The Vitamin Pyramid

Maya's older cousin Jayden pulled up to their Oakland apartment complex in his leased BMW, windows down, bass shaking the mirror. He held up a small orange bottle like it was diamonds.

"You're not gonna believe this energy, Maya. These vitamins? They changed my whole grind. I'm making two grand a week just sharing the glow."

The pyramid scheme pamphlet showed success levels like: Bronze Pearl → Silver Pearl → Golden Pearl. Classic. But Maya was fifteen and broke, and Jayden promised she could pay her own phone bill.

"My friend Sarah's doing it too," she lied.

At school the next Monday, Maya cornered Tasha by the lockers. Tasha, who wore the same black hoodie every day and whose mom worked three jobs, was the perfect target.

"These vitamins are insane, Tasha. For real. Jayden's making bank."

Tasha raised one eyebrow. "This sounds like bull."

"No, it's not. I wouldn't—"

"Maya, literally everyone says that. 'I wouldn't steer you wrong.' That's what they say before they steer you wrong."

Maya felt her face burn. But Tasha's phone dinged—some group chat blowing up. Then Maya's phone dinged too. A screenshot, forwarded three times: Jayden's Instagram story from yesterday, posing with cash he'd borrowed from his dad. Caption: Y'ALL SLEEPING ON THIS OPPORTUNITY.

The caption below it, from someone Jayden owed money to: THIS N***A STILL OWES ME $200 FROM DECEMBER.

Tasha showed Maya her screen. Same screenshot.

"Your cousin's full of it," Tasha said. "The whole thing's bull. But I looked it up—actual vitamins are like twelve bucks at Target."

Maya sat on the floor of her bedroom that night, surrounded by the pyramid pamphlets and the little orange bottle. Jayden's texts lit up her phone: DID U SIGN ANYONE UP YET WE GOTTA GET UR NUMBERS UP.

She blocked him. Then she texted Tasha: wanna just go to Target and get actual vitamins?

They met at the CVS instead. Tasha bought gummy multivitamins that tasted like artificial strawberry. Maya spent her saved-up allowance on hair bleach.

"I'm doing this for me," Maya said, looking at her reflection in the pharmacy mirror. "Not for a pyramid."

"Not for some bull," Tasha agreed.

That weekend, Maya's mom found the bleach stains on the bathroom counter and sighed. "You're growing up too fast."

"Maybe," Maya said, touching her newly blonde ends. "But at least it's real."