Riddles at the Deep End

The notification lit up my iPhone screen like a judgment: *pool party @ becky's, don't be lame.* Three swimming emojis followed, as if to emphasize what I already knew—I'd spend three hours organizing my hair into perfect beach waves just to ruin them in chlorinated water.

"You going?" asked Riley, my actual only friend, flopping backward onto my bed. Her golden retriever, Buster, immediately abandoned his dignity to sprawl across her stomach.

"I have to. Beck's posting every Snapchat story like she's the social sphinx of Northwood High, guarding the entrance to popularity with impossible riddles of who's in and who's out." I gestured at my phone. "Like, what does 'fit the aesthetic' even MEAN?"

Riley snorted. "It means wear a swimsuit that costs more than my college fund and pretend you're not freezing."

The pool party was exactly what I expected—Instagram poses happening more frequently than actual conversations, someone's expensive playlist drowning out meaningful dialogue, and Becky holding court like she'd invented water herself.

Then I saw him. Lucas from my English class, sitting alone on the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water, fully dressed except for his rolled-up jeans. Not taking photos. Not performing.

I sat beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

"Not swimming?" I asked, and immediately wanted to die. Who STARTS with that?

Lucas shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking. How weird is it that we're all in this pool together, pretending we're not just awkward teenagers trying to figure out who we are?"

"Like the sphinx's riddle," I said without thinking. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon—"

"—and three in the evening," he finished. "Yeah. We're all crawling through high school, trying to stand up straight before we end up leaning on stuff we used to make fun of."

My phone buzzed again. Probably something important. Definitely something that could wait.

"My dog has better social skills than this," Lucas said, nodding toward where someone's golden retriever was actually getting more genuine attention than half the people here.

I laughed—for real, not the fake one I'd been using all day. "Want to get out of here? There's a frozen yogurt place down the street."

"Absolutely." He stood, dripping wet jeans and all. "I'll dry off. It's worth it."

Behind us, Becky posted another story. Some sphinx she was—she'd never figured out that the real riddle wasn't about being cool. It was about finding people who made you forget you were supposed to be performing at all.