The Pyramid Scheme Heart

Maya adjusted her hoodie, pulling the strings tight until she looked like a suspicious blob. That was the point. In the cafeteria social pyramid, she'd successfully positioned herself as an unassuming nobody—basically invisible to the royalty at the top.

Which was exactly how she'd managed to become the world's worst spy.

For two weeks, she'd been "accidentally" sitting near Jordan, the human equivalent of lightning who somehow made everything glow. Jordan, with their ripped jeans and effortless laugh and the way they tilted their head when you spoke, like you were the only person in the room. Maya had perfected the art of looking casual while obsessively documenting Jordan's every move in her Notes app: "Jordan wears mismatched socks. Jordan hums 2000s pop songs. Jordan exists."

It wasn't creepy. It was research.

The problem was that she'd somehow become friends with Jordan's little sister, Zara, in art class. Now Zara thought Maya was the coolest person ever and kept inviting her to hang out after school. Today, Zara had dragged Maya to their house, promising to show her "something sick."

"It's basically a pyramid scheme," Jordan said from the kitchen doorway, holding a box of cereal like it was a microphone. "But, like, a cool one. We're selling friendship."

Maya nearly choked on her apple juice.

"Shut up, Jordan," Zara rolled her eyes, then turned to Maya. "We're starting a band. I play drums. Jordan plays guitar. We need someone who can actually sing."

Jordan's eyes locked onto hers, and Maya felt it—actual lightning, running up her spine. "Wait, you sing?"

"I—" Maya's brain short-circuited. "Sometimes? In the shower?"

"That's literally the best venue," Jordan grinned. "Excellent acoustics. Zero judgment."

And that was how Maya found herself in their garage at 4 PM, surrounded by equipment and two people who somehow made her feel like she'd been part of their pyramid all along. When she finally sang, her voice shaking, Jordan didn't laugh. They just watched her with this soft expression, like they were seeing something real.

"You know," Jordan said afterward, while Zara argued with her drum set, "I've seen you around. You're always in the library during lunch. Writing in that little notebook."

Maya's face burned. "You noticed?"

"Hard not to." Jordan's shoulder brushed against hers. "You're kind of hard to miss."

Outside, actual thunder cracked, but inside, Maya was pretty sure she'd just been struck by something way more dangerous than lightning. Her spy career was over. She'd been promoted from observer to participant, and honestly? She didn't hate it.