Check & Mate by Ali Hazelwood

“Was it them?”

Nolan nods silently. “Then they went to different schools— Tanu’s taking the week off, but she’s at Stanford. Emil’s at NYU.”

“I see. Have you known them for long?”

“Forever. We trained together with . . . ” He stops. “Until they decided pro chess wasn’t for them.”

“When was that?”

“Three years ago for Emil. Tanu, before that.”

I wonder if they are his Easton. And because I’ve been hearing from Easton less and less, about stuff that seems more and more trivial, the question slips out:

“Does it feel weird? That they went to college, and you didn’t?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like they’re on their way to have lives I can never understand. Sometimes I’m just glad I don’t have to read Great Expectations or study for a trigonometry final.”

I smile. “Pretty sure trig’s in high school.”

“It is?”

“Yup. You didn’t take it?”

He opens his M&M’s, offering them to me. “I was homeschooled.”

“Because of chess?”

“For many reasons. And I have no idea what a cosine is.” He pops a yellow M&M in his mouth. When he swallows, his throat bobs, a strong, mesmerizing movement that I notice because . . . I’m going bananapants?

“You’ll live. So Emil and Tanu broke up because of distance, but they’re still into each other?”

“And refuse to do anything about it.”

“Lots of pining, I bet.”

“I do get several angsty late- night phone calls asking why Tanu just liked the shirtless picture of some Stanford swimmer on Instagram, or who’s the skank who keeps dueting Emil on TikTok.”

“I bet you’re great at talking people off the ledge.”

“I’d be better at it if I knew what the hell a TikTok duet is.”

I laugh. Emil and Tanu glance at me, then exchange a glance I cannot decipher. “Were you jealous when they first got together?”

“Jealous?” He seems to find the question surprising.

“Yeah. I mean, you guys seem close. And they’re both really attractive . . .” My cheeks heat. I think he notices because the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I wasn’t jealous. I couldn’t understand how someone could be so enthralled by the idea of being alone in a room with another person without a chessboard.”

“But now you can?”

He gives me a long look through his sunglasses. “Now I can.” He turns away. “But if you are 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 doing both tournaments?”

He gives me his best What, like it’s hard? shrug.

“Defne said that doing two big tournaments so close together 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 because I’m here, 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.

He cannot know.





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 then I, 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.”)