The Papaya Pyramid Scheme

Marcus slid into the cafeteria booth beside me, eyes glowing with that terrifying enthusiasm that usually meant bad decisions were incoming. Bro, you have to get in on this ground floor opportunity.

I glanced up from my phone. The last time Marcus had ground-floor energy, we'd spent three hours believing we could start a clothing brand selling socks with my face on them. (Spoiler: we couldn't. Or shouldn't.)

"Pass," I said, returning to my scrolling.

"No, seriously! My cousin's friend's brother started this fruit distribution thing. It's literally a pyramid—"

"A pyramid scheme?"

"—of SUCCESS," Marcus finished, ignoring me completely. "He's making bank. And the starter kit comes with this exotic fruit blend that's supposed to, like, unlock your mental potential or something."

He pulled a chunky papaya from his backpack like it was a bar of gold. The cafeteria lights caught its weirdly freckled orange skin.

"That's a papaya, Marcus."

"It's a LIFESTYLE, Leo." His voice dropped to conspiratorial volume. "I need five people to join my 'downline.' You're my best friend. I thought you'd have my back."

There it was. The friend card. Marcus and I had been inseparable since seventh grade, bonding over our mutual inability to talk to girls and our shared ability to make every situation weird. But lately, he'd been desperate—for money, for clout, for something that made him feel like he wasn't just another kid working at his mom's bakery weekends.

I looked at the papaya. I looked at Marcus, who was actually vibrating with hope.

"This is dumb," I said.

"Just try the fruit, bro. One taste."

I sighed and took a bite. It tasted like cantaloupe's weird cousin who'd spent too much time in the sun. Not awful. Not great. Just

unnecessarily confusing.

Like this whole situation.

"So?" Marcus demanded. "Ready to join the pyramid?"

I swallowed. "No. But I'll help you figure out a real way to make money. One that doesn't involve recruiting twelve people to sell fruit." I paused. "Also, what even IS a papaya's deal?"

Marcus slumped, then snorted. "I don't know. It looks like someone mutated a melon."

"Exactly." I pushed the papaya back toward him. "Keep your weird pyramid fruit. I'll help you study for the SATs instead. That's how people actually get successful."

Marcus stared at me for a long second, then burst out laughing. "You're literally the worst. But fine. SATs. Whatever."

He took a bite of the papaya and made a face. "This tastes like disappointment."

"Welcome to the real world, bro."