The Sphinx of Homecoming

I was basically a zombie. Homecoming week had turned into Homecoming DECADE, and I'd survived three days on caffeine vibes and pure stubbornness. My crush, Sarah, had finally noticed me—sort of—but now I had to actually, you know, talk to her. Which is terrifying.

Then came Leo's brilliant plan: "Just impress her at the costume party Saturday. Be mysterious."

Me. Mysterious. I once accidentally told my crush I liked her cat more than her. The cat had brought me a dead mouse. It was a tactical error.

Saturday arrived, and I committed to my costume: the Great Sphinx of Niles, Illinois. Because nothing says "mysterious and alluring" like a random roadside attraction sculpture from 1900s. My mom had helped me spray-paint a cardboard box into something resembling a lion-meets-human-meets-architectural-confusion.

I walked into the party feeling like absolute royalty. Until I saw Sarah.

She was dressed as a fox. Not like, cute fox ears and a tail—full, gorgeous fox costume with actual whiskers painted on her face. She looked incredible. I looked like a grocery store art project.

Then this massive guy—call him the Bull of 11th Grade, because he'd been held back twice and lived up to the energy—decided my sphinx head made an excellent punching bag. Fast. Like, three seconds in, my ancient Egyptian wisdom was scattered across a dorm room floor.

Sarah appeared out of nowhere, shoved the Bull back, and helped me gather my dignity.

"You're the Sphinx," she said, grinning. "That's literally the most unhinged thing I've ever seen."

"I was going for enigmatic," I muttered.

"You succeeded." She pointed at my flattened nose whiskers. "But also kind of adorable."

The Bull got egged by someone dressed as a vampire ten minutes later. Karma's fast.

Sarah and I spent the rest of the night making fun of everyone else's basic costumes. She's coming over Friday. We're watching The Lion King.

Sometimes your costume gets destroyed by a guy named Bull, you look like a zombie in sphinx makeup, and somehow, somehow, it still works out.

High school is weird, man.