I hand my notations to Mr. Lee.
He glances down at the answer key to see what happened, and then back at me. His forehead wrinkles up, like a ruffled potato chip, and I can tell he’s sorry I lost and maybe sorry that he let me play. I want to apologize for being so bad, but I’m afraid if I say anything I’ll start to cry, and I can’t—not in front of the team. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough for one day. I was the wrong choice. It should have been Sanam or anyone else. I’m not as good as he thinks—not at chess or anything important. I stare at the floor and walk straight to the back of the room, wishing I could vanish into the air. I’m sick of disappointing people.
I plant myself in the back corner and try to hide. Quinn walks right over and sits down. “Win or lose?” Her voice cuts into me. She’s waiting for my answer, like where we stand is all up to me, and I guess that’s because it’s up to everyone playing to win, and I lost. I had a chance to help our team, and I let everyone down.
I take a deep breath. “Lose,” I say as fast as I can.
“Seriously? You didn’t win one round?”
I shake my head.
She rolls her eyes. “I knew you were bad, but—no one loses all three games. That’s not a thing that happens on this team. I don’t know if you heard, but we’re actually good. Or we used to be, before Red started showing up late and Mr. Lee started picking charity cases.”
I don’t say anything else. I don’t want to make excuses.
We lose the tournament, and I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because of me.
* * *
Mom, Dad, and Henley are waiting in the lobby by the entrance.
“Clea!” Henley runs over. “You did your towrn-ament! Was it fun?”
I look behind me to make sure no one from the team is standing there, and then I turn back around and force myself to smile for my sister. I want her to know hard work pays off and fortunes are real and anything is possible, because those things are true for her, even if they aren’t for me. “You know it!” My voice sounds a little too happy. I hope she can’t tell.
“Yes!” she says, rushing to keep up with me. “I knew it.”
I push open the door to the building and walk outside. Luckily we parked right in front of school, so we don’t have to walk too far to get away.
“Clea, honey, we’re so proud of you for giving it your all and trying your best.” Mom rubs my shoulder.
I want to scream at her that today was the exact opposite of my best, but I bite down on my lip as hard as I can, because I don’t want to freak out in front of Henley.
Only I keep thinking about what Sanam said—that tournaments are different than practice. It’s a lot harder to concentrate in a big room with all the people and pressure, even for someone without ADHD. Out of nowhere, I’m afraid that it doesn’t matter how well I can play in practice or that I’ve always been able to get in the zone during chess. Maybe tournaments are like tests, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t be good.
When we get home, I go straight up to my room. Hilda races after me, following me onto my bed. She sprawls out, resting her head next to mine, panting hot air in my face, like she knows something is wrong and she’s trying to protect me.
I unlock my phone and re-read Red’s and my texts over and over, looking for clues, because I don’t get what happened. Why would he tell Dylan and not me? But I still can’t find the answer, and he hasn’t written anything new. I need to stop thinking about him, because it’s not helping.
I put my phone down and it starts buzzing. It’s a text from Sanam: Are you okay?
Not really, I reply. I messed up.
It’s okay. It was your first tournament. You’ll learn to play under pressure.
We lost because of me.
That’s not how it works.
That’s what everyone probably thinks.
Maybe, she texts. I’m glad she doesn’t lie to me. But they’re wrong. You weren’t the only one who lost. It was a pretty rough day. Red didn’t show up in time to play, and Quinn lost all but one game.
I didn’t know that, I tell her.
It’ll be fine by Monday.
Thanks, I text, because I like that she’s trying to make it better. It helps.
I should start my homework, but I’d rather read my new book about the history of magic, so I do that instead. I’ll deal with everything hard tomorrow.
WHEN MY ALARM goes off on Sunday morning, I pull myself out of bed, shower, and make breakfast. I have a whole plan to get up early and start my homework right away, but as soon as I’m back upstairs, I can’t stop thinking about chess. I just want to win a few rounds. I tell myself that I’m only allowed to play for fifteen minutes, and then I’ll do my homework at 9:15 a.m. on the dot. Except once I get started, everything around me disappears, and I’m floating and focused and the only thing that matters is solving the challenge in front of me, putting each piece in the right place. I’m on a roll, and I don’t want to stop, because it feels good to play like someone who could win again.
The next time I look up at the clock it’s 9:36. Oops. I guess I’ll start my homework at 10:00 instead. Before I realize any time has even passed, it’s 9:55. I’m right in the middle of a really hard puzzle that I want to solve, because I’m pretty sure I can, but I know if I don’t walk away right now, I’ll feel even worse than I do about the fact that it’s Sunday at 9:56 and I haven’t done any homework. I shut my computer, stand up as fast as I can, and open my closet.
Even though I bought the cutest, happiest backpack I could find, with green and pink flowers, it still looks sad and crumpled, shoved into the corner next to a pair of shoes. I pull out my bag and open my schedule for Monday: math, study hall, Spanish, chess, English, history, and science.
