Mascot Duty at the Pyramid

The social pyramid at Lincoln High had me stuck somewhere near the bottom—freshman year, no varsity jacket, zero Instagram followers. So when my older cousin Jay offered me a summer gig at Crazy Town Adventure Park, I took it without asking questions. Big mistake.

"You're on bear duty," Jay said, tossing me a fuzzy brown costume that smelled like sixth grade gym class.

"Bear duty?"

"Mascot, Leo. Kids love the bear." He gestured to the merchandise pyramid behind me—stacks of overpriced souvenirs in a precariously tall triangle. "Keep the energy up, sell some keychains, don't take off the head."

Five hours later, I was sweating through my undershirt, hoarse from growling at toddlers, and questioning every life choice that led here. Then Maya walked by.

Maya, who sat behind me in bio and had hair that fell like she'd planned each strand. She was with her friends, laughing, holding a papaya smoothie like it was the most natural thing in the world. Exotic fruit confidence. That was a level.

Our eyes met through the bear mesh. She didn't look away. Instead, she walked over.

"Nice moves, bear," she said, grinning. I'd been doing this little shuffle-dance to avoid stepping on a kid's dropped ice cream.

I shrugged inside the costume. "Gotta stay professional."

"You play baseball?" She pointed to my cleats—old ones I'd worn because nothing else fit the bear feet.

"Used to. Junior varsity, until I realized I hated it."

"Same," she said. "I quit cheer last month. My parents acted like I burned down the house." She took a sip of her smoothie. "This papaya stuff is actually disgusting, by the way. I'm just trying to look sophisticated."

I laughed, and it was real—not mascot-entertainer fake. "Want to know a secret?"

She leaned in.

"This bear costume smells like a boys' locker room and I'm pretty sure I have heatstroke."

Maya cracked up. A genuine laugh. We ended up talking for twenty minutes while her friends waited. The next day, she came back. So did I.

The pyramid of social status suddenly seemed smaller. Maybe it wasn't about climbing to the top—it was about finding someone who'd stand next to you in a ridiculous bear costume and admit they were faking it too.

Some days you're the bear. Some days you're the smoothie. The real trick was finding someone who liked you either way.