The Pyramid of Us

I sat alone on the bottom bleacher, my glove still on my hand. Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but I couldn't move. Coach put me at the bottom of the lineup again, and suddenly I felt trapped in this invisible pyramid where varsity players sat at the top and I was somehow beneath them—even though I was literally on the team.

Marcus leaned against the chain-link fence, watching me. "You've been sitting here forever. That's not 'fine' vibes."

I shrugged, unable to explain how much it stung.

"You know what my grandpa says? 'Even the best hitters strike out seven times for every three hits.'" Marcus grabbed my glove and tossed me a baseball he'd pulled from his pocket. "You're overthinking it."

"Easy for you to say. You made varsity as a sophomore."

"And I still choke sometimes." Marcus dropped onto the bleacher beside me. "Last week, I looked like a confused penguin while a fly ball dropped three feet away. The whole JV section roasted me."

I couldn't help but smile. "Really?"

"We're all just trying to figure out who we are while everyone's watching." Marcus looked at me. "You think the seniors don't stress about college apps and recruitment letters? Everyone's pretending they've got it together when they're actually panicking."

I turned the baseball over in my hands. The leather was worn from years of practice, just like our friendship had weathered awkward phases and crushing failures.

"So what you're saying is, I should stop caring what people think?"

"I'm saying you've got one more at-bat tomorrow, and you're gonna crush it because you finally stopped overthinking." Marcus stood and offered me a hand. "Now let's go. I'm starving, and I refuse to watch you mope anymore."

I took his hand and let him pull me up. "You're paying."

"Deal." He grinned. "But you're telling me about that girl in your English class. I saw you staring at her during lunch."

"Marcus—"

"Details. Now." He started toward the parking lot. "I'm living vicariously through you since my love life is basically a ghost town."

I laughed, the knot in my chest finally loosening. Maybe the real pyramid wasn't about social status or batting order—it was about building something real with the people who showed up for you, layer by layer, even when things got messy.

"Hey Marcus?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For being an actual friend."

"That's literally what friends do." He didn't turn around, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't get all sentimental on me now. I'm still expecting food."

I caught up to him as the stadium lights flickered on, casting long shadows across the empty field. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and for the first time all week, I thought I might actually be ready.