Red Cup Pyramid

The pyramid of red cups loomed before me like some ancient monument to teenage awkwardness. I gripped my phone tighter, my palm leaving a sweaty smudge on the case.

"Leo! You're actually here!" Jordan's voice cut through the bass-thumping playlist that definitely violated at least three noise ordinances. She grabbed my hand, and for a second, I considered just letting my feet take over and sprinting back to the safety of my bedroom.

"The baseball team finally convinced you to join civilization?" She laughed, and I could feel my face doing that thing where it turned approximately the same shade as a tomato.

I mumbled something about practice running late, which wasn't even a good lie. Everyone knew baseball season ended weeks ago. That was the problem with going to a school where sports were basically religion – you couldn't escape your reputation even when you wanted to.

The social pyramid was real here, and I was definitely somewhere in the "makes Overwatch references in math class" tier. Jordan, of course, was at the top. The kind of person who could pull off wearing a vintage band tee to a semi-formal house party without looking like she was trying too hard.

My phone buzzed. Charlie: "DUDE WHERE ARE YOU" followed by twelve variations of the same question. I typed back: "Stuck. SOS." Because Charlie would understand what that meant – trapped in conversation, don't actually call the police, but definitely considering climbing out a bathroom window if things got weird.

"So, I was thinking," Jordan said, and my stomach did something that wasn't entirely unpleasant, "maybe we could—"

And that's when someone accidentally knocked into the beer pong table.

The pyramid of cups collapsed in slow motion, red plastic everywhere, while someone shouted something that definitely included at least two curse words. Jordan's face fell. Then she laughed, really laughed, and I found myself laughing too because sometimes disasters are just funny.

"My brother's gonna kill me," she said. "Help me clean this up?"

So there we were, on our hands and knees, picking up cups while people streamed around us like we were part of the architecture. My palm was still sweaty, my phone was buzzing with increasingly concerned texts from Charlie, and I was definitely not running anywhere anymore.

"Thanks for staying," she said, and for a second, her hand brushed against mine. Not in a movie way. In a way that felt like maybe, just maybe, the pyramid wasn't as rigid as I thought.

"You're welcome," I said, and actually meant it.

Then my phone died. Because of course it did.