The Cat at the Bottom of the Pyramid

Maria thought she'd finally made it. The social **pyramid** at Northwood High had finally opened up for her, thanks to Jasmine.

"Bestie, you've got to join my team," Jasmine said, sliding her phone across the cafeteria table. "My cousin made three grand last month."

Maria stared at the screen. Pyramid-shaped graphics. Wellness products. A scrolling list of names underneath Jasmine's profile.

"It's an MLM," Maria said, even though she'd only learned what that was from a TikTok tutorial the night before.

Jasmine's face twisted. "It's about financial freedom. I thought you were my **friend**."

Maria's chest tightened. She'd spent months cracking Jasmine's inner circle—right clothes, right jokes, right lunch table. All of it came down to this.

"I am," she said carefully. "That's why I'm asking—is this legit?"

Jasmine's expression hardened. "Whatever. If you're not gonna support me, maybe we shouldn't hang out."

Maria sat alone the next day, phone silent, until she found herself in the alley behind the 7-Eleven. The scrawny tabby **cat**—she'd named her Pyra for the white triangle on her forehead—stared up with judgment only cats could pull off.

"At least someone's honest," Maria muttered, setting down a stolen can of tuna.

By Friday, Jasmine had recruited three sophomores and posted forty stories about "building her empire." Maria's phone stayed quiet, but she kept visiting Pyra, watching her chase crickets in the dying sunlight.

Then came Monday morning when she found Jasmine crying in the hallway.

"They took everything," Jasmine whispered. "My savings. My parents' money. It was all lies."

Maria hesitated three seconds before walking over. The social pyramid had collapsed anyway.

"My **cat** has better business sense than those guys," Maria said softly, sitting beside her.

Jasmine looked up, confused, then laughed through tears. "Wait, you have a cat?"

"Sort of. She hangs out behind the 7-Eleven. We can go see her if you want."

Jasmine wiped her eyes, leaving mascara streaks. "I'd like that."

They sat in the alley that afternoon, watching Pyra groom herself with elaborate indifference. The social hierarchy still existed, but something about the scam's collapse and the cat's unbothered presence made the whole pyramid feel less important.

"I'm sorry," Jasmine said. "About what I said. About you not being a friend."

Maria watched Pyra pounce on a leaf. "Real friends don't ask you to join pyramid schemes."

"Fair point." Jasmine paused. "Can we start over?"

"Maybe," Maria said. "But first, you're buying the cat food."

Jasmine laughed—actually laughed. "Deal."

And just like that, the social pyramid didn't matter so much anymore.