Sphinx at the Lockers

Zara's iPhone buzzed against her thigh like a trapped wasp. Another notification. Another whisper in the digital hallways of sophomore year.

"Ugh, who's blowing up my phone?" she muttered, sliding her thumb across the screen while simultaneously jamming her calculus textbook into her overcrowded locker.

Her best friend Jen leaned against locker 216, scrolling through TikTok with practiced disinterest. "Probably the Sphinx again."

The Sphinx. That's what Northwood High's anonymous gossip account called itself, posting riddles that revealed everyone's dirt. Last week: "Which QB has two mommies and still can't come out?" This week: "Who stole the iPhone from the lost and found?"

Zara froze. "How did they—"

"Sphinx knows everything," Jen said, not looking up. "Like, literally everything. My brother said someone saw them posting from the library computer during fifth period."

A deep voice cut through their conversation. "What are you whispering about?"

Chad. The bull himself. Six-foot-two of varsity jacket and unchecked privilege. He'd been making Zara's life hell since she'd accidentally bumped into him in the cafeteria last month.

"Nothing," Zara said, slamming her locker. "Just Chad being Chad, as usual."

His face darkened. "Watch your mouth, new girl."

Jen grabbed Zara's arm as Chad stormed off. "Okay, that was lowkey brave but also stupid. He's literally going to make your life miserable."

Zara's pocket buzzed again. Unknown number.

RIDDLE ME THIS: Who's got a stolen iPhone in her backpack and doesn't even know it?

Heart hammering, Zara unzipped her bag. There, tucked between her binder and emergency tampons, sat an iPhone. Not hers. Someone had planted it.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "I'm being framed."

"Sphinx is setting you up," Jen hissed. "We have to figure out who's running it."

That night, Zara lay in bed, the stolen iPhone glowing on her nightstand. She'd turned it on, discovering it belonged to—Chad's ex, Taylor. Photos of Chad with other girls. Screenshots of texts where he called Zara horrible names.

The phone held all the dirt. And someone—Sphinx—wanted Zara to have it.

Her fingers hovered over Chad's contact in Taylor's phone. She could expose him. Or she could spy, gather evidence, become the kind of person who fought back instead of getting trampled.

Zara thought of the school's actual Sphinx statue out front, its wings frozen mid-flight, its face eternally silent. Sometimes riddles weren't meant to be solved. Sometimes they were meant to be used.

She opened the Notes app. Started typing.

*Step one: Find out who's really behind Sphinx. Step two: Take down the bull for good.*

Her own iPhone lit up with a new message from an unknown number:

NICE WORK, DETECTIVE. WELCOME TO THE GAME.

Zara smiled in the darkness. Game on.