Riddle in Right Field

Maya stood in right field, glove practically weightless on her hand, praying the ball wouldn't come her way. She'd agreed to join the baseball team because Tyler said he liked girls who played sports, which was exactly the kind of thing she would've rolled her eyes at in any movie but had somehow become her actual life.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably Tyler, or maybe Emma asking why she hadn't been at the lunch table all week. Maya checked it between innings – her dad was live-streaming from Egypt, standing in front of the Great Sphinx, talking about how ancient riddles shaped culture. The Sphinx stared back through the screen, stone eyes seeming to ask: *Who are you when no one's watching?*

"Earth to Maya!" Coach yelled. "Game's still happening!"

She'd spent the whole season faking enthusiasm, spitting out sunflower seeds she hated, laughing at jokes she didn't find funny. Tyler thought her name was Maya-with-a-y because he'd misheard it once, and she'd never corrected him. She was a cable pulling someone else's signal, drifting further and further from her own frequency.

After the game, Tyler caught up with her by the dugout. "Nice outfielding today. You know, I've been taking these new vitamin supplements from my trainer – supposed to help with focus. You should try them."

Maya looked at him – really looked at him – and something unlocked. The Sphinx's riddle finally made sense.

"Actually," she said, "I hate baseball. I only joined because I thought that's what you wanted to hear. My name's spelled M-A-I-A, and I don't want your vitamins." She paused. "I kind of just want to go home and watch my dad's Egypt streams."

Tyler blinked, confused. "Oh. Uh... okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Maya walked away, lighter than she'd felt in months. The riddle wasn't about becoming someone new – it was about finally meeting the person she'd been all along.