Riddles at the Sphinx

My first job at the Sphinx Cafe wasn't exactly what I'd pictured for my sophomore summer. I'd imagined somewhere with air conditioning and maybe some cute coworkers. Instead, I got a tropical-themed diner owned by Mrs. Chen, a woman who'd apparently decorated by throwing darts at a magazine of world landmarks.

"You're up, Maya," Carlos said, sliding me the order ticket. He was twenty, worked two jobs, and had that tortured artist vibe that made half the girls at school swoon. I was mostly just confused by his collection of pyramid-shaped keychains.

Table 7 wanted the Sphinx Special: papaya smoothie with spinach and mystery garnish. I'd figured out the mystery part was just whatever vegetable was about to expire. The papaya sat in the fridge like an alien artifact—none of us actually knew how to cut it.

"Just hack at it," Carlos advised, already scrolling through his phone.

Great. Helpful.

The first week, I'd cried in the walk-in freezer after a customer yelled at me for getting her order wrong. Now, two months in, I could handle rude customers, weird food combinations, and even Mrs. Chen's riddle-of-the-day employee meetings. (Today's: "What has hands but can't clap?" Answer: A clock. Obviously.)

What I couldn't handle was Tyler, the junior who'd started coming in every day since school let out. He always sat at Table 7, always ordered the Sphinx Special, and always watched me like I was some fascinating specimen he was analyzing for science class.

"You know," he said Tuesday, spinning his straw wrapper, "I looked up what Egyptians actually ate."

"And?" I wiped down the counter, trying to look busy.

"Definitely not papaya and spinach smoothies." He grinned. "Also, sphinxes asked riddles. You should make customers answer one before they order."

"Mrs. Chen would fire me."

"Or she'd think you're brilliant."

Our fingers brushed when he handed me his tip. A whole five dollars. I felt my face heat up, grateful for the diner's terrible lighting.

Friday, the air conditioning died. We were sweating through our uniforms, and someone had taped a handwritten sign to the sphinx statue out front: FREEZE IN THE SANDS OF TIME.

"Carlos," I said, "what if we make pyramid displays for the bottled drinks? At least it'll look intentional."

"Do it, Maya. I'm too dead to care."

I stacked the mango juice into a wobbling pyramid. Tyler walked in, caught me adjusting it, and started laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing." He leaned against the counter. "Just... you're weirdly good at this job."

"At making pyramids out of juice bottles?" I said sarcastically, but my stomach did that annoying flip-flop thing.

"At everything."

Outside, the sphinx statue seemed to be smiling at us. Maybe riddles weren't just something you solved alone. Sometimes you needed someone to help you figure out the answer.