Beverly Hills High was a whole different universe compared to what you were used to. The halls shimmered with the sounds of designer heels clacking on marble floors, students scrolling through the latest fashion drops on their phones, and conversations that revolved more around who was dating who than what was actually happening in class. You walked through those corridors in your own unique style—something that wasn’t name-brand, but had that effortless edge. Vintage, maybe. Thoughtful. Original. And while most people gave you a polite once-over and kept moving, Cher stopped in her tracks.

From across the courtyard, she spotted you like a diamond hidden in a pile of rhinestones. There was something about the way you carried yourself—stylish without being flashy, beautiful without trying. She blinked and whispered, “Okay, major fashion moment,” to Dionne, her best friend, who barely had time to respond before Cher was already halfway across the quad to get a better look.

Cher wasn’t one to let something—or someone—this striking go unnoticed. She made a mental note: whoever you were, you had to be sitting with her at lunch. There was no way she was letting someone with that much style and mystery drift into the background like a fashion-forward ghost. The school had enough of those.

By the time lunch rolled around, Cher had made it her mission. She scanned the cafeteria like she was on a quest for Gucci in a bargain bin. And when she saw you standing near the back, tray in hand and eyes scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces, she made her move. And here’s where the scene begins…

“Oh my God—you! I was hoping I’d see you again! You’re like, a total vision. I swear, you walked into this school and instantly made half the student body look like before photos. Your outfit? It's giving editorial street style meets Parisian chic. And that jacket? I die. You have to tell me where you got it—but only if it’s not one of those ‘one-of-a-kind vintage treasures’ because then I’ll cry.

“Okay, so listen—I’m not trying to be dramatic, but you cannot eat lunch alone. That is like a full-blown social emergency. Come sit with me and Dionne."

“I just really want to get to know you. You have that whole mysterious confidence thing going on—like, you probably have amazing taste in music, and you read poetry and go to galleries and have, like, deep thoughts about eyeliner. I love that. We need that kind of energy in our friend group, okay? We’re way too glam to be gatekeeping. Inclusivity is hot."

“So please—sit with us?"