by Rich Wallace
The game has been brutal, but Zeke has virtually no way to win it. His only real hope is a draw, to lure Randy into a stalemate.
Randy has been moving his last remaining pawn up the board toward promotion. Zeke's king and his lone pawn are stacked on the edge of the board, with the king in the seventh rank and the pawn one spot in front of it. Randy's king is in the next spot in that file, blocking Zeke's pawn from moving.
Randy advances his pawn. It's three spaces to the side of Zeke's king and one move away from promotion.
Zeke shifts the king one space to the side, still protecting his pawn. Randy promotes his pawn, then leans back to make a decision.
Zeke quickly reviews all of Randy's possible exchanges. The queen is nearly always the right choice for promotion, but is it in this case? A knight would put Zeke in immediate check, but he'd have five different moves to get out of it. Only one of those moves would really make sense, because he still needs to protect his pawn from Randy's king. And then Randy's advantage would be slimmer, because checkmating with just a knight and a king is difficult.
But the queen's dexterity can backfire in a case like this, too easily putting the king in a spot where it is not in checkmate but has no legal moves. Stalemate means starting over. Again.
It'd serve Pramod right to have to wait another hour, Zeke thinks. But Randy does the logical thing and promotes to a queen.
Zeke has just one legal move, and he shifts the king to his right. Randy brings the queen into the same rank.
Zeke moves his king to the corner of the board, three spaces down from Randy's king. That exposes his pawn, of course, and Randy takes it with his king.
There is only one move Zeke can make. He shifts his king to the left.
Randy gives a tight smile, nods to his brother, and moves his queen directly in front of Zeke's king, protected by his own.
Checkmate.
Zeke lets out his breath in a steady, low whistle. “Well done,” he says softly, pushing back his chair.
“Best game I've played all weekend,” Randy says.
“In your life, you mean.” Zeke laughs. No excuses. For the first time, a loss doesn't feel all that deflating. He came back from the dead and beat Pham, he knocked out the number one seed, and he just came within a couple of moves of stalemate against a pretty damn good player, a player he'd all but beaten in that screwed-up game after lunch.
No sore wrist, no momentum killer, just an all-out effort that came up short.
ELEVEN
Declining Offers
Dina steps out of the bathroom in Randy's hotel room just as he's putting his photo of her into his gym bag. He looks up and says, “Hi.”
“Hi.” She stands near the door and says, “Big room.”
Randy suddenly feels awkward with her, standing between two unmade beds, even though they've been in the room alone for less than two minutes. “Zeke slept here,” he says.
“Oh. Because you were lonesome?”
“No.”
“He was?”
“No… We just got to talking, so he stayed.”
Dina's been around enough to know that Randy and Zeke can go months at a time without saying anything but a few hostile words to each other. “He seems nice today,” she says.
“He's got the capacity.”
“So you two actually talked?”
“Incredible, isn't it?”
Randy walks to the bathroom to make sure he hasn't left anything. “I guess that's it,” he says. “We need to go.”
“Did you guys have fun?” Dina asks.
Randy puffs out his cheeks, thinks it over for a second, and decides that they did. “We're going to coach soccer together. Little kids. Can you believe that? Me and him.”
“Wow,” she says. “Never thought I'd see that. Maybe it won't be two against one all the time anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Zeke and your father against you.”
“Is it that obvious?”
She laughs. “Did you actually think that it wasn't?”
Back in the conference room, Zeke sits next to Dina and turns to his mom. “No sign of Dad?”
“Not lately,” she says.
“You think he'll show?”
She frowns and shrugs. “Knowing him, yes. He'll act as if nothing happened. Like he always does.”
“He's killing us, Mom.”
She shrugs. “I guess he is.”
“Randy would be okay without him.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business, Zeke.”
“He can see him every weekend. And I'll … keep an eye on Randy.” He lowers his voice even further. “Plus, he's got… her.”
