Salsa Pyramids and Stolen Cats

The social pyramid at Northwood High was basically a temple to the popular kids, and Maya? She was somewhere in the foundation—buried, unseen, and definitely not getting worshipped.

"Maya, your grandma's salsa display is literally a pyramid," Leo laughed, gesturing to the carefully stacked jars in Abuela's restaurant window. The new kid with the messy curls and the hoodie that had seen better days.

Her palms sweat through her apron. Great. Now she was thinking about her hands.

"It's aesthetic," Maya defended, but she was smiling. Leo had been coming to El Sol for two weeks, always sitting in the corner booth, always reading these beat-up paperback books like he was preparing for some exam that didn't exist.

Then Jessica walked in—the human equivalent of a pyramid's peak—and the whole vibe shifted.

"I heard you're running for student council prez," Jessica announced, not asking. "Against me? That's cute."

"I haven't even—"

"Also, someone's spreading bull that your family's restaurant is going under." Jessica flipped her hair. "Just so you know, I'm NOT the one saying that. But like, everyone's talking."

Maya's face burned. The restaurant WAS struggling. Abuela had cried last night.

"That's not—"

"Whatever. Good luck with the campaign." Jessica sauntered out, leaving pineapple-scented chaos in her wake.

Leo looked up from his book. "You know what my aunt does? She's a palm reader."

"Cool?"

"She says your lifeline is the path you're running toward. Everything else is noise." He closed his book. "Jessica's scared of you. That's why she's spreading bull."

"Scared of ME? I'm literally the girl with the salsa pyramid."

"Exactly. You've got substance." Leo stood up. "My aunt also said something else. She ran away with her high school boyfriend's family cat when she was seventeen. Because the guy was terrible, but the cat was innocent."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"Point is, people do wild things when they're figuring out who they are." Leo headed for the door. "See you tomorrow, Maya."

Later that night, looking at the salsa pyramid in the dark restaurant window, Maya started a campaign group chat. The first message: "running for prez bc someone's spreading BS about Abuela's and I'm done letting people write my story lol"

Within an hour, her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

The pyramid wasn't going to topple itself. But maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to stay buried at the bottom anymore.