Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Luna, nearly a year later…
Surveying the chess board, I move my white king’s pawn two squares to e4.
My opponent, Aspen, takes her time, her expression neutral as she responds with an e5. It’s a solid move, but had it been me, I would have gone with an e6—the Sicilian defense—putting black in an arguably stronger position. But that’s only because I know I’m opening with the Ruy Lopez, and Aspen hasn’t figured that out yet.
I immediately move my knight to f3, making the notation on my scoresheet.
“Luna, we’re not playing rapid round; take your time.” Our chess coach stops at our table.
“Sure,” I say, even though I’ve already visualized how I’m going to destroy my opponent like two minutes ago.
Aspen considers her next move. “See, like your teammate, Aspen, is doing,” our coach comments, and ass-kisser Aspen smirks at me. She takes nearly three minutes before moving her piece.
We continue our game, with Aspen making a strategic mistake; she thinks she’s sitting pretty with her discovered check.
“Checkmate.” I capture Aspen’s king, and it’s like someone pulled the rug out from under her.
“Luna, could I speak to you for a moment in my office?” My coach says.
“Sure,” I say, and now it’s my turn to smirk at Aspen as I follow the old man down the hall and to his office.
He closes the door and takes a seat behind his desk, gesturing to the empty chair, and I sit. “Luna, when you transferred here, I immediately knew you were going places.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
“But lately, your focus has been slipping. You’re distracted, and it’s showing in your play. You’re not putting in one-hundred percent effort. I don’t like this shift in attitude, or you missing our last team competition.”
I go to defend myself, but he holds up his hand. “I don’t know much about your background, but take it from a poor kid like me who made it out: you can escape the trappings of poverty only to become ensnared by the trappings of wealth.”
“I don’t follow.” I cross my arms, hating that he can sniff the poverty wafting from me like a bad case of BO.
My coach tents his fingers together. “Your friends are not on the same path as you.”
“No, because my friends don’t play chess.” I bristle.
“Luna, you’re a great chess player, but I want you to become one of the greats. There’s a difference.”
“And that’s the goal,” I assure him. “I have a tournament coming up?—”
“That’s my other concern: you’re getting ahead of yourself. Too focused on tournaments instead of building a solid foundation,” he tells me. “What are your plans for college? I’ve had several scouts ask about you?—”
“I’m not going to college.” And for once, my “guardian” Vince and I are on the same page. I don’t need a degree as a backup plan. There is no backup plan; chess is the plan.
My coach shakes his head disapprovingly. “I’d like to speak to your mother and father about your future.”
“Good luck finding either of them,” I snipe.
“Luna, I’m sorry?—”
“It’s fine. I need to get to the dining hall. May I be excused?”
He nods sympathetically, and I hurry out of his office, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. Making it to the nearest bathroom, I lock the stall and close the toilet lid, taking a seat on it as I bring my knees to my chest so no one will see me cry. Hell, I’m not even sure why I’m crying.
Two girls enter the bathroom, huddled in front of the mirrors. “Luna thinks she’s hot shit.”
“I know, right? Like she comes out of nowhere and outranks me? My dad was livid; he has our investigator looking into her.” I recognize Aspen’s voice.
“Oooh. What did he learn?”
“I don’t know yet, but you can tell Luna is trash. She must be here on some kind of pity scholarship. Do you remember at our first house dinner when she attacked her salad with a fish fork? So uncouth.”
Laughter proceeds footsteps, and I hear the bathroom door opening and closing. Waiting a moment longer, I fling the stall door open.
Returning to the dorm, my suite mate’s not here, and I get ready for dinner solo. My phone buzzes, and I grab it.
$358,294.23
After I was dropped off at boarding school nearly a year ago, I was naive enough to believe Vince would forget all about me. Until I received my first weekly debt update.
Send me pictures of your wrists.
Shoving up my left sleeve, I angle my arm to where my wrist is showing, flipping the bird as I snap a pic. Doing the same with my right arm, I send him the pictures. Proof that I’m not cutting myself.
Without the attitude next time.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t specify,” I snipe.
Between dealing with Aspen and now Vince’s bullshit, I’ve lost my appetite, but I still make my way to the dining hall. Waiting in line, I see my friends on the other side of the room and wave. When I reach the front of the line, I order a salad and the fish entree.
I weave in and out of students with my tray, spotting my teammates from the bathroom incident waiting in the taco bar line. Once I near them, I pretend to trip, slamming into Aspen while gripping my fork for dear life. We tumble to the ground with my tray skittering across the floor, and in the chaos of it, I ram the fork prongs into the fleshy part of her bare thigh.
“Oww, you clumsy bitch!” Aspen’s eyes go wide as she notices the fork protruding from her thigh and the blood gushing from it. “Oh my God!” she shrieks.
“Oh, no. Fish fork got ya. Need help?”
I go to yank the fork out of her thigh, but she smacks my hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” She scrambles to her feet and hobbles out of the dining hall.
I glance over to her friend who was also talking shit about me in the bathroom, but she wisely disappears into the crowd of busybodies.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I cut to the front of the line. “Hey!” A girl bitches, and I spin around.
“You got a problem?” I snap, and I must look stabby, because she holds up her hands .
With all eyes on me, I grab my new tray and join my friends.
“What happened? We couldn’t see from over here,” my roommate, Olivia, says.
“Fish fork accident,” I say, stabbing a piece of salad greens with my fish fork and bringing it to my mouth in a very uncouth manner.