The Pyramid Scheme

Maya's social life existed entirely on her iphone screen, a fragile pyramid of likes and DMs that could collapse with one awkward screenshot. She sat at lunch, thumb hovering over Kai's profile—the senior whose smirk made her stomach do flips.

"You gonna stare at his jawline all day or actually say hi?" Jordán dropped onto the bench beside her, their airpods blasting.

"I'm building up to it," Maya lied. "Need to establish my brand first."

Jordán rolled their eyes. "The social pyramid at Northwood isn't that deep, bestie. You're overthinking it."

That's when the chaos arrived. A golden retriever bounded through the courtyard, tennis ball clamped in its jaw, heading straight for Maya's tray. Before she could react, the dog plowed through her lunch—sending her iphone flying into the ketchup pond.

"NO!" Maya lunged, but it was too late. Her lifeline, drowning in condiment hell.

The dog's owner sprinted over. A girl with messy braids and zero apologies. "Sorry! Buster's obsessed with french fries."

"My phone—" Maya started, then stopped. Kai was watching. The hierarchy said: make a scene, demand compensation, preserve dignity.

Instead, she laughed. "At least he has good taste."

The mystery girl—her name was Naomi—grinned. "Let me buy you a new case. And fries. Double order."

Sitting with Naomi and Buster five minutes later, phone wiped clean on her napkin, Maya caught Kai's eye across the courtyard. He gave her a thumbs-up and a genuine smile—not the cool-kid smirk from his posts.

"Think I just crashed the social pyramid," Maya murmured.

"Good," Naomi said, feeding Buster a victory fry. "Those things are structurally unsound anyway."