The Slut's Guide to Chess

chapter 18

Arwyn and I walked through the double doors to see a large hall lined with wooden tables and chessboard upon chessboard placed next to one another. People were already there, sitting, talking, or finding their numbers and names with the reception.

My heart seized, there were a lot more people than I expected.

Arwyn took my elbow and led me to the front desk which consisted of an unsteady table draped in white cloth and a tired-looking man behind it. "Come on, Zora. You'll be okay," he murmured quietly in my ear. 

I nodded absentmindedly while my eyes still roamed over the room. "So will everyone have to play everyone? I read in one of the books about ratings, will I have to get a rating? You know chess games last forever, do you think we'll get a break? What about dinner? Oh- Oh my days! It's Halloween, do you think we'll get sweets? Or we could go trick-or-treating later, right?"

"Name and age," the man behind the desk called out in a bored voice.

"Zora McQueen, sixteen."

"Actually, it's Arwyn Truong, sixteen," Arwyn interrupted and I furrowed my brows.

The guy behind the table passed over a piece of paper with Arwyn's name scrawled on messily besides the black pawn and then the number of a board and competitor. My friend snatched the paper and grabbed onto my forearm, whisking us away.

"Why did you give your name?" I questioned.

"Please don't freak out but I signed you up in my name."

I opened my mouth to cut him off but he sent me a sharp look to leave room for explanation.

"I don't want to seem patronising, I promise I'm not trying to patronise you. The thing is, I know for a fact that if they'd seen your name and face on the sign-up sheet, you wouldn't have half a chance. They'd pair the girls up with the girls and it's known that all the girls are low ranked, not because they aren't talented, but because they never move up. Nobody will give them a chance to raise a rank and so they just keep playing the same cycle of people over and over again. You'd get bored beating them all and going nowhere. I had to give my name so that they'd give you matches with reputation. Please don't be angry with me."

"Is that why you're not playing?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, but that's okay. I'll be acting as your coach today so don't worry about me. You'll have to write down your moves, do you know how to do that?"

"Wait," I stopped. "Is that even allowed?"

Again, he shrugged. "They won't kick you out. Plus, they're not going off ranks or anything - everyone is supposed to be on an even playing field. So, technically, the name doesn't matter even if they do make judgments with them. Just trust me on this, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I waved him off. "I'm not angry. I'm really grateful, thank you. Thank you so much, Arwyn."

He smiled lopsidedly and looked down to the piece of paper where Arwyn's name was scrawled along on one side and my opponent's on the other.

I grabbed his arm and guided us along to the canteen across the hall. Some people waited under the sharp lights with sandwiches and plastic cups of tea. My stomach grumbled for food, eager to eat something other than brownies.

We weaved our way through the crowd of players who were getting their names and setting up for the game. The mindless chatter that surrounded us started a blaze of nerves that began at the tips of my toes before exploding in my chest. I resisted the urge to squeal.

When I saw the Blackwell Chess Club surrounded by cameras in the corner, my heart stopped. They stood tall with arrogant smirks as people watched them with curiosity and wonder.