Sphinx by the Pool

Maya wiped sweat from her forehead as she leaned against the concrete edge of the community pool. The **water** shimmered like liquid diamonds under the July sun, but she wasn't jumping in. Not today.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan called from the shallow end, splashing water everywhere like a golden retriever. Jordan, her best **friend** since kindergarten, who now spent half their time with the baseball team and the other half checking their phone for messages that never came.

"In a bit," Maya said, picking at the **papaya** her grandmother had packed for lunch. She'd always hated the stuff—too mushy, too weird—but lately she'd been forcing herself to like it. Like how she was forcing herself to like this new version of Jordan. The one who traded their inside jokes for batting practice and started saying "literally" unironically.

The **baseball** players had taken over the deep end, their laughter echoing across the pool deck. Jordan kept glancing over at them, then back at Maya, then away again.

Maya stood up and walked toward the far corner of the pool area, where the concrete **sphinx** statue sat half-hidden behind overgrown bushes. Someone had drawn a moustache on it with permanent marker last summer, and nobody had bothered to clean it off. The sphinx had become her spot—where she came when Jordan cancelled plans (again) or when she felt like everyone was changing except her.

The sphinx's painted-on eyes seemed to mock her. *What's your riddle, Maya?* it seemed to ask. *How do you hold on when everything's slipping away?*

"Hey." Jordan's voice behind her. Soft this time, not shouting. "You okay?"

Maya turned. Jordan was dripping wet, holding a dripping ice cream cone. "Fine."

"You know," Jordan said, sitting beside her on the concrete bench, "the baseball guys are actually pretty annoying. They keep making me throw strikes even though I literally haven't played since I was eight."

Maya snorted. "Literally?"

Jordan groaned. "I know, I'm trying to quit saying it. It's ... weird, right?"

"A little," Maya admitted, but she was smiling.

Jordan held out the ice cream. "Want some? It's melting everywhere."

"Only if you try my papaya."

Jordan made a face. "That stuff looks like baby food."

"Exactly." Maya broke off a piece. "My grandma says it's an acquired taste. Like some friendships."

Jordan froze for a second, then laughed. "Okay, fair." They took the papaya and made a show of gagging, but swallowed it anyway. "I promise," Jordan said, mouth full, "no more ditching you for baseball practice. Not worth it."

The sphinx seemed to nod its approval behind its moustache.

"Deal," Maya said. "Now let's go before the baseball team takes over the shallow end too."

They walked back together, and for the first time all summer, the water didn't feel so lonely.