The Riddle of Room 307

Maya's morning routine was basically a religion: wash face, take her hair growth vitamin gummy (her mom's idea, obviously), and prepare mentally for the social pyramid that was Franklin High. As a sophomore, she hovered somewhere near the bottom—above the freshmen, obviously, but nowhere near the varsity jacket guys and TikTok-famous girls who ruled like they owned the place.

Then there was Leo, who sat in the back of Mr. Harrison's history class, silent and mysterious, hoodie always up. Everyone called him the Sphinx because nobody had actually heard him speak since freshman year. The rumors ranged from "he's secretly a genius" to "he's in the witness protection program."

When Mr. Harrison announced the Ancient Egypt project, Maya got stuck with Leo.

Great, she thought. Just great.

They met at the library after school. Leo slid across a diagram of the Great Pyramid, his handwriting unexpectedly neat.

"So," Maya said, awkwardly pulling out her notes. "I can handle the presentation part if you want to do the research? Or whatever works for—"

"I'm not mute," Leo said.

Maya almost dropped her vitamin water. "Wait, you CAN talk?"

Leo's lip twitched. Something like amusement. "People just stop asking after a while. Easier that way."

They worked until closing time. Leo was brilliant—quietly so—but brilliant. He explained pyramid construction with weirdly specific knowledge about engineering. Maya found herself actually laughing at his dry jokes about pharaohs and their god complexes.

"You're not like your vibe," she said as they packed up.

"What's my vibe?"

"Mysterious. Intimidating. The whole Sphinx thing."

"Maybe I just got tired of performing for an audience," Leo said, zipping his backpack. His eyes met hers, and something shifted.

The next day, Leo sat next to her at lunch. People stared. The Sphinx had moved.

"What's everyone looking at?" he asked, opening his chocolate milk.

Maya smiled. "Welcome to the middle of the pyramid, Leo. It's not so bad here."