It’s hard for me to concentrate on what he’s saying, because people keep walking by the door, and I can’t help but look to see if any of them are Red.
“Chess may sometimes feel like an individual game, but it’s not. We’re a team,” Mr. Lee says. “The only way to win is if we work together, those who are playing today and those who aren’t. Whether it’s your first tournament or your twentieth, competing on this level is challenging.” His eyes wander around the circle, landing on each of us. I wonder if he’s noticed that Red is missing. “In some ways it gets easier, and in other ways, it’s always hard. I hope you will all be encouraging and supportive of one another throughout the day.”
I glance at the door again. It’s still not Red. I’m starting to worry that maybe his mom made him go to New Hampshire. Now I wish I’d checked my phone.
“Twelve of you will be representing our team today. You’ve each played very well over the last few weeks and proved that you’re ready to compete.” Mr. Lee looks at his notes.
I take a deep breath. I really hope my name is on the list. It has to be.
“Mateo and Lily,” Mr. Lee says, then looks at each of them before his eyes drop back down into his notebook. “Quinn, Ajay, and Pari.” He scans the group. Quinn smiles, looking around at everyone, like she wants to make sure the whole team heard her name called. That’s five of the twelve spots. Breathe. There are still seven left. “Layla, Ethan, and Red,” Mr. Lee says. Okay, now, four. But it’s fine. Don’t freak out yet. “Has anyone seen Red?” Mr. Lee asks. His eyes sweep across the room, and then weave back around in search of him. I think there’s someone by the door. But the person keeps walking. It’s not him.
Sanam and a few other people look at me.
Only, I don’t have the answer.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” Dylan says, like maybe he knows something I don’t. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does.
“Okay.” Mr. Lee drags out the word and shakes his head, so we know it’s actually not okay at all. “Moving on,” he says. “Ella and Isaac.” Now there are only two spots left and he still hasn’t called Dylan or Sanam, which is really not great, since they both have a lot of experience playing in tournaments, and if I were Mr. Lee, I’d definitely pick either of them over me, especially now that Red isn’t here. “Dylan.”
“Score.” Dylan fist-bumps Isaac.
“And last but not least—Clea.” He says my name so fast I almost miss it. Except he’s looking right at me, so I know it’s real. He picked me! I’m playing in the tournament! “And since Red isn’t here, let’s go ahead and have Harrison sub in for him.”
“You’re playing!” Sanam shrieks. Her voice sounds happy, but she’s staring at the floor, like her head is so heavy she can barely hold it up.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
She wipes her eyes on her jersey, and I can see how disappointed she is that she’s not playing. “I’m really happy for you.” She looks up at me, like she wants me to know she means it.
“Thanks,” I say, because it feels good to have her on my side.
“Hands in,” Mr. Lee says. I follow everyone else’s lead and put my hand in the middle of the circle. “Win on three,” he says. “One, two, three …”
“Win!” everyone shouts at the exact same time. I feel chills up and down my arms, and adrenaline pumping through me.
Mr. Lee makes a few announcements about what we’re supposed to do between games. We’re divided into quads for this tournament, which means I’ll play three rounds of chess today. When Mr. Lee is done explaining everything, I rush over to my bag and pull out my phone as fast as I can to find out what’s going on with Red. Only, I don’t have any messages from him. No missed calls or voice mails or texts. Nothing.
Are you okay? I write to him. I stare at my phone, willing him to write back before someone notices I’m standing here, instead of checking the pairing list and taking my seat. When I look up again, most of the team has cleared out of the room. I’m alone, and he still hasn’t written back. I put my phone on vibrate, slip it into my pocket, even though it’s against the rules, and sprint down the hall to find my name. I’m playing black and my opponent is someone named Ruby Jacobson.
Most people are already in their seats by the time I walk into the cafeteria and look around the room for my board. Even though technically no one is talking, it’s even louder in here than it was in the hall. Every whisper and sigh echoes off the walls, bouncing around the room and back at me. When I spot my board in the middle of the center table, I walk over, shake Ruby’s hand, and sit down across from her. She has wide eyes, long red hair in a French braid, and a freckly face. I really wish the copper streaks didn’t remind me of Red, and the fact that I still haven’t felt my phone vibrate.
There are people on all sides of me, and the boards feel cramped even closer together today than during practice, even though I don’t think they are. I can feel my shoulders scrunch together, like I’m trying to make myself smaller so that I have more space and air and quiet to myself. Only, it doesn’t help. There’s a heavy breather on my left, and the girl on my right sounds like a cow chomping down on too many pieces of cinnamon gum. The strong smell makes me queasy. I don’t know if it’s because the room is bigger or because there are more people than I’m used to, but I can’t turn off all the noises—pencils and fingernails tapping and scratching. I’m suffocating on other people’s sounds.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that Mr. Lee picked me to represent our team. I can’t let everyone down. I visualize my pawns keeping each other safe, so that hopefully in the endgame they can get promoted and help me win my first round. I can do this. I open my chess notebook and pick up my pencil. Move. Let go. Tap. Write. I sing the words over in my head.
I tap the clock and Ruby makes her first move.
