Read Online Checkmate by Walter Dean Myers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter Dean Myers
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knight and it looked fine to me.
We waited, and waited, and waited, while Bashir considered her move.
The girl behind the veil rocked slowly forward and back. She seemed calm. I wondered if, behind the veil and the differences, she was nervous, if her heart was beating faster. Finally, after a long while, she reached out her incredibly skinny fingers and made a move.
There was a flurry of movement around the room as all of the spectators made the same move on their boards. Then, as if there was one simultaneous recognition of an event, there was a huge sigh that seemed to float to the ceiling.
Sidney slapped his hand against his forehead. Bobbi leaned back in her chair and seemed to slump downward.
“He lost his rook!” Sidney said. “It’s over!”
There were a few more moves on the stage, quick moves that went on over the growing buzz from the onlookers. But it was clear that something important had happened and a few moments later I saw Pullman reach over and lay down his king. The game was over.
There was a brief smattering of applause. Bashir stood and put her head down.
“I would have kicked her butt,” Bobbi said.
Some of the kids watching were already leaving, and when I saw Sidney and Bobbi standing I was ready to go, too. We went down the stairs to the first floor with Sidney reciting all of the mistakes he thought that Pullman had made.
“The biggest was playing the King’s Gambit against a girl,” Sidney said. “When he sent that pawn strolling out to the middle of the board she had to grab it, and you know she’s going to have all the variations memorized. That’s what girls do.”
“Bull!” Bobbi said. “He thought he had an easy win and he played her easy. She just waited for him to blow and he blew! Case closed. Look, there’s Pullman with his father. His father used to play at City University a thousand years ago.”
I looked over at Pullman talking to a man only an inchor so taller than he was. Mr. Pullman had shockingly white hair that stood out on all sides. He was looking at his son and kept pushing the chess player’s head up so that he could look him in the eye.
“He’s probably telling him the same thing you said,” I began. I was going to say something about what Pullman would do if he played the Kenyan girl again, but then I saw it. Mr. Pullman slapped his son across the face.
It was shocking, almost as if I had been hit. The kid stepped back and looked around quickly, bringing his hand to his face and looking around the fingers. I knew how he felt. He was embarrassed for everyone to see his father hit him like that.
“What’s that all about?” I asked.
“We’re not supposed to lose,” Sidney said softly.
I turned to Sidney and saw that his face was flushed. There were tears in his eyes. I could feel myself tearing up and I turned away from Sidney and Bobbi.
I hated to see kids get hit. Maybe even more than being hit myself. Pullman had made a mistake, had lost a chess game, but it wasn’t all that bad.
Sidney had one hand on my sleeve and one behind Bobbi’s back as we went toward the huge doors of theBrooklyn Public Library. Outside there was a light rain that was moving people from the tables that fronted the library and off the stairs.
“I got to get home,” Sidney was saying.
“You want to stop for a soda or something?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“I got to get home,” he repeated.
“See you in school Monday,” I called to Sidney as he started down the stairs.
“I never thought of chess as being that serious,” I said.
“Look over there,” Bobbi said, nodding toward our right.
I saw the Pullman kid and his father walking down the stairs. The kid was about three steps behind, head down. Some dudes who looked as if they might be from the islands were on the stairs, talking. They wore bright yellow-and-green jackets that were close enough in design for them to be in a club or something. On the plaza in front of the library the blue
We waited, and waited, and waited, while Bashir considered her move.
The girl behind the veil rocked slowly forward and back. She seemed calm. I wondered if, behind the veil and the differences, she was nervous, if her heart was beating faster. Finally, after a long while, she reached out her incredibly skinny fingers and made a move.
There was a flurry of movement around the room as all of the spectators made the same move on their boards. Then, as if there was one simultaneous recognition of an event, there was a huge sigh that seemed to float to the ceiling.
Sidney slapped his hand against his forehead. Bobbi leaned back in her chair and seemed to slump downward.
“He lost his rook!” Sidney said. “It’s over!”
There were a few more moves on the stage, quick moves that went on over the growing buzz from the onlookers. But it was clear that something important had happened and a few moments later I saw Pullman reach over and lay down his king. The game was over.
There was a brief smattering of applause. Bashir stood and put her head down.
“I would have kicked her butt,” Bobbi said.
Some of the kids watching were already leaving, and when I saw Sidney and Bobbi standing I was ready to go, too. We went down the stairs to the first floor with Sidney reciting all of the mistakes he thought that Pullman had made.
“The biggest was playing the King’s Gambit against a girl,” Sidney said. “When he sent that pawn strolling out to the middle of the board she had to grab it, and you know she’s going to have all the variations memorized. That’s what girls do.”
“Bull!” Bobbi said. “He thought he had an easy win and he played her easy. She just waited for him to blow and he blew! Case closed. Look, there’s Pullman with his father. His father used to play at City University a thousand years ago.”
I looked over at Pullman talking to a man only an inchor so taller than he was. Mr. Pullman had shockingly white hair that stood out on all sides. He was looking at his son and kept pushing the chess player’s head up so that he could look him in the eye.
“He’s probably telling him the same thing you said,” I began. I was going to say something about what Pullman would do if he played the Kenyan girl again, but then I saw it. Mr. Pullman slapped his son across the face.
It was shocking, almost as if I had been hit. The kid stepped back and looked around quickly, bringing his hand to his face and looking around the fingers. I knew how he felt. He was embarrassed for everyone to see his father hit him like that.
“What’s that all about?” I asked.
“We’re not supposed to lose,” Sidney said softly.
I turned to Sidney and saw that his face was flushed. There were tears in his eyes. I could feel myself tearing up and I turned away from Sidney and Bobbi.
I hated to see kids get hit. Maybe even more than being hit myself. Pullman had made a mistake, had lost a chess game, but it wasn’t all that bad.
Sidney had one hand on my sleeve and one behind Bobbi’s back as we went toward the huge doors of theBrooklyn Public Library. Outside there was a light rain that was moving people from the tables that fronted the library and off the stairs.
“I got to get home,” Sidney was saying.
“You want to stop for a soda or something?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“I got to get home,” he repeated.
“See you in school Monday,” I called to Sidney as he started down the stairs.
“I never thought of chess as being that serious,” I said.
“Look over there,” Bobbi said, nodding toward our right.
I saw the Pullman kid and his father walking down the stairs. The kid was about three steps behind, head down. Some dudes who looked as if they might be from the islands were on the stairs, talking. They wore bright yellow-and-green jackets that were close enough in design for them to be in a club or something. On the plaza in front of the library the blue
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