The Pyramid Scheme of Us

My social life was basically a pyramid scheme: popular kids at the top, everyone else trying to recruit their way up. I was solidly in the foundation layer—holding it all together, getting exactly zero credit.

That's when I started spying on Maya's Instagram stories. Not in a creepy way. Okay, maybe a little creepy. But she'd posted three photos of herself at The Node, that coworking space downtown, looking like she actually had her life together. Meanwhile, my biggest accomplishment this week was finally canceling our family's cable subscription because Mom refused to pay for "500 channels of garbage" anymore.

"You're literally stalking her," Jordan said, peering over my shoulder in the library. "Just DM her like a normal person."

"Easy for you to say. You're not stuck at the bottom of the pyramid."

"What pyramid? The one you constructed in your head to avoid rejection?"

I ignored them. Because here's the thing—I'd seen something in Maya's third story. In the background, behind her perfect latte art, there was this tangled mess of ethernet cables and a familiar-looking hoodie slung over a chair. My hoodie. The one I'd lost at Jordan's party last month.

"She has my hoodie," I said out loud.

"So she stole it? Wow, forbidden love. Very enemies-to-lovers of you."

"No, she—wait." I zoomed in. There was something else next to the cables. A mini pyramid made of empty coffee cups. The exact same pyramid I'd built on Jordan's counter before I got distracted and lost track of my stuff.

She'd been there. She'd seen my stupid cup pyramid. She'd taken my hoodie.

"She didn't steal it," I realized. "She kept it."

"Or she's wearing it as we speak and you're missing your shot." Jordan pushed my laptop toward me. "Message her. 'Hey, think you have something of mine.' Boom. Smooth."

My hands were literally shaking. The social pyramid suddenly seemed less important than the possibility that someone—someone like Maya—had noticed me enough to keep something of mine.

I typed the message. Deleted it. Typed it again.

Hey, think you might have my hoodie? Saw it in your story lol

Three minutes later—three actual, eternal minutes—my phone buzzed.

oops 🙈 yeah sorry, i've been meaning to return it. it's kinda comfy though

I looked at Jordan. "She thinks I'm funny."

"She thinks you're a hoodie thief who's too scared to ask for his stuff back. But we'll take it."

The pyramid didn't matter anymore. I was climbing my way up, one awkward message at a time.