The Pyramid Scheme

The social hierarchy at Northwood High worked like a pyramid. At the top: the varsity jacket guys and Instagram models. In the middle: the theater kids, the debate team, the people who tried too hard. And at the bottom? That's where I lived with the AV Club, existing mostly as background furniture.

Until the day the football captain's cable snapped mid-game announcement, and Principal Henderson looked at me like I could actually fix something.

"You're good with tech, right Leo?"

I was not. I just sat in the back because it was safe.

But something weird happened when I climbed that rickety ladder to the catwalk. My hands stopped shaking. The copper wire, the frayed insulation, the connector pins—it made sense. Physical problems had physical solutions. Unlike asking your crush to homecoming, or figuring out why your dad left.

"You got this, Leo," said Zara, the only person who actually knew my name. She wasn't supposed to be up there, cutting class again. Her lipstick was smudged, her eyes were that particular kind of red.

"Why are you here?" I asked, wrapping electrical tape around the splice.

"My mom's making me join Academic Decathlon. She says I'm becoming a zombie." Zara laughed, but it cracked down the middle. "Just scrolling through life, right?"

I finished the splice. The speakers crackled to life.

"You know," Zara said, watching me pack up. "There's this underground gaming tournament downtown. Prize pool's huge. You need a partner?"

I looked down at the gym, where the pyramid waited. Everyone in their boxes, playing their parts.

Then I looked at Zara, who was currently supposed to be in AP Chem but wasn't.

"What's the split?" I asked.

She grinned. It reached her eyes this time.

"Fifty-fifty. Equals."