The Pyramid Scheme

Maya's vape pen pyramid scheme wasn't supposed to collapse this fast. One minute she was floating at the top of her middle school social hierarchy, collecting lunch money from sixth graders who'd never touched nicotine, and the next she was sprinting through the suburb behind Jake's house, her floral crown askew, with what felt like the entire eighth grade class in pursuit.

"She's got my dad's Cartier!" someone shouted behind her. Maya didn't even know what Cartier was.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. An AirDrop from an unknown sender: a photo of Maya climbing out Jake's bedroom window last night, captioned THOT PATROL. Perfect. Now she was losing followers faster than she'd gained them.

A dog appeared from between two houses—a Golden Retriever that looked like it belonged in a fabric softener commercial. It trotted beside her, tongue lollying out, like this was the most fun it'd had all week.

"At least someone's happy," Maya muttered, wiping sweat from her forehead. The spring sun beat down on her shoulders, already burned from lacrosse practice yesterday. Her arms, still sticky from whatever glow-in-the-dark body paint they'd applied before the party, shimmered in the light.

She hurdled a garbage can and skidded around a corner. The shouting faded. Either she'd lost them or they'd found someone else to torment. Probably both.

The dog stopped at a house with a basketball hoop in the driveway, sat down, and watched her with what looked disturbingly like judgment.

"What?" Maya snapped. "You think I'm a terrible person? Join the club. Membership's probably 500 people by now."

She'd wanted to be someone this year. Someone who mattered. Instead she'd become someone who posted vaguely sad lyrics on Instagram and got more attention from bots than actual humans.

Her phone buzzed again. Another AirDrop: a screenshot of her pyramid scheme spreadsheet, circled in red, with the caption SNITCHES GET STITCHES followed by an actual knife emoji.

Maya sank onto the curb next to the basketball hoop. The dog rested its head on her knee. This was it. Her moment of peak villainy. She was basically a Disney Channel antagonist now.

Then her phone lit up with a notification from the group chat: MAYA'S GETTING JUMPED BEHIND THE RECREATION CENTER.

Six replies beneath it, all uppercase: NAH WE GOOD THO.

Wait.

Maya stared at the screen. Her so-called friends were posting her location for whoever wanted to find her.

Then another message popped up. From Sierra, the quiet girl who sat behind her in English class: NO ONE'S GOING. I TOLD THEM TO MEET AT REC CENTER SO YOU COULD GET AWAY. WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

Maya typed back, fingers shaking: BEHIND BASKETBALL COURT ON ARBOR.

Less than a minute later, Sierra appeared around the corner, carrying a paper bag. She didn't say anything—just sat down next to Maya on the curb and handed her a bottle of water and a chocolate chip granola bar.

"The dog's name is Buster," Sierra said after a moment. "He lives two houses down. He always escapes when he smells drama."

"Thanks," Maya said, the word foreign in her mouth. "For, like, everything."

"Yeah, well." Sierra shrugged, looking away. "I didn't want you to get beaten up behind a middle school. That's embarrassing for everyone."

Maya's phone kept buzzing. People were posting about her pyramid scheme, her snitching, her betrayal. But for the first time all year, the pit in her stomach felt smaller than possibility.

"So," she said, breaking the granola bar in half and offering the bigger piece to Sierra. "You wanna help me plot my comeback? Or at least my survival strategy?"

Sierra took the granola bar. "First rule: stop stealing from sixth graders."

"Fair."

"Second rule: maybe stop trying to be popular and just try to be not terrible?"

Maya looked at the pyramid of replies on her phone, then at the girl beside her who'd literally saved her life, and at the Golden Retriever that was now rolling on its back like nothing in the world mattered more than belly scratches.

"Okay," Maya said. "Third rule?"

Sierra smiled—just a little, but it was there. "Third rule is we figure it out as we go."