Sphinx Summer

The screen lit up my face in the darkness — 2:47 AM. My iPhone, the one thing I actually cared about, buzzed with another notification. Party at Chloe's. Pool. Midnight. Everyone's going. The caption showed the sparkling blue water of her inground pool, perfectly illuminated by string lights.

I tossed and turned for three more hours before giving up on sleep. Running was the only thing that cleared my head anymore. Lacing up my Nikes at 6 AM, I let my feet pound the pavement while the sun came up. Coach said I had potential for varsity track, but honestly? I just needed the escape.

"Hey, Maya!"

I flinched, slowing to a walk. It was Jason — the guy who'd somehow earned the nickname Sphinx freshman year. He just had this way of appearing silently and asking weirdly deep questions during lunch. Nobody knew anything about him, hence the name.

"You coming to Chloe's tonight?" he asked, falling into step beside me.

"Maybe." Lie. Total lie. Social situations weren't exactly my strong suit.

"My dog's having puppies tonight," he said out of nowhere. "Wanted to show you. If you wanted an out."

I stared at him. "You're inviting me over to watch your dog give birth instead of a party?"

"Sphinx doesn't do parties." He shrugged. "But Sphinx does think you need an excuse that doesn't make you look like a loser."

And that's how I ended up at his house at midnight, petting his very pregnant golden retriever while everyone else posted Instagram stories from Chloe's pool party. Cookie (the dog, not Sphinx's actual name) chose that exact moment to start panting heavily.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "Is it...?"

Four hours later, I was covered in dog slobber and exhaustion, holding a tiny, wiggling puppy. My iPhone buzzed — a pic of the pool party. Everyone looked so happy.

"Better?" Jason asked, gesturing at the puppies.

"Yeah," I said, and meant it.

I posted one photo that night: a blurry, golden-furred puppy, captioned "way better than a pool party." And for once, I didn't care who liked it.