Dina taps Zeke on the shoulder, and he turns, hoping she didn't hear that last comment.
“This guy is really good?” she asks.
“Pramod? He's good. We'll see how good. He managed to get through five entire rounds without facing another seeded player, but that's just how it goes sometimes.”
“Because he looks like an excellent chess player, but he also looks too confident for his own good… Like you do sometimes, you know?”
Zeke laughs gently. “You noticed that, huh?”
“You can't really not notice that about someone… Sometimes I think maybe Randy's too nice for his own good. In chess, I mean.”
“He might surprise you… In chess, I mean.”
“Yeah. I don't think he could ever be mean in real life.”
“No.”
“Sarcastic, yeah. But never unkind. Not Randy.”
Randy takes his seat and starts setting up the black pieces. Pramod has his white pawns on the board, but apparently he's been waiting for Randy before setting up the others. He picks up a bishop and glances back and forth from it to the board, then puts it in the wrong spot. Then he sets up his other seven pieces incorrectly and waits for Randy to notice.
The door opens, and two adults enter the room. Randy can tell immediately that the man has to be Pramod's father—his skin is a shade darker, but the cut of his jaw and the narrow nose are the same—and the woman, who is white, is probably Pramod's mom. They scurry to the back row and sit down.
“I'm not sure, but I think you've got those horsey things and the castles in the wrong place,” Randy says.
“Yeah,” Pramod says slowly. He lifts his fist to his jaw, as if he's trying to recall the right positions.
“The championship match will begin in one minute,” says Dr. Kerrigan.
Pramod, all business now, fixes the setup and gives Randy a hard stare.
Both players are tentative in the early going, seeking to gain control of the center but not risking any material in doing so.
Randy's been waiting uneasily all afternoon for that door handle to jiggle and his father to slip into the room. They're five minutes into the game when he shows up as predicted, tiptoeing in and hunching low as he walks to the folding chair at the end of the line. As if no one would even notice.
The Regional Director clears his throat but does not look over at Mr. Mansfield.
The corner of Pramod's mouth lifts almost imperceptibly, just enough so he's sure Randy notices.
Randy scowls slightly. He's been pondering whether to slowly build an attack on Pramod's queen or just capture a bishop with a knight. Pramod's smugness pisses him off, so he makes the bolder move and takes the bishop. It's the first advantage either player has taken. On his next move, Randy gets that knight out of harm's way.
Pramod shrugs, as if he's been asked a question.
And Randy does feel more at ease with his father in the room. Not for emotional support or anything like that, but simply for knowing that the inevitable interruption of his arrival is over.
Randy's felt that same sickening anticipation a lot lately at home, never quite knowing what the guy's mood will be when he walks in the door. He wonders if he really wants three and a half more years of that.
The door opens again, and everyone looks up. It
's a photographer wearing a tag that says The Scranton Observer. He nods to the Regional Director and begins snapping pictures from several angles, trying to be inconspicuous. Pramod shoots him an angry look, but Randy just ignores him.
Ten minutes later Randy has taken four pawns and lost only three, and he likes the way that he's positioned his two knights and a rook.
Pramod backtracks with his remaining bishop, and Randy's chest wells up slightly, his eyes narrow their focus, and his heart begins to beat a bit faster. He moves his kingside rook forward two spaces, forking one of Pramod's pawns and his queen. Of course, Pramod moves to save his queen, but every little capture helps, and Randy is thrilled to take another pawn.
Aggressive is not a word one would use to describe Randy, but today is different. He steps up his offense and sees things more clearly than ever—three, four, five moves ahead—knowing how Pramod will have to respond to every move and how Randy will capitalize on any waver. Nothing that Pramod does surprises him. Randy soon has nearly twice as many pieces as Pramod.
Eventually Pramod brings his lone knight to a safe position near the center of the board. He raps his knuckles lightly on the table and says, “I offer a draw.”
