Court of the Sphinx

I was supposed to be at track practice, but instead I was hiding behind the gym, **running** from Coach Miller's inevitable lecture about "commitment" and "dedication." My phone buzzed — third time in five minutes. Probably my mom wondering why I hadn't come home yet.

"Yo, Martinez!" Chloe's voice cut through my spiral. "You coming or what? We need a fourth for **padel**."

Padel. The sport everyone discovered last summer when that viral TikTok made it look aesthetic as hell. I'd been avoiding it all semester, mostly because my hand-eye coordination was tragic, and also because JP played on Tuesdays. JP, who'd sat behind me in homeroom since seventh grade, who I'd somehow not properly spoken to since he grew six inches and got hot over spring break.

"Fine," I muttered, letting Chloe drag me toward the courts.

The games went better than expected. I even managed to return one of JP's serves without embarrassing myself. But it was what happened afterward that stuck.

We were sprawled on the bleachers, sharing a bag of Takis, when I noticed it — a spray-painted **sphinx** on the back wall of the gym. Riddler, the anonymous graffiti artist who'd been tagging the school all year with mythological figures and cryptic messages. This sphinx had a speech bubble: WHAT ARE YOU RUNNING FROM?

"Creepy, right?" JP had appeared beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "Riddler's been getting weirdly personal lately."

"Yeah," I managed. "Super weird."

"My theory," he said, "is that they're not asking us to solve riddles. They're asking us to figure out what we're afraid of. Like, actually figure it out."

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and something in my chest did that stupid fluttery thing.

"So," he said, "what are you running from, Martinez?"

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the sphinx's unblinking painted eyes watching us, but I told him. About track. About the pressure to be the perfect student. About how sometimes I felt like I was sprinting through high school without ever actually arriving anywhere.

He nodded, like this made perfect sense. "Same," he said. "But you know what's cool about padel? You can't run away from the ball. You just have to hit it back."

The sphinx said nothing. But somehow, that felt like an answer.