Poolside Pyramid

The countdown to summer felt like watching my life drain away, zombie-style. AP finals had turned me into a creature that shuffled through hallways, surviving on vending machine snacks and three hours of sleep. But now it was June, and Chloe's legendary pool party was finally happening.

I stood by the snack table in my mismatched bikini, clutching a red plastic cup like it was a life raft. The social pyramid at this party was visible from space: Chloe and the varsity crowd on the patio furniture, the rest of us scattered around the pool like debris after a storm.

"Maya! You made it!" Chloe waved from her throne at the pyramid's peak. She looked perfect, obviously. Her minions giggled at something someone said.

"Yeah," I managed. "Thanks for inviting me."

I'd been crushing on Chloe's brother, Ethan, since seventh grade. He was somewhere in the pool, doing something athletic and impressive probably. Meanwhile I was just trying not to spill my drink.

Then I saw him — climbing onto everyone's shoulders to build a human pyramid by the diving board. Because of course. That was the thing about popular kids: they turned everything into a performance.

"Maya, get up here!" Ethan yelled. They were short one person on the bottom row.

My zombie brain short-circuited. Me? In the pyramid? The girl who sat alone at lunch four days out of five?

"Go!" someone shoved me forward.

I climbed onto Ethan's shoulders. His skin was warm against mine, sun-block and chlorine and something distinctly him. The pyramid swayed precariously as someone else scrambled up top.

"Ready? ONE, TWO, THREE!"

We all jumped.

The water hit me like forgiveness — washing away the zombie exhaustion, the pyramid pressure, the whole exhausting performance of being fifteen. I surfaced, sputtering, to find Ethan laughing beside me.

"You're heavier than you look," he grinned, treading water.

"And you're shorter," I shot back without thinking.

He laughed. Actually laughed. "Touché."

We floated there as the pyramid reformed above us, talking about nothing and everything. Maybe the social pyramid wasn't as rigid as I thought. Maybe I'd been climbing the wrong ladder all along.

Sometimes the best way to survive the zombie apocalypse of high school wasn't fighting it — it was just jumping in the pool and letting yourself resurface as someone new.