Riddles at the Deep End

Standing at the community pool's edge, Riley felt like she was facing a sphinx—some ancient, impossible riddle she couldn't solve. Everyone else was swimming, laughing, acting like this was just another Tuesday, while she was mentally calculating the shallow end's depth and trying to remember why she'd agreed to come at all.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called from the water, doing that effortless backstroke thing that looked like she was part fish. Maya had been Riley's friend since third grade, back when friendship meant sharing fruit snacks and not wondering if you were the punchline of someone's joke.

Riley forced herself to move. The water hit her waist, then chest, then neck, until she was fully submerged in that blue-tinted silence where her brain could finally shut up for five seconds.

Then someone yelled "WATER BASEBALL!" and the sphinx riddle got even more complicated.

They were using a bright pink noodle as a bat and a beach ball that had seen better seasons. Tyler—the guy Riley had been low-key crushing on since September—was up to bat, looking ridiculous with wet hair plastered to his forehead. This was fine. This was normal. This was what teenagers did. They played modified sports in chlorinated water while pretending nobody was evaluating everyone else's everything.

"Riley, you're pitching!" someone called.

She waded to the "mound" (some imaginary spot between the diving board and the ladder) and tried to look like someone who possessed hand-eye coordination. The first pitch sailed wild, hitting the water with an unimpressive splash. Someone made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.

The sphinx spoke again: What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening? Answer: A teenager trying to figure out if they're allowed to be themselves yet.

Second pitch. Tyler connected. The beach ball arced through the air, and suddenly Riley was swimming—actually swimming, without overthinking it—lunging for the catch. Her fingers grazed the ball before it hit the water. Close enough.

"Nice try!" Tyler yelled. "Almost had it!"

Maya swam over, treading water beside her. "You good?"

"Yeah," Riley said, and realized she meant it. The water felt different now—less like something to navigate and more like something to just exist in.

"Your form's getting better," Maya said. "Remember when you could barely make it across the pool?"

"Don't," Riley groaned, but she was smiling. Some sphinxes get solved eventually, even if nobody notices the exact moment it happens.