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“Sorry,” she says, pointing at her cigarette. Her voice is low and amused. “Your sister said you were sleeping and I thought you’d take longer. You’re not going to start smoking because you saw me smoke, right?”
I feel myself smile back. “Doubtful.”
“Good. You never know, the impressionability of the youths.”She puts out the butt, wraps it in a napkin, and pockets it, either to avoid polluting or to conceal her DNA.
Okay, no moreVeronica Marsfor me.
“You’re Mallory, right?”
I cock my head. “Have we met?”
“Nope. I’m Defne. Defne Bubikoglu— but unless you speak Turkish, I wouldn’t try to pronounce it. It’s nice to meet you. I’m a fan.”
I let out a laugh. Then realize she’s serious. “Excuse me?”
“Anyone who trounces Nolan Sawyer like you did gets a lifetime supply of admiration from me.” She points to herself with a flourish. “Free home delivery, too.”
I stiffen. Oh, no. No, no. Whatisthis? “I’m sorry. You have the wrong person.”
She frowns. “You’re not Mallory Greenleaf?”
I take a step back. “Yes. But it’s a common name— ”
“Mallory Virginia Greenleaf, who played yesterday?” She takes out her phone, taps at it, then holds it out with a smile. “If this is not you, you have some serious identity theft issues.”
She has pulled up a video. A TikTok of a young woman checkmating Nolan Sawyer with her queen. There are wisps of whiteblond hair falling across the side of her face, and her eyeliner is smudged.
I can’t believe Easton didn’t tell me that my eyeliner looked like shit.
Also, I can’t believe that this stupid video was taken and it has overtwenty thousand likes. Are there even twenty thousand people who play chess?
“What was up with the dramatic exit, by the way?” she asks. “Did you double- park?”
“No. I— okay, thatisme.” I run a hand down my face. I need coffee. And a time machine, to go back to when I agreed to help Easton. Maybe I could go back even further, just murder our entire friendship. “The game . . . It was a fluke.”
Defne’s brow furrows. “A fluke?”
“Yeah. I know that it looks like I’m some kind of . . . chess talent, but I don’t play. Sawyer must be in some kind of funk, and— ” I stop. Defne is laughing and laughing. Apparently, I’m hilarious.
“You mean, the current world chess champion? Who also happens to be the current rapidandblitz champion? In a funk?”
I press my lips together. “He can be the current champion and still be having a bad month.”
“Unlikely, since he won Sweden Chess last week.”
“Well,” I scramble, “he’s tired because of all the winning, and— ”
“Dude, stop.” She takes one step closer, and I smell something pleasantly citrusy mixed with the tobacco. “You won against the best player in the world. You completely blindsided him in a damn good game— the way you feinted a feint? How you got yourself out of that pin? Your queen? Stop putting yourself down and take credit for it— you think Nolan would be half as reticent? You thinkanyguy would be?”
Defne is yelling. With the corner of my eye I see Mrs. Abebe, my neighbor, stare at us from her yard, a clearDo you need saving?in her eyes. I subtly shake my head. Defne just seems like a very passionate, very loud cheerleader. I think I might even like her.Despitethe fact that she’s here to talk about chess.
“I can’t be the first person to win against Sawyer,” I say. As a matter of fact, I know I’m not. I studied his play, back when I still . . . studied plays. Antonov- Sawyer, 2013, Rome. Sawyer-Shankar, 2016, Seattle. Antoni- Sawyer, 2012—
“No, but it’s been a while. And when people win against him, it’s because he makes dumb mistakes— which he didn’t, not that I could see. It’s just that you were . . . better.”
“I’m not— ”
“And it’s not like this is your first feat when it comes to chess.”
