The Riddle at the Finish Line

I was running laps behind the high school when my legs felt like lead pipes and my lungs were definitely filing a formal complaint. Cross country practice sucked, but not as much as what happened at lunch.

"Hey, Chase!" Maya yelled, sprinting up beside me with her impossible neon orange sneakers. "Wait up!"

I kept running. She'd chosen her seat next to some sophomore from the football team instead of our usual spot by the windows. Whatever. I didn't care. Not really.

"Look, I know you're mad," she panted, falling into step with me. "But it's not what you think."

"Pretty sure it's exactly what I think," I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps. We'd been best friend since sixth grade, before braces and puberty and suddenly everyone caring who sat with whom.

We rounded the bend toward the old statue district. That's when I saw it — someone had spray-painted a sphinx statue bright orange. Like, ridiculous highlighter orange. The stone creature with its stupid mysterious smile now looked like it belonged in a circus.

Maya stopped running. "No way."

I stopped too, chest heaving. The sphinx's riddle-asking face was frozen mid-smirk, now completely ridiculous.

"What's the riddle now?" Maya laughed, pointing at it. "'What's orange and should have made better choices at lunch today?'"

I snorted, trying not to laugh but failing. "Okay, that's actually funny."

She turned to me, suddenly serious. "The real riddle is why you think I'd ditch my best friend for some guy who thinks 'sick' means 'cool' unironically."

I blinked. She'd noticed him saying that?

"He was talking about cross country," she said. "I was trying to get him to come watch your meet Friday."

Oh.

The sphinx seemed to be laughing at me now. I grabbed my water bottle from the grass, took a long drink, and felt my face burning worse than the run had made it.

"So... you want to come to the meet?" I asked. "And maybe after, we could hit up that boba place?"

"Obviously," Maya grinned. "But you're paying. emotional damages."

"Deal." I started running again, slower this time. "Race you to the finish line?"

"You're on," she said, already ahead of me in those ridiculous orange shoes.

Some sphinxes keep their secrets. Others just need you to ask the right questions.