Sphinx in the Bleachers

The running track had become my sanctuary ever since Jordan broke up with me two weeks before homecoming. I wasn't even on the cross country team, but every afternoon I found myself there, lap after lap, until my lungs burned and my phone died in my sweaty palm.

That's when I noticed her — the sphinx of the bleachers. Maya sat in the same spot every day, knees pulled to her chest, watching everyone with these unreadable dark eyes. She never spoke, never smiled, just existed like this beautiful, terrifying riddle I couldn't solve.

"You're running in circles," she said suddenly, making me trip over my own feet. I hadn't even realized she'd moved from the bleachers to stand right beside the chain-link fence.

"I like circles," I managed, trying to play it cool while my heart hammered against my ribs. "They're predictable."

Maya's lip curved into this almost-smile. "Nothing's really predictable, though. Not really. Like that goldfish I won at the carnival last summer?" She pulled out her phone, showing me a live wallpaper of the ugliest orange fish I'd ever seen. "Supposed to live, what, two weeks? It's been seven months. That fish defies all logic."

"That's... actually kind of impressive?"

"His name is Kevin." She finally laughed, and it was this sound that made everything in my chest go tight and fluttery at the same time. "Want to meet him?"

And just like that, the running track wasn't my sanctuary anymore. The unpredictable girl with the immortal goldfish became my new favorite mystery to solve. Some riddles, I learned, were worth getting tripped up over.