First, she takes away my bishops, then my knights. Then she picks off my pawns like grapes from a vine.
‘You can’t let her do that,’ Dad yells. ‘Fight back!’
I shake my head. What does he expect me to do – throw a chess piece in her face?
Mr Wilson, the match referee, blows his whistle. He didn’t used to have a whistle, not until Dad started coming to games. ‘No coaching from the sidelines.’
‘Trust me, I’m not,’ Dad says. ‘I don’t know anything about this sport.’
‘Checkmate,’ Peri says.
I stare back at the board. Dad must have distracted me and she swiped away my last piece when I wasn’t looking. That’s six losses in a row. I shake hands with Peri and walk away from the table, head lowered.
The Chess Nuts’ coach, Mrs Denton, pats my shoulder. ‘Nice loss, Danny,’ she says.
It’s a nutty thing for a coach to say. Then again, Mrs Denton is a nutty coach. She’s a sweet old lady but at least I know why we’re called the Chess Nuts.
I sit on the bench and watch my four other teammates finish their games. I may have lost, but we only needed three wins to beat Peri’s team. We end up winning 4–1. I feel like an anchor holding the team down.
After the games, Sanchita is pointing fingers at all of us. ‘Nick, why did you give up your pawns so easily?’ she says. ‘Laila, your knight moves are sloppy and Benjamin, you didn’t follow my training drills, and Danny . . .’ Sanchita stops in front of me. ‘Well, you just need to improve in everything.’
I look at down at my shoelaces. ‘Thanks for the pep talk.’
‘Gee,’ Nick says. ‘Imagine if we’d lost.’
‘Today’s team was below us on the competition table,’ Sanchita says. ‘But a superior team like the Castlepaine Chess Club would stomp all over us.’
Forget Mrs Denton; Sanchita is the real coach around here. If she could clone herself another four times, she wouldn’t need any of us around.
Mrs Denton hands us each a cookie, like we’ve just performed some tricks. ‘Nice try today, my Chess Nuts,’ she says.
I wave goodbye to my team and meet Dad at the school gates.
Dad and I look at each other. ‘What were you doing?’ we both blurt out together.
‘Nothing,’ I say first. ‘You were the one distracting me – again.’
Dad takes off his Wests Chargers cap. ‘I was cheering you on,’ he says.
‘This isn’t a Wests Chargers game, Dad.’ I walk past him to the car. Dad thinks chess is like rugby league.
Actually, he thinks everything is like rugby league. He’s taken me to a few Wests Chargers games every year since I was little, always telling me that I’ll be playing rugby league one day too.
But as much as I like rugby league, I can’t play it. Coaches at school and at the Sterling Falcons tell me the same thing. I’m too skinny. I’m too slow. They were being nice. I’m basically hopeless. I’m twelve but I wouldn’t even make the Under Eights side.
It’s not just rugby league either. I’m terrible at soccer, basketball, cricket . . . you name it, I stink at it. I’m an non-sporting all-rounder. I think that’s why Dad supports me every week. Chess is better than nothing at all. Even if Dad thinks chess is just slightly above nothing.
Dad starts the car. ‘You need to train more,’ he says. ‘How often does your nutty chess club train?’
‘Only every Wednesday in the library,’ I say.
‘Maybe you can train more at home then.’
We get home in time for lunch. Mum’s making us sausage sandwiches, which is Dad’s favourite thing to eat at Wests Chargers games. He’s gutted that there’s no sausage sizzle at the chess games. That’s the only thing we can both agree on.
‘How was the game, dear?’ Mum asks.
‘Danny got smashed,’ Dad says.
Mum gasps. ‘What?’ She runs up to me and rubs my cheeks. ‘Are you okay?’
I dodge her thumbs. ‘I’m fine, Mum. I just lost. Again.’
‘You’re a step closer to your first win,’ Mum says.
‘It feels like I’m running away from it.’ I take my sausage sandwich and drown it with tomato sauce.
After lunch, I help Dad tidy up in the back shed. He’s got rugby league on the radio in the background. Great, now I’m being yelled at by the screaming commentators. This is where Dad learnt some of his best cheers.
