Riddles by the Pool

The pool party at Jake's house was supposed to be my social comeback after freshman year's tragic incident involving spilled chocolate milk and the debate team captain. But here I was, clutching a red plastic cup like it contained the antidote to poison instead of lukewarm fruit punch, watching everyone else look so effortless in their swimwear.

"You look like you're calculating escape routes," a voice said beside me.

I jumped. It was Maya—everyone called her "Sphinx" behind her back because she'd transferred here three months ago and nobody knew anything about her except that she sat alone at lunch reading books with titles in languages nobody recognized. She had dark hair that somehow looked perfect even with chlorine humidity.

"Maybe I am," I said, surprising myself.

She grinned. "What's your riddle, then?"

"What?"

"The Sphinx always asked riddles. That's the whole deal." She leaned against the fence. "Mine's: what's the one thing everyone pretends to understand but nobody actually does?"

"I don't know. Algebra?"

She laughed—a real laugh, not the fake giggle I'd been hearing all night. "Close. It's other people."

Her older sister Elena appeared with a tray of fruit skewers. "Maya, stop interrogating the locals. And you—" she pointed at me, "—try this papaya. It's from the farmers market, not that sad grocery store stuff."

I'd never had papaya. I didn't want to have papaya. But Elena had this energy that made you want to agree with her, and Maya was watching, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

So I ate it. And it was—different. Not bad, just different. Kind of musky-sweet, like something that knew secrets.

"Well?" Maya asked.

"It tastes like... like something I need to try twice to understand."

"Fair," Elena said, moving on to her next victim.

The pool lights flickered on as twilight deepened, and suddenly everyone was in the water, splashing and shouting. I hesitated, but Maya was already backing toward the deep end, still watching me.

"Your turn," she said. "What's your riddle?"

"I don't have one."

"Everyone has a riddle." She pulled her hair into a messy bun. "Mine: why is the person who says they have nothing to hide usually hiding the most?"

"That's not a riddle. That's a philosophy question."

"Same thing." She jumped in, surfacing with a splash that hit my shoes. "Get in here. The water's warmer than standing on the edge."

So I jumped in. And for the first time all night, I wasn't thinking about escape routes or freshman year disasters or what anybody thought of me. I was just treading water, watching the pool lights dance on the surface, and wondering if Maya had transferred here to escape something—or to find it.