Silence Like a Sphinx

My phone buzzed. Group chat: *@the_shrek_crew*

Jason: u coming to kayla's party tonight??

Aisha: yesss finally weekend vibes

Marcus: finna be LIT 🔥

I stared at the screen. My thumbs hovered. I wanted to type *haha yeah!* or *can't wait!* but instead I locked my phone and flopped onto my bed. My golden retriever, Buster, nudged my hand with that wet-nosed persistence that demanded attention.

"You don't have to deal with social anxiety, do you, buddy?" I scratched behind his ears. "You just... exist. And everyone loves you for it."

Buster flopped onto his back, tongue out, completely shameless. The absolute opposite of me.

The party started in two hours. I already had my outfit laid out—jeans that actually fit, my vintage Docs, a black tee that said *FREE HUGS* (ironically, obviously). But the real issue was the **hat**.

It was my dad's old fedora. The one he wore in every photo from his twenties. He'd given it to me last week, all casual-like, like it wasn't this whole emotional hand-me-down. *For when you wanna feel dapper,* he'd said.

I put it on. The mirror reflected someone cooler than I felt. Someone who could walk into a party and not immediately calculate escape routes.

But when I got to Kayla's, the music hit me like a wall. People everywhere. Laughter, red cups, that specific energy that made my chest tight. I spent ten minutes *hovering* near the snacks like a ghost who forgot how to haunt.

Then I saw her.

Riya. She was sitting on the porch swing, alone, scrolling through her phone. Riya, who had this whole *enigmatic* thing going on, like she knew secrets about the universe. Like she'd spent a thousand years asking riddles and *sphinx*-ing everyone out.

I stood there for way too long just... staring. Like a creep.

She looked up. Our eyes met. I froze.

"Nice hat," she said.

"Thanks," I squeaked. Smooth. "It was my—my dad's."

She nodded, like this was profound information. Then she scooted over. Patented the space beside her.

I sat. My brain was screaming. But then she said, "I hate parties too."

I blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. Everyone acting all extra, performing for each other. It's exhausting." She leaned back. "I'd rather be home with my **dog**. He's a golden retriever. Total dork, but at least he's honest about wanting attention."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "I have one too. Buster. He's currently judging me for leaving him alone."

"Buster! That's adorable." She grinned, and it was this genuine thing that made my stomach do flips.

We talked for an hour. About everything and nothing. How high school feels like one long performance. How we both liked bands everyone else called *dad music.* How her little brother had this *bear* of a temper when he lost at Mario Kart.

"I'm glad I came out here," I said, meaning it.

"Me too." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "Hey, you should wear the hat more often. It suits you."

I adjusted the fedora, suddenly understanding why my dad loved it. It wasn't about looking cool. It was about feeling like yourself—unapologetically, no performance necessary.

"Yeah," I said, actually grinning now. "I think I will."