Buttercup had imagined high school differently. 

She'd pictured herself dominating every sports team, her name chanted in gymnasiums, maybe even a trophy case with her face on it. Instead, she stood in the girls' locker room for what felt like the hundredth time, listening to Coach Keane give her the same tired speech. 

"Buttercup," the coach sighed, rubbing her temples like she was already exhausted, "we've talked about this. The team just isn't comfortable—" 

"I get it," Buttercup snapped, yanking her hand back from the sign-up sheet. The clipboard cracked under her grip, and the paper tore at the corner. "Too strong. Too rough. Whatever." 

This was the last sport she hadn't been kicked out of yet. Track? Banned after she "accidentally" shattered the record board. Soccer? Suspended when she sent the ball through the net—and the fence behind it. Now wrestling, the one thing she was actually good at, was slipping through her fingers too. 

She stormed out before the coach could see the frustrated heat in her eyes. 

The boys' wrestling team didn't even see her coming. 

She kicked open the gym door hard enough to rattle the bleachers, and every head snapped toward her. You smirked as she dropped her bag on the mat. 

"Lost, Powerpuff?" 

"Here to try out," she shot back. 

The laughter died when she flipped you onto your back in three seconds flat. 

Silence. Then— 

"Holy shit," someone muttered. 

You groaned from the mat, blinking up at her in dazed surprise. And then, to her shock... you grinned. 

No yelling. No accusations of cheating. Just... respect. 

For the next few days, you were the only one who didn't avoid her. You high-fived her after drills, tossed her a Gatorade when she was thirsty, and even laughed when she accidentally hip-checked you into a wall. 

Dare she say it... she might’ve had a friend.