The Pyramid Scheme of Seventh Period

Maya's stomach did flip-flops as she approached the orange cafeteria doors. She'd been spying on Tyler's squad for three weeks now, documenting their social hierarchy like an anthropologist on Mars.

The pyramid became clear first day: Tyler at the apex (obviously), his orb of loyal admirers beneath him, then the tiers of hangers-on, and at the bottom? Everyone else. Maya existed somewhere in the basement level.

"Yo, you good?" Jazz asked, appearing beside her. "You've been standing there staring like you're trying to telepathically manifest lunch."

"Research," Maya whispered, nodding toward Tyler's table. "Did you know Jason brought Tyler a Starbucks every single morning this week? What are we, the founding fathers of a cult?"

Jazz snorted. "Girl, that's not research, that's just giving yourself a headache. But speaking of bull—" She pointed at the new kid, Sam, getting roast beef leveled at him by Jason across the cafeteria. "Fresh meat for the grinder."

Something in Maya snapped.

She marched over to Sam's table. "Hey. I'm Maya."

He looked up, surprised. "Sam. This seat—"

"Is taken, by me." She slid in opposite him, flipping her notebook open. "So, typical first question: what's your deal?"

Sam's shoulders relaxed an inch. "Uh, I sketch? And I'm low-key terrified of Jason over there saying something about my hair."

Maya glanced back. Jason was still watching, confused. Good.

"Jason's bark is worse than his bite," she said. "His biggest power move is making people think he knows their secrets. But half the time he's just guessing and hoping someone confirms it."

Sam grinned. "So, social hacking?"

"Survival skills." She grinned back. "Want the full briefing?"

By lunch's end, the pyramid had shifted. Not much, but Maya caught Jazz giving her a subtle thumbs-up from across the room, and for the first time, the orange doors didn't feel so menacing.

Some hierarchies, she decided, could be climbed. Or at least, you could build your own ladder.