As I’m sweeping the dust, I spot my rugby league gear, poking out of a garbage bag in the corner. I only wore it once when Dad made me go to the tryouts. Mum went all out with the safety equipment: a mouthguard, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pads and chest guard under my jersey. If we’d been allowed to wear floaties, she would have got me those too.
Dad took a photo of me wearing all the gear, looking more like a crash-test dummy than a rugby league player. It was the closest I’ll ever get to playing rugby league because I flunked the tryouts.
I pick up the bag and sweep underneath it.
‘I’m thinking of giving that equipment to Erik,’ Dad says. ‘It’s just a waste of space here.’
Eric’s my cousin, who’s only nine and is much better than me at sports.
‘Why did you buy all that before I went to the tryouts?’ I ask.
‘I thought if you looked the part, the coach would let you in,’ Dad says. He wheels out the lawnmower to start on the grass in the backyard.
I go back into my room and practise chess, playing against myself. It’s the only time I can win.
When Dad finishes the lawn, he comes into my bedroom, smelling like grass clippings, to watch me train. He picks up a chess piece shaped like a horse.
‘What’s this piece?’ he asks.
‘It’s called a knight, Dad.’
‘Hmm.’ Dad stares at the horse’s eyes. ‘You should use him more often. He looks fast, like a winger in footy.’
‘He can only move in an L shape.’ I show Dad how he moves on the chessboard.
Dad’s eye twitches. ‘Why? Is he a loser?’
‘I dunno, Dad,’ I say. I flick through my chess playbook, looking for an answer. It was already tricky enough getting on top of the basic rules.
Dad has his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve seen the way you play chess out there, Danny,’ he says. ‘You need to play rough.’
‘Chess is a non-contact sport,’ I say. ‘The only contacts are the ones in some players’ eyes.’
‘No, I mean you need to find a way to get under your opponent’s skin,’ he says.
I laugh. ‘I’m not a parasite.’
A smile creeps up on Dad’s face. ‘You know, JQ used to get into people’s minds before a big league match.’
I nod. Jeremy Quinn was Dad’s favourite player in the Wests Chargers. Jeremy helped the Chargers win their only premiership in fifty years. I still remember watching the grand final on TV with Dad. It’s the only time I’ve seen him cry.
‘So, you want me to be the JQ of chess?’ I ask.
‘It might help your nutty team to get some grunt,’ Dad says.
Should I toughen up in my chess games? Maybe it’s the only way for me to win.
After school on Wednesday, I walk over to Sterling library for training with the Chess Nuts. Mrs Denton has set up three chess sets in one of the meeting rooms. There are five of us, so she plays against one of us.
I’m paired up with Sanchita and I watch her eyeballs dart across the chessboard as she plans the moves in her head first. I move my pawn up a space and she thumps the table, shaking the pieces.
‘Wrong move,’ Sanchita says. ‘You need to be more aggressive.’
Now she sounds like Dad. Sanchita has enough grunt for all the Chess Nuts.
‘Instead of reacting to a move, you’ve got to make it first,’ Sanchita says. She sets up the pieces for a fresh game. ‘Go on, try it.’
I look at my pieces. I usually move up a pawn by two spaces in the middle. I close my eyes. What would Dad say to me? Actually, make that, what w
ould Dad scream at me?
‘Smash him! Hit him harder!’
I move my knight piece in an L shape first.
‘Nice,’ Sanchita says. She moves one of her pawns and I snap it up with my knight in my next move.
‘Did you do that on purpose?’ I say.
‘I’m only helping you out,’ she says. ‘I just want you to . . .’
‘Win?’
‘Lose less,’ Sanchita says, with a smile creeping on her face.
Another two weeks fly by and my losing streak moves to eight. But as Sanchita says, I’m losing less moves – or as Mum says, I’m a few steps closer to my first win. Dad just tells me I’m lucky I haven’t been dropped yet. I guess the Chess Nuts need me to fill up a spot.
The main thing is, I’m still part of a winning team, so Dad’s happy to cheer me on. We move up to third on the competition table. Going into the semifinals, we’re up against the undefeated team, Castlepaine Chess Club’s Triple Cs.
At our final training session before the game, Mrs Denton passes around a container of homemade brownies. ‘If we win on Saturday, we’ll move up to second and be in the finals,’ she says. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’
I nod, my mouth full of brownie.
