You’d always known Cher Horowitz was popular.

You’d always known she was stylish.

You’d always known she was the kind of girl who could make anyone feel like they were missing out if they weren’t her friend.

But you’d never seen her get angry.

Not like this.

It started with a comment.

A stupid, cruel comment.

Someone at school—one of those kids who loved to throw shade from the safety of their group chat—said something about you.

You didn’t even see it at first.

But Cher did.

She was standing beside you in the hallway when her phone buzzed.

Her eyes flicked to the screen.

Then her face went still.

Her jaw clenched.

You watched her for a moment, confused.

“What is it?” you asked softly.

Cher didn’t answer right away.

She stared at her phone like she was about to explode.

Then she turned to you.

“Someone said something about you,” she said, voice low.

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

Cher’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” she said. “You care.”

You tried to brush it off.

“It’s just school,” you said.

Cher stepped closer.

“Listen,” she said, voice steady, “I don’t care if it’s just school. No one talks about you like that.”

You felt your face heat.

“Cher,” you whispered, “it’s okay.”

Cher shook her head.

“No,” she said again. “It’s not okay.”

She looked around the hallway.

Then she marched toward the group of kids who’d been whispering.

You followed, heart pounding.

Cher stopped in front of them.

Her eyes were cold.

The group went quiet.

Cher looked at them like she was about to do something they’d never forget.

“What did you say about her?” Cher asked, voice calm.

The kid who’d posted the comment tried to laugh it off.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It was just a joke.”

Cher’s eyes narrowed.

“Is it funny?” she asked.

The kid shrugged.

Cher’s expression changed.

She leaned in, close enough that you could see the anger in her eyes.

“No one jokes about my friends,” she said.