The Riddle of Cleo's Party

My palms were sweating—like, actual dripping—before I even walked through the door. Jordan's text had said 'Egyptian-themed,' but I wasn't prepared for this. The whole house was transformed: cardboard pyramids towered over the kitchen island, a plastic sphinx guarded the entrance to the basement (riddle not included, unfortunately), and someone had strung those LED palm-tree lights between the ceiling fans. Because nothing says ancient Egypt like tropical lighting.

I adjusted my baseball cap, turned backward like always. My nervous tic. Jordan had told me to dress up, but I'd drawn the line at wearing a cheap pharaoh headdress from Spirit Halloween. Some lines you don't cross.

Social hierarchies work like pyramids, right? Wide base, pointy top. Freshmen like me? We're the foundation. Invisible, holding everyone else up while getting absolutely none of the glory. But tonight, Jordan had promised, tonight I'd move up a level.

'There she is,' Jordan whispered, nodding toward Cleo herself.

Cleo. Junior. Varsity softball. The kind of person who walked through hallways like they were red carpets. She stood by the sphinx statue, holding court like she'd been born to rule Ancient Egypt alongside her friends. My palms found their way to my jeans again. Wipe. Breathe. Repeat.

'Dude, just go talk to her,' Jordan pushed me. 'You literally have baseball practice together. Say hi.'

'That's different. Practice is practice. This is... this is Cleo's party.'

Cleo caught my eye across the room. Smiled. Actually smiled. My stomach did that full-flip thing that makes you question everything you thought you knew about physics and yourself and whether you'd remembered to put on deodorant.

She excused herself from her pyramid of admirers and walked over. The LED palm trees cast these blue shadows across her face as she stopped in front of me.

'Hey, Baseball Cap,' she said. 'Nice backward rotation. Very rebellious.'

Was she teasing? My brain short-circuited. 'I—uh—thanks?'

'I like it.' Her eyes were doing that thing where they're both focused and somewhere else entirely. 'You coming to varsity tryouts next week?'

I realized my mouth was hanging open. Closed it. 'Tryouts? Me? I'm a freshman.'

'So?' She shrugged. 'Pyramids are built from the bottom up, right? Fresh foundation. I need players who can actually hit, not just seniors who think they own the dugout.'

My palms stopped sweating. For real this time.

'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, I'll be there.'

'Good.' She grinned. 'Try not to strike out when it counts.'

She walked back to her friends, leaving me standing there under the plastic sphinx's mysterious smile. Jordan elbowed me.

'Told you,' Jordan said. 'Now let's get some pizza before the pyramid collapses.'

I adjusted my cap. Forward this time. Because sometimes you don't need to knock down the social hierarchy. Sometimes you just need someone to invite you up a level.