The Sphinx of Senior Spring

Maya's fingers hovered over her iPhone screen, the group chat blowing up with promposal theories. Someone claimed Lucas was planning something big—like, fireworks big. Maya's stomach did that fluttery thing that had nothing to do with butterflies and everything to do with being absolutely terrified of looking foolish in front of the entire senior class.

Then she saw him.

Zade, leaning against the bleachers like he operated on a different timeline than everyone else. The school called him Sphinx behind his back—not because he was especially mysterious (okay, maybe a little), but because he'd made it through four years of high school without dating anyone, joining anything, or apparently caring about the elaborate social hierarchy that ruled Maya's existence.

"You're overthinking it," Zade said, like they were already mid-conversation. Maya jumped.

"Excuse me?"

"Your face. You're calculating twelve different outcomes of whatever's in that chat." He nodded toward her still-clutching iPhone. "News flash: none of them matter as much as you think."

Maya felt defensive. "Easy for you to say. You're Sphinx. You don't have to navigate this stuff."

"Or maybe I just figured out that everyone's too busy worrying about their own chaos to notice yours." He shrugged. "Also, Sphinx? That's the best y'all could do?"

Before Maya could respond—something clever and devastating, ideally—the sky opened up. Not rain. Lightning.

A bolt struck the old oak tree across the parking lot, close enough that Maya's hair literally stood on end. The crack of thunder sent everyone screaming toward the gym. Everyone except Zade, who just watched the show with this tiny smile.

"See?" he shouted over the rain that followed. "The universe doesn't care about your promposal anxiety either."

Maya started laughing, and she couldn't stop. Something about the absurdity of it all—high school drama, Zade's Sphinx energy, being lectured on perspective by actual lightning—just broke something loose in her chest.

"You're actually the worst," she called back, grinning now.

"Coming from the girl who's been refreshing that chat for forty minutes straight?" Zade dodged toward the gym door. "I'll take it."

Maya's phone buzzed. Lucas's promposal: a cookie cake with PROM? written in frosting. Anti-climactic? Maybe. But as lightning flashed again, illuminating Zade's impossible self-assurance, Maya finally got it.

None of it mattered as much as she thought. And that was okay.