AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The pressure that comes with it should be irritating. But I find the unwavering confidence from a player of his caliber flattering, which irritates me even more. So I do what I’m best at: I avoid thinking about it.
And it’s not hard. Toronto is beautiful, and the tournament atmosphere is fun: backpacks, players sitting on the floor and unwrapping homemade sandwiches, people who haven’t seen each other in years hugging it out between rounds. It’s youthful and low pressure, like a school trip with excellent chess instead of museums. I wear jeans and an oversized sweater without feeling underdressed.
“Don’t get cocky, though. We’ve been lucky so far,” Emil tells me while walking back to the hotel at the end of the first day. Nolan is giving Tanu a piggyback ride, becauseI really want one, Nolan.“We haven’t met any of the strongest teams.”
“Which are?”
“China, India, Russia. And, like, twelve more.”
“Who’s the current champion, by the way?”
“Germany. But they won’t be strong this year, with Koch already in Moscow.”
“That’swhy the North American continent felt so much more pleasant than usual,” Nolan mutters.
“Is your manager still pissed about you coming to the Olympics?” Emil asks.
“Can’t say, since I stopped taking her calls.” He shrugs.
It has Tanu giggling on his shoulders and asking, “Rememberyears ago, when you pushed Koch and manhandled him a bit and he started calling for his mom?”
“One of my most treasured memories.”
“The tears. The panic. Totally worth that fine FIDE slapped you with.”
“Whydidyou punch him?” I ask, though I can imagine a million reasons.
“Can’t really recall,” Nolan murmurs, almost too casually.
“He was talking about your grandfather,” Tanu says. “As usual.”
“Ah, yes.” His jaw tightens. “He does enjoy running his mouth about shit he doesn’t know.”
We’re staying in a hostel, four separate bedrooms that converge into a shared living space and bathroom. Last night I wondered how Nolan, Mr. Fifty Thousand Dollars Is Nothing to Me, felt about it, but if he finds the accommodation subpar, he hasn’t mentioned it. I went to bed early, and then spent hours listening to the soft, intimate tones of the others chatting, feeling vaguely jealous. I texted Easton (How’s life? Are you puking your heart out in a toilet bowl?) and scrolled through her TikTok waiting for a reply that never came.
She’s busy. It’s fine.
After the first day I conk out on the couch before dinner, before I can even call home. It’s a dreamless, exhausted, happy kind of sleep, vague impressions of bishops and rooks gliding softly across a large board. I wake up tucked in my bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Someone took off my shoes, connected my phone to the charger, put a glass of water on my bedside. Someone took care of me.
I don’t ask who.
Day two is more of the same. In the morning, we win all of our matches— with the exception of Emil, who loses against Sierra Leone.
“Way to kill our streak, asshole,” Nolan tells him mildly over some lunch poutine, ducking to avoid the fry Emil throws at him.
Tanu nods. “Told you we should have brought along someone who knows how to castle.” Unfortunately,sheducks too slowly.
Nolan gestures at me with his chin. “It’s your turn, Mallory.”
“My turn?”
“To tear into Emil. It’s tradition.”
“Right.” I swallow a cheese curd. Scratch my nose. “Emil, that was, um . . . badly done?”
Nolan shakes his head. “Pitiful.”
“Really, Mal?” Tanu chides. “Is this the best you can do?”