I never know if it’s better to do my homework in order from easiest to hardest or vice versa, but today I want to finish math so I don’t have word problems hanging over my head. I wander downstairs to look for Dad, because I missed two classes last week and I don’t get integers, not even a little, so I really need his help. He’s not in the kitchen or the family room, but I can hear him talking, so I follow his voice down the hall toward the small office he shares with Mom. He sounds serious, like something is bad or someone’s in trouble. I hope it’s not me.
I stop walking right before I get to the office, and lean against the wall.
Mom says, “I’m worried about her.”
“I am, too.” Dad sighs.
“If she hadn’t spent half her weekend at the tournament, she’d have a lot more time for homework.”
“How’s that fair?” Dad asks.
“It’s not,” Mom says tersely. “But it’s true.”
“Maybe.”
I swallow hard.
“The reality is chess is taking up a lot of time and energy she could be spending on schoolwork,” Mom says. “I know she loves playing and I want her to be able to do everything she loves, but chess can’t be the priority right now. It’s not like she’s going to be a professional chess player. I really think if she had more time to study, help from Ms. Curtis, and medication, school would be less overwhelming.”
Dad sighs again. I hold my breath and wait for him to say something else—to defend me. “I agree with you,” he says. “I have to jump on this call, but we can talk more after.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything else to say,” Mom says. “We have our plan.”
I don’t wait to see what happens next. I tiptoe as fast as I can down the hall, up the stairs, and into my room. I open my math textbook and start reading the chapter on integers from the beginning, hoping the information will sink in this time.
* * *
When Mom shouts, “Henley? Clea? Time for dinner!” I’ve only finished half my homework. The last thing I want to do right now is sit across the table from my parents, but I’m hungry, and I need energy to finish everything that’s due tomorrow.
The kitchen is warm, and it smells like tomato sauce a
nd melted cheese. Mom waits until we’re all sitting before she takes the eggplant parmesan out of the oven and brings it over to the table.
It doesn’t matter that Mom says the food is hot and we should let it cool down; as soon as the piece of eggplant parm is on my plate, I take a big bite and burn the roof of my mouth. UGH. I don’t get why I didn’t just listen and wait a few minutes.
The worst part is after that my mouth hurts whenever I eat anything. Even the salad feels like it’s cutting into me. I act like I’m taking my time, because I don’t want to hear Mom say that she told me so. I already know she’s right and I’m wrong, but only about this. She’s wrong about chess. I wait until my food is practically cold to start eating. It’s still really good, but the salty cheese stings every time I take a bite.
As we’re finishing dinner, the phone rings. Henley jumps up and runs over to answer it. “Hello,” she says into the receiver. Then she looks at me. “It’s for you.”
I have no idea who would call my house, other than—oh no. I really hope it’s not Mr. Lee telling me that he’s never seen a worse performance in his life, and even though every seventh grader is technically allowed to be on the team, he’s suggesting I quit, because I’m that bad.
Henley hands me the phone and then sits back down.
“Hello?” My voice is so quiet I hardly recognize it.
The person on the other end is breathing hard, and it sounds like whoever it is might be hyperventilating. “Can you come over? Please.” Red’s words spill out of him, between gasps. “You didn’t pick up your phone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He pauses to breathe. “I’m grounded. I can’t leave. But you can come here. My mom said—”
“Red, I’m coming over—right now,” I say. “Just stay where you are, okay?”
“Okay,” he says.
“Promise?” I ask, because Red has run away before, when he first found out his parents were splitting up. It was bad. His mom had to call the police.
“I’m nodding,” he says.
When I look up, Mom is getting her car keys. I don’t have to say anything; she knows exactly where I’m going. And even though it’s only a few streets away, the sun is going down, and I know she doesn’t want me walking to his house at dusk.
Mom and I are both silent on the ride to Red’s house. But when she parks the car in his driveway, she grabs on to me and pulls me in as close to her as she can. “I love you, Clea,” she says. “And I’m very proud of you. You’re a good friend.”
All of a sudden, I wonder if maybe—“You know about Red’s dad—and the baby?” I ask before I can stop the words from falling out of my mouth.
She nods. And I realize that if Mom knows then eventually other people will know, too, and they’ll talk about Red and his family and how everything is a mess. I have no clue what I could ever say to him to make this okay. “Red is going through something really hard,” Mom says. “But he knows he can count on you to be there for him.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then listen and let him talk about whatever he’s feeling. That will help.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I ask.
“It will,” Mom says. “Maybe not today. It’s going to take time for Red to process everything that’s happened with his dad. But being there for him right now, when he’s in pain, will help him, because no matter how bad he feels, he knows he’s not alone.”
“Okay,” I say. “I get it.”
“Good,” she says. “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”
“I promise.”
Mom hugs me again, holding on tight, and then kisses my forehead.
I get out of the car and knock on the front door. Red’s sister, Edie, answers. Her strawberry-blond hair is in a huge, floppy bun at the top of her head that makes her look cool and casual.
