Cher Horowitz is great with words.

She argues cases in debate club. She gives life advice like it’s a public service. She can talk her way out of almost anything.

So this should not be happening.

You’re in her bedroom, surrounded by clothes she’s “definitely not wearing anymore,” while she paces dramatically with her phone in hand.

“Okay, so Josh thinks I’m being unreasonable,” she says. “Which is ridiculous, because I am being very reasonable.”

You nod politely. “Naturally.”

She sighs. “And Dionne says I’m projecting. Which—first of all—rude. And second of all—what does that even mean?”

You smile. “It means you might care more than you think.”

Cher stops pacing. “I do not care.”

You raise an eyebrow.

She scoffs. “I just—ugh. I hate when people assume I have feelings just because I get jealous or nervous or weirdly invested in someone’s opinion of me.”

You blink. “Cher…”

She keeps going, words spilling out faster now. “Like, just because I think about you all the time, and I like when you’re around, and it kind of ruins my day when you’re not—”

She freezes.

The room goes silent.

Slowly, she turns to look at you.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

You tilt your head. “What?”

“I just—” She presses a hand to her forehead. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Your heart pounds. “I think you did.”

Cher stares at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. “I didn’t even know I felt that way.”

You chuckle softly. “That was… pretty clear.”

She groans, dropping onto her bed. “This is a nightmare. I accidentally confessed. I didn’t plan it. There was no outfit, no timing—nothing!”

You sit beside her. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad you did.”

She looks up at you, nervous but hopeful. “You are?”