The Sphinx by the Pool

The first mistake was trusting Jenna with my phone. The second was wearing this dress.

"You look so aesthetic!" she'd promised earlier, but now the silk cling-wrap situation was barely holding it together. I'd spent the last hour at Tyler's party hovering near the snack table, watching everyone else effortlessly exist.

Then I saw her—Fox, with her unruly orange hair and that smile that made you feel like she knew something you didn't. She was surrounded by the usual orbiters, all laughing at something she'd said.

"Who's that?" Jenna appeared beside me, already knowing the answer. She lived for social reconnaissance.

"That's Fox. Her real name's Sarah but she goes by Fox because she's clever like that."

"She's looking at you."

"No she's not."

"Literally yes she is. Look confident. Be mysterious."

I did the opposite—I panicked and knocked an entire bowl of punch onto the ground. The splash sent red liquid everywhere, including onto the porch where someone's cat was sleeping.

The cat—some grumpy calico—hissed and bolted straight toward the backyard pool.

"NO!" someone shouted.

But too late. The cat launched itself off the edge, landing in the water with a spectacular splash. Everyone froze.

Then Fox was there, laughing so hard she was crying. "Did you see that? The cat just yeeted itself into the pool!" She turned to me, eyes bright. "That was literally the most unhinged thing I've ever seen. I'm Fox, by the way."

"Maya," I managed. My heart was doing something concerning.

"Come outside, there's something I have to show you."

She led me past the pool where the cat was now being fished out by a very confused Tyler, to the far corner of the yard where an old stone sphinx statue sat, half-covered in ivy.

"My grandpa was obsessed with Egyptian mythology," Fox explained. "Legend says if you whisper your biggest insecurity to the sphinx, it stops being scary."

"That's corny as hell."

"It is, but it works. Your turn."

So I leaned in and whispered it to the stone face—that I felt like I was constantly performing, like everyone else had gotten the manual on how to be a teenager and I'd been absent that day.

Fox nodded, like this made complete sense. Then she whispered hers: that she wasn't actually confident, she just got loud when she was nervous.

We sat there the rest of the party, talking while the orange sunset faded into darkness, and I realized everyone was winging it. Some of us just did it with better hair.

The cat—now dry and offended—watched us from the porch, judging our entire existence. Some things never change.