Poolside Riddle

The summer heat radiated off the concrete as Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her towel like a security blanket. Everyone else was already in the water—laughing, splashing, being normal. Meanwhile, Maya was overthinking the fact that her new swimsuit was two sizes too small and she'd never actually learned proper swimming.

"Yo Maya, you coming in or what?" Jace called from the deep end. His golden retriever, Buster, was barking happily from the patio, chasing after a wayward beach ball like a derp on a mission.

"Yeah, um, just warming up," Maya lied, hating how awkward she sounded.

That's when she noticed the girl perched on the diving board like she owned the entire night—Rin, known as "the Sphinx" because nobody could ever figure out what she was thinking. Rin with her impossible cheekbones and that tiny fox tattoo on her shoulder, the one half the school had tried to copy with temporary versions from Spirit Week.

"You're not getting in because you're scared," Rin said suddenly, her voice cutting through the splashes. It wasn't mean—just direct, like she was stating a fact about the weather. "Or you're not getting in because of whatever you're overthinking."

Maya's face burned. "Maybe."

"Cool," Rin said. "I'm scared of dogs. That's why I'm sitting up here."

Maya blinked. Buster was literally the friendliest dog on earth. "Really?"

"Phobia isn't logical, Maya." The Sphinx cracked something almost like a smile. "We've all got our thing. Mine's dogs. Yours is apparently not knowing how to swim in a three-foot-deep end."

Maya let out a startled laugh before she could stop herself. Something about the absurdity of it loosened the knot in her chest. She dropped her towel on the lounge chair and stepped toward the shallow end, the water lapping at her ankles like an invitation.

"Teach me?" Maya asked Rin. "Like, basics?"

Rin slid off the diving board, landing gracefully beside her. "Doggy paddle first. Buster's got good form."