Randy scans the board to see if he's overlooking something, but the advantage is very clearly his. Pramod's just trying to avoid a loss. He tilts his head to the side; says, “I decline;” and attacks that knight with a pawn.
Pramod moves the knight back to where it was, and Randy shifts his queen three spaces along the back rank.
Pramod moves a pawn one space forward and again says, “I offer a draw.”
He's got to be kidding, Randy thinks. I'm two moves away from checkmate.
Randy doesn't say anything. He declines the draw by shifting his bishop three diagonal spaces forward and looks up at Pramod.
“I've got things to do today,” Pramod mutters so only Randy can hear. “No draw, then I resign. What's the big deal? We're both going to the next round anyway.”
Yeah, but there's also that little matter of a thousand dollars. The runner-up gets nothing but a plaque and an invitation to Philadelphia. “You resign?”
“I said, ‘I resign.’”
Randy shakes his head slowly. It's just like Pramod to concede the game without admitting defeat, as if whatever he has to do couldn't wait another two minutes. “Okay,” Randy says. He stands up and reaches out his hand.
Pramod shakes it. The spectators applaud politely except for Mr. Mansfield, who claps loudly and whistles.
“What just happened?” Dina asks Zeke.
“We won,” Zeke says, beaming. “It was a slaughter.”
The Regional Director motions to Randy and shows him a form that he needs to fill out for next weekend's state championship. “One thing to note: We did make an error last night. Anyone under eighteen who elected to stay at the hotel was supposed to have an adult with them in the room.”
“No big deal,” Randy says. “Right?”
“We'll overlook it. But you'll need to list a guardian on the entry form for Philadelphia.”
Randy looks at the form, then at his mother, then at his dad. “An adulteration?” he asks the Director.
“Excuse me?”
“Someone eighteen?”
“Yes.”
Randy writes “Zeke Mansfield” on the line. The Regional Director hands him an information sheet for the state championship and wishes him good luck.
“This is fantastic,” Mr. Mansfield says, patting Randy on the shoulder as the family gathers in the lobby. “I couldn't be prouder of you guys. First and third out of the very best chess players in this half of the state.”
“Nice math, Dad,” Zeke says. “There are eight regionals. That's not exactly half.”
“Pretty close. Here, I got you something when I was over at the mall.” He hands a shopping bag to Zeke.
Zeke takes out a new sleeve of bright yellow tennis balls. “Thanks,” he says flatly.
“And as if you need any more awards,” Mr. Mansfield says, beaming at Randy and handing him the other bag, “see how you like this.”
Randy opens the bag and takes out a slim paperback book: 101 Tips for Young Chess Champions. He nods and says, “Thanks.” It's a book Randy could have written.
“Technically I tied for third with Serena,” Zeke says. “They didn't have a consolation round.”
“Believe me, you would have beat her. Let's call it third.”
“Let's call it a tie,” Zeke says, looking away. “It is what it is, right?”
“If they'd set up the brackets better, you two would have met in the final and you'd both be going to Philly,” Mr. Mansfield says. “Either one of you would have knocked off that Indian kid. That was obvious.”
“It was, huh?”
“It was to me. But what do you expect? That idiot running this thing doesn't seem to know his ass from his elbow.”
“He was all right,” Zeke says. “He tried to be fair.”
“My ass he did. He totally screwed you in that semifinal. Interrupting the game like that.”
Randy looks at Zeke, who has a familiar look of disbelief. They both know where this is going. You can't keep playing a game nobody can win.
“Anyway,” Mr. Mansfield says, “that's all behind us now. No sense dwelling on something somebody else did to us.”
“That's the spirit,” Zeke says.
“That's right,” Mr. Mansfield says, missing Zeke's obvious sarcasm. “We're bigger than that. Let that wimp-ass have his ‘rules.’ We've got the trophy. We … kicked … butt!”
He goes outside for a cigarette. Pramod and his parents have come out of the conference room, and they all shake Randy's hand.
“You played really well all weekend,” Pramod says, turning off his jerk switch in front of his parents. “See you in Philly.”
