Riddle of the Moth

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water-ski on them. She stood against the wall at Jake's house party, clutching a red solo cup like it was her only lifeline.

"You good?" Jordan asked, appearing beside her with that annoyingly perfect grin. Her best friend since third grade, now suddenly confident at parties while Maya was still trying to figure out how to exist in rooms without feeling like a walking cringe compilation.

"Never been better," Maya lied. "Just vibing."

"You've been 'vibing' in the same spot for forty-five minutes." Jordan nudged her. "Come on. There's spinach artichoke dip in the kitchen. Carbs fix everything."

The kitchen was worse than the living room—more people, more chances to say something weird. Maya loaded up her chip, trying to look casual, trying to look like someone who belonged at parties instead of someone who spent Friday nights rewatching the same Netflix show.

Then she saw him.

Riley. The sphinx. That's what everyone called him because he was this beautiful, confusing puzzle that nobody could figure out. He sat on the counter, legs dangling, watching everything like he was simultaneously amused and bored. Maya had been lowkey obsessed with him since September, which meant she had successfully avoided making eye contact for seven months.

"Hey." A voice. His voice. "You've got—" He gestured to his own teeth.

Maya's heart stopped. "Spinach?"

"Yeah. But, like, artistically."

She wiped her mouth furiously. "Cool. Cool cool cool. This is fine."

"You're Maya, right?" He jumped down from the counter. "You sit behind me in bio. You drew that sphinx moth on your notebook last week."

Wait. He NOTICED?

"Yeah," she managed. "Sphinx moths are... weirdly beautiful?"

"Exactly." He held out his hand—normal palm temperature, not sweaty like hers. "I'm Riley. Obviously."

"Obviously."

They talked about moths and how cafeteria pizza was a crime against humanity and whether palm reading was actually real or just something people did at Renaissance fairs. Maya forgot about her sweaty palms. Forgot about pretending to belong.

"You okay?" Jordan found her later, eyes wide. "You were talking to THE sphinx for like twenty minutes."

Maya looked across the room where Riley was still watching her, faintly smiling. The spinach in her teeth might have been the best thing that ever happened to her.

"Yeah," she said. "Actually, I think I finally figured out the riddle."

"Which one?"

"The one where I stop overthinking everything and just... talk to people."

Jordan gasped. "Character development!"

"Shut up."

"No, for real though—your palm was literally dripping earlier."

Maya laughed. "Don't push it."