Riddle at the Rec Center

I swear my mom's golden retriever, Buster, had a better social life than me. The dog had a whole squad of neighborhood buddies who'd convene daily for what my mom called "playdates." Meanwhile, I was entering sophomore year with exactly two friends, and one of them was my cousin.

"You need more vitamin D in your life," Mom announced one Tuesday, shoving a supplement bottle at me. "And by that, I mean sunlight. You're getting a job at the rec center."

"But the pool—that's swimming season," I protested. "I can't swim in front of people. Have you seen me? It's like watching a distressed otter attempt backstroke."

"That's the point, Leo. It builds character."

The rec center job wasn't terrible—mostly wiping down lockers and preventing old ladies from slipping on wet tiles. But then my crush, Maya, showed up for swim team practice, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of my flailing limbs and the fact that I'd eaten spinach salad for lunch and probably had green stuff in my teeth.

The real nightmare was the staff talent show. Mr. Henderson, the manager with a mustache that defied gravity, decided everyone had to perform.

"What even is my talent?" I complained to Buster later, lying on the floor while he enthusiastically licked my face. "I'm mediocre at everything."

Then I found it—the ancient stone sphinx statue in the garden area, supposedly from the original 1980s renovation. Legend said it could answer questions, but mostly it just sat there looking judgmental. Except...

I started leaving riddles for the staff to find. "What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?" Answer: "A mountain." People actually liked it. Maya thought it was cool.

"You're like, weirdly poetic," she said after finding my third riddle near the pool filters.

"Just trying to make the shift less boring," I shrugged, pretending my heart wasn't doing Olympic gymnastics.

At the talent show, I stood behind the sphinx and delivered my final riddle. Everyone listened. Maya smiled. And when Buster somehow escaped the backyard and crashed through the glass doors, tail wagging like he owned the place, the whole room erupted laughing.

"That dog," Mr. Henderson sighed, "has better timing than any of us."

Maybe Mom was right. Sometimes the most character-building stuff happens when you're just trying to survive a weird summer with a sphinx, a swimming pool, and a dog who's more popular than you.