Riddles in the Dark

The escape room smelled like stale popcorn and desperation—exactly how senior year felt. I was stuck between Leo, who'd been flirting with me since chemistry started making actual chemistry sense, and Maya, my best friend who clearly lowkey hated being third wheeling.

"Okay, geniuses," Leo said, reading the clue taped to the wall. "What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening? Classic sphinx riddle."

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck. "Dude, literally everyone knows that one. It's a human—crawling baby, walking adult, elderly person with a cane. Can we please focus on the actual door?"

I watched Leo smirk, all fox-like cunning and annoying confidence. He'd been different since homecoming, quieter but sharper. Like he'd figured something out about high school's hierarchy that the rest of us were still missing. Sometimes I wanted to ask what changed. Sometimes I wanted to kiss it out of him. Mostly both.

The final puzzle involved a digital keypad with a hint: "man's best friend, backwards."

"Dog backwards is... god?" Maya typed it in. Nothing.

"Not that kind of backwards," Leo said suddenly. "Think—DNA strand. Complementary pairs."

I stared at him. "When did you get smart?"

"Always was," he said, grinning. "You just never noticed because you were too busy noticing his"—he jerked his chin toward the poster of some athlete on the wall—"smile instead of his brain."

My face burned. OF COURSE he knew. Boys noticed everything, especially the stuff you thought they didn't.

Maya typed in GOD backwards—DOG—and the lock clicked. The door swung open to reveal... a tiny room with one envelope. Inside: "Congratulations, you solved it together. Now figure out who's been in love with who since October."

The sphinx wasn't done with us yet.