The Sphinx in the Dugout

I stood by the dugout, clutching my vitamin D supplement like it was a lucky charm. Mom swore it would help with "growth and focus," but mostly it just made me feel like a fraud trying out for the team.

"Yo, you gonna swallow that thing or just stare at it?" Leo asked, spinning a baseball on his finger like he'd been doing it since birth. He had that effortless varsity jacket energy that made me want to simultaneously be him and disappear entirely.

"Shut up," I mumbled, dry-swallowing the pill. My throat burned, but not as much as my cheeks.

Coach Morgan blew the whistle, and suddenly we were all running laps—the universal punishment for anyone who dared to try something new. My lungs burned, legs pumping like they had their own agenda, while Leo and his crew sprinted ahead, laughing about something that happened at Jake's party last weekend. The party I wasn't invited to.

After practice, I found the old sphinx statue behind the equipment shed. Some senior's art project from years back, cracked stone with painted-over eyes that seemed to see everything. I slumped against it, catching my breath.

"You look like you're questioning the meaning of existence," a voice said.

I jumped. Maya—track star, academic weapon, and possibly the most put-together person in our grade—stood there, tying her shoes. "Or like you just survived Coach's suicide sprints. Hard to tell."

"Both," I admitted, surprising myself.

She sat beside me. "First week?" I nodded. "Mine too, freshman year. I ate it so hard on the turf that people still talk about it."

"No way."

"Way. I have video evidence if you ever need a confidence boost."

She held out her hand. "I'm Maya, by the way. The Sphinx's official guardian."

"Jordan," I said, shaking it. "And I'm just trying to survive without embarrassing myself."

"Good luck with that," she grinned. "But seriously, want to run intervals together tomorrow? I could use a pace dummy."

" Pace dummy? That's the best you got?"

"Take it or leave it, Jordan."

I took it. And as we walked toward the parking lot, baseball practice fading behind us, I realized I hadn't thought about the vitamin supplement once. Sometimes growth isn't about what you swallow—it's about who walks beside you.