The Sphinx Party

I was already regretting the whole thing before we even left the car.

"You gotta take your vitamin," Mom had called after me, pressing the neon orange gummy into my palm like it was some kind of protection against whatever happened at senior parties. I'd rolled my eyes but pocketed it anyway.

Now I was standing in McKenzie's backyard, clutching a solo cup and watching my best friend since seventh grade, Lily, laugh at something Tyler said. Tyler, who'd somehow become the center of her universe since junior year started. Tyler, who was currently dressed as a bear for reasons nobody had adequately explained.

"Alright, time for the main event!" McKenzie shouted, gesturing to the plywood Sphinx prop she'd spent three weeks constructing for this ancient Egypt themed party. "Who's brave enough to answer the riddle?"

This was so stupid. We weren't twelve anymore. We weren't supposed to be doing riddles and costume contests. We were supposed to be worrying about college applications and prom dates and the existential dread of growing up.

But Lily was already pushing Tyler toward the Sphinx. "Go for it!" she said, her eyes bright in that way they used to be when she looked at me during sleepovers in middle school, talking about boys we liked and how we'd never drift apart.

Something twisted in my chest. Was this it? Was this where friendship went to die – not in some big dramatic fight, but in the slow erosion of inside jokes and shared secrets until you were standing alone at a party watching someone else become your person's person?

"I'll do it," I heard myself say.

Lily turned, surprised. "Really?"

The plywood Sphinx stared at me with painted eyes. Behind me, Tyler the bear adjusted his head.

"What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?" McKenzie read from her phone.

"A human," I said immediately. "Baby, adult, old person with a cane."

The backyard went quiet. Then someone started clapping. Then someone else. I felt myself flushing, but beneath it was something else – this weird electric feeling, like lightning in my bloodstream.

Lily was looking at me now, really looking, like she used to. "Dude," she said, grinning. "You actually know stuff."

"Ancient riddles," I shrugged, feeling the vitamin gummy still in my pocket. "Seemed relevant."

Later, when we were sitting on the back porch watching Tyler bear-wrestle with a mosquito net, Lily bumped my shoulder. "You're still my person, you know."

"I know," I said. And for the first time all night, I actually believed it.