The Sphinx in the Group Chat

My sphinx cat, Pixel, sat on my desk like a judgmental hairless potato, watching me panic-scroll through the group chat for the third time in five minutes.

"You don't understand," I told him. "Jordan posted 'we need to talk' and then left everyone on read for THREE HOURS. That's basically a declaration of war."

Pixel yawned, revealing his needle teeth, and batted at my iPhone with a paw. Because obviously the solution to my social crisis was for my cat to send a random emoji while I was mid-spiral.

The screen litened. Jordan was typing.

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to exist. Jordan, who'd been my best friend since we were seven, who knew I still slept with a stuffed penguin, who I'd maybe sort of definitely been lowkey catching feelings for all of sophomore year. Jordan, who was currently typing something that was either going to end our friendship or change everything.

"I've been doing this all wrong," Jordan's message read. "Can't do this over text. Meet me at the ridge?

I stared at my phone like it contained the secrets of the universe. Pixel head-butted my hand, purring like a tiny engine.

"You're right," I said, scooping him up. "You're literally a sphinx. You know everything."

Half an hour later, sitting on the ridge overlooking our neighborhood, Jordan wasn't ending our friendship or confessing undying love.

"I'm figuring stuff out," Jordan said, not looking at me. "About me. And I needed you to know because you're my person."

And it turned out the real sphinx wasn't the riddle of what Jordan wanted to say — it was the riddle of how to be seventeen and uncertain and still show up for each other anyway.

My iPhone buzzed in my pocket. Probably the group chat going feral. But Jordan was smiling, just a little, and Pixel was waiting at home, and maybe that was enough.