“All right, little dude. Call Mom when you’re ready to come home.” Jake is with a miniature version of himself, but female. The same Jake eyes. The same Jake mouth. Sadly for her, the same Jake build.
“Man, I don’t get how you can spend a whole night playing checkers with a bunch of nerds,” he says.
“It’s chess, you moron.” Little Jake-ette scowls and makes a beeline for the table where all the action is taking place.
Jake doesn’t see me. I wait until the coast is clear. “Let’s sit here,” I say, choosing a table at random. We plop into a couple of chairs. A cheer erupts from the busy table and the big guy receives pint-sized high fives all the way around. There’s something familiar about that pearlike shape. He turns and I sink deeper into my chair. It’s Chubby Stripes, the guy from chess club at school who eats lunch at Adam’s table. The striped shirt should have been a dead giveaway. I don’t want anyone from school to see me here—not even him.
He invites everyone to grab a seat and there’s a mad musical-chairs moment as kids scramble for spots at a table, or at the counter that wraps around the room. Chubby Stripes rubs his hands. “Let’s dive right in. Where are my helpers?”
Four of the older kids in the room raise their hands. Little Jake-ette is one of them.
“Either myself or one of these guys can help if you get stuck in a game. Ready to go?”
The kids cheer. I look at my knees. I want to slip away to one of the comfy chairs that ring the edge of the room, but moving now would only draw attention.
“Okay. Let’s do it.” Chubby Stripes moves to a huge felt chessboard taped to a wall. “I see we have lots of new kids here tonight. Is there anyone who has never played chess before?”
Half the kids in the room raise their hands.
“Excellent! So tell you what, before we start playing, let’s do a refresher on the basics of play. Who can help me set up the board?”
One of the “helpers,” a little girl dressed all in pink, runs to his side and places felt pieces on the board. Chubby Stripes describes how each of the pieces move, their strong and weak points. He explains that white always moves first. That check means you’re in trouble. Mate means there’s no way out of it.
Chubby Stripes invites different kids to come up and demonstrate basic openings and responses. I try not to watch. I try to read my book, but I get sucked in, both to the game in general, and to specific games that come rushing back at me. Hour after hour spent playing chess with Dad. Studying not just openings, but entire games played by masters. Dad and me, at the kitchen table, on the living room rug, or in that rickety little tree house he built for us when I was six and Phil was eight—two years before he took off. Dad and me. Me and Dad.
“Are you okay?” Joshie whispers.
“It’s the air in here. Stop looking at me and pay attention to the teacher.”
I open up my history textbook.
Joshie taps my arm and points to the felt chessboard. “This is cool stuff.”
Chubby Stripes has moved from basic setup to basic strategy. He’s teaching the kids about castling.
“So if the king and rook have not moved, and if the king is not in check, or passing through check, the rook slides next to the king—” Chubby Stripes moves the pieces into position. I lift the brim of the baseball hat to watch. “The king jumps over the rook, and now he’s in a less vulnerable position on the board. When I play chess, I always castle.”
No kidding. I remember the first time I castled Phil and he ran to Dad. “Nora cheated!” Dad rubbed my head. “Your little sister could teach you a lot about chess.”
“So, anyway, castling is just one of those things that increase your chances of winning,” says Chubby Stripes. “Like always looking ahead, always calculating what will happen if you move a particular piece, and always taking your time to think through whether this is really the right move to make.”
Foresight, circumspection and caution. He’s channeling Ben Franklin!
“Now, a quick refresher about the three steps you always take when you’re in check, and then we’ll split up and play some games,” says Chubby Stripes. “What’s the first thing?”
Joshie raises his hand and blurts out, “I ask myself if I can take the attacker.”
“Right!” says Chubby Stripes.
I stare at Joshie. He grins smugly and flicks the brim of the baseball hat, which flies off my head.
“Hey!” I grab for the hat—too late. My hair falls around my shoulders.
Chubby Stripes looks from Joshie to me. There is a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
Across the room Little Jake-ette calls out, “The second thing I ask myself is whether I can move my king.”
