Page 89 of Chess Not Checkers
Keep reading for a glimpse into our next heroine’s mind!
Marigold Belmont
“Yeah, take that!” I yell at the screen. After seeing Shepherd battle the media all season, it feels good to watch him stick it to them one last time. At least until next year.
Saylor dreamily sighs beside me on the couch. “Can we rewind to the kiss? That was my favorite part.”
I laugh. “I’m sure there will be some beautiful edits on social media within the hour for you to watch. I want to hear what Coach Bash has to say.”
“I don’t understand why you like watching the interviews, anyway,” Saylor says with a yawn.
Next to her, Aurora is half asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch we all smushed onto while watching the game. Our apartment complex held a huge watch party in the lobby, and we took the couch closest to the TV. Most people left once it looked like we had the win locked down. A decent amount stayed to watch the confetti fall, but then things got really sparse. I’m pretty sure both my roommates would be in bed already if it weren’t for the fact that we’re friends with both Jasmine and Shepherd.
I shrug. “I like hearing the questions the journalists ask so I can learn from them.”
I don’t tell her that I also have a love of sports thanks to growing up around my ex-best friend’s sports-obsessed family. They showed me how sports always have a story behind them. Whether it’s a team that overcame all the obstacles against them, or a player who came from nothing, or even the fulfillment of a promise made to thousands of people, there’s a story in every team in every sport. And Iloveit. It’s a shame I don’t have anyone to share that love with anymore.
“Do you even want to be a sports journalist?” Aurora mumbles.
“I’ve considered it, but I’m not sure if it’s what I’d want to spend my life doing.”
That’s been the problem lately. Well, that and I can’t seem to get The Traitor out of my head. If it wasn’t bad enough that he’s in all my classes and on the paper, he’s been showing up in mydreams and then in my writing. Fiction is the way I process. Some people journal; I write stories. And I guess my brain isn’t over the fact that Jameson Sinclair betrayed me because all it wants to write is stories with him as the male lead.
I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. As if he was conjured from my thoughts alone, there in the lobby, watching the TV with a pen and notebook in hand, is The Traitor himself. I scowl. Of course he’s taking notes. I would be too, if I hadn’t chucked my notebook during a particularly intense play of the game.
“I changed my mind,” I grumble. “Let’s go back to the apartment.”
Saylor sighs in relief and jumps up, then starts to pull Aurora up. While she does, I find my notebook by the TV and grab it.
“You’re taking after your namesake,” Saylor tells Aurora with a giggle.
I laugh, while Aurora looks as unamused as ever. We walk to the elevators. The entire time, the back of my head burns. And I know—I just know—that Jameson is staring at me. What I’ve yet to determine iswhy. He’s the one who poured gasoline on our friendship and lit the match. He shouldn’t get to stare or bring my lost book back or try to look after me at parties. That’s what friends do. And Jameson Sinclair is not my friend. Not anymore, and not ever again.
