The Party Pyramid

Maya stood outside the bathroom mirror, fingers combing through her frizzy **hair** for the thousandth time. The house party bass thumped through the walls, but she couldn't go out there yet. Not yet.

Her **iPhone** buzzed in her pocket. Another Instagram story from everyone having the time of their lives while she hyperventilated.

"You gonna hide all night?"

Maya jumped. Jake—the guy she'd been lowkey obsessed with since August—leaned against the doorframe, wearing that stupid fedora **hat** he thought made him look mysterious.

"I'm not hiding," she lied.

Jake laughed. "Your palms are literally sweating."

Maya wiped her sweaty **palm** on her jeans. Great.

"Look," Jake said, suddenly serious. "Everyone out there? They're all pretending too. See Tyler? Building that beer **pyramid** like it's his personality? Bro's got two followers on TikTok."

Maya cracked up. "No way."

"Swear on my life." Jake pulled off his hat, revealing messy brown hair. "This thing? My mom bought it. I look like an idiot."

"You kinda do," Maya said, and then they were both laughing, really laughing, and the party noise outside faded.

"Wanna just stay here?" Jake asked. "We can people-watch through the crack in the door. It's better than actually being out there."

"Deal."

And that's when Maya realized she wasn't awkward. She was just in the wrong place. With the wrong people. Or maybe she'd just needed someone to say it out loud—that the whole social pyramid was built on pretending.

She fixed her hair one last time. Her curls were wild. Her palms were still sweaty. But for the first time all night, she didn't care.

"So," Jake said, checking his phone. "Wanna see Tyler's pyramid collapse?"

"Absolutely."