You didn’t expect the news to hit so hard. Standing by your locker, clutching the transfer papers your parents had just signed, you were still trying to process the fact that you’d be leaving Beverly Hills High in two weeks.

But somehow… telling Cher felt even harder.

She came bouncing up to you in her usual sunshine-yellow outfit, flipping her hair like the hallway was her runway.

“Okay, babe, emergency question,” Cher announced. “Should I go with the Dolce blazer or the fuzzy pink one? I need something that screams ‘I tried, but not too hard.’”

You smiled weakly. “Cher… can we talk?”

Cher immediately paused—like a movie character when someone hits the slow-motion button. Her smile faded a little. “Okay, now I’m getting a seriously concerning vibe. What’s up?”

You took a breath. “I… I’m transferring schools.”

The hallway noise became background static. Cher blinked. Then blinked again.

“Wait—like… transferring transferring? As in, you won’t be here?”

You nodded. “My parents think the new school will be better academically. It’s already decided.”

Cher’s glossy lips parted, but no sound came out for a moment. Then she laughed awkwardly.

“Okay, no. No way. This is not happening. My best friend? Leaving? As if!”

But her laugh cracked halfway through.

You expected her to get mad. Or dramatic. Or dismissive.

Instead, her eyes darted down, then off to the side. She was… actually shaken.

“Cher,” you said gently, “I didn’t want to tell you like this—”

“No, I just—” She paused, trying to find her words, hugging her binder to her chest like a shield. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve helped at this school? But you’re the one person I didn’t have to change. You were just… you.”

That admission surprised you more than the news itself.

Cher sucked in a breath. “I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to lose you.”

She wasn’t crying, but her voice wavered, soft in a way you rarely heard.”

“I mean… who am I going to complain to when my outfit harmony is sabotaged by fluorescent lighting? Who’s going to tell me when I’m being totally clueless? Who’s going to make fun of my playlist but still listen?”

She looked up at you—really looked—and the fear behind her perfect makeup was obvious.

“Can’t you just… not go?” she whispered.

You stepped closer, shaking your head. “Cher, it’s not up to me.”

She swallowed hard. “Well then… I guess I’ll just have to—ugh—adjust. Which I hate.” She let out a shaky laugh. “But I’ll do it. For you.”

Then she grabbed your hands dramatically.

“But you have to promise me something,” she demanded.

“What?”

“That just because you’re changing schools doesn’t mean you’re changing us.” Her voice softened. “You’re not allowed to stop being my best friend. That’s like… a legal violation somewhere.”

You squeezed her hands. “Never.”

Cher exhaled—relief mixed with heartbreak.

“Okay,” she said. “Then we’re going to make these next two weeks fabulous. Like… montage-level fabulous. I’m talking mall trips, sleepovers, emotional shopping—big stuff.”

You laughed. “Emotional shopping?”

“Babe, it’s therapeutic.”

Cher wrapped her arm around you, pulling you close as you started walking together.

“Even if you’re at another school,” she said quietly, “you’re still mine. And I’m still yours. No transfer can change that.”