The Sphinx Remembers Everything

The concrete sphinx behind the rec center had seen everything — first kisses, breakups, makeups, and that time Marcus threw up after winning a hot dog eating contest. Its wing was chipped, its nose weathered, but it was still our spot. Until it wasn't.

"I can't tonight," Jordan said, already walking away before I finished asking. "Prom committee meeting."

Again.

Jordan used to be the person who'd skip honors society to hang out at the sphinx with me. Now Jordan was on committees, had new friends, new everything. I sat on the sphinx's stone paw and watched my phone screen stay stubbornly notification-free.

My brother's carnival goldfish swam in endless circles in its bowl on my dresser back home. Mom said goldfish have a three-second memory span, which was supposed to be tragic, but honestly? sounded peaceful. Remember everything and you're stuck with the weight of it. Remember nothing and you just keep swimming.

"You look tragic," said Riley, dropping onto the sphinx beside me and offering a grape soda. "Jordan again?"

Riley was new-ish, transferred from Hamilton, and somehow saw everything without making it weird.

"Jordan's basically a different person," I said. "It's like — ouch, this sounds dumb — but Jordan got popular and forgot I exist."

"Not dumb," Riley said. "But also not entirely true. Jordan talked about you literally yesterday in English. Said you're the only person who gets their weird obsession with cryptids."

"Then why the blow-off every time I ask to hang?"

"Maybe," Riley said slowly, "because Jordan's convinced YOU moved on first. Got new friends. Got busy. Jordan thinks YOU changed."

My phone buzzed. Jordan: "You free? Want to get boba?"

I stared at it.

"Well?" Riley raised an eyebrow. "Goldfish memory or real memory?"

The sphinx's stone eyes seemed to wait.

"Real," I said, and texted back: "Meet you at the sphinx in 10."

Some things, even stone ones, remember what matters.