The Pyramid Scheme of freshman Year

I felt like a **zombie** shuffling toward first period, eyelids heavy, brain fogged over. Three hours of sleep will do that to a person, but Mr. Henderson's AP History packet was due, and I'd rather be undead than unprepared.

I was speed **running** through the social minefield of West High when Brianna intercepted me at her locker. She was queen of the freshman **pyramid** — you know, the one where popularity stratified into neat little tiers, and she sat comfortably at the peak while the rest of us clawed for footholds somewhere near the middle.

"You're coming to Chloe's party tonight, right?" Her tone made it clear this wasn't actually a question.

"That's such **bull**," I muttered under my breath, but I nodded anyway because survival. The word slipped out too quiet for her to hear over her own laugh, thank god.

Then there was Tyler. For a week, I'd catch him watching me during English class, and I was convinced he was a **spy** sent by Brianna to monitor my coolness compliance. Report back on whether I was wearing the right brands, laughing at the right jokes. Paranoia does weird things to your brain when you're fifteen.

The night of the party, I stood outside for twenty minutes before working up the nerve to walk in. My heart was **running** a marathon against my ribs. Inside, the basement was packed, bodies pressed together, someone had constructed a literal **pyramid** of red solo cups in the corner that everyone seemed weirdly proud of.

"You look like you've seen a **zombie**," Tyler said, appearing beside me with two sodas.

"I feel like one," I admitted, surprising myself. "This whole place feels like... I don't know. Like we're all pretending to be someone we're not."

We ended up on the back porch, away from the noise. Tyler told me his dad wanted him to join the football team, said it would "make him a man." "That's such **bull**," he rolled his eyes. "He just wants to brag to his buddies. I'd rather be **running** track anyway. More peaceful. No one watching you like a **spy** from the stands, waiting for you to mess up."

The social **pyramid** seemed less intimidating when you realized everyone was just faking it through. Even Brianna, I learned later, cried in the bathroom when her mom forgot to pick her up from practice.

"We're all just **zombies** trying to pass as alive," I said.

Tyler laughed. "That's the most emo thing you've ever said."

"Shut up."

"I mean it as a compliment."

We sat there until the party thinned out, and for the first time since school started, I didn't feel like I was **running** from anything or anyone. Just two kids figuring it out, one awkward conversation at a time.