Chlorine & Pyramid Schemes

Lila's older brother Jay was 23, worked at Best Buy, and claimed to be a "pyramid scheme" expert. Which really just meant he'd lost $500 onessential oils last summer and now dropped wisdom like it was his job.

"Listen, Lil," Jay said, handing her a glossy pamphlet. "Vitamin supplements. This is it. This is how we're paying for your pool party transformation."

Lila stared at the pamphlet. VITALITY FORCE: Unlock Your Best Self. The model on the cover had teeth so white they practically glowed. She'd been invited to Chloe Davidson's pool party—the social event of the season—and her current swimsuit situation was tragic. Her mom had said no to a new one. "You have three perfectly good ones from last year," she'd said, which was exactly the problem.

So here she was, about to become a vitamin mogul.

The first rule of selling: everyone's a prospect. Jay drove her to the community center where he claimed to "spy opportunities." They watched people leave yoga classes. Lila felt weird creeping on moms in leggings, but Jay insisted this was market research.

"Observe," he whispered, pointing at a woman in a Tesla. "That's a customer. That's two months of rent right there."

"We're not selling her fake vitamins, Jay."

"They're not fake. They're premium lifestyle supplements."

By Friday, Lila had sold three bottles to her grandma, two to her neighbor, and one to her chemistry teacher who definitely only bought it because she looked desperate. She had $187 and change. Enough for the swimsuit she'd been eyeing online—a sleek black one-piece that didn't make her feel like a middle schooler.

But at the party, something happened. Chloe's pool wasn't even that impressive. It was just a pool. The popular kids weren't doing anything special—just floating, complaining about the water temperature, posting stories that made it look like they were having more fun than they actually were. Lila realized she'd spent two weeks creeping on people and selling dubious supplements to afford a swimsuit for a party she didn't even care about.

She found Jay waiting in the car, blasting 2000s R&B like he hadn't just dragged her into a multi-level marketing scheme.

"So?" he asked. "Worth it?"

Lila thought about the pyramid scheme she'd almost bought into—not the vitamins, but the idea that she needed to change herself to belong somewhere.

"Jay," she said, "you know this is technically a pyramid scheme, right?"

"It's not a SCHEME if the products work, Lil."

"They're literally just sugar pills with food coloring."

He grinned. "Exactly. Welcome to capitalism."

She returned the swimsuit Monday. Used the money to buy herself a vitamin D supplement that was actually legit. Sometimes growing up meant realizing the people you thought had it all figured out were just making it up as they went along.