“Um, right. Yeah, that’s right.” Chubby Stripes pulls his gaze away from me. “Anyone else? There’s one more.”
“I see if I can interpose,” says a girl whose face is about two-thirds forehead.
“Meaning?” prods Chubby Stripes.
“I see if there’s a piece that I can move so it’s in the way and can stop the attacker from taking my king.”
“Cool,” says Chubby Stripes. “So unless anyone has any more questions, let’s pair up—”
Interpose Girl raises her hand. “I finished my one hundred.”
Chubby Stripes gasps and clutches at his chest. The kids laugh. Joshie laughs. I even laugh. What the hell, my cover is already blown. Chubby Stripes’s eyes dart in my direction, then back to the little girl. “Bring them here, Lily.”
Lily struts to the front of the room. She’s wearing an impossibly cute sundress that would look awesome in an adult size four. She offers Chubby Stripes a packet of pages. He thumbs through them like they’re one of those flip books. “Lily has completed all one hundred of the one-move-to-checkmate puzzles. Let’s hear it for Lily!”
The kids clap like mad. Chubby Stripes opens a plastic filing box and pulls out a felt chess piece much like the ones he was just maneuvering around the felt chessboard. He pins the piece to Lily’s dress. He also removes from the box a packet of papers, which he hands to her. “Now she gets to solve one hundred two-moves-to-checkmate puzzles!”
Again, the kids clap, and then they split into pairs. Lily invites Joshie to come to her table.
“Go ahead.” I shoo him away, pick up my book bag and head for a chair in the corner.
Chubby Stripes blocks my path. “Nora, right? I’m Eric.” His eyes narrow. “I think you know my friend Adam.”
“Um, yeah, I do. We’re in a couple of classes together.”
“Adam?” Joshie turns and takes a couple of steps back toward us. “I know Adam. He comes over and plays soccer with me. He’s really nice.” Then, in a singsong voice, “I think Nora—”
I can see right where Joshie’s headed. “Well then! Let’s all play some chess!” I give Joshie a gentle push toward Lily’s table.
“So you play?” Eric asks.
“She’s not any good,” Joshie calls back over his shoulder.
Eric laughs and settles into a chair, inviting me with a sweep of his hand to take the seat across from him. Crap. I pretty much just invited him to play, didn’t I?
“I’m really not very good,” I counter. “It’s been a long, long time.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” he says. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He sets up to play black. How does he know Adam knows me?
“You start,” he says.
I struggle to push Adam to the back of my mind and I open with a pawn.
Eric moves. I move. We go back and forth, and Dad’s voice plays in my head:
Control the center of the board!
Develop your knights before your bishops!
Castle early! The king’s safety is crucial.
Fifteen minutes pass. Twenty. It’s like Dad is sitting on my shoulder, and the weight of him is oppressive. Sweat trickles down the small of my back. We play slowly, methodically. A crowd of kids gathers to watch. The c
lock on the wall is one of those obnoxious ones that seem to actually be ticking inside your head.
Tick! Move already! Tick! What’s your problem? Tick!
No, no! Advancing too many pawns will weaken your defense.
Tick! Tick! Tick!
“I can’t do this!” I jump up, knocking my chair to the floor. “Sorry. I just—I don’t play chess anymore.”
“But you were doing great,” says Eric. His eyebrows shoot up. “Really great.”
At that moment I’m thankful for the kid across the room who bursts into tears, crying because he’s just lost his king. Eric hurries over to him.
My pits are sticky. This is ridiculous, I know. It’s just a game. But it’s a game with way too much baggage. I loved chess when I was Joshie’s age. I was good. Better than good. But that was for me and Dad. Our special thing. And when he left, crazy as it sounds, he took that with him. There is nothing that could ever be important enough to get me playing chess again. Nothing.
The chess continues without me, and when it’s time to go, I’ve managed to just about catch up in my history reading. As we file out the door, Eric invites me to come back and try again next week. He offers me a packet of one hundred one-move-to-checkmate puzzles.
