The Cafeteria Pyramid Scheme

Marcus stared at his tray like it was a chemistry experiment gone wrong. The lunch lady had plopped a pile of lukewarm spinach next to what looked like dog food—though the sign claimed it was meatloaf.

"Bro, you're actually gonna eat that?" Damon asked, sliding onto the bench across from him. Damon was everything Marcus wasn't: effortlessly cool, varsity jacket, hair that did whatever it wanted and still looked perfect.

Marcus poked at the spinach with his plastic fork. "My mom's all about the food pyramid these days. Apparently if I don't eat my greens, I'll wither away by third period."

"That pyramid is bull," Damon said, snorting. "My dad says the whole thing's basically propaganda for Big Spinach."

Before Marcus could respond, something slammed into his back, sending his tray flying. Spinach decorated his white shirt like abstract art. The entire cafeteria went dead silent—then erupted. Marcus spun around to face Tyler, the starting running back who'd been dogging him since elementary school.

"Whoops," Tyler said, not sorry at all. His friends snickered behind him like a backup choir of jerks.

Damon stood up. "Seriously? The guy's just trying to eat his lunch."

Tyler's smirk faltered. He stepped back, hands raised like he was joking, but the damage was done. Damon tossed Marcus his backup hoodie from his bag.

"Keep it," Damon said when Marcus tried to give it back later. "Looks better on you anyway."

That afternoon, Marcus caught Tyler watching him in the hallway like he was actually seeing him for the first time. Maybe that was the thing about high school—you spent years trying to climb to the top of the pyramid, but sometimes falling down made people finally notice you were there.

Marcus texted his mom: *No more spinach packed lunches. Please.* Then he pulled Damon's hoodie tighter around himself and walked to class like he meant to be there all along.