The Pyramid Scheme

Maya's phone buzzed. Third time in five minutes.

"You coming to Tyler's party?" Becca's text read. "Everyone's gonna be there."

Maya stared at the flashing screen, thumb hovering. Tyler's parties were legendary — the social pyramid of sophomore year, and Maya was currently hovering somewhere near the bottom, wedged between the debate team kids and the ones who ate lunch in the library.

"Can't," she typed back, hit send. Then added, "Family thing."

Total lie. Her "family thing" was sitting in her basement with her dad's old archaeology books while her parents argued about money upstairs. Again.

The doorbell rang.

Maya's stomach did that thing — the nervous flip-flop that happened whenever Jason Miller was within a hundred feet. She opened the door to find him holding a can of orange spray paint and wearing that lopsided grin that made her forget basic English.

"Got locked out," he said. "Need to finish my mural piece. Can I use your backyard wall?"

"What? Here?"

"Yeah. Mr. Henderson already said it's cool." He gestured toward the detached garage behind her house. "It's for art contest. You should see it — I'm doing this sphinx thing, but, like, modern. Cyberpunk sphinx."

Maya blinked. This was happening. Jason Miller, varsity track star and unattainable human specimen, was in her backyard about to spray paint a mythological creature.

"Want to help?" he asked, already shaking the can.

Two hours later, Maya's hands were covered in orange paint, and she'd somehow become co-creator of a neon sphinx with glowing LED eyes Jason had rigged up. They'd laughed so hard their ribs hurt. Jason had confessed he hated track — just did it 'cause his dad was a total bull about sports, expectations, the whole toxic masculinity routine.

"This is way better," he said, wiping paint from her cheek with his thumb, lingering. The air between them shifted, charged and terrifying.

Maya's phone buzzed again. Becca: "Tyler's asking about you."

She picked up the orange spray can, shook it until it rattled. Jason was watching her, waiting.

"Ignore it," she said, and pressed the nozzle. A burst of color hit the garage wall, bright and impossible.

The pyramid could wait. This — whatever this was — was real.