The Pyramid Scheme of sophomore Year

Maya stared at the glossy flyer like it held the secrets to her entire existence. "Join the Apex Team! Build your empire!" The pyramid diagram promised unlimited earning potential and, more importantly, the kind of confidence that wouldn't get her lunch money stolen.

"You're not actually falling for this, are you?" Jenna leaned against Maya's locker, her signature cattiness in full effect. "This is literally a pyramid scheme. Like, the actual definition of one."

Maya squared her shoulders, channeling her inner bull. "It's NOT a pyramid scheme. It's entrepreneurial opportunity. And honestly, Jenna, maybe if you took a risk instead of judging everyone, you'd have more than three followers on TikTok."

Jenna raised her eyebrows. "Wow, okay. Didn't know selling detox tea to your aunt made you an entrepreneur."

By third period, Maya had somehow recruited three people—her chemistry lab partner, the sophomore who sat alone at lunch, and surprisingly, the captain of the debate team. Her mom's cat, Mittens, watched from the windowsill as Maya Facetimed her first "mentorship call," looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"You're being scammed," her brother David called from the couch, where he was supposedly studying but actually playing Fortnite. "This is exactly how they get you. Promise dreams, deliver debt."

"You're just jealous," Maya shot back, though a tiny voice in her head wondered why she'd had to pay $200 for "starter inventory" of organic hair supplements she didn't even use.

That night, Maya sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by unsold products and growing dread. The cat nudged her arm, purring like she knew something Maya didn't. Outside her window, the streetlights flickered—waiting, like her supposed "downline" that had mysteriously ghosted her.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Jenna: "Party at Tyler's tonight. Everyone's going. You coming?"

Maya hesitated. She could stay here, stressing about inventory and recruitment quotas, or she could go laugh at Tyler's terrible dance moves and probably experience social death. Either way, she'd survive.

The cat meowed, knocking over a bottle of hair vitamins.

"You're right," Maya sighed. "This is ridiculous."

She grabbed her sweatshirt, left the pyramid dreams behind, and headed toward whatever disaster awaited at Tyler's. Being fifteen was basically a pyramid scheme anyway—you kept investing, but the returns were mostly just awkwardness and growth spurts.