“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m plenty busy, and will continue to be busy well into the foreseeable future. Or longer.”
Joshie gladly takes the packet of puzzles and shoves them into my book bag.
“See you around,” says Eric.
And before I can reply, he’s surrounded by little kids clambering to receive fist bumps and high fives as they say good-bye.
Joshie tugs my hand as we head for the door. “Mom said I could bring home a movie to watch tomorrow night.”
“Okay—but choose something fast. I have a lot to do.”
We paw through DVDs, and I hear my name. Jake and Jake-ette are right behind us. Crap-ette! I thought he said their mom was picking her up.
There is a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see that Jake has been out for a run. His cheeks are flushed pink. Sweat circles ring his armpits, and as gross as that sounds, he has a way of making sweat look hot.
“How’s it going, Nora? I looked for you after practice but you were gone.”
“Things are good.” I nod toward Joshie. “I brought my brother to chess club.”
“Yeah.” He nods toward his sister. “Mom sent me to pick up the dwarf.”
“Ork!” Jake-ette spits.
He ignores her. “My folks wanted me to stay and play. Chess? Give me a break.”
“I know what you mean,” I say.
Joshie chimes in. “But, Nora, you were really good at chess when you were little.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yup, silly little Nora. Not anymore.”
Jake chuckles. “I hear you. Hello? Is this the bus to Nerdville? My folks are, like, ‘You should try playing, too. It’s a great brain activity.’ And I’m, like, ‘I get all the brain activity I need playing football,’ right? Hey—I have a chess joke. There’s this guy playing chess in the park with his dog. These people come by and they say, ‘Man, that’s one smart dog.’ And the guy says, ‘Not so smart—I’m beating him three games to one.’”
As Joshie and Jake-ette share a little giggle fit, Jake steps in close. Pale streaks of dry, salty sweat line the sides of his jaw. “So I still need to talk to you.”
He steps in closer. Bites his bottom lip. I swallow, hard. I would step back but I’m already pressed against the rack of movies.
Both our heads turn as Eric happens by.
“Good night, everyone. Oh. Sorry.” Eric, evidently certain he has just interrupted something big, smiles sheepishly, waves and hurries out.
Crap! Will he tell Adam? Will Adam care?
I grab Joshie’s hand. “We need to get home. It’s a school night.”
“Tomorrow?” says Jake.
I nod. “Tomorrow.”
Joshie’s arms are tight across his chest as I unlock the car door. His eyebrows are knitted tight, like boiled wool. “What?” I say.
“That guy has good jokes. But he thinks chess is for nerds.”
I open the back door and Joshie slides into the car. He uncrosses his arms to buckle his seat belt, then snaps them back across his chest.
I lean in. “Look. Chess is great for some people. Ben Franklin liked it enough to write about it, right? But some other people think that if you’re into chess, you’re kind of a loser. Okay?”
Joshie rolls his eyes. I close his door, get into the front seat and start the car. “You’ll understand when you’re in high school,” I say, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“I don’t think so,” says Joshie.
He’s probably right.
Thankfully, Mom insists that Joshie go right to bed when we get home, otherwise he’d pester me for the rest of the night to play chess with him. In my room, I dump the contents of my book bag onto my bed. God, why am I still carrying around this stupid chess book? There’s the American Pageant books for history, my French workbook, the massive biology book that will eventually dislocate my shoulder. A packet of papers falls out with the books—Joshie’s check-mate-in-one-move puzzles.
I pile the books onto my desk and plan my night. I’ll start with the biology, then do some math problems and a write-up for French. I’ll review my history notes one last time.
But those puzzles. It’s like they’re calling me.
“Oh, Noraaaaa!”
It’s already nine o’clock. I need to start my homework. The stack of books seems to have grown taller. The puzzles crank up their volume.
“Noraaaaa!! You could have been the next Judit Polgár.”