“He’s in the basement,” she says. And before I can say anything, she’s gone.
I take my shoes off and leave my jacket on, zipping it all the way up to my chin. It’s cold inside, and the lights are off. It feels emptier and sadder than usual. Red lives in the kind of house where everything is white and beige and no one ever spills. They never have eggplant parm with red sauce for dinner. There’s no clutter or pictures or anything that indicates people actually live here. The furniture reminds me of marshmallows and spaceships put together, and all I can think about is what it would feel like to take one of Henley’s purple markers and draw hearts all over everything.
When I get down to the basement, Red is slumped on the couch, sinking between white leather cushions. I sit down on the empty half of the sofa and face him, crossing my legs into a pretzel. He looks small and deflated, like everything happy has been drained out of him. I’m afraid that if he sinks any farther into the fluffy cushions, he might fade away completely.
“Dylan told you, right?” His voice cracks.
“Yeah.” I nod. I still want to know why he didn’t tell me, but I can’t ask him now.
“Does everyone know?” he asks.
“I really don’t know. I mean, my mom knew why I was coming over, and I didn’t say anything. But maybe your mom told my mom.”
“I was just starting to get used to how bad everything was,” he says. “I hated that he moved to Colorado with Barf, but deep down I knew we were more important. Kids come first. But now—” He shakes his head. “He’s going to have a new kid and a new family. And it feels like they’re more important than us, or at least the same amount of important. We already have to share everything else with her. I just wanted one thing that was ours.”
Red can’t hold his tears back. I reach out and take his hand. It’s a little too warm, like he’s overheating. I want to scream for him, because it’s not fair and I hate that this is happening, but I don’t, because I know that won’t help.
We sit in the almost dark for a while, until Red stops crying and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he says, “I really wish I didn’t care what he did. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
“He’s your dad—I’m pretty sure it’s impossible not to care.”
“Edie doesn’t.”
“She acts like she doesn’t,” I say. “But you know she cares.”
“She’s really good at pretending our dad doesn’t bother her,” he says. “I wish I could do that. I bet it would make everything way easier.”
“Yeah, but I think it’s probably better to be honest about what’s actually happening, even if it is harder.”
“Maybe,” he says. “The worst part is that it doesn’t even matter that I hate him. He gets to start all over with a brand-new baby. He doesn’t need me.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I say.
He shrugs.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not fair.”
“Thanks for coming over.”
“Always. No matter what.”
“I know. But—thanks.”
Everything is still bad, but I can tell it’s going to get better.
IN THE MORNING, Mom, Dad, and I go to Dr. Gold’s office.
Dad leaves his luggage in the car, but I know it’s there. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s leaving in a few hours and won’t be home again until Friday. That’s so many days from now. And even though he’s sitting next to me in the quiet waiting room, I miss him already.
I don’t want to be here. There’s no point, since Mom and Dad already decided, and the cold, hard truth is that they don’t really care what I think. They just want my problem to go away and I do, too, but it’s not happening. I hate that right now I’m missing math, since I actually finished all of my homework.
After Mom picked me up from Red’s house last night, I did English, math, and Spanish, but I fell asleep before I could start history or science. I tried to wake up early this morning, but I didn’t have enough time to get through the directions before we had to leave. My grand plan is to go to the library during lunch and do both assignments in
forty-five minutes. And even though I sort of know that’s impossible, I have to find a way to make it happen.
My phone buzzes in my bag. It’s a text from Red. Where are you?
Late. Be there post-math, I write back, because even though I’m happy he noticed that I’m not at school, I don’t feel like talking about where I am or what’s going on right now. I feel like throwing up in my mouth.
Okay, he says. Cool.
At 7:30 on the dot, the door to Dr. Gold’s office swings open, like she was standing on the other side, waiting for the clock to change. “Good morning.” She smiles at me and then at Mom and Dad. “Come on in.” Dr. Gold is wearing a navy-blue dress with white polka dots and a belt with a big red flower that matches her mood. I’m wearing all black, which tells the story of how I feel.
It’s silent as we all shuffle into her office and sit down.
“Before we get started, I wanted to reassure you that Dr. Sharma reviewed your test again and the results are still the same,” Dr. Gold says to me.
“Thank you,” I respond, because even though it’s really hard for me to believe that I’m not stupid, the fact that Dr. Gold had my score double-checked makes me trust her even more. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” I continue. I can feel Mom and Dad staring at me, waiting for me to explain myself. But I don’t take my eyes off Dr. Gold, because she’s the only person in this room who I’m not mad at right now. “There’s no point to me being at this meeting. It’s basically a huge waste of time. And I don’t want to miss any more school. They’re just going to do what they want to do,” I say, pointing to my parents.
“Clea—” Mom says my name like she wants me to stop talking right now.
“No, Mom,” I say back. “I heard every single thing you said about me, so don’t even try to deny it. No offense, but it wasn’t that smart to have a private conversation about me in the middle of the house. Next time—maybe try whispering.”
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