“Greenleaf,” he says with a self-deprecating smile when I take his queen, “show some mercy, will you?” He’s the first player to talk to me during a match, and I have no idea how to reply. Clearly chess is destroying my social skills. “Well, well, well.” I have him cornered, and he almost sounds pleased. “I see why he’s been going on about you now,” he murmurs. Or maybe he doesn’t, I can’t quite make out the words. He’s smiling at me again, pleasant and welcoming. I want to be his friend.
