Riddles in the Gallery

The sphinx statue stared at Maya like it knew something she didn't, its stone riddle-face frozen in permanent judgment. Behind her, Jordan's laugh rang out—fake, sharp, cutting through the quiet hum of the museum air conditioning. The same laugh Jordan used to use only when someone actually said something funny.

Now? Now it was just background noise to whichever boy Taylor was currently into.

"Maya! You coming?" Jordan called, already halfway toward the exit with Taylor and the rest of them. The ones who'd collectively decided Maya wasn't worth the effort anymore, somewhere between the start of freshman year and whatever this was.

"Yeah," Maya said, but her feet stayed planted. Her phone burned in her pocket—three unread texts from her mom, two from Jordan, one from that study group she'd been blowing off all week.

Jordan sighed dramatically, then turned away. "Whatever. We're getting boba. You don't have to come."

The door clicked shut behind them.

Maya's phone buzzed. A text from Jordan: "sorry taylors being weird about it dont be mad"

A week ago, Maya would've believed it. Would've typed "its cool" and run to catch up, would've laughed along at whoever was being roasted this time.

Now she knew—Taylor wasn't the problem. Jordan was just being stubborn as a bull, refusing to acknowledge how much things had changed. How Maya didn't want to spend every lunch dissecting which boys were looking at whom. How she'd rather stay home and write than go to parties where everyone pretended to be someone they weren't.

Her thumb hovered over the reply.

Then she deleted Jordan's draft text and typed: "actually im good thanks"

The sphinx seemed to smile, just a little.

Maya would make new friends. Real ones, this time—people who didn't make her feel like she had to solve an impossible riddle just to belong.

First step: boba for one, extra pearls, no pretending.