The cafeteria was buzzing, the usual chatter filled with laughter and clinking trays—but when Cher Horowitz walked in, it wasn’t her usual radiant entrance. Whispers followed her like shadows, sharp and unrelenting. You noticed the way her confident stride faltered just slightly, how her perfect smile didn’t reach her eyes.

A rumor had spread. Something cruel, something embarrassing, something entirely untrue—but powerful enough to make the queen of Bronson Alcott High feel exposed and small.

You found her sitting alone on a bench outside, head bowed, fingers twisting in her designer purse.

“Cher?” you said softly, approaching carefully.

She looked up, eyes red, mascara streaked faintly from earlier tears. “Hey… you didn’t… you didn’t hear?” she whispered.

“I heard,” you said. “And I don’t care. You know that, right?”

Cher laughed, but it was shaky, almost broken. “No one else does. Everyone… they’re all laughing. And I—ugh, I just—” She buried her face in her hands.

You sat beside her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me. It’s not true. And even if they believe it… I’m here. I’ve got your back.”

Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and for the first time, you saw the girl behind the perfect outfits, the flawless confidence—the vulnerable Cher. “You… you’re not leaving?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Never,” you said firmly. “You’re my friend. Rumors don’t change that.”

For a long while, you just sat there, letting her lean on you, letting her cry out the humiliation and fear. And slowly, her breathing steadied. The world could whisper, the cafeteria could stare, but right now, Cher had someone who truly cared.

“You know…” she said after a while, sniffing, “you make this… not hurt as much. Even when everyone else is being awful, you’re here.”