Riddles in the Hallway

Jordan adjusted their beanie for the tenth time, pulling the wool hat down over their ears like it could somehow muffle the judgment radiating from every corner of the cafeteria. They'd spent first period overanalyzing their interaction with Sam—the cute sophomore who'd actually said hey back yesterday—and now they were spiraling.

"You look like you're about to face the sphinx itself," Maya said, sliding onto the bench across from them. "What's the riddle this time? 'What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and zero confidence when Sam enters the room?'"

Jordan groaned. "You're literally the worst. Also, that's not even the real riddle."

"The real riddle is why you're taking vitamin D supplements when you could just, I don't know, talk to them like a normal person?" Maya gestured at Jordan's open backpack, where the orange bottle peeked out.

"First off, it's seasonal depression season, okay? Second, my therapist says I should—" Jordan stopped mid-sentence as Sam walked past, carrying a tray and looking like they belonged in a music video about effortlessly cool teenagers who never overthink anything.

Sam paused near their table. Jordan's heart did that embarrassing fluttery thing, like a moth trapped in a lamp.

"Hey, nice hat," Sam said. "I like how you always wear these different beanies. It's like your thing."

Jordan froze. Their thing? The coping mechanism they'd adopted because they were too self-conscious about their hair after that terrible haircut incident in eighth grade was now... their thing?

"Thanks," Jordan managed, their voice barely above a whisper. "I, uh, have a collection."

"That's actually kind of cool," Sam said, and then, because the universe apparently enjoyed toying with Jordan's emotions, Sam kept walking.

Maya was grinning like she'd just won the lottery. "Did you see that? They noticed you!"

"They said 'nice hat,' Maya. Not 'I've been secretly watching you from across the cafeteria and also I love your soul.'"

"You're impossible." Maya stole a grape from Jordan's tray. "The sphinx would be disappointed. You can't even accept a simple compliment without analyzing it into oblivion."

Jordan watched Sam settle at a table across the room, laughing at something their friend said. Maybe Maya was right. Maybe the riddle wasn't about being clever or mysterious or perfect. Maybe it was about allowing yourself to be seen—even if you were wearing a metaphorical (or literal) hat to hide behind.

"Tomorrow," Jordan said, pushing the vitamin D bottle deeper into their bag. "Tomorrow I'll actually say more than two words."

"That's the spirit," Maya said. "Baby steps. Tomorrow you'll manage three whole words. I believe in you."

Jordan laughed despite themselves. Some mysteries didn't need solving—just experiencing.