The Pyramid Scheme

Maya adjusted the vintage fedora she'd thrifted for three dollars—her armor against the terrifying social pyramid of sophomore year. Last year, she'd been invisible. This year, she'd be mysterious.

"Nice hat," said someone sliding onto the bench next to her.

Maya jumped. It was Leo, who sat behind her in biology and drew pyramids in the margins of his notes. Actual detailed architectural pyramids. He was in that weird zone where the stoners didn't claim him and the honors kids didn't either.

"Thanks," she said, tilting the brim. "It's my confidence hat. Without it, I forget how to human."

Leo laughed—like, actually laughed. "I need one of those. Mine would be a pyramid headdress. Maybe then people would stop asking if I'm 'fine' all the time."

"Wait," Maya said. "You draw those pyramids because—"

"Because I'm obsessed with ancient Egypt? Guilty." Leo shrugged. "I'm building a model of the Great Pyramid for the history fair. Want to see?"

What followed was not at all part of Maya's climb up the social ladder. But Leo's room was a pyramid museum—models, posters, books. He showed her how pyramids were built from the inside out, how the true structure was hidden, how the exterior was just flashy limestone casing over something real.

"The friend thing," Leo said suddenly, while they glued tiny blocks together. "You don't have to perform. You can just exist. That's the pyramid wisdom."

Maya's phone buzzed—three texts from the girls she'd been trying to impress all week. Did she want to sit with them at lunch tomorrow?

She looked at Leo, glue on his nose, fedora on her head, half a pyramid between them.

"Actually," she texted back, "I have plans."