The Padel Court Sphinx

Maya pressed her back against the concrete wall of the **padel** court, heart racing like she'd just played three sets back-to-back. But she wasn't even holding a racquet. She was, against all laws of teenage dignity, hiding.

"You're literally the worst **spy** ever," whispered Zara, appearing beside her with zero warning. Maya nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I'm not spying," Maya hissed, though the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. "I'm... conducting casual visual research on my crush."

"That's spying, Maya. That's literally the definition of spying." Zara adjusted her crop top and leaned against the wall. "You know who you should talk to? The Sphinx."

"The what now?"

"The Sphinx. Senior girl. Always sitting by the fountain during lunch, never talks to anyone, but if you ask her for advice, she gives you these weird riddle answers that actually somehow work." Zara shrugged. "My cousin asked her about coming out to her parents, and the Sphinx was like, 'The truth is a seed. Some soil needs more rain.' And she waited, and like, it worked."

Maya peeked around the corner. Lucas was still there, laughing at something his friend said, all wind-messed hair and effortless cool. "That sounds like fortune cookie nonsense."

"Bro, what do you have to lose? You've been stalking—sorry, 'conducting visual research'—on Lucas for two months. Your move is weak."

The next day, Maya found herself standing before the Sphinx — real name apparently Elena, according to the yearbook Maya may have also checked. The girl sat cross-legged on the stone fountain rim, reading a paperback with the cover torn off.

"Um," Maya started, then nearly folded in half from secondhand embarrassment. "I need help with... I mean, there's this guy..."

Elena looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "The ones we chase are often running from themselves."

"Okay, that's cryptic, but he's not running—"

"Are you chasing him," Elena interrupted, "or the version of yourself you think exists when you're with him?"

Maya froze. The question hit like a serve she hadn't bothered to return.

"Think about it," Elena said, already returning to her book. "The riddle isn't him. It's you."

That afternoon, when Lucas waved at her across the **padel** courts, Maya didn't hide. Didn't spy. She just waved back, equal parts terrified and electrically alive, and finally stepped onto the court.