Shut up! I glance over at my dresser and the framed picture of me, Phil and Dad at the Puyallup Fair. Phil and I are on the back of a horse while Dad feeds it a carrot. Phil is wearing a red cowboy hat and looks completely freaked out. So does the horse. Me and Dad, we look so happy.
The puzzles have got to be pretty easy. I could probably bang one out in under three minutes.
I grab a pencil. The puzzle takes only two minutes to solve. So I try one more. Just one more. Well, okay, two more. I mean three. They get progressively harder. When my phone chimes that I have a text, it’s eleven thirty and I’m on puzzle number twenty-seven. The text is from Krista:
Homework sux!!!!!!
I reply:
Yup.
But you know what sux more? Not doing homework because you’ve wasted over two hours doing chess puzzles. Chess puzzles!
No. More. Chess!
Eleven
MORNING FEELS LIKE IT arrived three hours ahead of schedule as I sit slumped on one of the concrete benches in the front courtyard sipping a triple-shot latte in an effort to keep my eyelids open. By three thirty in the morning I still had not made it through the biology chapter on the evolution of populations. I never read the lab paperwork that Coach Avery handed out yesterday—hopefully there won’t be any big surprises. The monologue I need to deliver in French sounds like the rantings of un fou furieux, aka “a crazy person,” and the few solutions I completed for precalculus look like I held the pencil in my teeth. At least I got all the history reading done.
It’s a struggle to keep my half-lidded eyes peeled for Chelsey, but I can’t go to biology without her signature on the contract that I scrawled this morning while waiting for my deodorant to dry. As I wait, the parking lot fills with cars. Buses roll in, spit out piles of bedraggled teenagers and roll back out again. People hurry past. I scratch out a few remaining math problems.
Over by the front door the ski club, in hats and goggles, sells hot chocolate to raise money for a trip to Whistler. A group of football players swill cups of cocoa, speculating about who is taking whom to the homecoming dance. I hear a familiar voice and cover my face with my hand, like I’m shielding myself from the sun.
“Yeah, give me a cup of cocoa with a mess of marshmallows,” Jake says to a guy who’s in a parka despite the
fact that it’s about seventy-five degrees and sunny. A bolt of panic shoots through me. I’m not ready for the conversation I know he wants to have.
“Nora?” He ambles over. “How’s it going? Bet you were up all night playing chess, right?”
“You figured me right out, Jake.” If only he knew.
He chuckles. “You look awesome today!”
Awesome compared to, say, mold? In a state of utter exhaustion I forgot to wash the conditioner out of my hair, which I realized only after I climbed into the car and discovered my hair was not only wet, but wet and slimy. I’ve cinched it back into a tight ponytail in hopes that it’ll be less obvious. And sitting here, with crossed legs, I realize I only shaved the left one.
“What are you up to?” he asks.
“Just trying to catch up on some math problems.”
Jake joins me on the bench. “I wish I was still in your math class.” He feigns a pout that is as cute as his smile. Oh, Nora, you idiot. You could have this guy!
I can’t help but smile back at him. “Actually, I switched out, too.”
He wrinkles his nose. “No way! That stuff is hard, right? I mean, who is ever gonna need to calculate the sides of a triangle. Just about everything has four sides these days, am I right? Football fields. Windows. Toast.” He plucks a gooey marshmallow from his hot chocolate and pops it into his mouth.
A crowd rushes past. I scan for someone, anyone to keep this conversation from going any further. The Teapot approaches in a purple-and-gold Hawaiian shirt and knee-length purple shorts. As she walks, she speaks to Tallulah with dramatic flourish, “. . . and I said to my auntie Jean, y’all are crazy! One week is just not long enough to call it a proper visit. You have got to stay longer . . .”
She sees me and waves. “Oh, hey!” she drawls.
They pull out of the flow of traffic and join me and Jake. “Are you ready for the biology lab?” asks the Teapot. “I wore just the right shoes!” She shakes the sky-blue sneaker on her right foot like she’s doing the hokey-pokey. I didn’t read the lab. We were supposed to wear blue sneakers?
How (Not) to Find a Boyfriend Page 13
