The Pyramid Scheme

Marcus gripped his phone, screen reflecting his nervous expression. Three girls stood before him by the **pool**, bikini tops and braces gleaming in the July sun. They wanted him at the base of their human **pyramid** for TikTok, naturally.

"You're practically a linebacker, Marcus," Chloe said. "Perfect foundation."

He glanced at where his **dog** Buster flopped on the concrete, tongue lolling, zero anxiety in existence. Why couldn't he be more like a golden retriever?

Across the yard, Tyler—Varsity jacket even in ninety-degree heat, because some performances never pause—loudly held court about how he'd "totally almost" gotten with three different girls at camp. The **bull** was strong with this one.

"Dude, just do it," Denise whispered, appearing beside him. She'd cut her hair over the summer, and it looked good. She looked good. Not that he was noticing, because he definitely wasn't.

"What if I drop them?"

"Then you become a viral legend for entirely the wrong reasons." She grinned. "Worst case: we all go down together. Ride or die, remember?"

Ride or die. Their slogan since seventh grade, back when they'd fist-bumped about grand adventures and had absolutely no clue what that actually meant.

Marcus positioned himself. Three girls climbed onto his shoulders—his bare shoulders, goosebumps rising in the heat, very cool, very chill. Denise stood beside him, phone ready, steady **friend** energy radiating like a lifeline.

"PYRAMID POSTURE EVERYBODY," Chloe announced like she'd been training for this moment her entire life.

And then Tyler yelled, "NERD ALERT" from across the pool, and something in Marcus just... clicked.

He locked his knees. He straightened his spine. He became the most stable pyramid foundation in the history of teenage feats.

They held it for seven seconds exactly.

The dismount was less graceful—physics remains unforgiving—but they went down laughing, chlorine and sunscreen and summer spinning through the air. Chloe was already editing the caption: squad goals feat. our actual legend.

"Told you," Denise said, helping him up. "You're secretly good at being the base."

Marcus laughed, breathless and lighter somehow. Whatever that meant. Whatever any of it meant. Buster padded over and nudged his hand, and Marcus realized he hadn't checked his phone in twenty minutes.

Progress.

That night, Instagram would confirm it: two hundred likes and counting. But the weird part was, he didn't even care about the numbers. He kept replaying the feeling of steady beneath his feet.