“I'll be there.”
Mrs. Mansfield is talking to Jenna's parents, so Jenna walks over to Zeke and Randy. Dina, sitting alone on the couch, gets up and follows Jenna.
“So,” Jenna says to Dina, “I guess I might see you this week?”
“Really?”
Zeke says, “Yeah,” sort of excitedly, aiming the word at Dina. “I thought you guys might want to go to a basketball game… It's at Jenna's school.”
“Oh.” Dina gives a confused smile. “Because if it's Thursday, I might be going to my friend Becky's house if we have a project due on Friday for biology. But I think it's not due until the week after next, but I have to check to make sure.”
“The game's on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday's good! The project definitely isn't due until after that.”
“Well,” Randy says dryly, tapping a finger on his new chess book, “I've got some heavy-duty reading to do if I've got any chance of winning in Philadelphia. So we'll see you Tuesday.”
Dina and Randy walk toward his mom. Zeke and Jenna stay behind briefly.
“Ready to go?” Mrs. Mansfield asks.
“Absolutely,” Randy says.
“We've got two cars here.”
“I know.”
Mr. Mansfield has already pulled his car up to the loading area in front of the hotel. The car is running, but he's standing outside it, finishing his smoke.
“Not a bad day,” he says as Randy and Dina and his wife walk by on the way to her car. “Quite a day to be a Mansfield.”
Randy nods seriously and Dina smiles, but all three of them keep walking.
“I'll just wait for Zeke,” Mr. Mansfield says, ignoring the snub.
Randy stops on the sidewalk and waits a few seconds until Zeke comes out. Dina and Mrs. Mansfield get in her car.
“Hop in,” Randy hears his father say to Zeke.
Zeke stops for a second, looks at his dad, and points his thumb toward the others. “I'll ride with them,” he says. “We've got some things to talk about.”
“Suit yourself, Ace,” Mr. Mansfield says. He gets in the car and pulls the door shut, flicking his cig
arette butt out the window. “I'll see you all back at the house.”
Randy's stomach tightens, and his eyes start to sting. Zeke catches up and says, “What are you crying about?”
“I'm not crying.”
Zeke looks away and balls his hands into fists, then lets out a sigh. He puts a fist gently on Randy's back, between the shoulder blades, and whispers, “He's gotta go. You know it, too.”
Randy wipes at one eye and nods.
“You were the best, no question,” Zeke says.
“And you were better than Pramod,” Randy replies. “Dad was right about that one.”
“Yeah, but he was right in the wrong way. Like always. You play the hand you're dealt. If I'd been playing Pramod in the semi instead of you, then I would have got disqualified when Dad opened his mouth.”
“Maybe. But maybe he would have kept his mouth shut.”
Zeke gives a scornful laugh. “He doesn't know how. He picks on you, he picks on Mom. And he gets worse every day. We all know it.”
They stand on the sidewalk for a few more seconds until their mother pulls up. Randy gets in the back next to Dina. She's holding his trophy. It's about fifteen inches tall with a gold-tinted king on top and a circle of pawns around it.
They pull out of the lot, onto Jefferson, and head for the Central Scranton Expressway.
“Mr. Chess,” Dina says, lifting the trophy.
“Careful with that,” Randy says. “It needs to stay intact for the parade.”
“What parade?”
“The giant celebration in my honor back in town.”
“Oh. That one.”
“Yeah. Zeke's arranging it, right?”
Zeke smiles. “Absolutely. Got it all planned. A giant parade-ulation on Main Street.”
“Can I be in it?” Dina asks.
“Of course,” Randy says. “You'll ride on the big float with me.”
They all laugh, but then things turn quiet. Randy scoots closer to Dina, and she leans her head on his shoulder. The drive back to Sturbridge will take about thirty-five minutes. Plenty of time to talk things out.
Zeke clears his throat and turns to face Randy. “You can handle this, right? You're ready?”