Pyramid Schemes and Chairman Meow

Maya's phone buzzed for the third time in two minutes. Another Instagram DM from Jordan: "Trust me, this is legit. Everyone's doing it. You don't wanna be left behind."

The pyramid scheme had started three weeks ago when Jordan, her former best friend, had slid into her DMs with "an incredible opportunity." Now Jordan was driving a leased BMW and posting photos with stacks of cash, claiming she'd made six figures in her first month.

"It's not a pyramid," Jordan had insisted when they'd met for coffee yesterday, her eyes slightly too bright. "It's a revolutionary wellness brand. You're building YOUR team, YOUR empire."

Maya's cat, Chairman Meow, jumped onto her desk and knocked over her math textbook. He stared at her phone with what looked suspiciously like judgment.

"You're right," Maya told him. "This is cap."

But the doubt gnawed at her. Jordan had been her friend since seventh grade, before the high school social pyramid had rearranged itself and Jordan started climbing. Now Jordan sat at the top with the popular kids, while Maya remained firmly in the middle, perfectly average.

The recruitment event was at some guy's apartment downtown. Maya showed up in her oversized hoodie, feeling immediately out of place among the trendy outfits and fake confidence. Jordan waved her over, already deep in conversation with a guy named Tyler who looked like he'd never worked a day in his life.

"This is Maya! She's ready to level up," Jordan announced, wrapping an arm around Maya's shoulders. The Jordan she remembered—studying for finals together, sharing secrets at sleepovers—felt distant, replaced by this polished stranger.

Tyler leaned in, his smile revealing slightly too many teeth. "So Maya, what's your WHY? What's driving you to succeed?"

The room swam slightly. Maya's WHY? Her WHY was that she missed her friend. Her WHY was that high school felt like one long performance, and she was tired of auditioning for everyone else's approval.

"Actually," Maya said, her voice stronger than she felt, "I just remembered I left my cat in the dryer."

Silence.

"What?" Jordan asked.

"My cat. He's probably. You know. Spinning." Maya backed toward the door. "Super important. Life or death."

She practically ran to her car, her heart pounding. When she got home, Chairman Meow was asleep on her bed, thoroughly alive. She curled up next to him, and he purred loudly, his warmth seeping through her hoodie.

Her phone lit up with a text from Jordan: "You're making a huge mistake. But whatever."

Maya deleted the message. Some friendships were like pyramid schemes—built on empty promises and the constant pressure to recruit others into your dysfunction. She'd rather be alone at the bottom than fake her way to the top.

Chairman Meow stretched, kneading her blanket with his paws. Some things, at least, were real.