The Fox and the Social Pyramid

Maya adjusted her baseball cap, pulling the brim low as she leaned against the bleachers. Practice had run late, and honestly? She was grateful for the excuse to avoid the cafeteria scene. High school was basically a pyramid scheme of popularity, and she was definitely at the bottom tier—right alongside the kids who played Yugioh unironically.

"You're totally spying on him, aren't you?"

Maya jumped. Brooklyn appeared beside her, sporting that fox-eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Brooklyn had transferred here two months ago and immediately ascended the social pyramid like it was nothing. Probably because she actually talked to people instead of hiding behind baseball caps and sarcasm.

"I'm not spying," Maya lied. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Mhm." Brooklyn dropped onto the bleacher beside her, following Maya's gaze to where Jason—ultimate fox, junior varsity baseball captain, and Maya's crush since approximately last Tuesday—was packing his gear bag. "You know, he's just a guy. A guy who throws balls really well, but still. Just a guy."

"That's rich coming from someone who's literally climbing the social pyramid like it's Mount Everest," Maya shot back, but she was smiling now.

"The pyramid is a myth," Brooklyn said, all faux-philosophical. "It's actually more like—"

"A sphere?" Maya interrupted.

"I was gonna say a spiderweb, but sphere works." Brooklyn checked her phone. "Speaking of webs, Jason's looking over here. Act natural."

Maya's heart did that embarrassing flutter thing. She didn't spy. She didn't. Okay, maybe she'd memorized his baseball schedule. And maybe she'd walked past his locker three times yesterday. But that wasn't spying—that was strategic positioning.

Jason waved.

Maya waved back and immediately tripped over her own feet.

"Smooth," Brooklyn said.

"Shut up."

"He's coming over."

"What? No. Abort mission. I need to—"

"Hey Maya." Jason stood there, actual inches away, smelling like pine tar and something minty. "You left your glove in the dugout again."

The social pyramid had officially collapsed. Jason noticed her. He knew her name. He'd noticed her glove.

"Thanks," she managed, her voice weirdly steady. "I'm, uh, working on that. The memory thing."

"No worries." He grinned. "See you at practice tomorrow."

As he walked away, Brooklyn whispered, "The fox has been observed."