Sphinx Games

The first day of sophomore year, I learned that Maya Chen had earned a new nickname over the summer: The Sphinx. Nobody knew why—she just transferred here from California, gorgeous and untouchable, sitting at the center of the cafeteria like she owned the oxygen supply. She barely spoke, but somehow everyone knew her business. It was infuriating.

I was in full zombie mode that month, surviving on three hours of sleep and whatever vitamin supplements my mom pushed on me every morning. "You're growing, Leo," she'd say, like growth required me to feel like a walking corpse.

The universe decided to mess with me during third period PE when Coach announced we were doing a padel unit. Padel. Because apparently tennis wasn't pretentious enough for Lincoln High. I partnered with Jace, my best friend since kindergarten, while across the net, The Sphinx herself stood with some sophomore I didn't recognize.

"You're staring again," Jace whispered, smirking.

"Am not," I lied. Maya's ponytail swung as she served, and something about her movement made my chest do this weird flutter thing. Not a crush. Definitely not.

Then came the incident. I was running backward for a return when my foot caught the court line. I went down hard, racket flying somewhere toward the bleachers. The class went dead silent.

I thought she'd laugh. That's what popular kids did, right? But Maya was suddenly there, extending a hand, her expression unreadable as ever.

"You good?" she asked. Her voice was quieter than I expected, almost shy.

"Yeah. Just humiliating myself publicly, no big deal."

A tiny smile cracked her Sphinx face. "Happens to everyone. Last week? I tripped over my own feet during cheer tryouts. Everyone saw."

"Wait, YOU tried out for cheer?"

"Didn't make it," she said, pulling me up. "Maybe I'm too mysterious. They said I lacked spirit."

I laughed, and she laughed back, and suddenly The Sphinx was just Maya—a girl who loved conspiracy theories and hated math class and had moved here because her dad got transferred to the local university. We walked to US History together, and I learned she was terrible at sports, surprisingly awkward, and her nickname came from an Egyptian mythology phase in middle school that everyone refused to forget.

"You know," she said, dropping her voice conspiratorially, "I've been wanting to try that new bubble tea place downtown. But I don't want to go alone."

My heart did that flutter thing again. "I could go. If you want."

"Friday?"

"Friday."

That night, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and realized I wasn't smiling like a zombie anymore. The vitamin supplements could wait—I had something better fueling me now.