Poolside Riddles

Maya dragged her lifeguard whistle across the chain, watching Travis'spool party rage below. From her chair, everyone looked like synchronized zombies—same outfits, same dance moves, same filtered laughs. She felt like the only real person in a simulation.

"Sup, Sphinx?" Travis vaulted over the gate, dripping wet. That's what he called her now, ever since she'd aced that impossible English final. "Always watching from up high like some philosophical creature."

"Working, Travis." She tried to sound annoyed, but her stomach did that annoying flip thing. "Unlike you people, I don't have rich parents funding my zombie lifestyle."

"Ouch." He laughed. "Wanna play? We're doing zombie tag in the deep end. Loser has to solve the Sphinx's riddle."

Maya almost said no. But then she saw Jasmine—perfect, popular Jasmine—stumble near the diving board, looking way too pale. Everyone else was too busy being zombies to notice.

She jumped down, the chlorinated water shocking her skin. "Tag," she whispered, tapping Travis's shoulder before swimming toward Jasmine.

"You're it!" Travis yelled, but Maya was already reaching Jasmine just as she slipped sideways.

The party stopped. No more zombies, just real people scrambling as Maya hauled Jasmine up, calling for help while Travis dialed 911. Later, wrapped in towels with juice boxes, Jasmine kept saying, "I thought I was fine. I didn't want to be that girl who ruins everything."

Maya thought about that later, alone on her lifeguard chair. How everyone performed being okay, even when they felt like they were drowning. How she'd almost said no because she was scared of looking uncool.

"Hey, Sphinx." Travis appeared at the fence again, no longer laughing. "Thanks. You know, for seeing what we didn't."

"Whatever." Maya hid her smile behind her whistle. Sometimes being the watcher—being the one who asked the right questions—was its own kind of power.