Sphinx of the Bleachers

Maya's thumbs hovered over her iPhone screen, the notification light blinking like a tiny heartbeat. Three unread texts from Leo. Three times she'd almost replied, three times she'd stopped.

You good?

Maya?

Talk to me.

She tossed the phone onto her bed and grabbed her running shoes. The orange laces were fraying—just like everything else this semester. Practice started in ten minutes, and Coach Reynolds would have her head if she was late again.

The November air hit her lungs like ice as she sprinted toward the track. Her breath formed little clouds that vanished as quickly as they appeared. This was the only time her brain stopped spinning—the rhythm of her feet, the burn in her chest, the simple clarity of putting one foot in front of the other.

"Maya!"

She slowed to a jog. Leo stood by the bleachers, wearing that stupid grin that used to make her laugh and now just made her stomach twist. He held something behind his back.

"You're not on the team," she said, still moving. "What are you doing here?"

"I come in peace." He stepped closer, revealing a battered notebook with a cartoon sphinx drawn on the cover. "Remember this?"

Maya stopped running. The Sphinx—freshman year, their weird obsession with Egyptian mythology, the way they'd create riddles for each other in the margins of their notes. Before everything got complicated. Before she realized she liked him more than a best friend should.

"Where did you find that?"

"My mom was cleaning out my old backpack." Leo flipped it open. "Look."

He pointed to a page covered in their handwriting. At the bottom, in Maya's purple gel pen: If Leo ever reads this again, he owes me an orange soda.

He handed her a cold Crush from his sweatshirt pocket. Condensation dripped down the orange aluminum.

"I ran here," Leo said. "From the corner store. That's, like, seven blocks."

"Why?"

"Because you've been ghosting me for two weeks, and I figured either you're mad at me or something else is wrong." He shrugged. "And we're not doing this thing where we pretend everything's cool when it's not. That's what juniors do."

Maya cracked the soda open. It fizzed against her fingers. "I'm not mad. I'm just... tired of pretending."

"Pretending what?" Leo stepped closer, his sneakers scuffing the track.

"That we're just friends."

The silence stretched between them, thick and terrifying.

"Oh," Leo said. Then, quietly: "Good."

"Good?"

"Good, because I was terrible at it anyway." His phone buzzed in his pocket. "That's my mom. I gotta—"

"Go." Maya smiled. "But you owe me another soda."

"Deal." He jogged backward, grinning. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Don't push your luck, Sphinx boy."

Maya watched him run until he turned the corner, then picked up her phone. The three unread messages still waited. She started typing.

Good now. See you tomorrow.