Pyramid Schemes and Curveballs

Jake's plan to scale the social pyramid at Northwood High had exactly three steps, and he'd already failed step one twice. The pyramid—those terrifying tiered tables in the cafeteria where seniors sat at the apex like royalty—was his Mount Everest. He was currently somewhere in the basement, eating beside the trash cans.

"You look like you're having an existential crisis," said Riley, sliding into the seat across from him. She had that effortless cool that Jake had been trying to fake since September.

"Just calculating my trajectory," Jake lied. "It's all about angles. Like in baseball."

Riley raised an eyebrow. "You play?"

"Varsity." He didn't. He'd touched a baseball exactly twice in his life, both times accidental.

"My brother's the captain. He's always looking for pitchers." She grinned. "You should come to practice tomorrow. Bear could probably use a laugh."

"Bear?"

"Our mascot. The guy inside the suit is graduating, and they need someone to fill the costume for the playoffs." She tapped his phone. "You're exactly the right height. I can tell."

Jake was still processing how his life had veered into this territory when he found himself inside a polyester bear costume two days later, sweating through what he assumed was his dignity. The baseball team was losing badly. The crowd was dead silent.

He could do this. He'd watched enough viral mascot videos on TikTok.

Jake proceeded to execute what would later be described as "the most aggressively chaotic bear dancing in Northwood High history." He chest-bumped the umpire. He photobombed the local news coverage. He accidentally knocked over the Gatorade cooler with a pirouette gone wrong.

And somewhere in the middle of his complete bear-based meltdown, Riley stood up in the stands and started cheering. Then her brother did. Then the entire baseball team. Then everyone.

The game ended in a crushing defeat, but nobody seemed to care. They were too busy asking the bear for his Instagram. When Jake finally dragged himself out of the suit, drenched and exhausted, Riley was waiting.

"You're officially a legend," she said, handing him a water bottle. "And my brother wants you to know that pitch you pretended to throw at the umpire? Next week's tryouts, 3 PM. Don't be late."

Jake realized, suddenly and painfully, that he'd climbed the wrong pyramid the whole time. The view from the trash cans was actually pretty great if you had the right company.