When Lightning Struck My Pyramid Scheme

I was a total zombie that Monday morning, running on three hours of sleep and a lukewarm energy drink that tasted like chemical despair. My first period was Mr. Harrison's geometry class, where he'd arranged our desks into a literal pyramid shape to demonstrate "hierarchical learning" — which was really just academic speak for "popular kids at the front, losers at the back." I was at the bottom, obviously.

That's when I saw Maya transfer in. She sat at the apex of our pyramid formation like she owned the place, which, rumor had it, she kind of did. Her dad was some big shot crypto guy who'd lost everything in a pyramid scheme, but she wore vintage Nikes like she wasn't secretly rich-poor. I'd been low-key spying on her since week one — not creepy, just observant. Okay, maybe a little creepy.

"You're wearing a Men in Tech shirt," she whispered to me when we got paired for that stupid triangle proof worksheet. "Bold choice."

"It's ironic," I said, instantly wanting to die. "Like, I'm aware it's — "

"No, I respect it," she said, and her grin had this lightning quality, sudden and electric and way too bright for 8 AM. "Most people just pretend they're not being psychologically destroyed by late-stage capitalism. You're literally wearing it."

I laughed so hard Mr. Harrison glared at us.

That night, Maya texted me: *ur geometry notes saved my life. also that shirt is straight fire.* I may have screamed into my pillow. We started meeting in the library during lunch,躲避 both the social pyramid and the absolute bull that passed for high school socialization. She taught me her dad was actually a former corporate spy turned whistleblower, which explained why she moved around so much. I told her about feeling like a zombie going through motions because I hadn't figured out who I actually was yet.

"We're all zombies," she said, eating my stolen cafeteria tater tots. "That's not the failure. The failure is never waking up."

Three months later, when my friends asked why I was hanging with the new girl, I finally called bull on their whole popularity pyramid. Maya and I started an anonymous school paper called *The Lightning Rod* — exposing everything from admin scandals to why the football team got new uniforms while the arts program died. We were technically spies, technically criminals, definitely having the time of our lives.

Sometimes I still feel like a zombie. But Maya's there, handing me lukewarm energy drinks and calling out the world's BS. And that? That's everything.