AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He gives me a long look through his sunglasses. “Now I can.” He turns away. “But ifyouare interested in either of them— ”
“That’s not why I asked,” I blurt out. “Besides, I don’t hook up with people I work with. It makes things messy.” Actually, I don’t hook up at all, lately. It’s been a surprisingly dry couple of months. Maybe chess kills my libido?
“Messy?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s that?”
“Too much proximity. People get ideas. They think I’m interested in giving them my time. My mental energy.”
He studies me. “And you’re too busy taking care of your family for that.”
“How do you know that?”
He doesn’t reply, just studies me through those dark lenses for several seconds, until I can’t stand the stretching silence anymore and ask, “Why are you here, anyway? Aren’t you going to that invitational next week?”
“Curious about my plans?”
The obvious answer is: yes. “They didn’t invite you, did they? They know you’ll hurl a chessboard at an arbiter and no insurance agency would let them have you.”
“I leave for Moscow from Toronto. On Friday.”
“You’re doingbothtournaments?”
He gives me his bestWhat, like it’s hard?shrug.
“Defne said that doing two big tournaments so closetogether would make anyone brain dead. And that most big players don’t see the point in the Olympics . . .” A thought occurs to me. “You’re not here because I . . . ?”
You’re not here becauseI’mhere, are you?
Come on, Mal. He’s not here because he’s still into that idea of playing against you. No way. He wants to hang out with his friends. Maybe he lied and he is into Tanu. Or Emil. Or both. Not my business. Who cares—
“Yes,” he says.
My internal monologue halts. “What?”
“The reason you’re thinking.” His stupid, deep voice. Argh. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
He smiles. “True.”
“No, really. You don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying that. Stop pretending you can read my mind and— ”
The flight attendant rolls her cart, asking us if we want a drink. After that we’re quiet— Nolan staring ahead, and me sullenly nursing my Sunkist, thinking that no.
Hecannotknow.
There are two main distinctions between the Olympics and a regular tournament: we get doping- tested (yup: it involves peeing in a cup), and we compete as a team. We still play all our matches individually, but our points will be added together. As the strongest among us, Nolan is first board. But thenI, the least experienced player, am chosen for second. (I ask Emil repeatedly if it’s a good idea. He gives me a wide- eyed look and huffs, “Come on, Greenleaf.”)
It feels different, knowing that whatever victory I manage to bring home will be forus— no matter how temporary and abstract thisusmight be. It’s nice when Emil high- fives me after I win on time against the Estonian player, or Tanu kisses my forehead because I narrowly avoided a draw with Singapore. I don’t even mind Nolan’s long, thoughtful, lingering looks. He always defeats his opponent quickly. Then he finds something warm to drink for the rest of the team, sets it by our boards, and comes to stand somewhere behind my opponent. His eyes alternate between me and my game, dark and focused and greedy in a way I don’t fully understand.
He doesn’t fist- pump when I win. He doesn’t even tell methat I did good. He just nods once, like every single one of my victories is expected and his faith in me is as solid as a boulder. As though he couldn’t marvel at me playing well any more than at the sun setting at night.