Sanchita drills us with plenty of chessboard exercises. ‘Three of the Triple Cs are playing in the State Championships,’ she says. ‘We need to be serious.’
‘It wasn’t like I was mucking around before,’ Benjamin says.
‘What more do you want us to do?’ Nick asks.
Sanchita crushes her queen piece in her palm. ‘Train harder,’ she barks.
That sounds like something Dad would say.
Sanchita looks over my shoulder. ‘Have you been playing the chess drills online?’ she asks.
‘I don’t like playing chess on the computer, the pieces just look so flat,’ I say.
Sanchita shakes her head. ‘If you don’t take any risks, Danny, you’ll be roadkill on Saturday.’
Saturday rolls along and Dad drives me to Sterling High for the game. He gets to the gate and reads the giant sign out the front. ‘Car park full? Wow, these chess games are never packed out.’
Dad parks on a nearby street and we walk to the hall. Most of the crowd is wearing navy blue. The Triple Cs are also in their navy blazers.
One of girls steps forward. ‘I’m Francesca,’ she says. ‘Nice to meet you, Danny.’
I shake Francesca’s hand. ‘You know who I am?’ I say.
Francesca laughs. ‘We do our research on everyone we beat . . . I mean, play against.’ She looks me up and down. ‘You won’t get your first win with us today.’
I feel as small as a pawn. Francesca moves gracefully back like a queen piece to join the others. Dad finds a spot on the edge of the stands.
I’m up against a boy named Jakean. He’s built for rugby league. It’s like he’s smuggling boulders under his shirt.
He cracks his knuckles. ‘You want to go first?’ he asks.
‘Sure, thanks,’ I say, sitting down on the side of the white pieces.
I’m itching to move my knight piece first, but Jakean’s breathing through his nostrils so hard that even my horse is too scared to move. I fumble over my knight piece and move my pawn up the board instead.
The whole game is a blur. I feel like Jakean has me in a chokehold, paralysing all my pieces. I’m defeated in less than five minutes.
I’m so zoned out that I don’t even hear Dad cheering. Or maybe he just didn’t say anything at all. I turn to the stands to see him wringing out his Wests Chargers cap like a sponge. Poor Dad. He looks lost out there in a sea of navy shirts. I stumble from the table, heart pounding against my aching ribs. Chess may not be a contact sport, but I still feel wrecked.
We get thrashed 4–1. Only Sanchita wins her game against her opponent Ned – though only just. It’s the longest game of the morning. She struggles to get up from her seat, as if she’s done ten rounds in a boxing ring.
We shake hands with the Triple Cs. Well, we try to shake them. The Triple Cs crush our fingers.
‘Thanks for the warm-up,’ Jakean says with a grin. ‘That trophy is as good as ours.’
We watch the Triple Cs walk off with their smirky smiles.
‘The Chess Nuts have become crushed nuts,’ Nick says.
‘You mean, we’ve become nutmeg,’ Sanchita says.
Mrs Denton gives us a goody bag of cookies and brownies. ‘Better luck next year.’
No number of cookies is going to bring me back next year. But I keep quiet and wave goodbye to the other Chess Nuts. It’s not like we’re friends anyway, we’re just teammates.
After the game, Dad takes me out for a milkshake at a cafe. He doesn’t ask me any questions, and it’s so distracting.
I break the silence first. ‘What happened out there?’ I ask. ‘I didn’t hear you cheer.’
‘I thought you needed to concentrate,’ Dad says. ‘Look, I know it was a terrible loss, but you need to be like JQ,’ Dad says.
‘I can’t be a winner like him,’ I say.
Dad puts his metal cup down. ‘Do you remember the time we watched the Wests Chargers get smashed 61–4 by the Eastern Crows?’
‘Yeah, you punched the cushions on our couch into pancakes.’
Dad grins. ‘The Wests Chargers players looked crushed, except for JQ who held his head high,’ he says. ‘At least you gave it a go.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say. ‘I guess I don’t have to play chess anymore.’
Dad shakes his head. ‘You can’t quit now,’ he says. ‘There’s no off-season for sports players.’ He stares straight at me. ‘Only if you want to keep playing though.’
