The Sphinx in the Basement

I wasn't supposed to be at Tyler's party. My mom thought I was at Maya's studying, which was technically true if you count studying how to look natural while holding a red solo cup.

"Yo, Leo!" My best friend since fourth grade, Jordan, appeared with two cups. "Check this out. Tyler's parents are weird rich."

I took the cup. "What's the deal?"

"They've got this legit sphinx cat roaming around. Hairless mutant cat, looks like an alien." Jordan gestured with his cup, splashing punch on my sleeve. "And there's a massive aquarium with these ancient goldfish that've apparently lived since Obama's first term."

"Sick." I nodded toward the kitchen. "Is that Sarah?"

Sarah Chen, who'd transferred in sophomore year and somehow managed to be friends with everyone without trying. Tonight she wore this vintage blazer over a band t-shirt, looking effortless as hell.

"Dude, she's a total fox," Jordan whispered. "But she's been talking to Mike all night."

Mike, who played lacrosse and drove a Jeep his dad bought him, and who I'd once watched cheat on a chemistry final and not feel bad about it.

"That's such bull," I said, surprising myself.

"Dude has major rizz though," Jordan said, like that explained everything.

I wandered toward the basement door, needing air. Downstairs, it was quieter — just a couple people on a sagging couch and the hairless cat perched on an amp, watching us with alien yellow eyes.

The goldfish bowl glowed on a side table, orange fish drifting like they had nowhere better to be.

"That cat's judging us," I said.

Sarah stood by the fish bowl, phone abandoned. "She's seen some things."

I laughed. "You talking about the cat or the fish?"

"Both." She grinned, and my chest did something stupid. "They're trapped in glass while everyone upstairs pretends to be someone they're not."

"Deep."

"Shut up." She bumped my shoulder. "I saw you looking at Mike like he kicked your puppy."

"He's just — full of it, you know?"

"Mike's got the personality of a participation trophy," she agreed. "But Jordan said something about you writing poetry?"

My face heated. "Jordan talks too much."

"Show me?"

So I did. We sat on the basement floor while the sphinx cat watched, and I pulled up half-finished poems on my phone. Sarah read them without making fun, asked questions about lines I'd spent weeks getting right.

Upstairs, the party kept going. But for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was pretending.

"Your friend's looking for you," she said finally, as Jordan's voice carried down the stairs.

"He can wait."

The sphinx cat blinked slowly, like she approved. And the goldfish kept swimming, like they knew something we didn't: sometimes the best parts of life happen when no one's watching.