Summer Social Pyramids

The country club's social hierarchy worked like a pyramid scheme I'd never signed up for. At the top: the legacy families whose grandparents founded this place. Somewhere in the middle: my friend group, solidly upper-middle but not *old money*. And at the bottom? The summer help, especially the new guy whose parents had just moved to town from somewhere that wasn't "here."

Which was exactly why I couldn't stop watching him.

"You're literally spying right now," Mia said, sliding into the chair beside me at the outdoor café. "It's giving creepy."

"I'm observing," I corrected, although my face heated. "There's a difference."

"He's playing padel with the Henderson twins," she noted. "That's a bold move for someone whose khakis are definitely from Target."

I watched him laugh, head tilted back in the sunlight, all effortless confidence in a polo that didn't have the tiny embroidered logo everyone else wore. Somehow he'd charmed his way into an invitation to play padel—a sport I'd mastered at age ten but still couldn't make look that easy.

"Do you think he knows?" I asked quietly. "Like, that he's not supposed to be here?"

"Bro, he's living his best life," Mia said. "Meanwhile you're overconstructing a whole narrative about papaya and privilege."

I choked on my iced Americano. "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday you spent twenty minutes analyzing how the papaya at the buffet wasn't actually local, but then you ate three servings anyway because it was "aesthetic." Her air quotes were aggressive. "You're overthinking everything. Just talk to him."

"I can't just—" I started, but then he was walking toward the pool, shirt already off, and this was absolutely not the time to have an existential crisis about talking to boys.

He paused near my table. Water droplets clung to his shoulders. "Hey. You're Quinn, right?"

My brain short-circuited. "Yeah. Hi."

"I'm Leo." He smiled, and something in my chest did an illegal maneuver. "My sister said you're the person to ask about the good hiking trails around here."

"Oh!" I perked up. Hiking I could do. Hiking wasn't talking to cute boys at country clubs. "Absolutely. There's this ridge that—"

"Perfect." He pulled out his phone. "Can I get your number? For the trail info. Obviously."

"Obviously," I echoed, trying to sound casual.

Later, alone in my room, I stared at our text thread. Hiking plans for Saturday. No pyramid scheme, no overanalysis, just two people who both liked papaya at the buffet and didn't care where it came from.

Sometimes you just had to jump in the pool before checking if the water was perfect.