Check & Mate

by Ali Hazelwood

Nolan is right here. Looking at me. And something within me tells me I should panic, but all I can do is say: “Hey.” “Hey,” he says back, and I nearly feel the gravel of his voice against my lips. He smells of something ineffably rich and good. “Hey,” I say again, stupidly, and we’re both smiling,

“Do you think I can win the Challengers?” I ask her, trembling a little at the prospect of the answer. She takes my other hand, and I feel held. I feel comforted. I feel stronger. “Mallory. I think you can win the World Championship.”

“Sex is good, but have you ever heard Koch’s little whine when he’s checkmated?”

“Please, Greenleaf, don’t doodle on the score sheet.”

“You asshole,” I say without heat. He lifts one eyebrow. “Uncalled-for.” “Finally revealing yourself.” “You knew I was here.”

“Be my second.”

“I didn’t see it, either.”

“Nolan?” “Hmm?” “Why did you come to Vegas?” His fingers tighten around mine. My heart cartwheels. “Mallory. I came because you did.”

But instead he stared into my eyes, ran at me, and the cut was deep. I needed stitches, which meant going to the hospital, which meant filing a report, and that was it. My father had the ammo he needed to lock him up. Said it was for the best, and maybe it was, but that’s not why he was doing it. He’d always hated his father for caring more about chess than he ever did about him.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “It’s just a pawn,” he murmurs without looking up. “Shut up.”

My brain short-circuits. Maybe it’s the late hour, or how I just dropped my knight less than ten moves into a mortifying game. Maybe it’s Nolan’s clean, familiar smell. All I know is that one moment I’m looking at him, and the next I’m not—because I’ve leaned forward and pressed my mouth against his in a… A kiss.

“No! I mean…why?” “Because I want to.” He’s being patient. Why am I being a total wreck while he is being patient? “You don’t?”

He glances at me. “I don’t know. It feels right. Besides, I don’t get nervous much.” Darcy once told me about a study they did, monitoring the heart rate of top chess players during important games. Nolan’s was always the slowest. The steadiest.

“Want a bedtime story?” His hand combs gently through the hair at my nape. “It’s called ‘Polgar Versus Anand, 1999.’ It starts with e4. c5.” I groan. But I’m smiling when I ask, “And then?” “Knight f3. d6. d3.” “Mmm.” “Yup.” “And then?” “Knight xd4. Knight f6. Knight c3…” I fall asleep mid-game—for the second time in my life held by someone, for the second time in my life held by Nolan Sawyer.

nerds

I look up at him, and instantly flush. Because that’s apparently what I do now—stress over whether some dude I didn’t even sleep with isn’t interested in me anymore

“There’re four of us, so two teams.” I quickly consider the possible permutations. I’d be either against Nolan, or— “I’ll team with Mallory,” he calls from the kitchen.

I remember how much Nolan hates the Grünfeld only after he groans and sinks his teeth into my earlobe.

I can feel his heartbeat warm against my back. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to someone without sex. The closest I’ve been to someone with sex.

“Are you real?” The air between us swells, overflows. “Sometimes I’m scared that I imagined you. Sometimes I think you’re only in my head.”

You may have a team around you, but when it really comes down to it, you’re on your own. You play on your own. You lose and win on your own. You go home, and you’re on your own.”

“What do you mean, Koch cheated? There were too many cameras for him to—”

YAAAAAA I KNEWW ITTTTTT

I scoff, indignant. “Can he just go out there and say things that are factually false? Legally, I mean?” I glance at Tanu, who’s pre-law, hoping for a “Hell no.” But all I find is a wide-eyed, guilty look that makes every last trace of warmth freeze inside me.

“I love you,” he says plainly. Not a desperate plea, but a calmly stated fact.

deciding not to go to the World Championship

Bro what

wondering if while I was gone, my family outgrew its need and its want for me. Wondering what else chess has taken away from me.

“Ah, yes. You are. Because boo-hoo, your boyfriend paid for your salary without asking for anything in return and didn’t tell you. Cry me the fucking Nile.”