I think about my chess set at home. I have no one to play against, what would be the point. ‘Let me think about it, Dad.’
On Monday, after school, I get a call from Mrs Denton. ‘The second-place team, Rundle Knights, pulled out because they couldn’t field a full team,’ she says. ‘So, we’ll be playing in the final this Saturday.’
I pump my fist in the air. ‘That’s awesome!’
‘Could you come to the library tomorrow?’ Mrs Denton asks. ‘We’ll be training all week. It was Sanchita’s idea.’
Of course it was. ‘I’ll see you and the Chess Nuts tomorrow,’ I chirp.
I tell Mum and Dad the news and Dad raises both hands in the air. ‘You beauty, Danny! Your first grand final!’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Remember,’ Dad says. ‘You need to think like JQ.’
I go back to my room and look at the poster of JQ on my wall, waiting for him to speak to me. Nothing happens and I feel like an idiot. But I think about what Dad says. I need to get under my opponent’s skin. It’s time to make my own strategy for the Chess Nuts.
When I turn up to the library the following day, Sanchita’s already barking orders at the other Chess Nuts. It’s hard to know if we’re preparing for a final or for World War III.
I take out a piece of paper with my own battle plan.
‘I know how to get under the skin of the Triple Cs,’ I say to the others.
‘That sounds creepy,’ Nick says.
‘That’s what they did to us,’ I say. ‘Didn’t you see them last Saturday, with their neat blazers, trying to scare us with their words?’
‘They didn’t get under my skin,’ Laila says. ‘They just rattled my bones.’
‘Well, we need to rattle their bones,’ I say. ‘Or rough up their blazers.’
Benjamin sighs. ‘I wish we had our own special uniform . . .’
‘Maybe we can wear helmets that look like chestnuts,’ Laila says.
I read the first part of my plan. ‘Let’s all wear something that will psych them out.’
‘What’s the point?’ Benjamin asks. ‘They’re unbeatable.’
‘They just look unbeatable,’ I say. ‘But take away their clothes and they’re just a bunch of normal kids who play chess.’
‘Naked kids too,’ Nick ad
ded.
‘Ew, no,’ I say. ‘Besides, they’re not unbeatable. Sanchita, you beat your opponent, right?’
Sanchita snorts and smiles. ‘Okay, fine, we’ll dress up and go bananas. But that isn’t enough. We still need to beat them properly at chess.’ She claps her hands. ‘So back to training.’
We go through a lot of training drills. I soon have a throbbing headache, feeling as though my brain is in a scrum with those chess pieces. Mrs Denton helps by brewing some herbal tea.
That night after dinner, when I go back to my room, my chess set is missing. I find Dad in the living room, holding out the chess set. ‘I want you to teach me how to play,’ he says.
‘Huh? Why?’ I say.
Dad takes the pieces out of the box. ‘Well, how else am I supposed to know what to cheer for?’ he says. ‘Unless you’ve got something better to do . . . ?’
‘Nah, this is much more fun than playing against the computer.’ I help set out the pieces on the board. ‘Besides, for once, I should have a chance of winning.’
Dad laughs. ‘We’ll see about that.’
Dad and I play chess every night during grand final week. I feel more prepared than ever, with my afternoons and evenings dedicated to chess.
I’m so pumped for Saturday that I struggle to sleep the night before. Dad has a restless night as well. He has two cups of coffee for breakfast. Mum paints our faces. ‘I can’t wait to see you in action today,’ she says.
‘You just want to keep an eye on Dad,’ I say.
Mum laughs as she puts the final touches to my face. ‘Yes, that too.’
We all head to Castlepaine College sports hall. Everybody is looking at Dad and me.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Dad says. ‘They’re just scared of us.’
‘I think it’s because we have CHESS NUTS painted on our foreheads,’ I whisper. I give Mum a thumbs up. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘And because of what you’re wearing,’ Dad says.
Sanchita marches up to us, with popping eyeballs. ‘Are you guys crazy?’ she says.
‘No, we’re Chess Nuts!’ I say.
Nick, Benjamin and Laila come over with Mrs Denton. Nick checks out my shoulder pads, knee pads and shin guards. ‘We’re not playing rugby league.’
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