Riddles in the Dark

Maya's cat, Pancake, yowled from the hallway as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror. The sphinx costume her mom had sewn was ridiculous—gold fabric everywhere, fake wings that stuck out awkwardly, and forehead petals that kept sliding down her face.

"You look... mythical," her little brother snorted from the doorway. "Totally not weird for a high school party."

"Shut up, Tyler." Maya adjusted the Egyptian collar. It was either this or wear nothing—she'd forgotten about the costume theme until last night. Everyone else would be in store-bought stuff, looking effortless and chill, while she looked like a rejected history museum exhibit.

The party was at Alex's house—Alex, who'd sat behind her in homeroom for three years and whose smile still made her stomach drop like she'd missed a step on stairs. Maya had spent all of freshman year watching him from behind her history textbook, fluent in the language of barely-there glances and almost-conversations.

When she walked in, the air thick with bass and teenagers pressed too close, someone immediately called out, "Whoa, nice wings, Sphinx!"

She wanted to dissolve into the carpet. But then Alex materialized through the crowd, dressed as a bear in a fuzzy brown onesie that was somehow both adorable and kind of hot.

"Maya?" His eyes widened. "You look... actually kind of amazing?"

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "Thanks. You look... cozy?"

They ended up on the back porch, away from the noise. The bear costume had somehow made Alex more approachable, less intimidating. Or maybe it was just that they were both ridiculous.

"So," Alex said, "what's your riddle?"

"What?"

"You're a sphinx. Aren't you supposed to ask riddles?"

Maya thought about it. She'd spent so long being quiet, watching from the sidelines, never speaking up. But something about the gold fabric and the wings and the way Alex was actually looking at her, waiting...

"Okay," she said. "What has wings but can't fly, sits at the door but isn't allowed inside, and follows you home anyway?"

Alex frowned. "I don't know. What?"

"My cat," Maya said. "Pancake. She's probably crying at my door right now."

Alex laughed—actually laughed, head tilted back, unguarded. "That's terrible. I love it."

They stayed out there for an hour, talking about everything and nothing. About how much they both hated pre-calc, about the weird foods their parents made, about how high school felt like waiting for something real to start.

When Maya finally went home, still wearing the ridiculous sphinx costume, she didn't feel ridiculous anymore. She felt like someone who'd made a bear laugh, who'd taken up space, who'd spoken up when she could've stayed silent.

Pancake was waiting by the door, indignant. Maya scooped her up, gold wings and all, and felt like maybe—just maybe—she was starting to figure out who she actually was, riddles and all.