The Social Pyramid Scheme

Maya gripped the Solo cup like it was a lifeline. The kitchen counter behind her was littered with empty pizza boxes and someone's lost retainer case. She was a freshman at her first high school party, and she was currently hiding behind a bowl of increasingly warm cheese dip.

"You're blocking the nachos," said a voice behind her.

Maya turned to find Dylan—actual Dylan, varsity basketball Dylan, whose Instagram stories she'd been lowkey stalking since September. He gestured at the dip bowl, and she practically vaulted out of the way.

"Sorry. I'm just... observing."

"The party?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or the food pyramid?"

She snorted before she could stop herself. "Both. I'm conducting very important research."

Dylan laughed, and something in her chest did that thing where it felt like swallowed something too big. He was wearing an orange hoodie that brought out the freckles across his nose, and she'd never stood this close to him before.

"You're in my AP Bio class," he said. "You sit in the front row. You're the one who corrected Mr. Harrison about vitamin D synthesis last week."

Maya's face burned. "I mean, he was wrong. The skin produces it when exposed to UV radiation, not from eating oranges like he said."

"Oranges," Dylan repeated, and she realized they were both wearing orange. He pointed at her sneakers. "We match."

Her brain short-circuited. "Oh. Yeah. Cool."

The conversation continued, somehow. They talked about teachers they hated, about how Dylan's older brother was a college sophomore and still hadn't declared a major, about Maya's dream of becoming a marine biologist. For twenty minutes, she wasn't the invisible freshman girl at the bottom of the high school pyramid. She was just Maya, and Dylan was listening to every word.

Then someone called his name from the basement. A group of juniors. The top of the pyramid.

"I gotta—" Dylan started.

"Go," she said, waving him off. "It's fine."

He paused. "Hey, you want to come? We're probably gonna order pizza. Real pizza, not this " alleged" cheese dip stuff."

Maya looked toward the basement, where the popular kids held court. Then she looked at Dylan, who was waiting for her answer like it actually mattered.

"Yeah," she said. "Let me just grab my jacket."

As they walked toward the basement stairs, her phone buzzed. Her best friend had texted: ARE U ALIVE???

Maya grinned and typed back: More than you know.