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“What if they draw?” That’s why there are twelve games. “What if they drawaaaaaallthe games?” They go to tie breaks, which are rounds of rapid chess, and . . .
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.
“Mom,” Sabrina whines, “if Darcy gets a present from Oz, I want one, too!”
“As long as you shut the hell up.” He aggressively stuffs plugs into his ears, just in time to block out my sisters’ booming “Yay!”
Next to me, Defne is frowning. “I have to say, the tie breaks do worry me a little. In the last month we worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, and still barely had time to train you for regular chess. We haven’t practiced rapid and blitz at all.” She shrugs. “Oh, well. Let’s just hope it won’t come to that.” The silver fig leaf earrings that I got her when she wouldn’t let me apologize for being a dick dangle prettily from her ear.A dicklet at most, she told me before pulling me in for a hug, her lemon scent sour- sweet in my nostrils.I should have told you where the fellowship came from. I want you to know, I’m onyourteam.
I believe her. Because, as Oz so lovingly put it, I finally relaxed my sphincter enough to act like an emotionally mature person. I’m vaguely befuddled that following a hefty amount of groveling, he actually agreed to be my second. And just as befuddled that he and Defnemighthave a thing. I want toknow, but I don’t want toask.Till you work up the courage, it’s Schrödinger’s fucking, Sabrina told me knowingly. I could only nod, proud of her grasp of theoretical physics.
At the Marco Polo airport duty- free shop, while I’m yawning and paying for an assortment of Kinder products Darcy selected, a girl in anI Heart Romesweater stops me for a picture.
I don’t bat an eye. It’s been a little over a month since Iformally accepted FIDE’s invitation to be the challenger, and after a bunch of viral TikToks on my games, this has been happening a lot. In line at the grocery store. At the DMV, standing in line to get Sabrina’s permit. While I attempt to jog, per Defne’s workout schedule.
According to Oz, I need a media team. According to Darcy, I should go onCelebrity Survivorif they ever ask. According to me, I just smile and sign whatever I’m asked— a receipt; a carton of Arby’s curly fries; on one memorable occasion, a dirty Nike sock. If my sisters are with me, they try to get in whatever selfie is happening. Everyone lets them because they’re cute AF.
“Do you think you’re going to win?”I Heart Romeasks me, vowels gliding happily. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I seriously doubt it. That I’m scared shitless.
“Who’s to say?”
“Well, I hope you do. I was first board on my middle school team. Had a Judith Polgar poster in my room. Never thought I’d live to see a woman in the World Championship with how terrible the men in the sport can be. And by the way, I know you and Nolan Sawyer have a thing, and it’s gotta be a little sad to have to play against him, but don’t go easy on him, okay?”
She leaves before I can think of an answer. The back of her sweater is an anthropomorphized Colosseum, winking at me.
“Is it?” Darcy asks.
I glance down at the piece of candy she’s already eating, disturbingly shaped like a hippopotamus. “What?”
“Sad? To play against Nolan?”
I take a deep breath. For a few beats, my heart turns heavier in my chest, twists and contorts into something painful thatresembles regret. I wrench it back into shape and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“Come on. We gotta go through customs. Let’s see if I screwed up our visas and we have to turn around.”
THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP LOGO IS BAFFLINGLY, INEXPLICAbly, alarmingly ugly.
We stare at it— a stylized dude’s limbs knotted with another, equally stylized dude’s; a stripey, Picasso’ed chessboard on their laps— and almost miss the all- capsGREENLEAFon the sign.
“I . . . guess that’s our ride?” I say.
“Pretty sure that’s position number thirty- five in theKama Sutra,” Sabrina mutters, which degenerates into Mom having to explain what creative intercourse is to Darcy.
I think I imagined Italy would be warm, but the February chill is nearly as sharp here as back home. The salt wind is cold, my hair tangles on the shuttle boat, and I let Darcy snuggle under my plaid coat while we point at the beautiful houses facing the canal.Romantic, I think. I’ve never been one to use the word, but the maze of calles and bridges spreading around the lagoon, the water lapping gently at the stone homes, it all seems sopretty, so ready to be explored. “Do you think Mrs. Abebe is feeding Goliath on schedule?” she asks.
The sun is on its way out. We chose a late- landing flight to minimize the wreck on our sleep cycle, but it almost feels meant to be: Mom, my sisters, Venice at sunset. Me.
I knew they needed me. But I never quite understood how much I neededthembefore this year. “I think Goliath wouldtake her daughter hostage if she didn’t,” I tell her. “But I could text for updates, okay?”
The boat drops us off at a small dock in front of the hotel. The horrifying FIDE logo is everywhere, and I’m debating covering Darcy’s eyes, Sabrina’s,Mom’s, sending an aggressively worded email, turning back and sailing away, but I’m paralyzed by the grandiosity.
