The Sphinx at Miller's Pool Party

The chlorine hit my nose before I even saw it—Miller's annual end-of-school bash, visible from three blocks away by the sea of towels and bodies splashing in that above-ground pool his dad bought last summer.

I stood by the snack table, nursing this disgusting green smoothie my mom made me swear to drink. "It's got spinach and literally every vitamin you need," she'd said that morning, shoving the blender into my hands. Now it sat there, separating into layers that looked like something from a toxic waste dump.

"You gonna actually drink that, or just stare at it?"

I looked up. It was Maya—everyone called her The Sphinx because you could never read her. She had this resting face that made you wonder if she was plotting your murder or just hungry. Last week at lunch, Jordan had cracked that she was "sphinx-like" because nobody could solve her riddles, and the name stuck hard.

"It's... a health thing," I managed, my voice doing that stupid crack thing it does when I'm nervous. "Vitamin deficiency."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "You're missing vitamins? In 2026? Just buy a gummy pack like a normal person."

Then she did something unexpected. She grabbed the smoothie, took a sip, and didn't even flinch. "Tastes like lawn. But honestly? Better than whatever Jordan's spiking the punch with over there."

I laughed. Actually laughed. And for the first time all night, the knot in my chest loosened.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked, nodding toward the pool deck where everyone was doing that awkward teenage dance thing where nobody really knows the moves but nobody wants to be the first to stop. "There's this taco truck down the street. I'm craving actual food instead of... whatever this is."

"Yes," I said way too fast. "I mean—yeah. Sure."

We walked away from the noise, from Miller doing a cannonball that soaked half the party, from Jordan shouting something about spin the bottle. The Sphinx had solved her own riddle—she wasn't unreadable. She was just waiting for someone to stop trying to figure her out and just talk.

And somewhere in my pocket, my phone buzzed with a text from my mom: "Did you drink your smoothie? :)"

I didn't answer. Some things are better left as mysteries.