The Pyramid Scheme

Jordan's Labradoodle, Buster, nudged her hand with that wet-nose desperation that said *please pay attention to me, your social life is imploding and I'm the only one who gets it.* Which, honestly, fair. She'd spent forty-five minutes doom-scrolling through Snapchat stories of Friday's party she'd skipped to finish her AP History project.

Now here she was, Sunday afternoon, wearing an oversized orange hoodie that screamed *I'm spiraling,* while her friends posted aesthetic photo dumps with captions like "core memories only."

"You're a good boy, Buster," she sighed, scratching behind his ears. "Unlike whoever decided to invent the high school social pyramid."

Because that's what it was, right? Everyone knew the pyramid existed—the popular kids at the top, the regulars in the middle, and everyone else trying to figure out where they fit. Jordan had spent freshman year clinging to the middle, safe but invisible. Now it was junior year, and she was tired of playing it safe.

Her phone buzzed. Maya: *party at Jake's tonight, you coming?*

Jordan stared at the message. Last year, she would've made an excuse. But something about sitting on her floor in neon-orange comfort while her dog looked at her like she was being pathetic made her realize: the only thing worse than possibly embarrassing herself was definitely becoming the person who watched life happen through a screen.

"I'm going, Buster," she announced. He thumped his tail, probably just happy she was moving.

She put on actual clothes—cute ones. Texted Maya *bet.* At the party, she ended up in a corner with Jake's older sister, a freshman at college who had this tiny bear tattoo on her ankle and stories about dropping her sociology major because *frankly, Jordan, the whole pyramid thing is just something people made up to feel better about themselves.*

They talked for two hours about nothing and everything. Jordan forgot to check her phone. Forgot to wonder who was watching or what tier of the pyramid she was occupying.

When she got home, Buster met her at the door like she'd been gone a week. She collapsed onto her bed, orange hoodie and all, and realized she'd never had more fun doing absolutely nothing special.

The pyramid was still there on Monday. The same people sat at the same lunch tables. But something had shifted—maybe not in the cafeteria, but definitely inside her.

"Hey Jordan," Maya said at lunch. "Jake's sister was asking about you. Said you were cool."

Jordan smiled, cutting her orange into wedges. "Yeah. She's not wrong."