The Next To Last Mistake

by Jahn, Amalie

  Not changing would be the destructive thing.

  These truths crash down upon me, consuming me whole in the way my dad always warned the feed would should I ever find myself trapped inside the silo. It spills over my head, building around me, threatening to suffocate me if I don’t keep pushing myself to the surface. It might be easier to surrender myself to it. To let it all overtake me.

  To allow myself to love him.

  “You okay?” Leonetta whispers, breaking me from my trance. A line of sweat has beaded along my brow.

  I look at her, her soulful, ebony eyes full of compassion and concern.

  “I don’t know,” I stammer. And I seriously don’t know. What I am certain of is I don’t want to be here anymore. Here at lit circle. Here at M.A. Hopkins Senior High School. Here in Fayetteville. I want to be in my barn or up my tree. Anywhere but here.

  I stand without making eye contact with anyone else in the room, especially Mrs. Alexander who’ll block me from leaving if given the opportunity. I gather my books hastily into my arms and run for the door. After skidding into the hallway, I make a beeline out to the student parking lot.

  By the time I get there, Leonetta is already waiting for me, leaning against the hood of my car.

  “Shortcut,” she says as I approach. “There’s a delivery corridor behind the closest stairwell to Mrs. Alexander’s room. Comes out right over there.” She nods toward a door on the side of the building, not twenty feet from where we’re standing.

  Despite the storm raging inside me, I grin at her. She’s a good friend. A great friend. I should’ve known she’d come after me.

  “What’s going on?” she asks as I sidle up beside her.

  I consider saying ‘nothing’ and leaving it at that. I don’t want to talk about my epiphany, but I can’t lie to her. She’ll see right through me.

  “You remember the guy, Zander, my friend from back in Iowa?”

  “The one you talk about all the time?”

  I glare at her. “Not all the time,” I say.

  It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow at me.

  “Okay, I talk about him sometimes,” I concede. But then I stop. I can’t find the words to go on.

  “What about him?” Leonetta urges, nudging me with an elbow.

  “I…” I’ve never said the words aloud and it’s harder than I thought it was going to be. “I love him,” I say finally.

  She makes a small sound. A bit like a laugh but more like a contented coo, as if she’s a baby and I’ve been tickling her toes. “I know,” she says.

  It feels almost like she’s punched me in the gut.

  “You know?” I say. “How is that even possible? You’ve never even met him.”

  She lays a hand on my shoulder, and if it had been anyone else doing it I would have thought it condescending, but since it’s Leonetta I’m certain she’s being sincere.

  “Honey, that wistful look you get whenever you talk about him… There’s never been any doubt in my mind about your feelings for him.” She narrows her eyes at me, searching for something in the lines of my face. “Don’t tell me you’re just now figuring it out.”

  Am I just now figuring it out?

  “I’m afraid we might end up like Catherine and Heathcliff because we’re exactly like them, and I don’t want that for us. We were kids together. We grew up together. We have this thing between us that’s so much bigger than simple friendship. When Catherine says ‘I am Heathcliff,’ I totally relate. Because I am Zander, whether I want to be or not. I can’t separate myself from him because so much of who I am is tied to who he is. Our history is long and deep. But since we’ve been apart, things have changed.” I take a deep breath, surprised at how easily all of this is flowing out, but I focus, forcing myself to come to the point. “What destroyed Catherine and Heathcliff was their refusal to embrace change. They didn’t let their love mature. If my friendship with Zander is going to survive, it’s what we need to do.”

  Leonetta shrugs. “So, you gonna tell him?”

  My heart stops. “Tell him I love him?”

  She slides off the hood of my car. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know if I can. At least not right now. Not while we’re so far apart.” She scowls at me. “I will, though, eventually. Maybe this summer if he comes to visit.”

  “What if he never comes to visit?” she asks.

  Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. “He’ll come,” I tell her. “He has to.”

  chapter 24

  Zugzwang

  Saturday, April 27

  Dad’s battalion is on DRF 1, which stands for Division Ready Force—battle-ready status. What this means is he’s not supposed to go too far outside Fayetteville because if something catastrophic were to happen in the world, his unit could be expected to deploy in less than three hours. As my most enthusiastic groupie, however, even threats of the apocalypse couldn’t dissuade him from accompanying me to the regional chess competition in Durham. After the hour-and-a-half drive, he still can’t keep the excitement out of his voice as we enter the venue.

  “It’s killing your mom not to be here,” he tells me as we approach the registration line in the lobby of the Courtyard Hotel where the tournament is taking place. “But Ashley still needs to be driven everywhere, so…”

  “I know,” I say, taking a step forward as another participant receives her nametag and packet ahead of me. “It’s okay. I’m glad you were able to come,” I add. “I just hope you won’t get in trouble for being here.”

  He drapes a confident arm around my shoulder as we continue to shuffle forward. “You worry about winning today, and I’ll worry about my Commanding Officer. Besides, if I get a call, I can make it back in time. You just might need to catch a ride home with one of your teammates.” He squeezes me into his chest. “Nothing’s gonna happen, though. I promise.”

  The line continues to grow behind us, and we fall into comfortable silence for several minutes. Then, with an air of wonder, he asks, “How does this whole event even work?” I can tell by the way he’s watching the torrent of people streaming through the door, he’s impressed by the sheer number of participants and spectators the tournament has attracted. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I take another step forward and begin explaining it to him, hoping a simple recitation will ease my mounting anxiety as well. “Each school sends at least one team. Each team consists of four members. For our school, it’s me, Cameron, Devon, and Kallie. We each get to play three games, win or lose, and we get points for winning. The team with the most points at the end of the competition wins. The school gets money, and I think there’s some kind of trophy involved.”

  “Wouldn’t it be exciting to win?” he says as we take another step forward.

  “I don’t have high hopes,” I say. “We’re sorta the Bad News Bears of chess.”

  We reach the table. “Well,” he says, “even though none of you have ever played in a tournament before, you shouldn’t be intimidated. You’ve beaten me, and I’m a helluva player.”

  I roll my eyes at him as I accept my name tag and schedule from a frazzled-looking volunteer. My three timed matches are at ten o’clock, one o’clock, and three o’clock. Awards are presented at four o’clock. It’s gonna be a long day.

  “Hey, Tess!” a voice calls from across the room.

  Cameron, his mother Corrine, and our teammates Devon and Kallie have set up camp at a table in the corner of the hotel lobby. After introductions are made, they offer us glazed donuts from the Krispy Kreme box they brought. While we eat, the four of us pass around our registration sheets, comparing schedules, and I’m excited to discover, depending on how quickly my games end, I should have an opportunity to watch each of my teammates play at least once. And everyone should be able to watch me since I’m the only one who has a game in the first timeslot at ten o’clock.

  Moments later the welcoming announcements crackle over the loudspeaker. “Everyone scheduled to play in the f
irst round should report to their assigned locations immediately. Spectators should move into the allotted viewing areas indicated by the yellow sections on your map. Thank you all for your participation in today’s tournament and remember, in the words of the great chess champion Emanuel Lasker, ‘When you see a good move, look for a better one.’”

  “Go get ‘em, kid,” Dad says, backing away toward the spectators’ area. “You got this.”

  I manage a weak smile, overwhelmed by the fear of disappointing him. I want to make him proud. I need to make him proud.

  It isn’t long before I’m three-quarters of the way through my first match. Having randomly selected the black pieces at the start, I began the game at a decided disadvantage, having to react to my opponent’s opening move instead of choosing my own. I’m used to this though; for most of my life, my dad never let me play white. Only black.

  His tutelage carries me through to the end of the match as I place my opponent, a buff, sweater-vest-wearing senior, in checkmate.

