The Girl He Used to Know(18)
Eric defended me. “I’ve been playing with Annika for three years, and I’d bet money that she could beat every one of you. She’ll be an asset to us.” The last thing I wanted to do after an endorsement like that was let Eric down.
There were twelve of us competing that day, and if I’d had to drive over with the others, packed six to a car like sardines, surrounded by noises and smells, I would not have agreed to do it.
“We can drive over by ourselves if you want, Annika,” Jonathan had said. “And we don’t have to spend the night. We can leave as soon as our matches are over.” Once again, he’d removed every obstacle in my way as if he’d known exactly what to do to make me comfortable.
“He does know,” Janice said when I told her about his offer. “And he’s doing it because he likes you, and because he truly is a nice guy.”
“I’m very nervous,” I admitted to Jonathan, tucking my hands up under the hem of my shirt so I could hide the flicking of my fingers.
“You’ll do great,” he said. “They’ll take one look at you and forget how to play the game.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “These players are really good. I can’t imagine they’d suddenly forget how to play.”
“I meant because you’re so pretty. They’ll be too busy looking at you and it will blow their concentration.”
“That probably won’t happen.”
He let out a short laugh. “Just me then, huh?”
My brain figured out what he meant a few minutes later and I yelled “Oh” loud enough to make Jonathan jump in his seat a little. “Were you flirting with me?”
“I was trying to. I thought I was halfway decent at it, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Jonathan?”
He took his eyes off the road for a second and looked over at me.
“I totally thought you were flirting. I was just making sure.”
Then he gave me another one of those smiles I’d told Janice about.
* * *
The competition was being held in a large conference room at a local hotel. Though we were traveling as a team, we would be competing individually. The weather that day was unseasonably warm for late October, as it often is in the unpredictable Midwest, and I’d worn a long baggy skirt and even looser T-shirt knowing I wouldn’t be able to handle clothing that wasn’t lightweight and comfortable. I still felt overheated and had already started to sweat a little.
“You doing okay?” Jonathan asked. I hadn’t uttered a word since we’d walked into the hotel, and I’d remained close by his side even though I really needed to go to the bathroom. My bladder didn’t handle nervousness well at all.
“When will we start playing?” I hated not knowing exactly how things worked, and I should have asked Eric what to expect from tournament play before I’d committed. If I could get past the part where I had to exchange small talk with my opponent, and start playing, I could lose myself in the game and block out the rest. All the butterflies in my stomach would disappear and I’d stop feeling like I had to throw up.
“The first round will start at ten o’clock. Eric has the sheet with our brackets and who we’ll be playing. Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.”
His words calmed me and I nodded. “Okay.”
For the next half hour, we warmed up and Eric shared everything he knew about the other teams. I would potentially be playing three times, depending on whether I won and advanced to the next round. My first opponent was a girl from Missouri, and I studied her stats and pondered my opening.
A little before ten, we filed into the conference room and took our spots in front of the boards that had our names next to them on small cardboard signs.
“Hello,” my opponent said. She was a dark-haired girl named Daisy and when she extended her hand, I shook it quickly and turned my attention back to the board. My nervousness over competing for the first time affected my opening, and I faltered, making two careless moves in a row. Her capitalization on them was all it took for me to realize she would be a formidable opponent, and it was exactly the motivation I needed to banish the butterflies and send me into fighting mode. We battled until the finish, but in a move she didn’t see coming, I captured her king. “Checkmate.”
“Good game,” she said.
The next match seemed easier by comparison; I’d expected it to be harder. Maybe it was the luck of the draw, but I dispatched my opponent—a tall boy from the University of Iowa—with relative ease, although it took me nearly two hours to do it.
“Wow. Okay,” was all he said before he moved on.
By the time I sat down across from my third and final opponent, I had been playing for almost four hours, and the combination of an early wake-up time and the mental energy required to sustain this level of play had begun to catch up with me. My opponent kept his focus on the board when we sat down across from each other. We didn’t look at each other, and neither of us said a word. Our match went on for a long time and we drew a crowd as the others finished. It was truly the hardest match I’d ever played in all my years of dispatching opponents, and it was only because my opponent botched his final move that I was able to triumph. I felt depleted, almost limp, as I captured his king. “Checkmate.” Jonathan came up and placed his hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently as I exhaled in relief.