The Riddle of Friday Night

Maya stood at the edge of Jason's living room, clutching her red plastic cup like it contained the antidote to social extinction. The bass from the speakers vibrated through her chest—or maybe that was just her heart staging a full-on rebellion. She'd spent two hours on her costume, batting cat-eye liner until it looked appropriately feline, and now she just felt like a fraud.

Her phone buzzed. *Where r u???* - text from Sophie, who was apparently fashionably late per usual. Maya typed back *Already here dying* before realizing that sounded pathetic, even for her. She deleted it. *Here. Front corner.* Better.

"Hey, you're Maya, right?"

She jumped. A guy in a zombie football jersey materialized beside her, fake blood dripping down his chin. "I'm Tyler. We have English together."

"Oh yeah. Hey." Smooth, Maya. Award-winning.

"So," Tyler said, leaning against the wall with calculated casualness, "what's your deal? Like, what do you actually do besides school stuff?"

The question hit her like a pop quiz she hadn't studied for. What WAS her deal? She liked reading and complained about homework and sometimes posted aesthetic photos of her coffee on Instagram. Lame. Suddenly she understood why the sphinx ate people who failed its riddles—some questions just didn't have answers that didn't sound terrible.

"I mean," she started, then stopped. Why was she performing? "Honestly? I spend way too much time overthinking conversations like this one. And I have this cat named Bagel who basically runs my life. She's judgmental but loyal."

Tyler laughed, and the fake blood cracked at the corners of his mouth. "Bagel? Seriously?"

"She's round. It fits."

"That's actually hilarious." His phone lit up. "Ugh, my friends are doing karaoke without me. You coming?"

The old Maya would've made an excuse. The zombie-fied, socially exhausted version of herself from three weeks ago would've pretended to get an important text. But something about Tyler's easy grin, the way he hadn't looked away when she admitted to being a cat person who overthought everything—

"Yeah," Maya said, setting her cup down on a nearby table. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"Cool." He held up his hand for a high-five. She smacked it. "Also, just warning you—I'm terrible at singing."

"Same," Maya grinned. "Like, embarrassingly bad."

"Perfect. We'll be terrible together."

As they waded toward the makeshift stage, Maya's phone buzzed again. Sophie: *OMW!* Maya smiled and slid it into her pocket without replying. Bagel would definitely approve.