The Sphinx at Homecoming

Maya's iPhone died at 8:47 PM — exactly three minutes before Jason finally looked her way. She'd been hovering near the snack table, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a bag of Doritos, when her screen went black. No charger. No cable. No social lifeline.

"You look like you're solving a riddle from the sphinx," someone said behind her.

Maya turned to find Skylar — the girl everyone called "Fox" because she somehow slipped through every social situation unscathed. Her real name was irrelevant. Fox fit better.

"My phone's dead," Maya admitted. "I was basically live-tweeting my entire existence to maintain the illusion that I have friends."

Fox laughed. It wasn't mean. "Same. Mine died an hour ago. Want to know something weird?"

"Always."

"Being disconnected is kinda... freeing?" Fox leaned against the wall. "No one can expect you to respond. No FOMO from seeing other people's stories. You're just... here."

Maya processed this. Her sphinx-like expression of perpetual worry softened.

"But what if—" she started.

"What if you're missing something? What if someone's trying to reach you?" Fox finished her thought. "Here's the thing: you're not missing anything. The real stuff is happening right here."

Jason was across the room, laughing at something. Maya realized she didn't actually care what he was saying. The social sphinx had finally revealed her answer: she'd been performing for an audience that wasn't watching.

"Hey," Fox said, "want to go outside? There's this weird fox that hangs around the dumpsters. We can name him."

Maya grinned. "Only if we can also solve the mystery of why there's an abandoned ethernet cable behind the gym."

"Deal."

Later, as they sat on the curb sharing stale fries while a actual fox warily watched from the shadows, Maya's iPhone remained dead in her pocket. And that was perfectly fine. Some riddles solve themselves when you stop overthinking and start living.