Riddle of the Neon Sphinx

Maya's hair was supposed to be sunset orange. Instead, it came out looking like a radioactive traffic cone.

"It's fine," Chloe said, barely looking up from her phone. "It's giving post-apocalyptic chic."

Maya stared in the mirror. The home dye kit had promised "copper dreams" but delivered something that looked like it belonged on a walking zombie from one of those shows everyone binged. She had three hours until Jordan's party — her first chance to finally talk to him without stuttering like an idiot.

"I can't go like this," Maya groaned, grabbing a beanie. "I look like I haven't slept in a week."

"You're overthinking it," Chloe said. "Jordan won't care. Besides, you know he's gonna ask you about that sphinx riddle in English today."

The riddle. Mr. Henderson's pop quiz nightmare: *What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?* Maya had blanked. Jordan had answered correctly, of course, because Jordan was perfect and also somehow managed to make even his uniform look intentional.

At the party, Maya tugged at her beanie, sweating. The room was packed, someone's basement transformed into a flashing-light chaos of teenagers trying too hard. Then she spotted him by the snacks, wearing that orange hoodie she'd complimented last week.

Fate. Or something.

She made her way over, grabbed an orange soda, and mentally prepared to be normal. Then Jordan noticed her.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "I like your hair. It's bold."

Maya's brain short-circuited. "It's... an experiment?"

"It works." He stepped closer. "So, about that riddle today —"

"I know, I should've known it's a human,"

"No, I was gonna say..." Jordan rubbed the back of his neck, actually nervous? "I was trying to work up the courage to ask if you wanted to study together sometime. You know, mythology and stuff."

Maya's hair situation suddenly didn't matter. Neither did the zombie-like exhaustion from staying up all night overthinking.

"Yeah," she said, feeling something like courage bloom in her chest. "I'd like that."

Sometimes the answers aren't riddles at all. Sometimes they're just orange-haired disasters that turn into something exactly right.