  Spectators aren’t allowed to cheer or applaud to avoid disturbing other ongoing matches, but as the judge confirms my win, I can almost hear my dad breathe a sigh of relief from across the room.

  He’s not the only one.

  Cameron beats his first opponent with little to no effort, and after Kallie loses to an innocent looking girl in pigtails who turns out to be a veritable wolf in sheep’s clothes, we break for lunch. Cameron’s mom heads out to get drive-thru from McDonald’s, and after returning with the food, the team regroups to discuss strategies over Big Macs and excessively-salted fries.

  “Interesting opening move,” my dad says to Cameron in an attempt to make small talk with him after noticing he hasn’t spoken to anyone since lunch began.

  Cameron looks up from his burger, genuinely confused. “Interesting how?”

  Dad takes a sip of his pop and shrugs. “Pawn to A3 isn’t something you see every day, that’s all.”

  “Taking your opponent by surprise is a proven winning strategy,” Cameron tells him with pokerfaced conviction.

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Dad laughs. “Tess beat me with one of your crazy openers not too long ago. I hope for your sake you’re able to catch all your opponents off guard today the way she did with me.”

  “Of course, I will.”

  I can’t help but smile at Cameron’s confidence and hope he won’t be too disappointed if his strategy eventually fails him.

  “Don’t you think the end game is as important as the opening?” my dad asks, and I throw him a look I hope conveys it would be best to retract his line of questioning. Debating the importance of opening strategies with Cameron is akin to opening Pandora’s box.

  “There can be no end game without a strong foundation. Sometimes the foundation is rooted in your own strength and sometimes in your opponent’s weakness. I happen to like the challenge of making the most of my opponent’s vulnerabilities.”

  Since he’s already finished his, Dad grabs a few fries from my bag. “What happens if you go up against someone who doesn’t get flustered by your quirky opening move?”

  “It’s called the long game,” Cameron deadpans.

  This sets my dad into a fit of hysterics and the rest of us, including Cameron’s own mother, can’t help but laugh along.

  “My long game is legendary,” Cameron continues, glancing around at us, the humor of his intense persona completely lost on him.

  Once we’ve settled ourselves and placated Cameron, it isn’t long before the afternoon sessions are announced. We wish each other luck, and as I head across the lobby in the direction of my second match, a curious sensation crawls up my spine—someone is watching me. I turn back to see Dad gazing wistfully in my direction, but the instant our eyes meet he rearranges his face into an enthusiastic grin. He gives me a thumbs up, and I return the gesture but can’t help but wonder why he initially looked so pensive. Is he worried about my match? Afraid I can’t handle a loss? Because I honestly don’t care at all about the winning or the losing.

  At the end of the day, all I need is the warmth of his pride. It’s really all I’ve ever wanted.

  As it turns out, I lose my second game, completely outmatched from the start. My opponent is a shrewd ninth grader from a local high school here in Durham. Her eyes are warm and wide and doe-like, causing me to immediately underestimate her. Perhaps the inability to read people is my fatal flaw.

  She determines her moves with little hesitation after my turns are complete, making it appear as if the only deliberations are coming from my side of the table. This flusters me, and I begin making rash decisions, one after another, in an attempt to give her less time to contemplate her strategy while I’m laboring over my own. The technique backfires, leaving me, and by default my king, with nowhere left to hide.

  Dad and I are watching Kallie from the spectator’s section, waiting to be called for my third and final match when he says, “Too bad about being put into zugzwang at the end of your game.” I have no idea what he means, and he must sense my confusion because he immediately explains. “You were down to your last five pieces, trying to protect your king with the rook, but since your other three pieces had nowhere to go, you were forced to move the rook simply because you had to take your turn.” He runs his hands against the velvety crew cut on the back of his head. “It’s called a zugzwang—having to move even though you don’t want to because you don’t have the option of staying where you are.”

