The Bull-Bear Paradox

Marcus adjusted his ratty blue **baseball** cap—backward, obviously—and stared at the Robinhood app on his phone. His phone, 2% battery. His confidence, roughly the same.

"You're being such a **bear** about this," said Chloe, popping a melon-flavored **vitamin** gummy into her mouth like it was candy. Which, technically, it was. "It's just lunch. The worst he can say is no."

Marcus's stomach did somersaults that had nothing to do with the questionable cafeteria food. "Ethan's the varsity **bull**. He charges. He doesn't think. I'm not trying to get trampled."

"Then be smart about it." She tapped his screen. "Your grandpa's whole stock market philosophy, remember? Bulls charge, bears hibernate. But the smart money? They watch the trends."

Marcus had explained his grandfather's investing theories to Chloe exactly once, freshman year, during that weird phase when he carried around a leather-bound notebook like he was some Wall Street prodigy. She actually listened.

He spotted Ethan at their usual table, surrounded by the kind of people who owned more than one pair of white sneakers. Ethan's **hat** sat perfectly forward, embroidered with some boutique brand Marcus had definitely seen on TikTok.

"Okay," Marcus said. "Bull market strategy."

"Meaning?"

"Charge."

"Marcus, wait—"

But he was already moving, clutching his phone like it held the nuclear codes. His heart hammered against his ribs. The cafeteria noise swelled—laughter, shouting, the distant thud of a dodgeball in gym class. Everything felt dangerously loud.

Ethan looked up as Marcus approached. The table went quiet. Six pairs of designer sunglasses turned toward him.

"Yo," Marcus said, and his voice didn't crack. Small victory. "You said you needed someone for the showcase. The digital art one?"

Ethan's expression was unreadable behind his frames. "Yeah."

"I've been working on this 3D series. Atmospheric. Kind of cyberpunk meets Renaissance."

Silence. Then: "Send it."

That was it.

Marcus walked back to Chloe's table on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. "He said 'send it.'"

"Told you." Chloe grinned. "Bear market vibes, huh?"

"Shut up."

His phone buzzed. Grandpa: *Market's looking up today, kid. Remember: bulls make money, bears make money, pigs get slaughtered.*

Marcus slid his **baseball** cap around to forward. He was neither bull nor bear anymore. He was just someone who'd made a move. And the stock was finally looking up.