The Pyramid Scheme

Maya's phone died at 2% while waiting for the bus. She scrambled for her charging cable, jamming it into the campus outlet like her life depended on it. Because honestly, it did.

"Girl, you have to see this," Zoya squealed, sliding onto the bench beside her. "My cousin made three grand last month. THREE. GRAND."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Selling these manifestation crystals." Zoya pulled up an Instagram story featuring a girl her age holding a pyramid-shaped chunk of amethyst. "You just post content, get people to buy, and then YOU recruit people under you. It's literally the perfect side hustle."

Maya's gut twisted. "That sounds like a—"

"A pyramid scheme," Zoya scoffed. "No, it's called *multi-level marketing*. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

But Zoya was already typing furiously. "I'll sign you up under me. We can be a team. Maya and Zoya, manifestation queens."

That afternoon, Maya sat cross-legged on her bed, palm pressed against the stupid crystal pyramid Zoya had thrust upon her. "Manifest financial freedom," the listing promised. She was supposed to record herself doing this daily ritual—hand on pyramid, eyes closed, whispering affirmations about abundance—and post it to TikTok.

Her phone dinged.

*Zoya:* Did you do the video yet?

*Zoya:* My cousin says you need to post 3x a day or the algorithm won't boost you

*Zoya:* Also you need to buy the starter kit. It's $299 but you'll make it back in a week

Maya stared at the pyramid in her palm. Something about this felt wrong—like that time her aunt got roped into selling essential oils and ended up with $2,000 worth of lavender lotion in her garage.

She opened TikTok. Hundreds of girls her age were doing the exact same ritual. Same pyramid. Same palm pose. Same desperate eyes.

*Zoya:* Hello?

Maya typed slowly: *I looked it up. Only 1% of people actually make money. The other 99% lose money buying the products.*

The typing bubble appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.

*Zoya:* you're overthinking it

*Zoya:* you just need to believe harder

*Zoya:* whatever. i'll ask jenna. she actually has vision.

Maya set the crystal pyramid on her nightstand. It caught the sunset, casting tiny rainbows across her wall—pretty, useless, expensive.

Later that night, she found Zoya's post. A video of her best friend, palm pressed against her own pyramid, eyes closed, whispering about abundance. The caption read: *Join my team! DM me 'MANIFEST' to start your journey today! #bossbabe #financialfreedom*

Maya wondered how much Zoya had paid for the privilege of selling hope to other girls who couldn't afford it.

Her cable lay tangled on her pillow, still plugged into her phone. 100% charged.

Some things, she decided, were worth the wait. And some things weren't worth believing in at all.