  The notion of moving across the country when I didn’t want to back in January and the irony of the terminology isn’t lost on me. Apparently, it isn’t lost on Dad either because now he’s grinning at me like he’s afraid of getting punched.

  “Too soon?” he asks.

  I do punch him good-naturedly in the bicep and say, “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  The smile fades from his lips and eyes and is replaced by genuine concern. “Are you really, Tess? Are you certain? Because I need to be sure you’re okay. And if there’s anything I can do to help…”

  I interrupt before he becomes overwrought with sentimentality, something he’s known for. I can tell the guilt of dragging me here to North Carolina is tearing at him. Perhaps it’s because he still misses the farm and the life and the people we left behind, too.

  “I already told you, Dad, I’m fine. It hasn’t been an easy adjustment, but how can I complain when I get to come here and do this?” I stretch out my arms, indicating the tournament. “I never got to participate in anything like this back in Iowa.”

  He chuckles. “No. That’s true enough.” He keeps looking at me, searching, as though he’s still not convinced. As if I’m merely appeasing him. “What about friends?” he says at last.

  I shrug. “What about them?”

  “I dunno. It seems like your teammates are a lot different from the ones back at East Chester.” He thumbs over his shoulder to indicate the rest of the chess club. “Do you all have much in common, outside of chess?”

  “No. Not really. But it’s okay,” I tell him. “We get along fine.”

  Before he’s able to continue grilling me, we hear the announcement encouraging those of us participating in the final round to make our way to our assigned locations.

  “That’s me,” I say, popping out of my seat. “See you on the flip side.”

  My final match encompasses all the best chess has to offer. Skill. Patience. Integrity. Thoughtfulness. And even a little bit of luck. The best part, however, is placing my opponent in checkmate and turning to the spectator’s section for the first time since the start of the game. Beside my dad, grinning and waving like a bunch of maniacs, are Summer, Alice, and Leonetta. They’re all hyped up as if they’ve come to cheer at a step competition instead of a chess tournament. As soon as my win is confirmed by the judges, I shake hands with my opponent and race across the conference room to where my small but mighty cheering section awaits.

  “I have no idea what just happened,” Leonetta
says as I approach, gathering me into her arms, “but whatever it was, you looked like you owned it.”

  “She totally owned it,” Alice agrees, “and that’s coming from someone who knows slightly more than nothing about chess.”

  I laugh, still trying to get over the shock of their arrival. “Why are you here?” I ask.

  Alice nods towards my dad. “Somebody gave me all the details after one of our study sessions a few weeks back. Plus, we all had prom shopping to do, and your tournament gave us the perfect excuse to venture outside of Fayetteville. Now we’re certain nobody else will show up to the dance with our dresses.”

  Summer glares at Alice. “It was mostly to see you, though, Tess,” she adds.

  “It means a lot that you guys would drive all this way,” I say. And it’s true. I’m overwhelmed. Zander is the only other person I can think of who would drive hours to watch me play.

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Leonetta says.

  “Seriously, girl, you’ve been working all semester for this,” Alice adds. “We’re so glad we got to see you win.”

  Off to the side, Dad’s grinning, hands in his pockets staring at his shoes. He knows he’s the reason Leonetta, Alice, and Summer are here, and it placates his guilt over moving me in the first place. He sees for himself I’m okay. And I have friends. Real friends.

  Friends who will drive hours to watch a thirty-minute game of chess they couldn’t possibly care less about.

  Because what they care about is me.

  It’s not long before the final matches end, and Kallie, Devon, Cameron, and his mother join us in the center of the conference room waiting for the awards to be announced. We’ve all done pretty well but are still surprised to discover we’ve placed eighth out of over thirty teams. We congratulate one another with hugs and high fives and fist bumps.

  “Not bad for our first year,” Cameron concedes. “We’ll win the trophy next year.”

  It’s funny, but it feels to me like I already have.

  chapter 25