“Dude, move the queen to h7. It’s the only option.” Dylan acts like he’s better than everyone because his older brother is a Candidate Master, which means he’s good and almost a Master, even though that actually has nothing to do with Dylan.
Red nods. “Yeah. That works,” he says, like he’s going to listen to Dylan and not to me, even though I’m right.
“No, it doesn’t.” I try to keep my voice down, but it still sounds so loud compared to everyone else’s.
“How would you know?” Dylan looks at me, like I’m gum stuck to the bottom of his brand-new sneaker. “It’s not like you’ve ever played in a tourney.”
His words cut into me. I bite down on my lip, because he’s wrong about the next move and me. Everything I’m feeling is bubbling up.
“Kg5 is just dumb, like you,” he says.
“Actually, it’s how you win—Kg5. Then Qh7. Checkmate.” The words fly out of my mouth, bouncing off the gym walls and back at me, before I can think about what I’m doing and stop myself.
“Wow,” Quinn says. “Way to freak out and ruin the game.”
Everyone laughs.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Lee says. “I expect all of you to be supportive of one another, even when you’re playing on opposite sides of the board.” He pauses, then looks at me. “Strong chess players need to stay calm and composed. I’d like you to work on that.”
I want to tell him that I didn’t mean to blurt out the answer. I don’t know what happened. But I’m afraid if I say anything right now, I’ll cry, and I can’t, so I look down at the floor. I need to never do anything like that ever again.
“Okay. Let’s continue where we left off,” Mr. Lee says. “Red, it’s still your move. And it’s probably best not to go with Kg5, Qh7.”
I keep my head down and stare at my sneakers, wishing I had the power to make myself disappear.
“Qh7,” Red says.
“Boom. In your face,” Dylan says in this cool-guy way, like he could be talking to anyone, but I know he’s talking to me.
I don’t look up at him or say anything. I’m frozen.
It only takes Sanam a few moves to beat us. When the match is finally over, Mr. Lee says, “Please come to practice tomorrow focused and ready to play your best.”
Everyone puts away their props as fast as possible and races out of the room, like the awkwardness permeating the air is actually toxic. Quinn scurries by me and over to Vivi, who’s waiting for her by the door, leaning against the wall in her field hockey gear. Her lips are perfectly glossed and her black ponytail falls down her back in a never-ending maze of shiny tendrils.
Quinn whispers something in Vivi’s ear, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me, like she wants to make it clear that they’re talking about how I ruined the game. Everyone is.
I take off my helmet, drop it in the basket with the other costumes, and turn around. Red is standing by the water fountain waiting for me. I walk over to him.
“That was really bad. I don’t know what happened.” I look at him, like maybe he has the answer.
“You’re the only one who knew how to win,” he says, trying as hard as he can to make what I did okay. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. You were right. I couldn’t see the next move until you said it.”
I shake my head, because he shouldn’t be sorry. It’s not Red’s fault that I blurted out the answer and gave away the game.
“You say whatever pops into your head. That’s your thing. Don’t worry. It’ll blow over.”
“Chess? Or English?”
“Both.” He looks away like he’s sorry he knows what happened in class.
“Who told you?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“Dylan,” he says.
I hate Dylan, but I don’t say that, because Red doesn’t. They’re friends.
“Did you really do the entire project wrong?”
“Pretty much.” I nod. “I’m so dumb.”
“Don’t talk about my best friend like that,” he says. “It’s not cool. You made a mistake. That doesn’t make you stupid.”
“Yeah, sure. At least Mr. Lee is letting me redo the assignment on Friday, aka not giving me an F.”
“Phew. You’ll do an awesome job, and then you’ll crush everyone in chess, and no one will remember today ever happened. It won’t matter.”
“Do you have a backup plan in case that doesn’t work?” I ask.
“Obviously. I’m all over it,” he says. “I’ll embarrass myself and give them something else to talk about.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?” I ask.
“I hadn’t gotten that far,” he says. “But we won’t need a backup plan. It’ll be okay. I promise. You can do it.”
I want to believe him.
* * *
Red’s mom drives me home from school on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
When I walk through the front door, Hilda starts barking. “Clea,” Mom says. “Can you please come in here?”
I follow Mom’s voice into the living room. She’s sitting next to Dad on the fancy embroidered sofa that no one ever uses. They’re both stiff and buttoned up in their work clothes, which is so not normal or good for me. Dad definitely shouldn’t be home right now. I think about turning around and bolting out the door, but I know that will only delay whatever is about to happen.
I sink into the blue velvet chair across from my parents.
They’re looking at me like they’re waiting for me to speak. For once, I don’t have anything to say.
Henley runs into the living room and grabs on to my arm. I can tell she wants to show me something.
“Henley, honey, Dad and I need to talk to Clea alone for a few minutes.”
“How many is a few?” Henley asks.
“I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”
Henley looks at me, her forehead scrunching up.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, because I don’t want her to worry.
She hugs my arm and dashes out of the room.
