Sphinxes Don't Text Back

Jordan's cat Barnaby knocked the iPhone off the desk at exactly 7:43 PM—the screen cracked, but not enough to hide the notification lighting up the glass.

**Message from Sphinx:** hey

Jordan's stomach did that thing where it felt like it had suddenly been transported to zero gravity. Sphinx, as in Leo freaking Torres, the new junior who'd spent exactly two weeks at Northwood High and already accumulated enough mythology around him to fill a Wikipedia page. They called him Sphinx because he sat at the back of AP English looking like he knew something everyone else didn't, answering questions in riddles, or maybe because sophomore Emily Swanson claimed he'd refused to tell anyone his middle name during third period PE.

**Jordan:** ummm hi?? is this the right number

**Sphinx:** yeah lol. u left your backpack in the library. your phone was in the side pocket. saw the cracked screen. figured I'd text you from mine.

Jordan buried their face in a pillow. Barnaby, sensing social catastrophe, abandoned his post by the empty food bowl to leap onto the bed and purr aggressively, like emotional support feline therapy.

The thing was, Jordan had been lowkey crushing on Sphinx since his second day, when he'd worn that oversized olive hoodie and corrected Mr. Harrison's pronunciation of "existential" without being a total jerk about it. Jordan's friends said he was full of bull—"He's not mysterious, Jordan, he's just quiet"—but what did they know?

**Jordan:** wait how did you know it was mine

**Sphinx:** I may have seen the extremely cool llama sticker case. also your name is on the inside in sharpie??

Jordan died inside.

**Sphinx:** anyway. I can bring it tomorrow or we could meet up?

Jordan's fingers hovered. Meet up. As in, outside of school? As in, on purpose? The social hierarchy equivalent of walking into a china shop wearing a bull costume.

Barnaby meowed, judgmental.

**Jordan:** yeah meet up sounds good

**Sphinx:** cool. Melville's at 5?

**Jordan:** Melville's?? the coffee shop??

**Sphinx:** unless you know another one lol. my friend works there, we can get free refills

Free refills. The most spectacularly mundane detail in the history of romance, and Jordan was suddenly spiraling about outfit choices and whether Barnaby's orange fur counted as a fashion warning.

At 4:58 PM the next day, Jordan's hands were sweating so much the iPhone nearly slipped out of their pocket at Melville's. Sphinx was already there—hoodie, coffee, that half-smile that made Jordan's brain short-circuit.

"You came," he said, sliding a replacement phone case across the table. It had a cat on it. "Saw this at Target. Figured you needed an upgrade."

"How did you—"

"I observe things." He shrugged. "Also, I looked at your Instagram while I had your phone. The cat's cute."

Barnaby would be offended.

"You went through my Instagram?"

"I was finding your contact info! Chill." Sphinx stirred his coffee. "So, full disclosure, I may have stolen your backpack on purpose."

Jordan blinked. "What?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you for like two weeks. You're always with your friends, and I didn't want to make it weird." He actually looked nervous, which Jordan had never seen before. "Full disclosure part two: everyone calling me Sphinx is so stupid. My middle name is Francis. I just didn't want to tell Emily Swanson because she would've made it everyone's business."

Jordan started laughing.

"What?"

"My friends said you were full of bull."

"Francis is way worse than bull."

"No, I mean—" Jordan shook their head, grinning. "I mean, they said the whole mysterious thing was an act. Which, like, technically correct?"

Sphinx—Leo—Francis—whatever his name was—grinned back, and Jordan decided right then that perfect moments weren't about grand gestures or movie-quality lines. They were about cracked screens and honesty and the way someone's smile made you forget you'd ever been nervous.

"So," Jordan said. "About those free refults."