Vitamin Gummies & Social Pyramids

The vitamin gummies sat in my backpack like contraband, their neon orange and purple shapes promising something I couldn't quite name. Mom swore they'd help me "focus," but mostly they just made my tongue taste like artificial strawberry for three hours straight.

"You coming to padel practice?" Maya asked, leaning against my locker like she owned the hallway. Her padel racket was strapped to her backpack, a status symbol I'd been too broke to buy since seventh grade.

"Can't. Got... stuff." I shoved my history binder deeper into my bag.

The truth? I couldn't stomach another afternoon watching the social pyramid reconstruct itself on the court. The varsity kids at the top, everyone else scrambling below, and me somewhere near the bottom with the kids who didn't even try.

That's when I saw him—a scrawny, matted-fur dog near the bike racks, wolfing down someone's discarded sandwich like it was gourmet. His ribs poked through his side like coat hangers.

"Hey buddy," I whispered, crouching. He flinched but didn't run.

I dug into my pocket and found the vitamin gummies. "Yeah, I know. Not exactly dog food. But you look like you need something."

He sniffed my hand, then gently took the orange one.

"You're feeding a dog VITAMINS?" Behind me, Maya stood there, but she wasn't laughing. "That's actually kind of... nice."

I shrugged. "He's hungry. I've got extra."

"My dad works at that shelter on 4th," she said suddenly. "They're always looking for volunteers. You could... you know, actually help him."

For the first time all year, the pyramid didn't feel like a ladder I needed to climb. It felt like something I could rebuild from the ground up, one chewable vitamin and one scraggly dog at a time.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I'd like that."

The dog wagged his tail like he understood everything we'd just decided. And Maya? She actually smiled—like, really smiled, not the performant one she used for padel team photos.

"I'm Leo, by the way."

"Sam."

Some pyramids are meant to be climbed. Others? They're meant to be dismantled.