Spinach in the Sphinx's Smile

Riley's goldfish-brain scrolled through TikTok for the forty-seventh time that morning. Three seconds, scroll. Three seconds, scroll. That was her now — since Jordan moved to Seattle last month, Riley existed in bite-sized clips, nobody watching, nothing sticking. Just swipe, forget, repeat.

Until she noticed the Sphinx.

The Sphinx was Kai, actually — this senior who sat cross-legged on the band room bleachers during every lunch period, back perfectly straight, wearing the same faded black hoodie, face unreadable as stone. Nobody talked to Kai. Nobody sat within three rows of Kai. But today, Riley's feet somehow carried her there, her heart doing nervous cartwheels in her chest, her palms sweating against her phone case.

"Nice spinach," Kai said without looking up from their sketchbook.

Riley froze. She touched her front tooth with shaking fingers. Yeah. There it was. A tiny green flag surrendering her dignity, broadcasting her awkwardness to the whole cafeteria.

"Thanks," Riley squeaked. "It's my statement piece. Very meta, you know? Green energy."

Kai's lips twitched. Was that a smile? The Sphinx moved.

"Most people would've turned around and sprinted," Kai said, finally looking at her with eyes that were unexpectedly warm, like honey. "You stayed. Why?"

Riley shrugged, suddenly brave in the face of this tiny triumph. "Goldfish memory, I guess. I'll forget this happened in like, ten seconds anyway."

Kai laughed — actually laughed, head tilting back — and something in Riley's chest unlocked, a door she'd forgotten existed.

"I'm Kai," they said, closing their sketchbook. "And you're hilarious."

Riley sat down, cross-legged like she belonged there. For the first time since Jordan left, she didn't feel like she was waiting for the next clip to start. She was here, spinach and all, finally living in the long version again.

"Riley," she said. "And I think I'm gonna stay a while."