Palm Readings and Pyramid Schemes

My mom's new "business opportunity" had me wearing a golden retriever costume in ninety-degree heat, sweating through my polo while handing out essential oil samples to confused retirees at the farmers market. The mascot head smelled like every middle school dance I'd ever been too anxious to attend.

"You're building your residual income mindset, Marcus!" my mom called from behind the pyramid-shaped display of "Ancient Wisdom" oil blends, which she swore was totally not a pyramid scheme despite the literally pyramid-shaped display.

A group of kids from school walked by—Jordan, whose Instagram stories I watched way too often, and their friends. My heart rate spiked. I froze. Of course they'd catch me like this: dressed as a dog named "Buddy" (the costume came with a name tag), promoting my mom's get-rich-quick scheme to random strangers.

"Marcus?" Jordan's eyes widened. "Is that you?"

I considered just walking into traffic. Instead, I lifted the dog head and wiped my sweaty palm on my fake fur leg. "Hey."

"This is... honestly iconic," Jordan said, already pulling out their phone. "Your mom's the oil lady?"

"The pyramid scheme oil lady," I corrected, defeated. "Want a sample? It's supposed to help with anxiety."

Jordan laughed. Not the mean kind. The real kind. "Actually, yes."

We ended up sitting on the curb while my mom made her fifth sale of the day, talking about how high school felt like one giant social pyramid we were all trying to climb, and how maybe we were all just wearing ridiculous costumes hoping nobody noticed. Jordan told me about their own mom's brief stint selling leggings last year. We exchanged Instagrams.

"Same time next week?" Jordan asked, standing up. "I'll bring snacks for Buddy."

I watched them walk away, already typing out our first DM. Underneath this sweaty dog costume, underneath all the awkwardness and schemes and social anxiety, something real had happened. And honestly? That was worth looking ridiculous for.