The Sphinx in the Hallway

Maya pulled her beanie **hat** down lower, practically over her eyes. The hat was her armor—worn, oversized, and perfect for disappearing into. When you're fifteen and convinced everyone is staring at your acne, a hat is basically a cloaking device.

"You're doing it again," said Jax, not looking up from their phone. "Running mental simulations of every social interaction you could possibly mess up."

Maya sighed. "I'm not **running** simulations. I'm being prepared."

"You're spiraling. The pep rally's in ten minutes. You ready to be the mascot?"

The **bull** costume. The monstrosity of a mascot suit that Maya had somehow been roped into wearing. Taking the bull by the horns? More like the bull was taking her.

But the real issue wasn't the costume. It was the text.

Last night, Riley—Riley with the effortless laugh and the perfect everything—had sent something that made zero sense. "Meet me by the lockers after third. I have to tell you something important."

What did that mean? It was like dealing with a **sphinx**. The riddles, the mystery, the overanalyzing every glance in the hallway. Was Riley about to confess something? Ask for homework help? Tell Maya she was weird?

"You can't **bear** this weight alone," Jax said, suddenly serious. "Whatever happens with Riley, you'll still be Maya. Hat-obsessed, overthinking, genuinely awesome Maya."

The pep rally started. Maya stumbled into the bull suit, sweating and ridiculous. But as she lumbered onto the gym floor, she saw Riley waiting by the bleachers, looking nervous.

Maya's heart did something complicated. She ripped off the bull head. Hat askew, face flushed, she walked over.

"Hey," Riley said. "I wanted to tell you—I think you're really cool. Like, you don't pretend to be someone you're not. That's rare."

The sphinx had been simple all along.

Maya adjusted her hat, grinning. Sometimes the scariest monsters are just people in ridiculous suits, waiting to be seen.