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I blink once more and make a split- second decision: lie. “You have him confused with someone else, honey.” I cough. “Did you need help with your homework?”
“Nolan Sawyer, right?”
“It’s just two people with the same name.” I wave my hand airily. “Like when you were in kindergarten and there were, like, four Madison Smiths in . . .”
She turns her tablet around. It’s on Nolan’s Wikipedia page, which includes a high-res candid of him scowling down at a chessboard. As much as I’d love to deny it, he isundeniablythe same guy who just raided our meat loaf stash.
I blink.
I blink again.
I blink once more and make another split- second decision: lie again. Darcy’s twelve. I can talk myself out of this.
I gasp dramatically. “Noway! Are you serious?” I am a terrible actress. I’m talking elementary school play level. “He never mentioned. I’ll have to ask him next time we . . .”
I fall quiet, because Darcy has navigated to a new page. It has a picture of two people: Nolan, looming darkly on one side of the board, shakes the hand of a blond girl wearing a flannel top that looks just like mine. Neither smiles or speaks, but they’re holding each other’s eyes in a way that seems almost intimate, and—
My eyes fall on the title of the page:Who is Mallory Greenleaf, chess’s new breakout player?
“Fuck.”
“There’s a whole article about you.”
“Fuck.”
“And pictures.”
“Fuck.”
“And even a video, though I can’t make it work. I think popups are blocked?”
“Fuck fuckfuck.” Of course this shit’s online. The press was everywhere— what did I think they were going to do with the footage, scrapbook it? “Fuck.”
“You should stop swearing in front of twelve- year- olds. Mrs. Vitelli says that my brain’s still all squishy. I’ll probably end up in juvie if you swear just once more.”
“Fuck.”
“Here goes another promising young woman.”
I pluck the tablet from Darcy’s hands. The article is on ChessWorld.com. The header boastsLargest chess website, over 100 million unique visits per month.
I groan.
. . . entered the tournament as an unrated player, but surprised everyone by not losing any match. Greenleaf, who currently trains at Zugzwang with GM DefneBubikoglu, is the daughter of the late GM Archie Greenleaf (peak FIDE ranking: 97), who passed away a year ago. Last month, at the NYC Charity Tournament, she defeated World’s No. 1 Nolan Sawyer. Sawyer had a chance for a rematch at Philly Open, but—
I toss the tablet onto the bed. My hands are shaking. “How did you find this?”
Darcy shrugs. “I was doing homework.”
“Homework.”
“It’s genealogy week. I’m supposed to write about my paternal great- grandparents, and it’s not like I can ask you or Mom, since you both go in to covert operation mode whenever I mention Dad, so I googled Archie Greenleaf, and I’m sorry if I— ” Darcy’s voice is high pitched, and she looks about to cry. My heart twists.
“Okay— it’s okay! You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. I swear I’m not mad. And . . .” She’s right that we don’t really discuss Dad, or what happened to him. Maybe we should? MaybeIshould be talking about Dad to her? Not Mom— it would be painful for her. It would be my responsibility.
It’s only fair, considering that it’s my fault in the first place he’s not around anymore.
I kneel in front of her and take her hand in mine. “Do you want to talk about Dad?”
