When the Pyramid Almost Killed Me

I felt like a literal zombie—three hours of sleep, three AP exams, and now this. Coach Miller was screaming something about school spirit while my best friend Kai texted me from the bleachers, "U alive bro??"

"Bottom of the pyramid!" the cheer captain yelled. Great. I was officially the human foundation for twelve other people, all because I'd accidentally volunteered when I wasn't paying attention. Classic.

The pep rally was in full swing—everyone screaming, the band butchering the fight song, teachers pretending to care about school spirit. I'd been running on caffeine and anxiety all week. Track practice had been brutal, my calves burning like someone had set them on fire.

"ONE TWO THREE UP!" I braced myself as three girls climbed onto my shoulders. My knees buckled. This was it. I was going to die at sixteen, crushed by a cheerleading pyramid, and my tombstone would read "Socially Awkward Tragedy."

Then I saw her. Maya. The girl I'd been lowkey obsessed with since September. She was eating this weird orange fruit—papaya?—who brings papaya to a pep rally? She caught my eye and actually laughed. Not mean-laughed. Real laughed.

My face burned. But somehow I held it together. The pyramid stayed intact. The crowd went wild. And when we finally collapsed safely into a heap of limbs and pom-poms, Maya actually came over.

"You looked like you were dying up there," she said, holding out a piece of bright orange fruit. "Want some? It's actually good."

I took it. She smiled. My zombie heart did something that wasn't undead at all.

Later that night, my phone buzzed. Unknown number: "This is Maya. Pyramid boy. Thanks for not dropping everyone. That would've been tragic." Then a pause. "Also, you want to get boba sometime?"

I stared at my ceiling, feeling weirdly alive. Some days were exhausting disasters. Some days involved orange papaya and near-death experiences. And some days—rare, beautiful days—you didn't feel like a zombie anymore.