The Sphinx of Westbridge High

Maya's fingers flew across her phone screen at 2 AM, doing what every rational teenage girl does when she should be sleeping: she was playing spy. Not the cool CIA kind with gadgets and fake passports. The desperate, sad kind—scrolling through Liam's Instagram stories from three weeks ago, analyzing every caption like they were encrypted messages.

The next morning, Maya dragged herself through first period feeling like a member of the walking undead. "You look like a zombie," her best friend Jaz whispered as they collapsed onto the bleachers during gym. "Did you sleep at all?"

Maya groaned. "Research. Critical research."

"Researching what, whether Liam's dog is still cute?" Jaz rolled her eyes. "Girl, you need to stop stalking and start talking to him."

Easy for Jaz to say. Jaz wasn't the one who'd been secretly in love with Liam since seventh grade, watching from afar as he transformed from awkward middle schooler to track team golden boy. Meanwhile, Maya had become Westbridge High's unofficial sphinx—a mysterious figure who never spoke to him but watched his every move from the safety of her phone screen.

That afternoon, Maya found herself running around the track, lungs burning, thighs on fire. She'd joined track on impulse, convinced that if she could just get faster, stronger, better, Liam might actually notice her existing. Instead, she was just sweaty and exhausted while he effortlessly lapped her during cool-down laps.

"You're getting faster," he said, jogging past her.

Maya nearly tripped. "What?"

"I noticed," Liam said with a shrug. "Last week you were two seconds slower. You're improving."

He kept running, leaving Maya frozen on the track, heart pounding for a completely different reason now. He'd noticed. He'd actually noticed.

That night, Maya's phone buzzed. A notification from Instagram: @liam_thompson started following you.

She dropped her phone. Then picked it up again with trembling hands. No more playing spy. No more hiding behind walls like a stone sphinx guarding secrets. It was time to stop running—from him, from herself, from the terrifying possibility that he might have been watching back all along.