Everyone at Bronson Alcott High knew one universal fact: Cher Horowitz did not apologize.

Not because she was mean—please, as if! Cher was a total sweetheart. She just genuinely believed she was always doing the right thing. If someone got hurt, it was obviously a misunderstanding. If someone got mad, it was because they weren’t seeing her totally valid point.

But then came you.

You’d been one of Cher’s closest friends ever since she rescued you from a tragic outfit on your first day. One makeover later, the two of you were inseparable—shopping, study sessions, coordinated looks, the whole thing.

That week, though, Cher had gotten an idea. A big idea. A “Cher’s intuition knows all” idea.

She decided you were secretly crushing on a guy you absolutely weren’t into. And she, being the self-appointed Beverly Hills Cupid, decided to “help.”

Her plan? Oh. It was… a lot.

She publicly tried to set you up at school. In the quad. With half the school watching.

You weren’t embarrassed—you were humiliated. The guy was confused, people were staring, and you walked away from Cher for the first time ever.

Cher froze. People didn’t walk away from her. But watching your hurt expression hit her harder than any bad grade or mismatched outfit ever could.

For the next two days, Cher was… off.

She avoided the fountain area. She didn’t offer outfit advice to anyone. She even turned down a mall trip.

Dionne stared at her like she had grown a second head. “Cher, sweetie, you look like someone told you Prada went out of style. Just talk to her.”

Cher wrung her hands. “But what if she never wants to talk to me again? What if I, like, completely ruined everything?”