The Pyramid Scheme of Seventh Period

Maya's palms were sweating so much that her phone almost slipped out of her hand during third period lunch. Again.

"You in or out?" whispered Jake, leaning against the cafeteria wall like he owned the place. Which, technically, he kind of did — his dad owned three car dealerships, and Jake had been running this thing since October.

The Pyramid. Not, like, the Egyptian kind. This was worse.

"I don't know," Maya said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It seems..."

"Sketchy?" Jake raised an eyebrow. "Maya, Chloe's already in. So is half the soccer team. You really wanna be the only one NOT selling BrainBurst Vitamin Gummies to middle schoolers?"

BrainBurst. The pyramid scheme that had somehow taken over Westwood High. Sell the gummies, recruit more sellers, move up the ranks. Jake was already at "Diamond Level," whatever that meant. Probably just meant his parents stopped noticing when random packages showed up at their house.

Maya's phone buzzed. Mom again. Probably asking about her missing HDMI cable that Maya had "borrowed" to hook up her ancient TV in her room, desperate for anything that wasn't thinking about how her social standing was currently being held hostage by multivitamin gummies shaped like lightning bolts.

"I'll think about it," Maya said.

"You have until Friday," Jake said, already turning toward his next target. "That's when the bonus tier closes. Don't be that person, Maya."

That person. The phrase echoed in her head all through seventh period, while Mrs. Henderson droned on about symbolism in literature. SYMBOLISM. How was THIS not symbolism? A literal pyramid scheme in a school built on social hierarchies.

That night, Maya lay on her floor, surrounded by half-eaten pizza and her own terrible decisions. She could sell the gummies. She could recruit people. She could climb the pyramid.

Or she could text Chloe.

"Hey," she typed. "Is this whole BrainBurst thing actually worth it?"

Chloe's response came instantly: "Girl NO. Jake's been lying about the bonus tier the whole time. My brother looked up the actual company — it's totally bogus. We're literally running a rebellion against it tomorrow at lunch. You in?"

Maya stared at her ceiling fan, thinking about sweaty palms and social pressure and how sometimes the only way up a pyramid is to tear it down.

She texted back: "SO in."