Operation: Social Pyramid

Zara adjusted the hood of her oversized sweatshirt, sinking deeper into the Starbucks corner booth. Official cover: studying for AP History. Actual mission: spy recon on the seniors' table.

Three weeks ago, Zara would've rather died than care who sat where in the cafeteria. But that was before her mom's new job meant transferring to Northwood halfway through sophomore year. Before she realized high school was basically a pyramid scheme where the currency was vibes and she was completely broke.

"You're being creepy," Jordan whispered, sliding into the seat across from her. Her rainbow braces flashed when she grinnned. "Again."

"I'm observing," Zara corrected, not looking up from her phone where she was definitely not watching Instagram stories. "There's a difference. Jordan, did you know that Brianna and her friends have a whole hand signal system? I've counted seventeen different ones. This is anthropological research."

"It's giving stalker." Jordan stole a sip of Zara's cold brew. "You know what would actually help you make friends? Literally talking to people. Or joining something. The fall play is doing callbacks—"

"Hard pass." Zara gestured vaguely at her face. "This is not a drama kid face. This is a blend-into-the-lockers face."

Jordan rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. They'd met during week two when Jordan had accidentally knocked Zara's books into a puddle, then insisted on buying her a "replacement coffee" (which turned out to be a matching friendship bracelet situation, somehow). Now Jordan was basically her only friend, which was pathetic but also, like, everything.

The bell above the door jingled. A chaotic golden retriever puppy bounded in, dragging a horrified-looking guy behind it. The dog made a beeline for their table, tail wagging so hard its whole body shook.

"CHEDDAR, NO," the guy groaned, but it was too late. The puppy was already attempting to climb Zara's leg like she was a particularly interesting tree.

"Oh my GOD," Zara said, frozen, as the dog successfully located her face and began enthusiastically licking her chin. "Help."

"I am so sorry," Hot Guy said, yanking the dog back. His wavy brown hair was doing something annoyingly perfect. "He's a service dog in training. Barely. We're working on the 'not assaulting strangers' part." He flashed a crooked smile that made Zara's stomach do something illegal. "I'm Caleb, by the way. And this terrorist is Cheddar."

"Zara," she managed, wiping dog slobber from her chin with what remained of her dignity. "This is Jordan. We were just leaving. Actually we were staying. I don't know what we're doing."

Jordan was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

"You're in Mr. Harrison's English, right?" Caleb asked, still wrestling with Cheddar. "I sit two rows behind you. You always draw those little monsters in the margins of your notes. They're kinda sick."

Zara's brain short-circuited. He'd NOTICED her? The pyramid was shaking. The social hierarchy was collapsing. Brianna and her hand signals could literally never.

"Those are... artistic expressions of my inner turmoil," she said weakly.

"Cool." Caleb's smile went a little softer. "Hey, a bunch of us are going to that sketch comedy open mic tomorrow night. You should come. Bring Jordan. Cheddar's banned, unfortunately, but—"

"We're there," Jordan announced.

"We are?" Zara hissed, after Caleb finally managed to extract Cheddar from beneath their table.

"Girl." Jordan's eyes were wide. "He NOTICES you. He thinks your margin doodles are SICK. He invited you to THING." She paused. "Also his dog is my emotional support animal now, I don't make the rules."

Zara looked through the window just in time to see Caleb pause on the sidewalk, looking back at Starbucks. Looking back at HER.

The pyramid wasn't a ladder, she realized suddenly. It was just a whole bunch of scared people pretending they knew what they were doing, waiting for someone to climb down first.

"Tomorrow," Zara said, grabbing her backpack. "We're going. But you have to help me pick an outfit. And I need to practice acting like a normal human being who doesn't spy on people from coffee shops."

"Deal," Jordan said. "But I'm still saying you should've joined the play."

"Baby steps." Zara pushed open the door, the autumn air hitting her face. "Baby steps."