I slide one of my pawns out, responding to Ruby. We go back and forth a few times, and I can tell right away that she’s good. Not better than me on my best day, but today doesn’t feel like that. I’m not in the zone. I glance away from the board so many times, which I never do. I try to concentrate for long enough to chart my next few steps, but the girl with the gum is slurping and swallowing and gnawing, and I’m pretty sure my phone is buzzing in my pocket. I don’t let myself look away from the board. I move my rook over and capture the enemy queen. But I can’t stop worrying about Red.
Ruby takes out my bishop with hers, giving her direct access to my king.
I slide my king over one square, tap the clock, write down both of our moves, and look back up as fast as I can, because I need to know what she does next.
There are adults on the other side of the doors that separate the cafeteria and the hallway, “whispering” and setting up snacks, like they don’t realize we’re all in here trying to play chess. Mr. Lee walks over to them holding his finger up to his mouth, and they immediately stop talking, but it reminds me how many other noises there are and how distracted I am.
I look back down at the board, because I need to focus on what’s happening in front of me. It’s the only way I’m going to win.
Ruby moves her pawn up one square, smiles with her eyes, and taps the clock.
My king is in danger. I just need to find a place to move. Only every square is taken by one of my pieces or under direct attack by one of her bishops.
“Checkmate,” Ruby says.
It’s over. Just like that. She’s won.
When I look up, Ruby is already standing with her hand out. “Good game.”
“Good game,” I say, but my words barely make it out. I lost. I don’t understand why I couldn’t get in the zone.
I hide out in the bathroom between rounds, because I don’t want to see Quinn or Dylan or anyone else who will make me feel even worse than I already do. I lock the door and take my phone out of my pocket to look at Red’s message, except there isn’t one. He still hasn’t written back.
I want to tell him that I lost my first tou
rnament game, because he’ll know exactly what to say to make me feel better. But I don’t, because he’s not here, and it seems like wherever he is he doesn’t have his phone, and I’m starting to get the sense that something is really, really wrong.
I hope you’re okay, I text.
My phone buzzes back right away. I’m here, he writes.
I rush out of the bathroom, into the team room, and over to Red. “What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “I was late.”
“I know, but I mean, are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He sounds annoyed.
“You don’t seem fine,” I say.
“Stop. I don’t want to talk to you.” He gives me a look I’ve never seen before, like he doesn’t get what my problem is or why I’m standing here.
“Dude,” Dylan shouts, walking over to us. “You’re here. Everything cool?”
“It’s all good, bro,” Red says. “I’m just annoyed I can’t forget the drama and crush some people in chess.”
“For real,” Dylan says, and they high-five.
My cheeks are burning and probably red by now, so it’s obvious that I’m hurt, because I get that something happened and he told Dylan, not me, even though we’re best friends who tell each other everything. And it’s not okay, but I don’t say that, because it kind of has to be.
I run my fingers through my hair, which is still wet and a little sticky in the back like I didn’t wash it. Only, I did. Something about the way it feels makes me itchy and uncomfortable. I want to take another shower and start this whole day over.
After the break, I check the pairing list and head back to the middle of the cafeteria for round two. I’m basically in the same seat as last time, only on the other side of the long table and over one board. I’m playing white this round. I stare at the pieces, thinking through my strategy and trying to find my way into the chess tunnel, where it’s safe and noise-free, before my new opponent, Amir, and everyone else takes their seats.
I keep thinking that my phone is humming against my leg and that maybe it’s Red apologizing or explaining what happened. He didn’t even ask if I got picked to play. But when I slide my phone out of my pocket and turn on the screen to check, there are no new messages.
A tall cute boy with brown hair and skin sits down across from me. His eyes stay glued to the board between us, and I’m so jealous of how focused he looks, I could scream. I cover my mouth with both hands to make sure that doesn’t happen.
I spend the entire match looking around the room, down at my pencil, at the tag on my shirt that’s rubbing against my skin, and at the boy next to me who keeps chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek and cracking his knuckles.
Amir only glances away from the board once—the first time he taps the clock to start the match. It only takes him twenty moves to beat me, which is embarrassing.
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I need to do something fast. I only have one more round to prove that I’m not a total flop.
I walk as fast as I can out of the cafeteria without drawing attention to myself and try my best to disappear into the crowded hall, heading straight for the door, because I need fresh air or a change of scenery or something to help me concentrate.
“Clea,” Sanam says, stopping me by the apple cider. “How’s it going?”
“Okay,” I say, then keep walking until I’m outside, where it’s cool and quiet and there’s space to think. I sit down on one of the benches in front of the building, close my eyes, and breathe.
When I open them again, Sanam is standing in front of me, holding two paper cups. “I didn’t believe you.” She hands me a cider and sits down.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of the warm juice.
“You’re welcome.” She doesn’t say anything else. We’re both quiet for a few minutes. And even though everything feels hard right now, it’s nice not to be alone.
“I lost,” I say. “Twice. I can’t win.”
“You have to.” She looks right at me. “We’re counting on you.”
“It’s too late.” I shake my head.
