Poolside Riddles

Maya stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, poking at the fresh mountain on her chin. Another Vitamin D deficiency breakout, or just the universe reminding her that freshman year was basically one long awkward phase? She squeezed the tube of retinol cream—her mom's expensive stash—and promised herself she'd pay her back. Eventually.

At the pool, the swim team was already warming up. The water sparkled like someone had dumped a truckload of glitter into it, which was stupid because pools didn't sparkle like that in real life, but whatever. Her brain was clearly in full poetic delusion mode today.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan called from the shallow end, doing that backfloat thing where he looked like a giant, arrogant starfish.

"I'm contemplating the meaning of chlorine," Maya shot back, but she dropped her bag on the bench anyway.

Their English teacher Mr. Harrison had assigned them to create their own modern riddles—something deep, something profound, something that said "I'm fourteen and I basically understand the entire human condition now." Jordan's riddle had been about how many times he could fail algebra before his parents stopped paying for his Xbox subscription. (Answer: nobody knew yet.)

Maya hadn't written hers yet. Every time she tried, it felt pretentious. Like she was trying to be all Sphinx-like and mysterious, but really she was just a kid who couldn't figure out if she liked swim team more than she hated the smell of her own wet hair for six hours after practice.

"Okay, okay, I've got one," Jordan said, paddling over to the side as she slid into the cool blue. "What has to be broken before you can use it?"

"An egg?"

"No, you're literally thinking of the most obvious answer ever. Try again."

Maya floated on her back, staring at the ceiling where the fluorescent lights buzzed like angry bees. Something about being underwater made everything feel different—quieter, slower, like the real world was just a suggestion and she could stay here forever, suspended in this blue nothingness where nobody expected her to have her life figured out.

"A promise," she said suddenly.

Jordan paused. "Wait, that's actually kind of deep."

"I'm basically a genius."

"Yeah, sure. Now get over here, Coach is doing timed laps and I need someone to blame when I choke."

Maya laughed and pushed off the wall, water streaming past her ears. Maybe she'd write about this later—about how the hardest riddles weren't the ones with answers, but the ones you kept swimming toward even when you couldn't see the other side.