Running from Answers

I was doing laps around the track when Leo found me. Again. Third time this week.

"Yo, Maya!" he called, cutting across the grass like he owned it. "You gotta hear me out about this opportunity. It's literally life-changing."

I kept running. My breath hitched, rhythm thrown off. Again.

"Dude, can you not?" I finally said, slowing to a jog. "I'm trying to actually hit my PR today."

Leo grinned, that perfect grin that got him elected class rep last year. The same grin that convinced half the sophomore class to buy those sketchy "energy bracelets" last semester. Which turned out to be a total pyramid scheme, by the way. But Leo didn't care—he'd already moved on to the next "guaranteed money-making venture."

"This is different," he said, falling into step beside me. "It's not like last time. This is crypto-adjacent. My cousin's friend's brother made three grand in a week."

I stopped running.

"Leo," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. "That's literally what you said about the bracelets. And the vitamin water pyramid thing before that. And—"

"Okay, okay, hear me out—"

"No. I'm done being your personal ATM whenever you need an 'investment.' "

His face fell. Just for a second. Then it was back to the grin, slightly tighter at the edges.

"Wow. I thought you were my friend."

There it was. The word. Friend. Thrown around like a weapon.

"I am your friend," I said quietly. "That's why I'm telling you this isn't cool. You're using people."

He laughed bitterly. "Whatever. You're just jealous I'm actually gonna make something of myself instead of wasting my time running in circles."

The irony hit me like a physical blow.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about the sphinx we'd studied in World Lit last month—the creature that asked riddles and destroyed those who couldn't answer. The truth was, Leo was my sphinx. His riddle was simple: how long would I keep letting him use our friendship as a weapon?

The answer came to me somewhere around 3 AM, staring at my ceiling.

I wasn't running from him anymore. I was running toward something else—toward being the person who actually said the things everyone else was thinking but too scared to say out loud.

The next day, I found him at lunch, surrounded by the same crowd he'd been recruiting for his latest scheme.

"Leo," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're not a businessman. You're a kid selling dreams that don't exist to people who actually trust you. It's cringe, and you need to stop."

The table went silent.

Leo's face went bright red.

"Whatever," he muttered. "You don't get it."

"I get it," I said. "I just don't want it."

I walked away, heart hammering like I'd just finished my fastest mile ever. Behind me, I heard someone else stand up.

"Actually," said Jenna, the girl who'd bought five bracelets last time, "Maya's right. This is messed up."

One by one, they got up and left.

Leo sat alone at his table, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

I kept walking, toward the track, toward my real friends who'd never ask me to buy my way into their circle. Some riddles, I realized, don't need answers—they just need you to stop pretending you don't already know the truth.