The Riddle at Regionals

Jordan's palms were sweating so bad he could practically water plants with them. Which was gross, and also exactly why he kept wiping them on his jersey shorts while everyone else was busy stretching and not having a complete existential crisis.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, looking concerned but also distracted because Taylor from the rival school was walking by like she owned the entire meet.

"Yeah, just..." Jordan wiped his palms again. "Nervous about Regionals."

"Bro, you've been running varsity since sophomore year. You're gonna crush it."

Jordan wasn't nervous about running. He was nervous about the Sphinx.

Not the Egyptian statue kind—though that would honestly be less complicated. The Sphinx was this anonymous account on the school's gossip app that had been posting riddles all week. And somehow, Jordan had become convinced that the Sphinx was trying to tell him something about his crush on Maya, the girl who sat behind him in AP Bio and drew intricate doodles in the margins of her notes.

The Sphinx's latest riddle had been: "What has legs but cannot run, speaks without words, and holds more than the universe?"

Jordan had spent three days thinking it was a metaphor for his feelings. Marcus said it was probably just some bored freshman being weird.

The gun went off.

Jordan fell into his rhythm, the familiar thud of spikes against dirt, the rhythmic breathing that his coach had drilled into him since freshman year. Around him, the pack of runners from twelve different schools churned up the cross country course, all of them chasing the same thing—coming in first, or at least not embarrassing themselves.

Mile marker 1. Jordan was in fourth.

Mile marker 2. He'd moved to second, right behind some senior from Northwood who looked like he was literally made ofrunning.

And then Jordan saw her—Maya, standing near the finish line, holding a giant sign that said GO FROGS in purple glitter. She was wearing his favorite hoodie—the one he'd left at the meet two weeks ago and never asked for back because letting her keep it felt like winning.

Jordan kicked it in.

He crossed the finish line two seconds behind the Northwood guy, earning second place and gasping for air like a fish out of water. Maya was there immediately, handing him a water bottle.

"You were insane," she said, grinning. "Also, I figured out your riddle."

Jordan blinked, still catching his breath. "What?"

"The Sphinx's riddle from the app," she said. "It's a palm. Hands have legs—well, fingers. They 'speak' through sign language or writing. And they can hold someone's entire world." She wiggled her fingers. "Like, literally, in your palm."

Jordan looked at his own hands, calloused from cross country, currently wrapped around a water bottle. "Oh."

"Also," Maya said, "the Sphinx posted something else while you were running."

Jordan's heart did something genuinely concerning.

"It said: 'Sometimes the answer isn't a riddle. Sometimes it's just asking.'" Maya looked at him, suddenly interested in her shoelaces. "So. Jordan. Are you gonna come to my meet next week? Or do I have to post another riddle?"

Jordan's palms were sweating again. But somehow, he didn't mind. "I'll be there," he said. "Front row."