Sphinx on the Padel Court

Maya's golden retriever, Buster, had better social skills than she did.

"You're overthinking it again," Chloe said, adjusting her padel racket. "Just talk to him."

"He's called Sphinx for a reason," Maya muttered, watching the lanky boy with the mysterious smile across the court. "Nobody knows what he's thinking. Like, ever."

Sphinx — real name Julian, but the nickname stuck after he solved their AP History teacher's impossible riddle — was the kind of confusing that made Maya's chest feel tight. He moved like he was in on a joke nobody else got.

"Game point!" someone yelled.

Maya started running toward the ball, her sneakers squeaking against the court. She missed. Again.

"You good?" Sphinx asked, suddenly beside her. His voice was warm, layered.

"Yeah. Just... tired."

"Buster looks tired too." He nodded toward where her dog was dozing near the fence. "He's been at every game. He your emotional support animal?"

"Something like that."

"Cool." A pause. "Hey, you want to grab food after? There's this place—"

"MAYA!" Chloe yelled. "We're up!"

The moment broke. Sphinx smirked — that Sphinx smirk, like he knew something — and jogged back to his side of the court.

All through the match, Maya kept stealing glances. Every time Sphinx served, his expression unreadable. Every time he laughed with his friends, Maya felt that weird ache in her stomach.

After the game, she found him waiting near the fence. Buster was sitting at his feet, getting ear scratches like a traitor.

"So," Sphinx said. "About that food—"

"Are you... are you asking me out?" The words escaped before she could stop them.

He grinned. And for once, the sphinx's riddle wasn't mysterious at all.

"Finally," he said. "I was running out of subtle."

Buster barked, like he'd known all along.