“It’s not. Seriously. Every round is important. You still have another chance. This game could be the difference between winning the tournament and not. Mr. Lee was probably only counting on you to win one game anyway. It’s your first tournament. So, one out of three would be totally respectable. I swear”—she pauses—“on the championship.”
I nod, because I know how serious Sanam is about our team being the best. “I keep messing up, because I’m—” I stop myself. This can’t be happening. It’s that thing Dr. Gold was talking about where my brain keeps getting interrupted. “This has never ever happened to me during chess.” Chess isn’t like everything else.
“Tournaments are different than practice. It’s a lot harder to concentrate.”
If Sanam has a hard time focusing during tournaments, I don’t have a chance. “What do you do?” I ask.
“I try to remind myself to look at the whole board, even if all the action is happening in one area. Before I take my turn, I zoom out for a second and make sure I’m not missing a sneak attack or an opportunity. It’s easy to forget the big picture and lose focus when there are so many things happening in the room.”
“Yeah. Seriously,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I can do that.”
“You can. Mr. Lee wouldn’t have picked you if he didn’t think you could win. You’re good, and I’m not saying that because we’re friends. Just go back in there and play your best.”
“Okay.” I know she’s right. I can win.
We still have a little time before the final round. I find Mom, Dad, and Henley by the donuts. “You got picked!” Henley shouts as soon as she sees me.
“I did.” I put my arm around her.
“This is very exciting,” Dad says.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Did you win?” Henley looks up at me. “The fortune-teller said so.”
“Not yet. But I will.” I try to sound sure of myself.
“Because you’re the best at chess!” she says.
I pull Henley in close and hold on tight, hoping a little of her confidence will rub off on me before it’s time to play again.
I don’t want to feel rushed going into the next game, so I walk back into the cafeteria and find my seat in the middle of the room—again. There’s only one other person at the long table when I get there: Dylan. He’s next to me. I accidentally make eye contact with him when I sit down, and then look away as fast as I can, because I need to concentrate. I can’t afford to be distracted by him or Red or anything else. Only, he’s making that impossible, because I can feel him staring at me.
We aren’t supposed to talk in the cafeteria at all, but most of the seats are empty, and all the coaches are on the other side of the room. So I turn my head to look at Dylan, because I want to get this over with and focus on winning my last game.
“What?” I ask.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes and then does it again, like he’s nervous and isn’t sure what to do with his hands. “I feel really bad for Red.” His voice is soft and serious, like he’s trying to actually talk to me. “I can’t believe it, you know? I didn’t think things could get worse.”
“Yeah.” I nod and act like I know exactly what’s going on, because I don’t want to admit that I have no clue what he’s talking about or think about the fact that Red doesn’t want to talk to me about whatever it is.
“It’s like no one even cares about him. His dad is all like ‘Barb and I got married and we’re having a baby, so she’s in your family now. Deal with it.’ ”
WHAT?! My stomach clenches. It feels like I just got kicked in the gut, and there are so many questions spinning and swirling around in my brain. How could his dad get married without telling them? Why didn’t he invite them? Didn’t he want them there? They’re having a baby?
“You didn’t know,” Dylan says.
I think ab
out denying it. I don’t need Dylan to rub it in that Red told him and not me and make me feel even worse. But I’m still in shock, and before I have a chance to say or do anything, he says, “Please don’t tell him I told you. I swear I thought you knew.” His voice is shaky, like maybe keeping Red’s secret actually matters to him, which is weird, because until right now I didn’t realize anything mattered to Dylan.
“You can’t tell anyone else,” I say.
“I won’t. I haven’t,” he says right back. “I promise.”
“You better not be lying,” I say.
“I swear. He told me last night, and you’re seriously the only person I’ve talked to since then, other than him.” Why didn’t Red tell me what happened? Why would he pick Dylan? “You believe me, right?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, because I guess I do. I bite down on the inside of my mouth and then look at the board in front of me. I take a deep breath and try to find my way into the tunnel. I still have a chance to make a comeback. Sanam said so. Right now I need to forget about Red and Dylan and win my match.
A few minutes later, my new opponent, Regan, is sitting across from me. I glance up right before we start playing, and then I don’t look away again for the entire game. I follow Sanam’s advice and remind myself to scan the whole board every time it’s my turn to make a move. Zoom out. Move. Let go. Tap. Write.
Only it doesn’t matter that my eyes are laser focused, because my thoughts are pinging from Red to the baby to all the things I could have done to make him not want to tell me … then back to the board. I’m trying so hard to concentrate, but before I realize what’s happening—ping—I’m on to the next thing. It’s like my brain is on scan, shuffling through radio stations, and there’s no way to press stop. No matter what I do, I can’t get my mind to stay in one place, on one track—on chess.
I don’t have time to think ahead or come up with a plan for my pieces, and without a strategy, there’s no way I can win.
When the third round is finally over, and I’ve officially lost all three games, the adrenaline pumping through me starts to evaporate. My eyes are heavy. I’m having a hard time keeping them open. I can’t stop yawning. I could fall asleep standing up on my walk from the cafeteria to the team room, which is all happy and hopeful and makes everything worse.
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