Pyramids in the Dugout

The social pyramid at Northwood High was basically a religion, and Marcus? He was somewhere in the basement, right between the AV club kids and the guys who played Magic cards in the cafeteria. That was before Jordan moved to town.

Jordan was built like a bear—all broad shoulders and quiet intimidation—but he had this goofy smile that made you want to trust him immediately. Within a week, he'd claimed Marcus as his new best friend, dragging him everywhere like an oversized puppy who didn't understand personal space.

"You're trying out for baseball," Jordan announced one Tuesday, completely unbothered by Marcus's horrified expression. "Coach saw you throwing during gym. He wants you at third base."

"Dude, I can't." Marcus gestured vaguely at the field where the baseball team practiced like they owned everything. "That's like, prime real estate in the pyramid. I'll get absolutely cooked out there."

"Bro, you've got a cannon for an arm," Jordan said, stealing Marcus's phone and typing his number into the group chat. "Besides, half those guys are mid. I heard the varsity shortstop choked in playoffs last year. Total mental midget."

Tryouts were a nightmare Marcus had lived through in his head approximately eight thousand times. But when he finally stepped onto the field—heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird—something clicked. His throws landed in the coach's mitt with this satisfying *thwack* that felt like coming home.

"Not bad," Coach Miller said, barely looking up from his clipboard. "You're here tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

Jordan whooped from the sidelines, completely ignoring Marcus's frantic "shut up" gestures.

That night, Marcus lay in bed staring at his ceiling, reeling from how completely his life had shifted in one afternoon. The pyramid still existed, obviously—the seniors would still act like they walked on water, and the popular girls would still rule the school like they held stock in it. But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to stay in the basement anymore.

His phone buzzed. Jordan had sent a picture of himself in a baseball cap, captioned *drip check*.

Marcus smiled in the dark. He texted back: *you look mid*

*jokes on you i'm your best friend now,* came the instant reply. *see you at practice*