The Cat at the Top of the Pyramid

The cafeteria pyramid wasn't official, but everyone knew their place. Seniors at the top, sophomores in the middle, freshmen scattered at the bottom like lost puzzle pieces. I sat somewhere in the middle layers with Maya, my best friend since sixth grade, until she stopped being my friend and started being someone who'd literally cross the cafeteria to avoid me.

That's when I started eating lunch outside with the cat—a scrawny orange tabby who lived behind the school's dumpster. I called him Pyramid because he had this weird way of stacking himself into triangles when he slept, like he was meditating on some profound cat philosophy.

"You're better than them," I'd tell Pyramid, scratching behind his ears while he purred like a tiny motor. "They're all caught up in who's dating who and who made varsity. You keep it real."

Pyramid would just look at me with those judging yellow eyes, and I swear he was calling bull on my entire existence. Because the truth was, I missed Maya. I missed having someone to text at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep, someone who understood my weird obsession with vintage horror movies, someone who didn't make me feel like I had to perform being normal.

Two weeks before homecoming, I found Maya sitting by the dumpster, crying softly. Pyramid was in her lap, purring like he'd known her forever.

"He showed up when I was having a panic attack," she said, wiping her eyes. "I didn't know you named him Pyramid. That's... actually kind of brilliant."

We sat there for twenty minutes, not saying much, just letting Pyramid do his cat therapy thing. Eventually, I told her about my grandma's cat, my fear of driving, my anxiety about college applications. She told me about her parents' divorce, the pressure to be perfect, how she'd started cutting again.

"I'm sorry I stopped being your friend," she said. "I thought I had to distance myself to be cool, but that was such bull."

"Yeah," I said. "Pyramid could've told you that."

We walked back inside together, past the cafeteria pyramid, past all the social layers that suddenly seemed so ridiculous. Pyramid trotted ahead of us like he was leading the way, stopping to look back and make sure we were following.