The Social Pyramid Scheme

Maya stared at the cafeteria's social pyramid like it was a physics problem she couldn't solve. At the top sat the padel team — because apparently tennis was too basic for Maplewood High. They ruled with the confidence of people whose parents could afford private lessons and imported equipment.

"Earth to May," Lena waved a chrome water bottle in front of her face. "You're doing that thing again where your brain goes somewhere without you."

"Sorry." Maya blinked. "Just calculating how many more steps until I reach their altitude."

"Steps?" Lena laughed. "Girl, you'd need an elevator and a letter of recommendation."

Maya's mom had started her on these focus vitamins that morning, swearing they'd help with finals week. So far, their main effect was making her feel like a highly functional robot. A zombie who could conjugate French verbs but forgot what joy felt like.

The real problem wasn't the padel royalty or the supplement regimen. It was that she'd agreed to tutor Connor Washington — said padel team's captain, whose grades were somehow worse than his communication skills. Their first session was tomorrow, and the anxiety was doing things to her stomach that no vitamin could fix.

"What's Connor actually like?" Maya asked, trying to sound casual.

Lena's face lit up with the kind of drama that made her excellent at parties but terrible at keeping secrets. "Okay, so get this — rumor has it his parents are making him quit the team if he doesn't pull up his chem grade. He's literally walking around school like a zombie, except somehow still hot? It's extremely annoying."

Maya's stomach did a different kind of flip.

The next day, Connor showed up with a half-eaten sandwich and zero expectations. The social pyramid she'd built in her head dissolved over the next hour as he admitted he was exhausted from pretending to care about a sport his dad loved more than he did. They bonded over mutual burnout, shared Lena's terribleStudy techniques she'd texted Maya, and discovered that Connor's zombie-like demeanor wasn't aloofness — it was just what happened when you got four hours of sleep and had zero passion for racquet sports.

"These vitamins are supposed to help with focus," Maya said, pushing the bottle toward him. "But honestly? I think you just need a nap."

Connor's laugh was genuine, the first real sound she'd heard from him all week. The cafeteria looked different from there — smaller somehow, less like a pyramid and more like just a room full of tired kids trying to figure it out.