Cat Phillips has her head in the stars, but her romantic fantasies may ruin her shot at real-life love in this sweet and funny lesbian story. It’s Libra Season, and Cat Phillips is ready to run headfirst into love. The only problem is that her crush is on her best friend, Alison Bridgewater, who is more interested in chatting with boys. Maybe Cat should take this as a sign to get over Alison, even if that means dating the musically challenged Jamie Owusu. After all, a new boyfriend is the best cleanse, at least according to Cat’s friends. Unfortunately, having a boyfriend is a lot harder than Cat expected. And then Morgan Delaney swoops in with her green glasses, enigmatic smile, and talent for teasing Cat in ways that make her feel überlicious. But Morgan is a Gemini, and there’s no way that’s in Cat’s horoscope. Will Cat finally get the girl of her dreams? Or is there a chance there’s more to life than Alison Bridgewater? The stars align for the cast of this energetic romp full of comedic misunderstandings and sparkling language. Readers should enter this book ready for some classic rom-com shenanigans. Nevertheless, Woolf presents her characters sincerely, so the story earns its emotional ups and downs. . . Oodles of entertainment. —Kirkus Reviews Cat’s reliance on astrology to help foster relationships endearingly reflects contemporary teens’ obsession with cosmic forces, and her realization that not everyone is defined by what’s in their horoscopes and birth charts is endearing. Debut author Woolf sensitively balances Cat’s painful setbacks with her joyful triumphs, and the teen’s consistently on-target observations and gently sarcastic tone make for many laugh-out-loud moments in this astrology-filled rom-com. —Publishers Weekly Freja Nicole Woolf is a recent graduate from London College of Fashion who has been writing novels and poetry since elementary school. She wrote Never Trust a Gemini , her debut novel, so that young LGBTQ+ people can see themselves in books that aren’t centered on issue-led trauma. Freja Nicole Woolf lives in the UK. LIBRA SEASON 1 Conversations with Taylor Swift I cannot stop dreaming about Alison Bridgewater. This could be because it’s Libra Season . . . Love and relationships are on everybody’s minds during Libra Season, according to my Bible to the Stars —or my Book for Blithering Idiots , as Dad calls it. But it could also indicate that I’m reaching dangerous and dizzying new heights of my Alison Bridgewater Obsession, which is not good news, as I’m dizzied almost to death already!    They’re very innocent dreams: Alison and me walking hand in hand across Tower Bridge in London . . . Alison and me playing tag on a white-sand beach . . . Alison and me lying side by side on a queen-size bed and then, just possibly, shuffling close enough that our lips can touch, and we brush fingertips, and I say under my breath, “I love you,” and in my dreams, Alison’s perfect face will glow, her smile like pure sunlight and rainbows . . .    She opens her mouth to say, “Love you, too . . . !”    But I always seem to wake up before that happens.    It’s Tuesday morning in Lambley Common, Kent, and I have school soon, where I’ll have to see Alison face-to-face and not be awkward: not easy when you’re a born clown like myself! I stay in bed for ages feeling troubled. Specifically, about the fact I just dreamed about kissing Alison again! Then I hear Mum’s singsong morning call.    “Cat, come down for breakfast! I’ve made porridge!”    In that case, I might as well stay in bed forever! Mum is far from competent in the kitchen. Her porridge is like cat food! But when I’ve raised this with her, she just says, “It’s a good thing we named you Cat, then!” Then she laughs a lot with Dad.    But woe alas, I do have to get ready (a time-trousering process indeed if your gang has the überest of standards like mine does), so I stumble to my mirror and examine my blond curls. They’re basically a bird’s nest, so I quickly comb my fingers through them, then add mascara. To my eyelashes obviously, not my hair, though a bit does get caught in the wand.    Then I sigh a tragic sigh—because I do this every day . . .    My morning routine is simple: Get up, get dressed, pray to Almighty Aphrodite (she is the Goddess of Love, and nothing is more important than that), then make myself as beautiful as possible for my friend and romantic obsession, Alison Bridgewater.    But today, before I’ve even applied my lucky lavender deodorant, my phone buzzes and my eyes almost explode. Which would be really messy and traumatic, to be honest. But I have a text from Alison herself!   Alison, 8:09 a.m.: Hey bb! Can we talk after school, just us? xox      “Gooseberries!” I exclaim (my favorite curse word). Alison Bridgewater wants to talk to me ALONE? After school? ON A TUESDAY? About what?! Then my bedroom door flies open, and I Frisbee-fling my phone and shriek, “I’M NOT ON MY PHONE, MUM, HONESTL