Bear Market, Lucky Hat

The hat was technically illegal—no headwear in the classroom, according to the poster Mrs. Gutiérrez had taped to her door since the dawn of time. But it was a beat-up beige dad hat with a rounded brim and a tiny embroidered cactus, and it made me feel like I could disappear into the fabric of the universe when things got awkward. Which, as a sophomore with questionable hair and an inability to speak to girls without stuttering, was often.

"Yo, you're gonna miss it," Bear Market whispered from the desk behind me, tapping my shoulder with urgent energy.

Bear Market wasn't his real name—Marcus Rivera had earned the nickname in freshman year after he correctly predicted that the Pokémon card bubble would burst, costing half the football team their allowance money. He was permanently bullish on life, perpetually convinced everything was "about to go crazy." It was exhausting and also exactly what I needed.

"What are we looking at?" I asked, sliding my phone under my history textbook.

"Crypto, bro. I'm telling you, this is our moment. We go in now, we're rich by graduation. We're being BEARS right now, hibernating on opportunity. We need to be BULLS."

"Marcus, you said Roblox stock was gonna make us millionaires three weeks ago."

"Different energy this time!" He leaned forward, his eyes wide. "My cousin's friend's brother knows this guy who's basically a crypto wizard. And look—" He pulled a bag of vitamin gummies from his backpack. "My mom says these are for 'focus,' but honestly? They taste like artificial berry mediocrity. Want one?"

I popped a heart-shaped gummy into my mouth. "Fine. But if I lose my money, you're buying my lunch for a month."

"Deal. We're doing fifty each?"

"Fifty bucks I got for my birthday from my abuela."

"Perfect." Marcus typed furiously on his phone. "Bull market energy, Leo. We're literally gonna be bull riders on the wall street of our destinies."

That night, I stared at my ceiling, the hat resting on my chest like a security object. What had I just done? Fifty dollars was, like, eight lunches. Four movie tickets. Approximately one hundred and seventy vending machine fruit snacks.

My phone buzzed.

Marcus: BRO

Marcus: BRO LOOK AT THE CHART

Marcus: WE ARE BULLISH

I sat up so fast I gave myself a head rush. We were up—actually, genuinely up. Like, enough to buy an extra value meal up.

"Marcus," I typed back, "if we sell now, we each make twelve dollars."

"Weak. Hold for glory."

"I'm thirteen dollars ahead, Marcus. That's the power of compound interest or whatever Mrs. Gutiérrez says."

"Fine. Sell. Be a bear. Hibernate with your profits."

The next day, I wore the hat with a newfound confidence. It wasn't just a hat anymore—it was a lucky object. A talisman of financial wizardry. I walked differently, shoulders back, making direct eye contact with people and immediately regretting it.

Marcus was already waiting at our usual spot by the lockers. "Well?"

"Sold," I said, grinning. "Twelve dollars profit, baby."

"Twelve dollars?" He shook his head. "Weak bear energy. I held. I'm up thirty."

"Dude, sell."

"No! Bull market, Leo! Bull riders don't get off the bull because the bull is—"

"Bucking?"

"—being a bull!"

The crypto crashed that afternoon.

Marcus lost everything.

I bought him a vitamin water with my hard-won twelve dollars, and we sat on the gym bleachers watching the basketball team practice, sharing my headphones while he complained about market volatility and systemic unfairness.

"You know," Marcus said, cracking open the vitamin water. "My cousin says the real trick is real estate."

I adjusted the hat. "Marcus."

"What? We could buy, like, a parking spot."

"I'm done being a bear or a bull," I said, surprising myself. "I'm just gonna be a guy with a hat and twelve dollars I didn't have yesterday."

He laughed. "Fair. That's actually kind of bullish, if you think about it."

"Shut up, Marcus."

But I was smiling, and I left the hat on for the rest of the day.