The Riddle at Miller's Pond

Maya's **hat** sat three inches too low on her forehead, a strategic adjustment to avoid eye contact in the cafeteria. The beanie had become her social camouflage since transferring to Northwood High two months ago.

"You coming to track tryouts?" asked Chloe, sliding onto the bench across from her. Chloe was everything Maya wasn't: confident, athletic, seemingly immune to the crushing weight of being the new girl.

Maya twisted the cap off her **water** bottle. "I don't know. Maybe."

"You should. Coach said they need distance runners. And you're always **running** that loop around Miller's Pond. I see you from the bus."

Maya felt her face heat up. She didn't run because she was good at it. She ran because when her legs burned and her lungs screamed, she couldn't overthink everything.

That afternoon, she found herself at the pond anyway, lacing up her worn Nikes. The old stone **sphinx** had been there since before anyone could remember, half-sunken in the earth, wings eroded by decades of rain. Someone had spray-painted a question across its base: WHAT RHYMES WITH ORANGE?

"Stupid," Maya muttered, stretching her calves.

She'd made it halfway around the pond when her stomach growled so loud she actually stopped. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out the chewable **vitamin** her mom made her take every morning. "For your immune system," her mom said, as if that was the thing that would protect her from high school.

Maya looked at the sphinx in the distance. What rhymed with orange? Nothing. That was the point. Some questions didn't have answers.

Unless you made your own.

She thought of Chloe's invitation, of the way her legs felt strong when she pushed past comfortable, of the hat hiding her face like a shield she didn't need anymore.

Maya swallowed the vitamin dry. Then she adjusted her hat—pushed it back until her forehead showed, took a deep breath, and started running like she meant it.