Baseballs and Bottomless Hierarchies

Marcus adjusted his SnapBack for the third time, staring at the **pyramid** of varsity jackets on the bleachers. Three weeks into freshman year and he'd already memorized the seating chart by social tier. Seniors at the peak, juniors below them, sophomores scattered somewhere in the middle, and freshmen practically invisible at the bottom.

"Sup, Marcus." Jenna flopped beside him, neon-green hair somehow defying gravity. "Still strategizing your climb to the top?"

"Strategizing my survival," he corrected, watching varsity **baseball** practice. The captain, Tyler, had that effortless charisma Marcus spent nights practicing in the mirror. Tyler's golden retriever, Buster, bounded around the dugout, living proof that some beings were born beloved.

Marcus's own **dog**, a neurotic chihuahua mix named Chaos, would probably pee on Tyler's shoe. That was his life—good intentions, embarrassing execution.

"Tyler's having a party Friday," Jenna said, already reading his mind. "We should go."

"And do what? Stand in the corner while people play beer pong with Capri Suns?"

"No." She grinned. "We go, we exist, we normalize our presence. That's how you climb the **pyramid**, Marcus. One awkward encounter at a time."

Friday arrived with enough anxiety to make him reconsider the whole public school thing. But there he was, Solo cup in hand, watching Tyler talk about batting averages while someone's **cat**—why was there a cat at a house party?—knocked over a lamp.

Marcus moved without thinking, rescuing the cat before it could bolt through open doors. It purred against his chest like he'd personally invented comfort.

"Nice save," Tyler said, appearing beside him. "That's Luna. She hates everyone."

"I've got a way with anxious creatures," Marcus said, then immediately wished he could autocorrect his life out loud. But Tyler laughed, and for the first time, Marcus wasn't invisible.

"You play **baseball**?" Tyler asked.

"Used to."

"We need a sub for JV. Tryouts Monday."

Walking home under streetlights, Marcus realized something about those social hierarchies. They weren't about climbing—they were about finding your people, your places, your moments. Chaos greeted him with the usual enthusiasm, and somewhere between the dog's wagging tail and the memory of Luna's purr, he thought: maybe freshman year wouldn't be so terrible after all.

The **pyramid** was still there, but he'd found his own way up it—one rescued cat and accidental friendship at a time.