Pyramid Schemes and Loose Bulls

The social pyramid at Northwood High was as real as geometry class, and I'd been stuck somewhere near the middle—visible enough to get noticed, invisible enough to get trampled. Until today.

"Dude, you've been staring at his post for twenty minutes," Kayla said, stealing my phone. "It's cringe. Stop being parasocial."

"I'm not being parasocial!" I protested, though I totally was. "I'm just... appreciating the artistic vision of his cable management setup."

Jordan had posted a picture of his gaming setup, RGB lighting bleeding across the wall like a bruised sunset, and yes, his cable management was admittedly *aesthetic*. Whatever that meant.

The social pyramid at school said Jordan was at the apex— varsity basketball, somehow also in drama club, the kind of guy who called teachers "fam" unironically and got away with it. Meanwhile, I was still figuring out if I could ask for extra ketchup at lunch without it being a whole thing.

Then the announcement came over the PA system: "Students, we're in lockdown. There's a... bull on campus."

The bull situation was definitely not typical suburbia stuff. Turns out Old Man Miller's farm adjacent to the school had fence issues, and now there was approximately 1,200 pounds of bovine freedom running loose near the math wing.

"This is so chaotic," Kayla whispered, but I saw something—Jordan, stuck behind the gym with a tangled mess of cables from the AV equipment he'd been setting up for the assembly, and the bull, like, ten feet away.

Jordan froze. The bull huffed.

I didn't think. I just moved.

My legs were already sore from cross-country practice, but I sprinted like I'd never run before in my life, skidding around the corner and grabbing Jordan's arm. "MOVE!"

We scrambled backward just as the bull charged, grazing the metal bleachers with enough force to make the ground vibrate. Lightning flashed overhead—because of course the storm chose NOW to happen—and we huddled under the gym overhang, drenched and shaking.

"You... you just charged in there," Jordan said, hair plastered to his forehead. "That was actually metal."

"I've had worse," I lied, though my heart was doing something concerning in my chest.

He looked at me differently then. Not like the girl in the middle of the pyramid, but like someone who'd done something *real*.

Later, Kayla posted a video of us running from the bull set to dramatic music. It went viral in our school's group chat. Not the most embarrassing thing that could happen, honestly.

"You're basically a legend now," Kayla said at lunch. "Jordan's asking for your insta."

I looked across the cafeteria where Jordan sat at his usual table—the apex of the pyramid. He waved. I waved back.

"Weird how things change," I said, taking a bite of my sandwich.

But inside, I felt it: something shifting. Maybe I wasn't stuck in the middle anymore. Maybe I'd just been running in the wrong direction.

Or maybe sometimes you just have to face the bull to find your place in the herd.