Riddles in the Dark

The Ethernet cable snaked across Maya's basement floor like a black viper, connecting our world to the one that actually mattered. We were five deep into an all-night gaming session, my eyelids heavy but my brain wired on Mountain Dew and sheer determination.

"You gonna eat that spinach dip?" Jordan asked, already reaching for the bowl with a tortilla chip.

"Bro, that's been sitting there for three hours," I said, but he just shrugged and crunched away. That was Jordan — zero survival instincts, max chaos energy. He was the friend who'd convince you to sneak out at 2 AM then forget why you did it.

We were stuck on the boss level — a massive stone sphinx that kept hitting us with impossible riddles between fireball attacks. My character had died six times. My pride had died approximately twelve.

"Okay, listen," Leo said, adjusting his glasses with that intense focus he got before exams. "The sphinx is predictable. We just need to time it right."

Easy for him to say. Leo had logged forty hours on this game. I had logged forty hours overthinking whether my crush had noticed my new haircut. (She hadn't.)

The final attempt began. Jordan went down first, naturally. Then the sphinx hit us with the riddle: *I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?*

"A map!" I shouted, probably louder than necessary for 3 AM.

The sphinx crumbled. We won. Jordan erupted in victory spins that knocked over the dip. Leo just nodded, satisfied. And me? I felt something shift — not just about the game, but about all of it. About how maybe high school was just one long impossible riddle, and you didn't solve it alone.

My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: *That pic you posted was actually really cute*

I stared at it, my heart doing something genuinely embarrassing. Then Jordan grabbed the controller. "Again?"

"Again," I said.

Some sphinxes you defeat. Some, you just keep showing up for.