Riddles by the Pool

The chlorine smell hit me before I even saw the water. Another summer hanging by the community pool, watching the popular kids dominate the padel courts like they owned everything. Including my crush, Maya, who laughed like sunshine and moved like she'd never met an awkward moment in her life.

I was about to bail when Chad—nickname earned because he'd sit by the old stone sphinx statue near the snack bar, asking girls riddles until they rolled their eyes—blocked my path.

"Hey, New Kid," he grinned. "The sphinx wants to know: What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"

"A mountain," I said automatically. Chad's eyebrows shot up.

"Damn. Nobody ever gets that on the first try. You're not half bad." He nodded toward the padel courts. "Maya's playing mixed doubles. They're short a player."

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to organ function. "I don't play."

"Neither does half the team. It's about vibes, not skill." His smirk softened. "Trust me, she's been asking about you."

Three hours later, I was dripping sweat, my padel serve had somehow improved from tragic to decent, and Maya was sitting beside me on the pool edge, our legs dangling in the cool water.

"You're funny," she said, splashing water at me. "And you know weird riddle stuff."

"Chad's sphinx obsession is rubbing off on me."

"Good." She bumped my shoulder. "I like weird."

The sphinx statue watched from across the pool, its stone face reminding me that some riddles aren't meant to be solved—but sometimes, you don't need answers. Sometimes you just need to show up.

"Same time tomorrow?" Maya asked.

"Definitely." And for the first time all summer, I wasn't the kid watching from the edges. I was exactly where I wanted to be.