were practically wings at this point. "Jessica's brother brought orange soda. You want?"

"Sure." Anything to not look like I was contemplating escape routes through the window.

That's when I noticed it—a flash of orange fur darting past the doorway.

"Was that a cat?"

"Mr. Whiskers." Sierra wrinkled her nose. "He's obsessed with me. It's actually embarrassing."

"I love cats."

"You want to see him? He's probably in Jessica's room."

We found Mr. Whiskers sprawled on a pink bedspread like he owned the place. He was enormous—a fluffy orange tabby who immediately rolled onto his back when I walked in.

"Oh, you think you're special," Sierra said, but she was smiling now. The fake performance voice was gone. "He literally never does that."

I sat on the floor and scratched his belly. He purred so hard his whole body shook.

"So," Sierra said, sitting beside me. "You and Dylan talked yet?"

My stomach dropped. "No. I literally can't."

"He's been looking at you all night."

"He's looking at everyone. He's popular. That's his job."

"He asked where you went."

I froze. Mr. Whiskers head-butted my hand, demanding attention. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Sierra pulled out her phone. "I should've told you earlier. I was going to, but then you disappeared into the bathroom, and—"

"And I was being pathetic."

"You were being nervous. It happens." She stood up. "Come on. Cat squad time. We're going back out there."

"Wait, what?"

"You, me, Dylan. And Mr. Whiskers as emotional support." She scooped up the cat like a baby. "He's coming."

"You're bringing a cat to a party?"

"Watch me."

We walked back to the party together, Sierra carrying an orange cat like it was completely normal, me clutching my water bottle like a lifeline, and for the first time all night, I wasn't thinking about running away.