Riddles at the Pool Party

I felt like a total zombie dragging myself through the backyard gate. Three hours of sleep will do that to you, but when Maya texts "pool party at Josh's," you show up. Even if your brain is operating on 20% battery and you're pretty sure you forgot to put on deodorant.

The humidity hit me first—that thick, Florida **water**-in-the-air feeling that makes everything feel heavier. I spotted Maya immediately by the snack table, surrounded by a bunch of juniors I'd been trying to impress since freshman year. My stomach did that nervous flutter thing, like a trapped **bull** in a rodeo ring.

"You made it!" Maya waved me over, already tipsy on whatever was in those red cups. "Try this fruit stuff Josh's mom made."

I stared at the bowl of bright orange chunks. "What is it?"

"**Papaya**," some guy said. He had that annoying confident voice that made me want to disappear. "It's practically fancy melon. Don't be weird about it."

I ate it anyway because that's what you do when you're trying to survive socially. It tasted like nothing and everything at once, like someone had described fruit to me but never made me try it.

That's when I noticed her across the pool—the girl from my art history class who always sat in the back, always drawing in this battered sketchbook. She was perched on the diving board like she was contemplating something deeper than everyone else's conversations about AP classes and college apps.

**Sphinx**, I thought randomly. She reminded me of that Egyptian statue we'd studied—mysterious and Observant and seemingly knowing something the rest of us didn't.

Our eyes caught for a second. I looked away immediately, heart hammering. Smooth.

"You okay?" Maya asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just tired."

But later, when the party had thinned out and most people were in the pool or making poor decisions in the house, I found myself sitting on the pool edge with my feet in the water. And the art history girl appeared beside me.

"You're in my AP Art History class, right?"

"Yeah," I managed. "I'm Sam."

"I'm Elena." She slid into the water next to me. "You always sit in the third row, second seat. You doodle in the margins of your notes."

I felt my face get hot. "You noticed?"

"**Sphinxes** notice things," she said with this tiny, knowing smile. "That's kind of the point."

We talked for an hour—about art and music and how we both felt like impostors in our own lives. She showed me her sketchbook, which was filled with these incredible drawings that made me feel like I'd been sleepwalking through my own creativity.

"You're really talented," I said, and I meant it.

"You too," she countered. "You just haven't figured it out yet."

The pool lights flickered on, turning the water into this shimmery blue-green. In that moment, feeling more awake than I had in weeks, I realized something:

I wasn't a zombie. I was just someone who hadn't found his people yet.

"Same time next week?" Elena asked, climbing out of the pool.

"Definitely," I said, and for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like I was faking it.

The papaya had been weird, but this? This was exactly what I'd been starving for.