Calling Bull at the Pool

The chlorine stung my eyes, but that wasn't why they were watering. At the far end of the pool, Jordan—wearing sunglasses indoors, naturally—was holding court with half the junior class gathered around him like he was some kind of social messiah.

"It's not a pyramid scheme," Jordan said, his voice dripping with that practiced confidence that made teachers trust him and girls swoon. "It's a multi-tiered investment opportunity. You put in two hundred, you get back two thousand. Simple math."

I watched from my lounge chair, sweating through my towel. This was the same guy who'd convinced half the football team that eating raw eggs would make them stronger. Last week, three of them had food poisoning.

"My cousin did it over summer break," Jordan continued, gesturing with his water bottle. "He's literally driving a BMW now. At seventeen."

"That's bull," I said, probably louder than I meant to.

The pool went quiet. Even the water filter seemed to stop humming. Every face turned toward me—Jordan's followers with their hostile confusion, everyone else with that I'm-glad-someone-finally-said-it look.

Jordan slid his sunglasses down his nose. "Excuse me?"

"That's absolute bull," I repeated, standing up. My heart hammered somewhere in my throat. "Your cousin doesn't exist. Or if he does, he's not driving a BMW. This is exactly how those scams work—you promise easy money, get people to recruit their friends, and then you dip when the authorities catch wind."

I looked around at the pyramid of faces—Jordan at the apex, his closest friends below him, then the hangers-on, and finally everyone else just trying to survive high school without losing their dignity.

"Also," I added, "your phone background is a stock photo of a BMW. I saw it when you showed everyone your 'new contacts' last week."

Jordan's face turned the color of a bad sunburn. Someone snorted. Then someone else laughed. Within seconds, half the pool was cracking up, and Jordan was grabbing his towel and stuff, muttering something about how we were all losers who'd be sorry when we were still working minimum wage while he was retired.

He tripped over the water cooler on his way out. The universe, occasionally, has perfect timing.

Later, as I sat by the edge with my feet dangling in the cool water, Mia from my English class sat beside me. "That was actually really brave," she said. "He's had that pyramid scheme speech rehearsed since winter break."

"Just tired of the bull, I guess."

She smiled, and for the first time all year, I didn't feel like I was drowning in the shallow end.