Riddles in the Hallway

The hallway stretched before me like a tomb, everyone shuffling forward with dead eyes and phones glued to their hands. I felt like a straight-up zombie—third all-nighter in a row, thanks to Mr. Henderson's AP History project from hell. My iphone was at 4% and I'd forgotten to charge it, which was basically a social death sentence.

Then I saw Her.

She sat against the lockers like some kind of sphinx, mysterious and unreadable, surrounded by a protective bubble of silence. Lena. The girl who never spoke, just watched everything with these ancient eyes that seemed to know exactly what everyone was trying so desperately to hide.

My golden retriever, Buster, had taught me one thing: sometimes you just gotta approach cautiously and hope for the best. I'd been crushing on Lena since September, watching from across classrooms like she was some riddle I couldn't solve.

"Nice," I said, gesturing at the skateboard beside her, because my brain was 90% melted at this point. Smooth. Truly impressive.

She looked up, and something flickered behind those sphinx eyes. Amusement?

"You look like you haven't slept since Halloween," she said. Her voice was quiet but steady.

"Accurate." I slumped beside her, not even caring that this was either the bravest or stupidest thing I'd ever done. "Three nights. Project. I'm functioning on caffeine and pure spite at this point."

To my surprise, she laughed. Actually laughed. And suddenly the mysterious sphinx was just a girl, shoulders relaxing, guard coming down like she'd been waiting for someone to just be real with her.

"I'm Maya," she said.

"Marcus."

"Want help with the project?"

I blinked. "Seriously?"

"I need a break from being the weird quiet girl anyway." She stood up, grabbing her board. "And you look like you're about to faceplant, zombie boy."