The Truth About Everything

Marcus hated how his reflection in the **iPhone** screen showed someone always on the outside looking in. His cousin Amber's graduation party buzzed around him like a hive he'd accidentally wandered into. People in clusters—pyramids of popularity—laughing at jokes he didn't understand, drinking from red cups like they contained the secret to happiness.

"Just be yourself," his mom had said earlier, as if that was helpful. As if being himself wasn't the whole problem.

He'd spent two hours perfecting his hair. Two. And now he stood by the snack table like a statue nobody had asked for.

"Marcus!" Amber appeared, suddenly there, her energy too bright. "You haven't met my friend Jake. He's into filmmaking too."

"Filmmaking?" Jake raised an eyebrow. "Like, TikToks?"

"No, actual films," Marcus said, then immediately regretted how defensive it sounded. "I'm working on a documentary about urban legends."

"That's sick," Jake said, and for a second, Marcus believed him. Then Jake's phone buzzed and he glanced at it, his face flickering with something—annoyance? boredom? "Anyway, I gotta head out. My girl's blowing up my phone."

Marcus watched him walk away, feeling like he'd somehow failed a test he hadn't known he was taking.

"You okay?" Amber asked, touching his arm.

"Yeah. Just... nobody warned me graduation parties were this exhausting."

"The secret is," she lowered her voice, "everyone's faking it. The whole thing is just one giant **pyramid** scheme of pretending to be having the best time ever."

Marcus snorted. "That's the most real thing you've said all night."

She nudged him. "Come on. Let's go check on the dogs. My neighbor brought her new **cat** and honestly? I think the dogs are more traumatized than the cat."

They found the animals in the backyard. The cat—a calico with one ear that folded weirdly—sat on the patio table like it owned the place, watching the chaos with what looked like judgment. Meanwhile, Amber's golden retriever, Buster, cowered behind the **water** bowl, eyeing the cat like it might explode.

"Buster, you're literally fifty times her size," Marcus said, kneeling. "You're fine."

"He got cornered by her last week," Amber explained. "She stood on her hind legs and slapped him so hard he yelped. It was iconic."

"Respect." Marcus held out his hand to the cat. "Hey there, Queen of the Backyard."

The cat sniffed his fingers, then—surprisingly—rubbed her head against his palm. Purring.

"She never likes anyone," Amber said, impressed. "You're like the cat whisperer."

"I just speak the language of misunderstood creatures," Marcus said, scratching behind the cat's ears. "It's not that different from high school, honestly. Everyone's just pretending they know what they're doing."

"Oh my god, that's so **bull**." Amber laughed, but her expression softened. "You're right, though. You're really right."

The moment stretched between them—something real in an evening of performances.

"Hey," she said suddenly. "Show me your documentary. Like, actually. Not the TikTok version. The real one."

Marcus blinked. "You want to see it? Now?"

"Why not? I've got time before cake. And honestly? Anything's better than listening to my uncle explain NFTs again."

So there, under the party lights, while the cat judged them from her throne, Marcus pulled out his phone and showed Amber his work. Not the version he'd polished for college applications, but the raw, messy truth about searching for monsters and finding people instead. About how the scariest legends aren't the ones about ghosts or curses, but the stories we tell ourselves about who we're supposed to be.

When he finished, Amber didn't say anything for a long moment.

"What?" Marcus asked, his stomach twisting. "Is it dumb?"

"No," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's just... really honest. You should show people this. Real people. Not just admissions officers."

"I don't know."

"Marcus." Her voice was fierce now. "Everyone at this party? They're all performing. But you? You made something actually real. That's rare. That's special."

The cat jumped down from the table and wound through Marcus's legs, purring like a tiny engine.

"Maybe," Marcus said, feeling something shift in his chest—something lighter than fear. "Maybe I'll start with small audiences first. Work my way up."

"Pyramid scheme it," Amber grinned. "Start with me. Then my friends. Then... who knows. We could build an empire of people who appreciate real art."

"That's the weirdest business model I've ever heard."

"It'll work." She linked her arm through his. "Now come on. Cake's being served, and I'm not missing chocolate ganache just because we had a moment."

Marcus let her drag him back toward the party, the cat following at their heels like an unlikely guardian. And for the first time all night, maybe for the first time in years, he didn't feel like he was on the outside of anything.