Riddle of the Cafeteria Sphinx

Maya's stomach churned like a **lightning** storm trapped in a bottle. First period drama auditions in twenty minutes, and she'd somehow volunteered to stage manage the spring production while simultaneously crushing on Diego, who'd definitely notice if she messed up the entrance cues.

The cafeteria presented its own daily nightmare. At table four, the seniors held court like some ancient **sphinx** guarding the lunchline. Queen bee Savannah perched on her throne, daring anyone to approach without answering her riddles first. Today's challenge: navigate past them without drawing attention.

Maya grabbed her tray—overcooked pasta, a bruised apple, and a sad pile of **spinach** that looked like it had seen better centuries. Her stomach did that thing where it forgot how to human whenever Diego was within a ten-foot radius.

"Hey, Maya!" Diego called, sliding into the seat across from her. His varsity jacket still had the track team mascot. "Did you finish the chem lab? I was up until 2 AM and my brain is fried."

"Yeah, I can send it over," she managed, despite her tongue tying itself into knots. Then her phone buzzed. Mrs. G: 'Stage manager emergency. Call me.'

The weight of responsibility hit her like a grizzly **bear** waking up from hibernation. Why had she thought running tech crew while maintaining a GPA and attempting to have a social life was sustainable? This was total **bull**.

"Everything okay?" Diego asked, eyebrows knitting together in that way that made her forget her own name.

"Just crew stuff," she said, her voice steady for the first time all morning. Something shifted. Maybe it was the pressure, maybe it was Diego's concerned expression, but suddenly the auditions didn't seem so scary.

"Wanna walk together?" he asked. "I've got drama tryouts too."

Maya's **lightning**-fast heart skipped a beat. "Yeah," she said, actually smiling now. "Let's do it."