When the Sphinx Spilled Papaya

Maya's first week at Pacific Vista High had been exactly as catastrophic as she'd predicted. The kind of disaster that lives in your head rent-free forever.

It happened in the cafeteria, naturally. Because that's where teenage dreams go to die.

She'd been nervously carrying her lunch tray—featuring papaya chunks, because her mom was convinced tropical fruit would somehow transform her social status—when Jake Rodriguez, the human equivalent of a golden retriever, had accidentally cut in front of her. Maya had tried to pivot mid-stride, her foot had caught on someone's backpack strap, and she'd gone full 5G-network-collapse mode.

The papaya flew. Jake's white hoodie became a canvas. The entire sophomore class had witnessed the Greek tragedy.

"No frickin way," someone whispered. Jake had just stared at her, papaya dripping down his chest like some abstract art installation.

"I—" Maya had started, but her brain had buffered indefinitely.

Now it was Friday, and she was hiding in the library during lunch, tethering her phone to the school's dodgy wifi with a tragically long cable she'd brought from home. Senior year was supposed to be her era, her main character moment. Instead, she was the papaya girl.

"You know," a voice said, "sphinxes were known for eating people who couldn't solve their riddles."

Maya looked up. A girl with turquoise hair and approximately zero f*cks to give slid into the chair opposite her.

"What?"

"The school mascot." The girl pointed at Maya's phone case, which featured the Pacific Vista Sphinx looking judgmental. "We're literally the Fighting Riddle-Cats. It's weirdly on brand for this place."

"I'm Lena," the girl continued, extending her hand. "And I saw what happened with Jake. He's been wearing that papaya-stained hoodie as a badge of honor all week. Says it's his 'tropical era.'"

Maya blinked. "He's not...mad?"

"Bro, he thinks you're legendary. Nobody's ever made that kind of impression on day one." Lena flipped her own hand over, palm up. "You seem stressed. Want me to read your palm? I took a week-long intensive from YouTube last summer. I'm basically a psychic now."

Maya almost laughed. Almost. "Sure. Why not."

Lena traced the lines on Maya's hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Okay, so, this line says you're gonna survive high school. This line says you'll eventually find people who don't suck. And this line..." She paused dramatically. "This line says you should come to my birthday party tomorrow. It's at the beach. There will be no papayas. I promise."

Maya looked at Lena—this stranger who'd somehow decoded exactly what she needed.

"I'll be there," Maya said, and for the first time all week, the buffering stopped.

The cable on the table connected to nothing. She didn't need it anymore.