Papaya at the Bottom of the Pyramid
The school cafeteria's social pyramid was as obvious as the painted lines on the basketball court. Seniors at the top tables, juniors in the middle, sophomores scattered near the windows, and freshmen? We were the foundation — invisible, interchangeable, definitely not supposed to be eating exotic fruit at lunch.
"What IS that?" Marcus asked, pointing at my container with that mix of curiosity and judgment he perfected.
"Papaya," I said, trying to sound casual. Like papaya was something I ate all the time. Like I hadn't spent twenty minutes at Whole Foods debating whether it was worth $7 just to impress Jessica, who'd mentioned during homeroom that she'd had it in Costa Rica and it was "literally life-changing."
"Looks gross," Marcus said, but he sat down anyway. Marcus, who'd been my best friend since fourth grade, back when being friend-shaped was enough. Now freshmen year had reshuffled everything. Jessica sat at a senior table. Marcus was trying out for basketball. And I was eating papaya alone.
"Want some?" I offered, because that's what you do. Even when your best friend is looking at you like you've grown a second head.
He poked at it. "Maybe."
"There's this party Friday," I said, casual as anything. "Jessica's brother's having people over. She said I could come."
Marcus froze. "No way. That's the pyramid scheme."
"What?"
"My cousin warned me about these parties. They get you in, then suddenly you're selling supplements or energy drinks or some BS. It's a pyramid scheme, Leo. Don't be an idiot."
I stared at my papaya, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Jessica wasn't interested in me. She wanted me to sell something.
"You're a good friend, Marcus," I said, pushing the papaya toward him. "Try it. It's actually pretty good."
He took a bite, made a face, then grinned. "Okay, that's not terrible. But next time, let's just get pizza."
"Deal," I said. "But we're sitting at this table. I like the view."
"From the bottom of the pyramid?" he laughed. "Yeah. Not so bad down here."