Orange Soda Sphinx

Milo's orange hair made him a target before he even opened his mouth. "Hey Carrot Top," someone yelled as he walked into the cafeteria, clutching his tray like a shield. He'd heard it all before. Carrot, Cheeto, Traffic Cone. His mom said it made him unique. Milo said it made him want to disappear.

He slid into his usual seat near the back, away from the popular crowd's orbit. That's when he saw her. Raven. The girl everyone called the Sphinx because she never spoke, just watched everything with these dark, knowing eyes. She sat alone at a table covered in sketchpads, chewing on the end of a charcoal pencil.

"Yo, you gonna stare all day or actually talk to her?" his best friend Ty whispered, nudging him. "She's not gonna bite, bro. Unless you're into that."

"Shut up," Milo muttered, but his heart was doing that embarrassing fluttery thing. Ever since swim tryouts last week—when he'd spent more time swimming in humiliation than actual laps because he'd forgotten his trunks and had to borrow extras that were three sizes too big—he'd been crushing on her hard.

Raven looked up then, right at him. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds. She held up her sketchbook. It was a drawing of him. In the picture, he had actual orange slices instead of hair, and he was swimming through air.

Milo choked on his chocolate milk.

Raven's lips curved into something that might have been a smile. She ripped out the page and slid it across the table toward him. Written at the bottom in tiny letters: *You're not invisible. You're glowing.*

His face burned hotter than his hair ever could.

"Sick drawing," Ty said, totally missing the point. "Why's your hair, like, literal fruit though?"

Raven finally spoke. Her voice was low, rough like she didn't use it much. "Orange is the color of creativity. Of second chances. Of sunsets that make you stop and look up."

She stared right at Milo. "Some people are too busy looking down to notice."

That afternoon, Milo skipped swim practice. Instead, he sat next to Raven by the school's ancient Sphinx statue—the one covered in graffiti and dried gum. She taught him how to draw proper orange slices. He taught her that his hair wasn't dyed; it was just him.

"You know," Raven said, watching the sky turn the exact shade of Milo's hair, "sphinxes guard secrets. But they also share them with people brave enough to ask."

Milo took a breath. "What's your secret?"

She smiled—really smiled this time. "I've been waiting for someone to ask me that since sixth grade. Also, your hair is magnificent. Never change it."

The orange soda they'd bought from the vending machine sat between them, fizzing in the silence. And for the first time in his life, Milo didn't want to be invisible. He wanted to glow.