OPENING The start of a chess game, with White making the first move The queen charges forward. The king cowers. But in a flash, the knight jumps onto the scene to His Majesty's defense. I let out a big breath once I've played my move. Frowning, my opponent, Eric Malik, leans his head over the chessboard. My mom once let me use her stethoscope, and her heartbeat sounded like the stampede from The Lion King, but I think my heart's beating even faster now. This is the final round at the California Middle School State Chess Championship, and Eric is my toughest opponent by far. He was a medalist last year, and this is the first time I've ever qualified for State. Right now, it's hard to tell who has the upper hand in our game. But one wrong move and my position could collapse like a Jenga tower. A familiar voice from two tables down makes me look up. "I resign," Ralph Morris sighs, knocking his king over. The slump of his shoulders makes my chest tighten. Ralph is my chess teammate at Lingard Middle School. Like my opponent, Eric, he's also playing at State for the second time. I know he's hoping to improve on his fifth place finish last year and win Lingard's first-ever medal at the tournament. When he catches me looking, Ralph gives a small shake of his head, misery all over his face. With this loss, he's ending the tournament with six points out of a maximum of eight, so the best place he can hope for now is fourth. That's got to hurt. I offer him a sympathetic smile before he trudges off into the crowd. My eyes open wide. There's a crowd? At least twenty people are clustered around my table, staring straight at my chessboard. It's a mix of my fellow competitors-- mostly boys who have already finished their games-- their parents and coaches, and a couple of competition officials. I recognize almost all of them because the competitive chess community in Northern California is pretty small. But there's a man at the front I don't think I've seen before. He's wearing a serious-looking lanyard around his neck and scribbling away in a notebook. I squint to make out the two words on his badge: ChessChamps Media ChessChamps is the biggest chess magazine in the country. Last month, they did an exclusive interview with Ding Liren, the world chess champion. A middle school chess competition is nothing compared to the world championship, so what's a reporter from ChessChamps doing here? And why is he, and everyone else, looking at my game? "Draw?" My eyes snap to Eric's face at the sound of his voice. If I accept his draw offer, the game ends now with a half point for each of us. So we would both finish the tournament with six and a half points. But because Eric has a slightly better tiebreaker score, he'd clinch at least third place. Meanwhile, a draw would put me anywhere between third and fifth depending on how the other players' final games go. Without hesitation, I shake my head. No way I'm accepting his draw offer, not when I'm so close to a medal I can basically feel its weight around my neck. I can already imagine the proud smiles on my parents' faces when they see me up on stage accepting my medal from the president of the California Schools Chess Association. I'll be the first State medalist my school has ever had--and on my debut at State too! Eric shrugs and moves his queen to the left side of the board. She's now pointed right at my knight. The gears in my head whir into action. My knight is currently protected by a pawn, but what if . . . I move that pawn away? Eric will think the knight is defense[1]less and capture it with his queen, not realizing it's a poisoned bait. Once his queen is deep in my territory, I can trap her with my rook and two bishops. The moment I move my pawn, the crowd bursts into whispers. Someone even gasps. I squash down the urge to giggle. It's just a chess move, but they make it seem really dramatic, like they're watching a bullfight. How will they react once I play my surprise winning move? I sit up straighter and flex my fingers. The moment Eric captures my knight, I'm ready to swing my lightsquared bishop out and set the queen trap. But Eric's hand drifts past his queen and reaches for his rook instead. Grasping the rook firmly between his fingers, he moves it two squares to the right and attacks my king. My eyes widen as the crowd falls silent. This isn't how it's supposed to go. What's Eric trying to-- Oh. My blood runs cold as Eric's plan hits me. He's played a zwischenzug, a word I've always struggled to pronounce that basically means delaying his most obvious move (capture my knight) to first deliver a threat. His attack on my king can easily be blocked by my rook. But with my rook occupied, I won't have all the pieces I need to set up the trap. He'll be able to capture my knight on his next turn without losing anything. My stomach sinks all the way to my Converse, and there's a loud pounding in my head. This can't be happening. There must still be a way around this. Biting my lip, I lean forward and cup my hands around my eyes as though narrowing my field of vision will allow me to catch something I've missed, something that might help me rescue the game. Beads of sweat roll down my temples despite the air-conditioning being on full blast, making my bangs stick to my forehead even as goose bumps sprout all over my skin. Why did I play that knight sacrifice? If I had gone with a safer move, I wouldn't be stuck in the position I am now--about to lose. After what feels like an eternity, I finally force myself to accept the truth: I'm so screwed. I have no choice but to defend my king with my rook. Sure enough, Eric's queen immediately swoops down on my knight. One whole piece down, I play on for a few more moves and try to set another trap for Eric, but he's too good to fall for my desperate tricks. Finally, on move forty-seven, I knock my king over. I swallow hard and say over the lump in my throat, "I resign." Excerpted from May the Best Player Win by Kyla Zhao All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
