The Pyramid Scheme Prom

Marcus stood in front of his bedroom mirror, adjusting the fedora his cousin had given him. It was too big, tilting awkwardly over his eyebrows, but he needed every bit of confidence he could get for tonight. Junior prom. Or as his friends called it: 'the pyramid scheme of teenage emotions—everyone pays in, nobody gets rich.'

He looked like he was about to star in a mobster movie filmed in someone's basement. The hat was trying too hard. Just like him.

'You're not actually wearing that, are you?' His sister leaned against his doorframe, looking up from her phone. 'Marcus, please tell me you're not going with the whole mysterious stranger vibe. It's giving 'guy who sells loose cigarettes behind the 7-Eleven.''

'Maybe that's what I'm going for,' he lied.

She laughed. 'Your date is literally Maya Chen. Vice president of the Debate Club. Maya who wrote that entire English essay about corporate responsibility. You think she's gonna be impressed by your attempt at film noir aesthetics?'

Marcus sighed and pulled off the hat, throwing it onto his bed. 'I'm just stressed, okay? This is huge. Everyone's gonna be there, and I still don't have my whole situation figured out.' He gestured vaguely at himself. 'Like, what even IS my vibe? Am I skater boy? Am I theater kid? Am I-' He waved toward the pile of unfinished college applications on his desk. '-actually going to figure out my life before I turn eighteen?'

'You're overthinking it.' His sister shrugged. 'Maya likes you. Not your aesthetic. You. The guy who actually listens when she talks about debate stuff. The guy who stayed up until 3 AM helping her with that physics project. The guy who-' She paused. 'Wait, did you get her a corsage?'

Marcus froze. 'I thought that was outdated! Nobody does that anymore, right? That's giving-' He stopped. 'That's giving effort.'

His sister burst out laughing. 'Oh my god, you are so cooked. Marcus, she literally told me last week how she thinks corsages are cute and vintage. She's obsessed with old movies and Instagram accounts that post 90s aesthetics. What do you think vintage MEANS?'

Marcus groaned, dropping his face into his hands. 'I'm the worst. I'm literally the worst date in the history of-' He checked his phone. 'Wait, her text says she's ready? Why is she ready? We're supposed to pick her up at seven.'

'Because you're running late, obviously.' His sister pointed at his digital clock. 'It's 7:03. Also, did you remember the cable for the aux cord? You promised you'd DJ and we both know your car doesn't have Bluetooth.'

Marcus stared at her in horror. 'I forgot the cable.'

'Of course you did. You've had one job all week—remember the aux cable. And what did you do? You spent three days overthinking your outfit and zero minutes thinking about how we're literally going to have to drive to prom in silence because Marcus forgot a five-dollar cable that costs less than his fancy haircut.'

Marcus's phone buzzed. Maya: 'omg are you almost here? my mom is taking a million photos help'

'Shit,' Marcus said. 'Okay. Okay. We can do this. We can stop at a gas station. They'll have a cable. There's probably like a gas station pyramid scheme where they sell overpriced cables to desperate teens who forgot basic necessities.'

His sister laughed. 'That's the most you've ever sounded like yourself. Go get her, disaster boy.'

Marcus grabbed his keys. The hat stayed on the bed. Some things, he decided, you have to figure out as you go. But Maya? Maya was worth getting right, even if he had to learn the hard way.