Mom takes a deep breath. “Dad and I met with Ms. Curtis this afternoon. She’s the middle school learning specialist.” I know who Ms. Curtis is, but I don’t say that—or anything. “Over the past week, a few of your teachers have expressed concerns about how you’re doing in school this year and—”
“I know what happened with the author project sounds bad and like a really big deal, because I got an F for now, but I swear it’s not. I made one stupid mistake with the directions. And the grade isn’t permanent. I’m redoing the presentation on Friday, and I already picked a new author. I’m going to fix the whole thing.”
“It is a big deal.” Mom sounds mad. “You did the assignment wrong. We’ve talked about this. You need to read the instructions carefully and pay attention to what is being asked of you so you don’t make careless mistakes. This is what you were working on with Chloe-Louise this summer.”
I hate how she’s explaining what happened, like I don’t already know all the things I did wrong.
“I know!” I shout. “I didn’t mean to mess up. I won’t do it again. Okay?”
Mom sighs and then looks at Dad, like she’s had enough.
“We know you didn’t, Clea,” Dad says. “But at this point, we need to get to the bottom of what’s going on at school and come up with a plan to help you. Based on the problems you’ve been having finishing your assignments, following directions, and speaking out of turn—”
“How is that related? Oh, wait—it’s not.”
“Please stop interrupting,” Dad says.
“Stop being wrong,” I say back, because it feels like they’re rewriting everything that happened to make it matter more than it does.
Then Dad tells me, “Your teachers think it’s important that we have you evaluated for attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder.”
“ADHD? You can’t be serious right now!” I keep waiting for them to smile or laugh or do something t
o show that they’re joking, but they just sit there staring at me, like they’re totally serious.
“This is what your school is recommending. And we’re taking their guidance,” Dad says. “You’re going to have an assessment, which means that Ms. Curtis will attend some of your classes tomorrow, and then once we get an appointment, you’ll be out two or three days for testing.”
“I can’t miss three days. I’ll get so far behind. And I’m definitely not skipping chess. No way. That’s not happening. I need to be at practice. It’s important. I actually have a chance to play in the next tournament.”
“I really don’t think Mr. Lee is going to penalize you for not being at chess when you’ll be out for tests that the school suggested,” Mom says.
“You don’t know that,” I say back.
“We understand how much you love chess,” Mom says. “But it can’t get in the way of school.”
“It’s not! No—just, no. I don’t have ADHD. I can sit in my chair, and I can focus. During chess, for example, I’m super focused. I’m like a focus machine.”
“Not everyone with ADHD is hyperactive,” Mom says.
I roll my eyes. “That literally makes no sense.”
“It’s complicated, which is why we want to make sure we have the right information.”
“So this is happening? Even if I say no?”
Mom and Dad both nod.
“Can you schedule the test on a Thursday and Friday so I don’t miss chess?”
“We’ll see,” Mom says. “It’s not so easy to get an appointment, and we’re doing everything we can to make this happen as soon as possible.”
“Chess is the only thing I’m actually good at. I don’t get why you’re trying to take it away from me.”
Mom shakes her head. “We’re not. We’re trying to fix what’s happening in school.”
“I keep messing up. That’s what’s happening. It doesn’t matter what you do. You can’t fix that. I just need to work harder.”
Mom looks at me like she doesn’t know what to say.
“We really think you need this, Clea,” Dad says.
“Just don’t blame me when it turns out I don’t have ADHD, and I got even further behind and missed chess for nothing.” I stomp upstairs to my room and slam the door. Then I take out my phone and call Red over and over until he finally answers.
“Are you okay?” he asks as soon as he picks up.
“Not really.” My voice is shaky. “I’m going to be out of school and chess for two or maybe three days, because my parents are making me get tested for ADHD.”
“You can’t. Mr. Lee hates when people don’t show up to practice. If one person isn’t there, he has to play.”
“My parents don’t care about chess,” I say. “All they want to do is come up with a stupid plan that’s not going to fix anything.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You obviously don’t have ADHD. I think they basically test everyone who gets bad grades for it now. It’s like a thing or whatever. But I don’t know, maybe a plan could be good. It might help. You could get extra time on tests and other stuff that would make school easier.”
“You think I need a plan?” I ask.
“I don’t know. The end of last year was bad. And so far, this year …”
I know Red isn’t trying to be mean. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.
“When’s the test?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. It can be hard to get an appointment.”
“That’s great. The longer it takes, the better. You’ll have time to show everyone how good you are at chess before you skip out on practice. And if you keep winning, Mr. Lee will play you. You probably won’t even miss one tournament.”
“I didn’t think of that,” I say.
“Dude, where are you?” someone asks in the background. It sounds like Dylan, which doesn’t make sense, because Red isn’t allowed to have friends over on school nights.
“I gotta go,” Red says. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out.”
“Okay. Thanks.” It helps to hear Red say that he thinks I could still play in all the tournaments, even if I have to miss chess. As long as it takes a while to get an appointment, the one thing I’m good at isn’t going to get taken away from me.
I WAKE UP early and start my day with all the things I love: chess and magic and toast with crunchy peanut butter. I need to do everything I can think of to make sure that today is better than yesterday.
