The Sphinx in Orange Converse

Maya's palms were sweating so badly she thought they'd short-circuit her phone. She'd been staring at Kai's Instagram for twenty minutes—three posts deep into his feed from last month's spring formal—when Bry slid into the booth at the Beanery with her usual chaotic energy.

"You're doing it again," Bry said, stealing Maya's phone. "The Sphinx doesn't need you low-key stalking him."

The Sphinx. That's what everyone called Kai Chen because he sat at the back of AP World History like a stone carving, unreadable and untouchable, wearing those beat-up orange Converse that somehow made him look like he knew something the rest of them didn't.

"I'm not stalking," Maya lied. "I'm researching."

"Researching what? His wardrobe choices?" Bry raised an eyebrow. "Girl, you sat two rows away from him all year and said exactly three words: 'excuse me,' 'sorry,' and 'thanks.' That's not research, that's tragedy."

Maya's face burned. She'd spent the entire year being Normal, Chill, Totally Fine with being invisible. But now, sitting across from the only person who knew about her midnight spiral sessions over Kai's mysteriousness, she felt fake.

"Okay, so what's his deal?" Maya asked, finally. "Why does everyone call him the Sphinx?"

"Because nobody knows anything," Bry said, like it was obvious. "He transferred sophomore year, never speaks, exists in his own dimension. Legend says he once refused to answer a riddle from Mr. Harrison and instead asked one back. The man's been allergic to small talk ever since."

Maya's stomach did something weird and fluttery. She liked that. Someone who didn't play the game, who refused to perform.

Then she saw him—through the café window, walking down the street in his orange Converse, carrying what looked like a giant sculpture made of wire and glass. He wasn't unreadable now. He was grinning, actually grinning, like he'd just solved something.

Before she could overthink it, Maya was out the door, palms sweating and heart racing, chasing the Sphinx down Main Street.

"Hey!" she called out.

Kai turned. For a second, the unreadable mask slipped, and he looked surprised. Then amused.

"You're Maya," he said. "From AP World?"

"Yeah," she managed. "What's that?"

He held up the wire sculpture. It was a bird caught mid-flight, delicate and impossible. "Art project. Failed twice. Third time's the charm, apparently."

"It's amazing," she said, and it was.

"Thanks." He looked at her orange Vans, then back at her face. "I like your shoes."

Maybe the Sphinx wasn't a riddle to be solved. Maybe he was just a person who happened to make cool art and wear orange sneakers and grin when he thought no one was watching.

"Want help carrying that?" Maya asked, her palms finally dry.

Kai's grin widened. "Only if you tell me your top three zombie apocalypse strategies."

Maya laughed. "Deal."

Some mysteries, she decided, were better when you didn't solve them alone.