Page 19 of Chess Not Checkers
She zips her backpack and throws it over her shoulder. “Of course you didn’t. Why would you? Why think of anyone but yourself?” She stomps up the stairs, passing me by without so much as a glance.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I didn’t ask Professor Kelton to change the times.”
I follow after her, having to catch the door she swings open before it falls shut.
She lets out a sharp laugh. “So there’s another hotshot football player with his face plastered all over ESPN thatalsoplays chess?”
I frown. “All I did was tell Kelton I couldn’t make some of the meetings with the current schedule.”
She whirls around, eyes flashing. “And when he suggested changing the time for you, did you stop to think how it would affect everyone else? Not just me, but the other students who planned this into their schedule?”
I don’t say anything. She nods.
“Just what I thought. You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”
She whirls around and heads for the classroom door. Anger flares in my chest.
“How can you say that when you don’t know me?” I call after her.
“Evidence,” she replies, her hand gripping the doorknob.
I stalk over to her. “This one instance is enough for you to judge my character as a whole?”
She glares up at me. “Your general arrogance doesn’t help your case.”
“All I’ve ever done isteaseyou. I’ve met your family; they joke around. Did that gene skip you?”
Something akin to hurt crosses her expression before it hardens once more.
“I’ve met your brother. He was considerate. Did that gene skipyou?” she throws back.
There’s no way for her to know how much comparing me to Jason hurts. She’s the only one who hasn’t done that. Until now. I can’t help taking a step back to create more distance between us.
“I guess so,” I say in a quiet tone, then gesture to the door. “Are you going to go inside? They were working on fixing the projector, but I’m sure they’ve figured it out by now.”
She turns the knob but pauses with a furrowed brow. “Why were you out here, anyway?”
I give her a wry smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She shakes her head, then opens the door and walks in. I follow behind her. Mr. Santiago looks to have just begun his analysis, and thankfully is turned toward the screen when we come in, so he won’t notice us. The now dimly lit classroom should disguise us from other students too. At least, that’s what I’m counting on. Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to hide how I’m feeling.
I walk into my apartment and throw my keys into the bowl on the kitchen island. My roommate Owen’s keys are already there. He looks up from the couch where he’s studying.
“How was chess club?” he asks.
“Fine,” I growl and walk over to the fridge to pull out one of the containers of prepped food. While the cafe food is great, some nights neither of us wants to be around a bunch of people, so we alternate prepping food each week. This week, it was Owen’s turn, and he made chicken teriyaki, broccoli, and rice. Neither of us are the best cooks, but it’s edible.
“Your tone leads me to believe otherwise,” he comments after I slam the microwave door shut.
I grip the counter and draw in a deep breath. The entire time I was in that awful club, all I could do was ruminate on Jasmine’s words. Had I been inconsiderate? Did I do something to deserve all the ire she threw my way?
“You know how we both have our specific warm-up routines for the game?” I ask. Owen is a kicker, and his routine is even more intense than mine. He listens to one specific song at a certain volume seven times. His routine of stretching is specific and timed. He has to make sure his socks and cleats are perfectly aligned. If the seam on his sock is off by even a hair, he’s not making that kick.
“Yeah,” he replies, looking unsure of where I’m going with this.
“Imagine someone coming in and turning your socks inside out.”
His head yanks back, his face twisted in revulsion.
