The Pyramid of Expectations

Mateo's dad called them "vitamin pills" but they were really just his latest attempt to fix everything. Take these for focus. Take these for growth. Take these because the other kids' parents give their kids these.

"You gotta bear down, mijo," his dad said, slapping him on the back way too hard. "Varsity baseball tryouts next week. This is your year."

Mateo swallowed the pill dry. It tasted like artificial cherry and disappointment.

The social hierarchy at Northwood High operated like a pyramid scheme nobody could quit. At the top: jocks and cheerleaders with their curated lives. In the middle: kids who tried too hard or pretended not to care. At the bottom: everyone else, just trying to survive.

Mateo's older brother Rico had been a varsity pitcher. College scholarship. Everything their dad wanted. Mateo was the backup copy.

He started running every morning at 5 AM—not because he liked it, but because it was the only time the world felt quiet enough to breathe. No expectations. No pyramid to climb. Just his sneakers hitting pavement, the sunrise painting the sky colors that didn't need anyone's approval.

The girl who worked at the bodega started noticing him. Elena had pierced eyebrows and read manga behind the counter when things were slow.

"You run like something's chasing you," she said one morning, counting his change with lightning fingers.

"Maybe something is," he said, and she'd actually laughed.

They started talking. Not flirting—Mateo didn't know how to do that without making everything awkward. Just talking. About music. About how pyramid schemes were actually just math problems that should've warned people away. About how neither of them had everything figured out.

"Baseball isn't your life," she said matter-of-factly. "You talk about it like a hostage situation."

Mateo couldn't deny it.

The morning of tryouts, his dad drove him to school. "You're gonna be great, mijo. Don't overthink it. Just remember everything we practiced."

He stopped at a red light. A bear figurine hung from the rearview mirror—a good luck charm Rico had given him years ago. It swung back and forth, back and forth.

Mateo realized he'd been trying to be Rico his whole life. The backup copy.

"Dad," he said. "I don't want to play."

The light turned green. His dad didn't move.

"What?"

"Baseball. I don't want to play. I want to run track. I want to draw. I want to figure out who I actually am instead of who everyone expects me to be."

Silence. Then his dad pulled into the school parking lot.

"Okay," he said, and Mateo realized he wasn't angry. Just surprised. "But you're still trying out, right? Just to see?"

"No. I'm done."

He got out of the car. His stomach felt like it might fall out, but his chest felt light for the first time in forever.

He found Elena by her locker. Her eyebrows went up when she saw him.

"You survived?"

"Better," Mateo said. "I quit."

Her grin was like the sunrise on his morning runs—real, and completely his to notice.

"Good," she said. "There's this anime convention next weekend. You should come."

"Like, as a date?" Because apparently he was going to say it awkwardly no matter what.

"Like, as someone who finally knows what he wants."

Mateo walked toward first period, the good luck bear still swinging from his dad's rearview mirror, the pyramid of expectations crumbling into something he could actually climb.

He'd figure out the vitamin situation later. Some things you couldn't swallow away.