The Track Between Us

Maya's iphone buzzed against her hip—third notification this minute. She didn't need to look. The group chat was going wild about Tyler's party Friday, and she, per usual, hadn't been invited. The social pyramid at Northwood High had crystal-clear tiers: the apex kids got VIP everything, the middle layers orbit hopefully, and everyone else was basically atmosphere.

She pulled her dad's old baseball hat lower over her eyes. The frayed brim had seen her through eighth-grade heartbreak, freshman failures, and now this—sophomore year, still invisible.

"You're overthinking again."

Maya jumped. Carlos stood there, track bag slung over one shoulder, all easy confidence and perfectly messy hair. How did he make everything look so effortless?

"Am not," she muttered, though her burning cheeks betrayed her.

"You always get that tiny wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're spiraling." Carlos gestured to his own forehead. "Like, chill. You qualified for regionals in the 400. That's objectively sick."

"Qualifying's different from placing."

"Nobody thinks that except you." Carlos shifted his weight. "Hey, so, about Friday—"

A cat streaked past them—Mrs. Gable's tabby, Rocket—chasing a lizard into the shrubbery. The absurdity broke whatever moment had been building.

"Your cat just murdered something innocent," Maya said.

"Rocket's a hunter. He embraces his nature." Carlos leaned against the bleachers. "Anyway, Friday. Tyler's thing. I was gonna skip, but—"

Maya's stomach did something complicated. "But?"

"But if I go, I need someone who actually gets my references. You're the only person who laughed at my Borgias joke last week."

She waited for the other shoe to drop. The pyramid said Carlos, varsity captain and golden boy of the junior class, didn't hang out with fringe sophomores.

"So?" He raised an eyebrow. "You in or what?"

"I'm in." Then, because she couldn't help herself: "Is this a pity invite?"

"Dude." Carlos rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "The pyramid's imaginary. I just want to show up with someone who doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out. That's literally the bar."

Her iphone chimed again—another group chat notification, probably someone doubting she'd show.

She turned it off.

"Running tonight?" she asked.

"Try to stop me."

They fell into step together, shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time all year, Maya couldn't remember why the tiers had ever mattered at all.