The Riddle in the Mirror

Maya's frizzy **hair** defied physics, gravity, and every expensive product her mom bought. It was the first thing anyone noticed about her—the girl with the lion's mane. Maya noticed everything too, which was why she'd earned the nickname **sphinx** from Mr. Henderson's English class. She sat in the back, cryptic and silent, solving everyone else's problems but never speaking about her own.

The morning of the winter formal, Maya's mom pressed a chewy orange **vitamin** into her palm. "For energy," she said, as if enthusiasm could be manufactured in a factory.

Maya swallowed it anyway. She'd spent the past week studying until 3 AM, existing on caffeine and nervous energy, feeling like a **zombie** shuffling through school hallways with dark circles under her eyes. Everyone assumed the sphinx was mysterious. Really, she was just exhausted.

Her best friend Jaya had already planned every detail of their pre-formal photoshoot. But when Maya looked in the mirror, she couldn't recognize the person staring back. The straightener sizzled as she attempted to tame her hair for the hundredth time, but it sprang back stubbornly, wild and free.

Maybe that was the answer to the riddle she'd been trying to solve all year. The sphinx wasn't supposed to have all the answers. She was supposed to ask better questions.

Maya turned off the straightener. Let her hair rebel. Let the photos be messy. She grabbed her phone and texted Jaya: "Pick me up early. I have a better idea."

That night, for the first time since middle school, Maya danced with her hair unapologetically huge, letting the sphinx finally speak.