Catfish at the Top of the Pyramid

The social hierarchy at Northwood High operated like a pyramid scheme—except instead of money, you traded your dignity for clout. I'd spent three years climbing it, one Instagram story at a time, until I finally reached the apex. And it was exhausting.

"You need these," Chloe said, sliding a bottle of neon-orange gummies across the cafeteria table. "They're literally what all the influencers take. Focus vitamins. Collagen. Something that makes your skin not look like you haven't slept since finals week."

I eyed them warily. "What's actually in them?"

"Vitamin I-don't-give-a-damn," she deadpanned. "Just take them, Maya. We have that collab with the coffee shop tomorrow and you look like a zombie."

She wasn't wrong. My cat, Barnaby, had spent the past three nights yowling at 3 AM like he was auditioning for a horror movie. I'd gotten approximately seven hours of sleep total.

"My cat is going through an existential crisis," I muttered, popping two gummies. "He sits by the window and meows at nothing. It's tragic."

"Get rid of him."

I almost choked. "He's not a Starter Pack filter, Chloe. He's a living creature."

That's when it hit me—sitting there with my perfectly curated friend group, consuming unknown substances for the sake of content optimization. I'd become the kind of person who'd trade their cat for better engagement metrics.

The vitamins didn't work anyway. I still felt hollow during the coffee shop collab, still forced myself to laugh at jokes that weren't funny, still posted six stories documenting our "authentic" friendship.

That night, Barnaby was waiting by the door. I picked him up, burying my face in his soft fur, and realized something: the top of the pyramid was just a lonely place where you couldn't even be honest about being tired.

I posted one final story—a photo of Barnaby, captioned: "This cat is the only real thing in my life right now." Then I turned off my phone for the first time in three years.

Sometimes you have to climb all the way to the top to realize you were better off at the bottom, where at least the cats are real and the vitamins are unnecessary.