Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Inside Out
Shepherd Kingsley
I glance around the room and frown. Where is Jasmine? She’s been early to class and chess club every week. I’d think she quit because of me, but she’s far too stubborn for that.
“Good evening, players,” Professor Kelton booms from the front of the classroom we meet in.
Students turn their attention from the casual games they had already begun to him. I lift my gaze from the seat Jasmine should be in. Professor Kelton stands tall next to a man in an almost identical sweater vest.
“We have the pleasure of learning from a phenomenal man and chess player. Please join me in welcoming Grandmaster Jorge Santiago.” He begins to clap, and we all join in.
“Thank you, everyone.” Mr. Santiago raises his hands and offers a warm smile. “I am excited to teach you a bit about the game today. We will be analyzing one of my previous matches together.” He gestures to the projector screen, which is currently blank.
“After we get the projector up and running again,” Professor Kelton adds.
Laughter ripples over the room. Everyone turns back to their games or conversations while the two men tinker with the laptop on the podium.
Still no Jasmine. I quietly slide out of my seat and walk to the back of the room where the door is.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do out here differently than in the room, but the idea of something happening to her is bothering me.
Coach may not want me to date her, but he would want me to look after her. Probably.
I head down the empty hallway, then out into the breezy evening air.
The sun is lowering, the beginnings of a sunset painting the sky in soft strokes of peach, pink, and purple.
I walk down the steps and stop halfway, scanning what I can see of the campus.
That’s when I see her. Even from a distance, she’s unmistakable.
Her dark curly ponytail swishes from side to side as she runs toward me.
Her tan skin is on display more than I’ve ever seen in what I’m guessing is her practice uniform.
Navy blue shorts and a fitted white tank top with the Thrashers logo on it.
She’s gorgeous. And, judging by the glare she’s piercing me with, not happy to see me. So, the usual.
I put on my best smile and say, “I was wondering where you were.”
My words do not go over well. She throws her backpack on the ground at the bottom of the stairs and digs through it, pulling out a sweatshirt. I’m grateful for the choice. I think I’d lose any match to her in this outfit.
“Someone changed the schedule so it overlaps with my practice,” she growls as she yanks on the matching blue-and-white Thrashers Cheer sweatshirt.
My smile falls. “I didn’t know that you practiced on Tuesdays.”
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 that also plays 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 is tease you. 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 skip you?” 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.
“That’s how chess club felt today.”
He nods in understanding. “No wonder you’re mad.”
I huff a laugh as I pull my food out of the microwave. “Yeah, it was not a good time to say the least.”
Chess club, and the game of chess itself, is the one time where I get to set aside everything that comes with being me.
There’s no jersey on my back, constantly reminding me of the mantle I’m carrying as Jason “the King” Kingsley’s little brother.
No one expects anything of me except to play the game.
And once I’m playing, everything else fades away.
Especially when I play against Jasmine. The verbal sparring combined with the strategy on the board makes me forget about everything else.
“Hopefully next time will be better,” he says, turning his attention back to his laptop.
“Hopefully,” I mutter.
I don’t know how it can get better. If Jasmine didn’t have it out for me before, she does now. And if I’ve gathered anything about her over the time we’ve spent together, it’s that she doesn’t give up easily. I’m guessing that energy is going to transfer over quite nicely to holding a grudge.