Pyramid Schemes and Sweaty Palms

The **water** in the Sphinx's Revenge slide shimmered an unnaturally bright blue, like something that would definitely give you a rash if the chemicals weren't balanced perfectly. I stood at the bottom of the slide in my neon orange staff shirt, palms sweating, gathering the courage to ask Jordan if they wanted to hang out after my shift.

My dad's latest **pyramid** scheme—some ridiculous Egyptian-themed investment that had literally crashed and burned in two weeks—meant I needed this job. The irony wasn't lost on anyone. I worked at a water park decorated like ancient Egypt while my family's financial pyramid collapsed around us. High school social hierarchy were brutal enough without everyone knowing your dad was the guy who'd convinced half the teachers to invest in 'Pharaoh's Crypto Gold.'

Jordan approached the slide, looking annoyingly effortless in their swimsuit while I felt like a walking embarrassment in my staff uniform.

'One ticket,' Jordan said, dropping a crumpled five-dollar bill into my hand. Their fingers brushed mine and I almost forgot how to speak.

The mechanical **sphinx** head above the slide activated, its LED eyes flickering to life. 'ANSWER MY RIDDLE TO DESCEND,' it announced in the most dramatic voice possible, which was objectively hilarious considering this thing had malfunctioned three times today and sprayed some eighth graders with bubbles instead.

'I hate this thing,' I muttered.

Jordan laughed. 'It's literally so extra. I love it.'

That was when I realized Jordan wasn't looking at the sphinx or the slide or the embarrassingly themed water park. They were looking at me. Like, actually looking at me.

Two hours later, as the park shut down and the last guests trickled out, we sat on the edge of the lazy river watching the sunset turn everything gold. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and I found myself actually talking about everything—my dad's schemes, my embarrassment about working here, how much I hated that my friends' parents had lost money because of us.

Jordan nodded. 'That sucks. But you're not your dad's mistakes.'

Something in my chest loosened. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' Jordan stood up and held out a hand. 'You want to get food? My treat.'

I took it, and for the first time in months, the pyramid schemes, the sweaty **palm**s, and the embarrassing job didn't matter. I was just starting to figure out who I actually was—somewhere between everyone's expectations and my own mess, and that was okay.