Riddles in the Dugout

I felt like a **zombie** walking into third period, my brain fried from staying up until 3 AM finishing that history paper. But then HE walked in – Leo, with his messy **orange** hair catching the morning light through the classroom window. My heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when he was near.

"You look dead," he said, sliding into the seat next to me.

"Zombie mode activated," I managed, trying to play it cool even though internally I was screaming. "What about you? You look suspiciously alive for someone who had that chem test yesterday."

Leo grinned. "I made a deal with the devil. Or, you know, actually studied." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "You coming to the **baseball** game Friday? We're against Northside, and their pitcher thinks he's all that because he threw a no-hitter last week."

My stomach did a flip. "I... maybe? I have that zombie walk fundraiser thing for drama club."

"Skip it," he said, way too casually. "I need my lucky charm there."

I was about to respond when Ms. Gable called the class to attention. We were covering Greek mythology, which meant dealing with the **sphinx** riddle nonsense. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?" she asked.

"Man," someone shouted.

"Technically it's about the stages of life," Ms. Gable said. "But consider this – what if the sphinx was really just asking about all the masks we wear? The versions of ourselves we present to different people?"

I looked at Leo, who was already doodling in his notebook instead of listening. But the question stuck with me all day. Who was I when I was around him? Who was I when I was alone in my room at 2 AM overthinking everything?

Friday came, and I skipped the zombie walk. I showed up at the **baseball** field wearing my lucky **orange** hoodie – the one Leo had jokingly called "pumpkin vibes" last month. He spotted me from the dugout and waved, grinning like I'd just solved the **sphinx**'s riddle myself.

He struck out twice, but when he finally connected with the ball in the seventh inning and sent it soaring over the fence, he looked right at me as he rounded third base. Not **zombie** me – the exhausted, anxious version I'd been all week. The real me, standing there cheering my heart out, pumpkin hoodie and all.

After the game, he found me by the bleachers. "I knew it," he said, all breathless and sweaty and perfect. "Lucky charm."

"Or maybe you just got good," I teased, though my hands were shaking a little.

"Nah." He stepped closer. "Hey, Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna go get food? Just us? Not as lucky charm and baseball player, but... you know."

The sphinx had nothing on this riddle. But somehow, I thought I knew the answer.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."