I put on an episode of Bewitched that I’ve seen so many times I practically know it by heart. I only sort of listen to the show while I practice tactics on my computer. I’m in the zone, but it feels good to have Samantha’s voice in the background, like she’s an old friend with magical powers hanging around my room to keep me company.
I press next on my screen and a new problem appears. The computer moves the black queen from d1 to d4. Right away I know that I’m playing white and that my king is in trouble. I need to either take out the black queen or protect my king.
My eyes scan the pieces on the screen in front of me, like I’m a spy looking for clues. Finally, I figure it out. I move my knight to d4 and capture the queen.
Solved! appears on the screen. I smile to myself, because it feels good to win.
I press next and jump into a new situation. It’s tricky. But I recognize the pattern immediately, and I know what to do.
I’ve won five in a row when Mom opens the door to my room without knocking. “Oh, um, hi,” she says, like she’s surprised to see me dressed and ready to go.
“What’s up?” I ask, even though it’s obvious that she thought I was still sleeping.
“I came to check on you.” She walks over and sits down next to me, smelling like lavender and fresh laundry.
“One of the doctors I called yesterday—Dr. Gold—had a last-minute cancellation and the other people on her waiting list couldn’t take the appointment. Not all psychiatrists do evaluations but Dr. Gold does. She thinks we can have a consultation and complete the testing in two days—next Monday and Tuesday. Isn’t that great?”
“Wait—what? No.” I’m doing everything I can to not scream, because I know Mom won’t listen to me if I start yelling. That’s a rule in our house. And I need her to hear what I’m saying. “Please. Don’t make me go. Our first tournament is next Saturday. I need to prove myself before I miss practice.”
Mom looks confused. “I thought you’d be happy to get this done in two days and sorted out at the beginning of the season, when the matches don’t matter as much.”
“You made that up! That’s not a thing.” My voice comes out too loud. “Please cancel the appointment. I don’t want to get behind in chess and then have to catch up. I’m already doing that in everything else. I want to keep winning.”
“I can’t do that, Clea. Her next opening isn’t for months. We need to figure out what’s going on as soon as possible. I can call Mr. Lee and talk to him. I’m sure he’ll make an exception and let you play in the tournament. You’re only missing two days.”
That’s when I realize Mom has no clue how the team works or what it takes to get to compete in tournaments. She thinks chess is some cute hobby that doesn’t matter, when it means everything to me. “I should be the one to talk to Mr. Lee,” I say. “He’s my coach. I want him to know I’m responsible and serious about chess.”
“Great idea.” She smiles at me, so at least I know she’ll stay out of it.
* * *
When I get to school, Red is waiting for me at our bench like always. I drop my backpack and sit down next to him. “The ADHD test is on Monday and Tuesday.”
“I thought it was supposed to take a while,” he says.
“Me too. But I guess not. I need to tell Mr. Lee today.”
“I’ll go with you. I can back you up. Tell him how good you are and stuff.”
“I’m not letting you do that,” I say. “He likes you.”
“He likes you, too.”
I roll my eyes.
Red goes on. “Mr. Lee is all about players who work hard and win—aka you. You’ve already won one match, and if you win two more times, you’re going to get picked.”
“I’ve never won three matches in a row,” I say.
“You’ve never had to.” He grins.
“That’s true.” I smile back, because he’s right. I don’t have a choice.
After the bell rings, I go straight to math. Ms. Curtis is there, sitting in the back of the room by the door. She pins her honey-colored hair off her pale white face and fans herself with her notes. I accidentally make eye contact with her, and then glance away as fast as I can. I don’t want anyone to figure out that she’s here for me. It’s embarrassing enough that I bombed my author project. The last thing I need is for everyone in our grade to find out that the school thinks there’s something wrong with me.
I walk to the front of the room and pick a seat by the window, really far away from Ms. Curtis. I do my best not to look at her too many times, even though I really want to know how I’m doing and I can’t help myself or stop my head from turning. Also, I wonder if she’s been staring at me the entire time, making it super obvious why she’s here, or if she’s actually playing it cool. I know that pretty soon she’s going to figure out that I don’t have ADHD. Eventually it will be clear, and even though I already know I’m not smart and that’s the reason I keep messing up, I think it will be a lot harder for me once everyone else knows.
After math, I have history and then Spanish. Ms. Curtis is in the back of each of those classes, too. The only good part of the day so far is that Señora Campo decides not to count the pop quiz, because a lot of people didn’t do their best, which is awesome news for me. I peek a bunch of times to see what Ms. Curtis is doing—mostly writing things down in her notebook and looking around the room and then back at me.
When I get to the lab, Ms. Curtis isn’t there, like maybe she’s finally done being my super stalker.
Dr. Kapoor explains the experiment we’re going to be doing in class today, and then she lets us pick our partners. The second she’s finished explaining the instructions I walk as fast as I can over to Sanam, because she’s smart and good at everything in school. On my way to her desk, I accidentally bump into the corner of a table. It hurts, but I keep moving until I’m standing next to her. “Do you want to work together?”
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