Riddle of the cafeteria sphinx

The sphinx sat in the corner of the cafeteria, worn foam peeling from its wooden frame like dead skin. Legend said if you could solve its riddle, you'd never have to eat alone again.

I'd been eating alone since October.

"It's not actually magical," Maya said, sliding her tray onto the empty chair across from me. She was my former best friend, back from her three-month exile in the Popular Kingdom, wearing enough lip gloss to waterproof a small boat. "It's just some weird art project from like, 2019."

"I know that," I lied.

We'd grown apart the way thirteen-year-olds do—gradually, then suddenly. One day we were sharing secrets in her basement, the next she was at parties I wasn't invited to, speaking a language of inside jokes I didn't understand.

"You should come Friday," she said, pushing food around her tray. "To Chloe's. It's not, like, exclusive or anything."

I imagined it: the awkward conversations, the feeling of being an intruder in my old friend's new life. "I have to... help my mom with stuff."

"Cool." Maya stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. "Just thought I'd ask."

I watched her walk back to the Popular Kingdom table, where everyone laughed at something someone said. The sphinx watched too.

That afternoon, my mom dropped a bottle of gummy vitamins on my desk like they were contraband. "You've been looking tired, honey. These have iron and... stuff."

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Just take them." She kissed my forehead and left.

The gummy vitamins sat on my desk like evidence of a crime I hadn't committed. Tired. Thin. Less than.

I stared at the sphinx's riddle, carved into its base: *I walk on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in evening. What am I?*

The answer was obvious. A human.

But that wasn't really what the sphinx was asking, was it?

The next day, I sat at the sphinx table during lunch and wrote my own riddle on a napkin: *I have many faces but no voice. I can save you or destroy you. I'm both fragile and stronger than steel. What am I?*

"A friendship?"

I looked up. Maya stood there, tray in hand.

"Close," I said. "It's a reputation."

She laughed, and for a second, it was like we were twelve again, sharing secrets in a basement. "Can I sit?"

"Unless Chloe's table needs you."

"Chloe's table doesn't have riddles." She sat down. "Also, those gummy vitamins are actually good."

"You saw that?"

"Your mom posted about them on Facebook. She's very proud of your iron intake."

We both laughed, and it wasn't awkward. It was just us, sitting with the sphinx, pretending it might actually be magical.

Some riddles don't have answers. Some friendships don't end—they just pause until you're ready to solve them again.

I ate my vitamin gummy. It tasted like cherry and second chances.