"I need to test you myself," Van says and moves the stunned Timothy aside, who is still staring at his own hand, looking bewildered.
But another wave of stress washes over me.
"No," I say. "I don’t want to do it anymore."
I stand up quickly enough that everyone falls silent and looks at me, well, I’m a teenager, I’m allowed a little temper tantrum.
"I don’t want to play this anymore," I say darkly. "It’s a stupid game."
I don’t want to be a freak, but they don’t understand that.
"Hey, why not? Don’t be an idiot, you were doing amazing," Storm says, suddenly in a better mood, because someone who beat Uncle Timothy also beat him, so he doesn’t feel as bad anymore.
Timothy is staring at me, and Van too, but neither of them pushes, seeing my sour expression. Only Alex watches me withthose big amethyst eyes, full of surprise and a kind of quiet astonishment. Awe?
No! I don’t need that!
I turn and walk toward the building. I don’t know why, but the whole situation just irritates me, maybe because I realize… I could have done more.
Back then, when they attacked me.
Back then I wasn’t ready to believe that I could fight, that I could put up real resistance.
I lock myself in the bathroom and pull up my sleeve to peek at my tattoos, and they look… even redder. More vibrant, powerful. They cover my forearms so densely now… I lift my shirt, turn around, they go across my chest, my stomach, my back. I touch them thoughtfully.
Are they…?
I have this strange, irrational thought that maybe they are responsible for the strength that has appeared in me, it’s stupid, but why would it be impossible?
Because I absolutely do not believe that my lanky teenage body, no matter how strong or agile, could do what I’ve done in the past few days. There has to be some kind of mystery behind it.
And I don’t need another secret in my life, one I would have to hide from everyone, one that would make me different. Even more of a misfit among them.
In a way, I’m relieved that this trip is almost over, these uncertain, questioning looks, the surprise on everyone’s faces, only confirm what I already know, I should be more careful.
If I want to be…
One of them.
ALEX
The low murmur of conversation fills the gym. From every direction I hear the soft clicks of chess clocks and the sliding of wooden pieces. The air is heavy, smelling of floor polish, sweat, and nerves. I sit hunched over the board, my chin resting on my interlaced fingers. Tobias, my opponent from Lincoln High, has just moved his knight to f6. A solid move, correct, but way too textbook.
The corner of my mouth twitches into a half smile.
Right, you went for the Najdorf. Bold. But you left your pawn on d6 way too underdefended.
I lift my eyes from the board for a moment and glance toward the audience.
Bay is sitting there, staring at me, his thumbs pressed together. He sends me a reassuring smile. I wiggle my brows lightly just for him.
Then I gently slide my bishop to c4. I know it will provoke him into pushing his e-pawn, just like everyone who tries to hold the center by force. The whole plan forms in my head: if he plays e5, I’ll retreat my knight to f5, and then his queen and bishop will start blocking each other. One wrong move and the d-file will open like a wound.
Tobias does push his pawn to e5. For a second he looks confident, but then he adjusts his glasses as they slip down his nose. I see his fingers tremble. He lets out a short breath, doubt already catching up with him… Too late.
I shift my knight to f5. Tobias frowns. He knows something’s off, but he can’t yet see what.
A minute passes. He squirms in his chair and spins his fingers in nervous little circles. Finally, he decides and plays h6, trying to chase me off. How predictable. He has no idea he just weakened his kingside.
