Clammy Palms and Pyramid Schemes

My hair looked like a lawnmower had a mid-life crisis. That's what happens when you let your cousin Chloe practice her "future cosmetologist skills" on you the day before sophomore year starts. I stood in front of the mirror, touching the uneven patches on my head, and considered calling in sick for the first week.

"You look... distinct," said Marcus, leaning against my doorframe with that annoying grin. "Like, especially distinct."

"Shut up." I grabbed my backpack. "Is your sister still forcing you to sell those essential oils?"

Marcus's face fell. "It's not a pyramid scheme, Leo. It's a MULTI-LEVEL MARKETING opportunity. There's a difference."

"Bro. She made you buy three hundred dollars of lavender hope juice."

He sighed dramatically and collapsed onto my bed, knocking over my old stuffed bear from preschool. Mr. Whiskers stared at us with one eye. "Don't judge me, bear," Marcus muttered.

We walked to school because neither of us could drive yet, and I kept shoving my hands in my pockets to hide my sweating palms. First day jitters, or whatever. The hallway smelled like floor wax and potential.

"Just be cool, Marcus said. "Act like you belong. The social pyramid only works if you believe in it."

"Easy for you to say. You have actual hair."

"Hey, this is a LOOK." He finger-combed his curls. "Also, Kayla's having a pool party Friday. Her parents are out of town. You should come."

"I can't swim."

"What?"

"Like, at all. I never learned."

Marcus stopped walking. "Dude. We live in Florida. That's literally required for citizenship here."

"My parents were busy, okay? They're always working. It's fine."

"It's not fine." He punched my shoulder. "I'll teach you. We have four days. You're not spending Friday sitting on the edge while everyone else is living their best life."

"This is going to end with me drowning, isn't it?"

"Only if you don't stop being dramatic about your hair. It's fine, Leo. Seriously. No one's looking at your head. They're all too busy worrying about their own stuff."

He was right, obviously. That's the thing about being fifteen — you think everyone's watching, but they're all just thinking about themselves.

"So, pool party?" Marcus asked.

"Pool party," I agreed, trying to ignore how my palms were still sweating.

"And maybe you can finally tell Kayla you exist?"

"One disaster at a time, Marcus. Let me survive the swimming part first."

The bell rang, and we separated to our first classes. I touched my uneven hair one more time and kept walking. Whatever. It would grow back. And maybe I'd actually learn to swim.

Baby steps.