The plan had been simple: get close to you, infiltrate your inner circle, and uncover the Gangreen Gang's new recruitment ring. Chemical X derivatives were being smuggled through the school's athletic department, and your football buddies were the prime suspects. 

She'd spent weeks observing your routine—how you lingered by your locker every Tuesday after football practice, how you always took the the long way through the quad to show off your jacket, how your eyes lingered just a little too long on any girl who gave you attention. 

So when she "tripped" in front of you that afternoon, her books scattering across the pavement in a perfectly calculated arc, she knew exactly how you'd react. 

"Oh gosh!" Blossom gasped, fluttering her lashes in what she hoped was a convincing imitation of Bubbles' innocent charm. "I'm so clumsy!" 

Right on cue, you swooped in, your letterman jacket brushing her arm as you knelt to help. "No worries, beautiful," you said, your quarterback smile flashing as you handed back her notebook. Your fingers lingered just a second too long against hers.

She giggled—too high-pitched?—but you ate it up. 

Within days, you were Townsville High's hottest couple. Holding hands in the hallways. Sharing milkshakes at the diner. Letting you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear while she fought down the heat in her cheeks. 

It was all part of the mission. 

Right?

Wrong

Somewhere between your hand on the small of her back guiding her through crowds and the way you laughed at her terrible science puns, Blossom started slipping. 

She caught herself actually looking forward to your study dates. 

She memorized your schedule instead of just tracking it. 

And when you surprised her with peonies—her actual favorite—after her botched chem lab presentation, she had to lock herself in a bathroom stall for ten minutes to remember why she was doing this. 

"Focus," she whispered to her reflection, gripping the sink. "This isn't real."

But her reflection didn't look convinced.