Pyramid Schemes at Sunset

The social pyramid at Jefferson High had been firmly established since freshman year. At the top: the influencers and athletes. Bottom: everyone else desperately trying not to become today's lunch menu content.

"You're overthinking again," Liam said, splashing water at me from where he floated in his ridiculous inflatable flamingo.

I wiped my face, annoyed. "I'm not overthinking. I'm strategically analyzing. There's a difference."

We were at Jordan's end-of-summer pool party, the kind where half the people didn't actually swim but stood around looking aesthetic in their curated outfits. The backyard was basically an Instagram trap—string lights, tiki torches, actual palm trees that Jordan's parents definitely paid too much to have installed.

Liam paddled closer. "You know what your problem is? You treat friendship like an application process. You need to relax."

"Easy for you to say. You're already in."

"In what? The pyramid?" Liam laughed so hard he almost capsized his flamingo. "Maya, that thing's been crumbling since we started high school. Nobody actually cares anymore."

But he was wrong. They did care. Or maybe I just wanted them to care because I'd spent three years climbing—well, attempting to climb—that invisible pyramid. Making the right friends. Posting the right content. Saying the right things. The exhaustion was real.

"Hey." Jordan appeared at the pool's edge, holding out a red plastic cup. "Want some punch? It's suspiciously blue, but I promise it's safe."

My stomach did that thing it always did when Jordan talked to me, which was ridiculous because Jordan was just a person. A person who happened to sit at the metaphorical top of the pyramid.

"Sure," I said, and Jordan's palm brushed mine as they handed me the cup. Their hand was warm, mine was cold from the pool water, and for some reason my brain decided this moment deserved to be archived in permanent memory.

"So," Jordan said, sliding into the pool beside me. "I've been meaning to ask—what's that song you were listening to in homeroom yesterday? It sounded cool."

Liam sent me a look from his flamingo that clearly said: TOLD YOU.

The pyramid didn't feel like a pyramid anymore. Maybe it never had been. Maybe it had always just been people in pools, asking about songs, floating in ridiculous inflatable birds together.

"It's called 'Paper Rings,'" I said, finally relaxing enough to lean back and let the water hold me up. "I'll send you the link."

Friendship, I realized, wasn't about climbing anything. It was about floating. And sometimes that was enough.