The Riddle at the Finish Line

My legs burned like I'd swallowed fire instead of that stupid vitamin gummy my mom swore would make me run faster. Coach Miller was absolutely bulldozing us today—no pun intended—screaming about regionals next week while I checked my iPhone under my bleachers, needing exactly three more likes to beat Jason's post count from practice. Pathetic, right?

Then I saw her. Sphinx. Everyone called her that because she'd transferred here three months ago and never spoke, just sat by the track fence watching us practice with those knowing golden eyes, like she knew something we didn't. Today she was actually looking AT me.

"You're running in circles," she said as I huffed past, pushing through my third lap. Her voice was surprisingly soft.

"That's kinda the point of track," I shot back between gasps, annoyed that my response came out wheezy instead of witty.

She shrugged, all mysterious and annoyingly calm. "I meant metaphorically. You're running toward something you think will fix you, but you're not actually going anywhere."

I stopped. Coach Miller would have a bull about me quitting mid-lap, but suddenly my iPhone notifications seemed incredibly stupid. Sphinx hopped down from the fence and walked over, her movements fluid like she'd never been awkward a day in her life.

"So what's your riddle?" I demanded, hands on my knees, sweat dripping onto my brand-new running shoes that cost more than my first car would.

She smiled then, this tiny secret thing. "The riddle isn't something I ask you. It's something you ask yourself: What are you actually running toward?"

The question hit harder than any finishing-line collision. I'd been running toward popularity, toward likes and followers and college scholarships and proving everyone who ever doubted me wrong. But Sphinx was looking at me like she could see the actual answer—the one I'd been avoiding.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Good answer," she said. "Now you can actually start moving forward."

That was the day I stopped running in circles. Not literally—I still made regionals and got those three extra followers and everything. But I started running toward things that actually mattered. And somewhere along the way, Sphinx and I started running together, side by side, toward whatever came next.