Sphinx on Hole Seven

The neon-orange visor was humiliating. Like, actually offensive. But apparently that's what you got when you were the new hire at Pharaoh's Putt-Putt Palace — minimum wage, maximum cringe, and a **hat** that made you look like a traffic cone with dreams.

"Dude, you look like you're about to direct airplanes," Marcus said from the concession stand, already three weeks into this job and somehow already the cool one. He had that effortless senior energy, the kind where everything he said was hilarious even when it wasn't.

"Ha. Ha." I adjusted the visor. My first real shift, first real paycheck, first real shot at not being broke forever. And I was terrified.

Then Chloe walked in.

Chloe, who sat behind me in AP English. Chloe, whose Instagram stories made my stomach do actual gymnastics. Chloe, who was now walking toward Hole Seven — the **pyramid** obstacle, with its ridiculously steep incline and tiny opening that literally nobody could putt through on their first try.

She was with her friends. Of course she was. The popular group moved through the mini-golf course like a heat wave — all laughter and perfect hair and inside jokes that made you feel like you were missing something fundamental about being human.

They reached the pyramid. Chloe lined up her shot, tongue slightly poking between her lips in this way that was unfairly adorable. She hit the ball too hard. It sailed up the pyramid's side and immediately rolled back down, tap-tap-tapping against the fake sand like it was laughing at her.

"Ugh, this course is rigged," one of her friends said.

"No, I just suck at this." Chloe laughed, but I could hear the frustration underneath.

And that's when I made my move. Or my brain did, without really running it by me first.

"Hey," I said, walking over like I wasn't wearing a traffic cone on my head. "You gotta hit it softer, aim for the left side. The slope's deceptive — there's like, a physics thing with the angle."

Chloe looked up. Our eyes met. For like, three entire seconds.

"Oh! Thanks." She smiled, and something in my chest did a weird flip thing. "You work here?"

"First day," I said, somehow not tripping over my own tongue. "I'm basically a pro now, though. Been here like, two hours."

Her laugh was real. Not polite fake-laugh real. Actually real.

She tried again. Softer this time. The ball crept up the pyramid's side, caught the ridge, and dropped perfectly through the opening.

"NO WAY!" Her friends swarmed her, squealing. High fives all around.

Chloe looked back at me. "You're literally a genius."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just doing my job."

We moved to Hole Nine. The **sphinx** statue was supposed to be mysterious and imposing, but honestly it just looked kind of judgmental, like it was side-eyeing everyone's form. Its painted stone eyes seemed to say, *really? that's your putt? really?*

Chloe lined up her shot, then paused. She pulled an **orange** from her purse — like, who carries whole fruit to mini-golf? — and tossed it to me.

"For the tip," she said. "You're saving my game here."

The orange hit my hands. Perfect catch. Something about it felt enormous, like some kind of tiny victory I couldn't totally explain.

"Thanks," I said. "Orange is my favorite color."

"Mine too," she said, and then she winked. Actually winked.

Later, Marcus asked how my first shift went. I adjusted my stupid visor, finally feeling like maybe I could pull it off.

"Honestly?" I took a bite of the orange, already planning what I'd wear tomorrow. "Not bad. Not bad at all."