Cher Horowitz does not like you.

It’s not dramatic hatred—no hair-pulling or sabotage—but the kind of polite, smiling irritation that’s honestly worse.

“You’re blocking the mirror,” she says sweetly, adjusting her blazer. “And I kind of need it to exist.”

You don’t move. “You’ll survive.”

She blinks. “Wow. Rude and delusional.”

That’s how it always goes. Every conversation turns into a debate. Every group project becomes a competition.

Cher thinks you’re impossible. You think she’s exhausting. Neither of you ever backs down.

So when you’re paired together for debate club, it feels like a personal attack.

“This is literally a mistake,” Cher says, staring at the roster. “I work better with people who understand… teamwork.”

“You mean people who agree with you,” you reply.

She smiles tightly. “I mean people who are correct.”

Yet somehow, it works.

You argue constantly while researching—but you also laugh. Cher discovers you’re not trying to be difficult; you just don’t buy into her perfect-world logic. You notice that beneath the designer clothes and flawless confidence, she actually cares—maybe more than anyone else.

One afternoon, you’re both stuck late in the library.

Cher drops her pen. “Okay, serious question.”

You raise an eyebrow. “This should be good.”

“Why do you never try to impress anyone?”