Sphinx in the suburbs

Jordan's entire existence felt like a question nobody wanted to answer.

That Friday night, stuck babysitting his little sister while his friends posted stories from Jake's party, Jordan scrolled through Instagram with that familiar hollow ache in his chest. Even the dog - Mrs. Henderson's elderly golden retriever he walked for extra cash - seemed to have a more exciting life.

"Jordan, can we watch the sphinx documentary again?" Mia called from the couch. "It's literally so cool."

He sighed, heading to the kitchen. The TV worked fine, but the HDMI cable kept slipping out, and neither of them could figure out why the screen went pixelated every twenty minutes.

"Maybe later." He grabbed the spinach his mom had pre-washed and started tearing leaves into a bowl. Being the only vegetarian in the friend group meant constantly explaining himself, but tonight he didn't have the energy.

Then his phone buzzed. Taylor.

"Where r u? Jake's asking about you."

Jordan stared at the text. Three weeks ago, Taylor had accidentally liked his post from two years ago - that awkward eighth grade phase where he'd posted way too many quote pics. They'd been talking since. Not flirting, exactly, but something.

He typed: "Stuck home. Mia's sick."

"Come over after? Like 11?"

Jordan's heart did that stupid flutter thing. Taylor - with the perfect hair and the effortless laugh and the 47k followers - wanted to hang out. Alone.

"Sure."

The next hour passed in anxious blur. He changed shirts three times. Fixed his hair. Tried to look chill and not like someone who'd spent Friday night babysitting and eating spinach salad.

The Henderson's dog Buster whined when Jordan clipped the leash on for a quick walk before heading out.

"I know, buddy," he muttered. "But sometimes you gotta leave the house."

Under streetlights, Jordan's mind raced. What would they even talk about? Taylor lived in a world of house parties and weekend plans and people who mattered. Jordan lived in documentaries about ancient Egypt and taking care of his sister.

But then he remembered something from that sphinx documentary Mia loved - the riddle. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?" The answer was "a person" - crawling as a baby, walking as an adult, using a cane in old age.

Maybe that was the whole point. Everybody changed. Everybody had different phases.

Jordan wasn't stuck in some awkward middle stage forever. This was just his morning.

When he finally knocked on Taylor's door at 11:07, his palms were sweating but his chest felt lighter.

"Hey," Taylor said, grinning in that way that made Jordan's brain short-circuit. "Glad you came."

"Me too." And for the first time, Jordan actually meant it.