The Sphinx on My Roof

My hair was supposed to be fire-truck orange. That's what the box promised. Instead, it came out a weird radioactive coral that glowed under my bathroom fluorescents like I'd been marinading in nuclear waste.

"You look like a Cheeto," my little brother announced, not looking up from his Switch.

"It's called self-expression, Tyler."

I grabbed my hoodie and bailed before Mom could see what I'd done to myself. The plan: camp out on the roof until either (a) the color faded or (b) I turned eighteen, whichever came first.

Our cat, Sphinx — yeah, I know, ironic naming for a creature that sleeps twenty hours a day — wound around my ankles as I climbed out my window. She'd been my only co-conspirator since sixth grade, when I accidentally dyed my hair green with food coloring and she sat on my head during the family photos to hide the evidence.

From my roof, I could spy on basically everything. The Garcias having their third argument of the week. Jason from AP Bio practicing skateboard tricks he'd definitely busted his face learning earlier. And the new girl, Mara, sitting on her own roof across the street, reading.

She looked up. Our eyes locked across the suburban abyss.

I froze. My coral hair probably looked like a distress signal.

Mara pulled something from her pocket. An orange. She peeled it with terrifying efficiency, like she'd been training for this moment her whole life. Then she held up a segment like a toast.

I didn't know what that meant. Was she mocking me? Was this some weird peace offering? Was she about to throw it at my head?

"Nice hair," she called across the gap. Her voice was steady, confident, everything mine wasn't.

"It's... a work in progress," I managed.

"Keep going," she said. "It's brave."

Sphinx chose that moment to let out the most un-catlike yowl, like she was announcing my arrival to the entire neighborhood. I felt my face burn hotter than my hair.

But Mara laughed — actually laughed, not mean-laughed. "Your cat has opinions."

"She's a harsh critic."

"I'm Mara."

"Zoe."

"I like the coral, Zoe. It suits you."

And maybe it was the orange sunset reflecting off everything, or maybe it was just the first time someone had actually seen me instead of looking through me, but something shifted. My hair wasn't a mistake anymore. It was a conversation starter.

Sphinx settled into my lap, purring like a tiny motor. Across the street, Mara went back to her book, but she kept glancing up, smiling.

Some sphinx I turned out to be. I hadn't solved any riddles tonight. But I'd made a friend. And honestly? That was better than a riddle anyway.