The Sphinx at Lunch Table Four

Maya felt like a total spy, invisible in her own cafeteria. Watching Zara laugh with the popular crowd — the same Zara who'd been her best friend since kindergarten, until middle school hit like a natural disaster. Now Maya existed in the background, while Zara existed in HD.

"You gonna eat that spinach?" Chloe asked, sliding into the seat across from her. Maya's weird earthy-crunchy phase had been social suicide last month, and apparently, her friends hadn't forgiven her for the smoothie incident.

"Actually, it's kale," Maya said, pushing the bowl away. "And no."

Chloe snorted. "Good. That looked like something a bear would eat before hibernating forever."

The table went quiet. Zara was walking toward them.

Maya's stomach did that thing where it felt like she'd swallowed a gallon of pool water — all choked up and heavy. Zara hadn't spoken to her in three months. Not since the sleepover where Maya had confessed her crush on Zara's brother, and Zara had posted it on her Instagram story as a "joke."

"Hey," Zara said, not meeting Maya's eyes. "I heard you're good at riddles."

The table exchanged glances. Maya? Good at riddles? She'd barely survived algebra.

"There's this person on this anonymous app called Sphinx," Zara continued, fidgeting with her phone case. "They post these deep questions, and everyone tries to answer. My friend thinks it's someone from our school."

"And?" Maya's heart hammered against her ribs.

"And..." Zara finally looked at her. "Someone said it might be you."

It wasn't. Maya had never even heard of Sphinx. But in that moment, she saw something in Zara's expression — fear mixed with hope, like she was drowning and grabbing at anything.

The Sphinx wasn't a person. It was what everyone was searching for: someone who understood without judging.

"Maybe," Maya said, surprising herself. "What's today's riddle?"

Zara's shoulders relaxed. "If you could be anyone else for a day, who would it be?"

Maya thought about the spinach she'd pretended to like, the bear of loneliness she carried through hallways, the spy feeling of watching from the sidelines. She looked at Zara, really looked at her, and saw the same tiredness reflected back.

"Myself," Maya said. "But the version who doesn't care what anyone else thinks."

Zara smiled — actually smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

The bell rang. They stood up together, and for the first time in months, the space between them didn't feel like water separating two worlds. It felt like a bridge.