The Pyramid Scheme

Maya stared at the bleacher hierarchy during lunch—this school's social pyramid was as rigid as the ancient ones Mr. Harrison droned about in World History, but with way more drama and way less historical significance.

"You're doing it again," said Leo, sliding onto the bench beside her with his tray. "Overthinking the seating chart."

"I'm not overthinking," Maya protested, ripping her sandwich into tiny pieces. "I'm conducting anthropological research. Besides, someone has to document this stuff."

Leo had been her best friend since sixth grade, back when Maya's braces had been their own personality trait and his YouTube gaming channel had three subscribers (his mom, his dad, and his grandma). Now they were juniors, and somehow Leo had migrated up several levels of the pyramid without even trying. His hair always looked perfect. He'd grown like six inches over summer. People actually laughed at his jokes.

Maya had stayed exactly where she was: comfortably middle-tier, invisible enough to avoid drama but not cool enough to get invited to the good parties.

"So," Leo said, entirely too casual. "Jordan's having a thing Saturday. Her parents got that new puppy—some tiny doodle mix that apparently hates everyone."

"And?" Maya raised an eyebrow.

"And she wants people to come over and, like, meet the dog?" Leo rubbed the back of his neck. "She said I could bring a plus-one."

The offer hung between them, heavier than it should've been. Jordan sat near the pyramid's apex—varsity soccer, straight A's, the kind of effortless popularity that made everything seem easy. She'd been giving Leo looks in calculus for weeks.

"You should go," Maya said, and meant it. "Take pictures of the dog. Send them to me so I can live vicariously through your courage."

Leo studied her face. "You know, pyramids are actually pretty unstable. That's why they're so wide at the bottom—"

"Don't. No history teacher metaphors."

"I'm serious!" He grinned. "Without the base, everything collapses. You're my base, May. Always have been."

Maya felt something warm and terrible bloom in her chest—hope, probably the most dangerous emotion in high school's entire emotional ecosystem.

"So tell Jordan you're already busy hanging out with your actual friend," she said, trying to sound casual. "Tell her we're doing important anthropological research."

Leo's answering smile was worth more than any social climbing in the world. "Deal. But we're getting boba after school, and you're paying."

"Pyramid maintenance isn't cheap," Maya agreed, and for the first time all day, she didn't look up at the top at all.