The Pyramid Scheme

My social life was basically a pyramid scheme, and I was the guy at the bottom who'd paid in but hadn't seen any returns. Welcome to sophomore year, where the cafeteria seating chart was more stratified than actual Egypt.

"You coming to the game tonight?" Marcus asked, spinning his baseball hat backward like that somehow made him cooler. Marcus had reached the top of the pyramid by being absolutely normal at everything — decent grades, decent at sports, decent at parties. I was none of those things.

"Can't," I said, pulling my own hat lower. "Mom's making me help with my sister's cheerleading thing."

This was technically true. Also, I was terrible at baseball, and Marcus knew it. Last year in gym class, I'd taken a swing at a pitch and somehow hit myself in the back of the head with the bat. The video had been on everyone's Instagram story for approximately forty-eight hours.

The cheerleading pyramid was worse than the social one. My sister's team kept falling over, and I kept having to catch eighth graders while their parents filmed.

"Hold it tighter, Emily!" the coach yelled, and I watched the whole structure wobble.

"Can't we just do a two-person thing?" someone whined. "This is literally unsafe."

I was so done. So I grabbed my phone and texted Marcus: actually screw it, I'm coming.

Running to the baseball field, I realized something: the social pyramid only worked if we all agreed to stay in our assigned levels. The air was finally crisp, October hitting different, and my hat flew off halfway there. I let it go.

Marcus looked confused when I showed up breathless at the dugout. "What are you—"

"Teach me," I said. "For real this time."

That night, I struck out every single time. But I was laughing about it by the third swing, and so was everyone else. The pyramid hadn't collapsed — I'd just climbed to a different level, one where it was okay to be terrible at something as long as you showed up.

Sometimes you have to run toward what scares you. And sometimes you leave your hat behind.