Riddles in Rain

Maya's iPhone buzzed in her pocket—third time this period. Ms. Henderson was going on about the Great Sphinx of Giza, something about riddles and guardians, but Maya's mind was already three hallways away, where the cool kids had probably ditched the museum tour to take selfies in front of the modern art exhibit.

She pulled out her phone anyway. 12%. Of course.

The sphinx stared back at her from across the exhibit—this weird lion-human hybrid thing that had guarded secrets for like, four thousand years. Maya felt like she had secrets too. Mostly that she'd rather be literally anywhere but here, surrounded by classmates who didn't know she existed except when they needed someone's homework to copy.

Her cat, Pancake, would get it. Pancake didn't care about being cool. Pancake cared about tuna and sleeping in sunbeams and judging everyone silently from the windowsill. That was the life.

"What do you think it's guarding?" a voice said.

Maya nearly dropped her phone. It was Leo—the quiet guy from AP Bio who always sat in the back and wore hoodies that looked too warm for the weather.

"The sphinx," he said, nodding toward the statue. "Like, what's the big secret?"

Maya shrugged, trying to look casual instead of caught. "Probably that the whole riddle thing is overrated. Maybe the sphinx just wanted a break."

Lightning cracked somewhere beyond the museum's skylights, flooding the hall with this sudden white flash. The power flickered. Someone screamed.

"Nice timing," Leo said, and he actually smiled. It was a good smile—crooked, real. "So what's your riddle?"

"What?"

"Everyone's got one. Something they're figuring out." He leaned against the exhibit case. "Mine's why I signed up for AP Bio when I want to make movies."

Maya looked at him—really looked. His phone was dead too, she could tell by the blank screen in his hand. They were both just standing there while the popular kids posted stories they'd both see later and feel weird about.

"Mine," she said, "is why I care what any of them think when Pancake has more personality in one tail flick than their whole group chat."

Leo laughed, and it wasn't mean. "Pancake?"

"My cat. She's a judgmental queen, and I respect that."

"Valid." The lights flickered back on. Ms. Henderson was clapping her hands, rounding everyone up. "Hey," Leo said, "you want to ditch the bus and get food? There's a taco place two blocks over."

Maya's iPhone died right then—screen going black like a tiny period at the end of a sentence she hadn't finished writing.

"Yes," she said. "Absolutely."