Literallly

I didn’t ask Defne to train me. I didn’t ask Nolan to sponsor me. All I ever asked was for Dad to not cheat on Mom in front of me,

:(

let’s see how much your little buddy McKenzie likes you when she’s in college and you aren’t! Completely give up on every little thing you love so that you can take care of your bratty, ungrateful little sister”—I

Oz scowls. “This flight has complimentary Wi-Fi. Can’t you Bing it or something?” “Mom won’t get me a smartphone till I’m fourteen.” “Mrs. Greenleaf,” he tells Mom, who’s sitting with me and Defne in the center row, “I will be purchasing a cellular phone for your youngest gremlin.” “Oh, there’s no need.” “I insist,” he says, lowering his sleep mask.

According to Oz, I need a media team. According to Darcy, I should go on Celebrity Survivor

I knew they needed me. But I never quite understood how much I needed them before this year.

expect to share a room with Darcy, but Sabrina takes her in with a firm “We need you to rest and win and earn enough to sponsor my roller derby team.” “They will buy new uniforms,” Darcy adds. “And I’ll be their new mascot. In a guinea pig costume.”

“Hmm.” My heart squeezes, like it always does when they assume that I’ll win. It’s not so simple, I want to scream. This is difficult. But they’re just trying to be supportive. “Sounds like you two have been talking this through.” “Oh, we have plans for your money.”

“Mal, this room is a vibe,” a voice tells me from the bed. “You’re really coming up in life, bitch. And all because I pushed you to embrace the important cause of gluten sensitivity.”

AAAAAAAA

“Easton?”

“When you started texting less and less, I thought you were over me. You had this super-cool fellowship, an objectively hot boyfriend, prize money, and you are—Jesus, Mal, you’re famous, it’s so weird. And I figured I was just being…phased out. I was being outgrown.”

“But then.” She lifts her finger. “Then Sabrina texted me about how much of a miserable mope you’ve been, and I remembered something very important.” I swallow. “What is that?” “That you are an idiot.”

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. You’re doing the thing you always wanted the most, surrounded by people you love, while sharing a room with yours truly—who, by the way, recently redeveloped sleep terrors. Lucky you.” She twines her fingers with mine, like she used to when we were little. “Mal. You already won.”

GAHHFOEOOSBBKXLSAP

“I accused him of orchestrating Bob firing me.” Easton snorts. “What?” “It just seemed like suspicious timing.” She bursts into laughter. And laughter. And more laughter. A group of French tourists gives her suspicious looks, but she sobers up when she notices my glare. “Dude, I was there when it all went down. I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened. Bob had been gagging to fire you ever since your uncle left. You were cramping his upselling lifestyle and were utterly replaceable.”

“Well, you know how I feel about agreeing with white guys with trust funds, but…I might have to give him a brownie point here.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “But I think that, maybe because of what happened with your dad, you tend to believe that when people mess up, that’s it. They don’t get a second chance. And sometimes that’s true, but other times…”

He doesn’t glance in my direction, not once.

Nolan, you haven’t made a statement about Malte Koch’s cheating scandal. Is the three-year suspension he received fair? And what do you think about him?” “I try not to think about him at all.”

“Reuters—Chasten. Nolan, there is a rumor that Ms. Greenleaf was part of your team of assistants before the cheating scandal came to light and she became the challenger. Care to confirm or deny?” “Not particularly, no.” Laughter.

“Either way, some say that having been your second will give Ms. Greenleaf an unfair advantage.” Nolan shrugs. “If some think that she needs an unfair advantage, then they need to pay better attention when she plays.”

“Mallory? AFP again. Does your past romantic relationship with Nolan make this championship more complicated for you? Will it in any way affect your play?”

“No.” It echoes in the murmuring room like a slap, and I immediately want to take it back. I want to look at Nolan and say…

“One last question—Trent Moles, the New York Times. In the name of good sportsmanship, could you both say what you admire the most about your opponent’s play?”

But then he shifts. I watch him lean forward, just an inch, then another, and inhale minutely before speaking into the mic. “Every last thing,” he says. Simple. Decisive. Heart shattering.

I follow her past Nolan’s chair, and when my hand brushes against his shoulder blade, I’m not sure whether it’s an accident or desperation.