Cameron had a sly look on his face that you did not like. No wonder Neil and Meeks don't particularly hold much sympathy for him, you thought. Not only that, but he was tremendously easy to beat. You wondered how he even got qualified in the first place! It was like playing against Townes all over again.
With a groan of deception, Cameron knocked over his king, signaling he gave up. Then, without bothering to shake your extended hand, he brutally stood up, letting his chair fall back, and stomped away, leaving you there a bit shook.
"Ah, I see our friend Cameron is being a sore loser again," snickered a voice behind you.
You stood up as you spun around. Meeks had a satisfied smile on his face. "Thank you for beating him, Y/N. He's always acting like he's better than all of us at chess."
"It was too easy," you admitted. "He plays like a beginner. I'm kind of surprised he even got qualified for the US Opens."
"All of us are, believe me. C'mon, let's go to the bar and get a drink."
You made your way to the ground floor and took a seat next to Neil, who was waiting for you there and pushed a cold drink towards you.
"So? How'd it go?"
"Cameron was an easy one. I hope the next one is more challenging."
"I saw the board," said Meeks. "You're playing against the California state champion, Jackson. He's a tough one."
"All right." You sipped your drink and stood up. "I should probably go watch him play. Where is he?"
"He's already done, actually. You're up against him in fifteen minutes. Table number six."
You bit your lip. This was going to be the second you'd play against a state champion today.
"C'mon Y/N, don't make that face," said Neil as he rolled his eyes. "You're a goddamn chess genius, you're gonna ace this! And just because Jackson holds a pompeous title like state champion doesn't mean that he's gonna obviously be good, if you know what I mean..." He glanced over at Cameron, who was angrily complaining to someone else on the other side of the room.
"By the way, when's Pittsie coming along?" frowned Meeks. "Haven't seen him all morning."
"He told me he's going back to his hotel room upstairs between games. To practice," said Neil.
Ah yes, you thought, the infamous Pitts. When were you finally going to meet him? You'd totally forgotten about him, and neither of the boys had mentionned him up until now - at least in your presence.
"Right, I guess I should go. Are you guys coming?"
Meeks and Neil nodded, and the three of you headed to your next match.
Jackson was already sitting there. Judging by the small wrinkles on his forehead and at the corner of his eyes, he probably was in his forties. A lock of his messy, curled black hair fell above his nose, and when he saw you arrive, his face scrunched itself into a snarl.
"Dammit, they let girls compete here? Next thing you'll know, these damn women will be running for president..." He shook his head in disbelief.
As much as your hand was itching to violently connect itself to his cheek, you managed to contain yourself and forced a tight, polite smile on your lips.
"I'm Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you." You extended your hand, but he disdainfully ignored it - instead looking you up and down, apparently judging every inch of your clothes.
"So what did you do to get here, eh? Can you even play chess properly?"
You opened your mouth to reply, your cheeks burning, but Neil was quicker.
"Sir, she's the best player in this room. If you don't want to play against her, you can always forfeit and go screw yourself."
A loud whack! echoed in the room, making everyone turn towards you guys.
Neil was clutching his nose with both hands, and a small stream of blood trickled between his fingers. His eyes darted up back to the state champion. The next second, Meeks hurled himself towards him, his fist raised.
"You son of a - "
But before he could finish his sentence, a security guard stepped in, pulling Jackson back from the shoulder and pushing him against the wall.
"Neil!" You rushed up to him. "Are you okay?"
"Ibe fide," he groaned. You pulled out a tissue from your pocket and wiped the blood off his face.
"Y/N, if you don'd bead this guy - "
"Actually," interrupted a low-pitched voice behind you, "no one will be beating Mr. Jackson anymore."
You spun around to see a bald man with a grey moustache smiling at you and extending his hand. "Miles Ackerman. Vice chairman of the Chess Comittee."
"Nice to meet you," you hesitantly said, shaking it. "But what do you mean by..."
"We don't tolerate violence here, Miss Y/L/N. Mr. Jackson will no longer be competing with us. Our security team will be escorting him out of the building shortly. We are sincerely sorry for this regrettable incident and hope that you will accept our apologies."
"Of course, of course." You glanced at Neil, who seemed to be recovering from the blow. "But... won't there be a missing player?"
Ackerman's smile widened in a not so reassuring way.
"Don't worry about that, Miss Y/L/N. One of the competitors gave us a call yesterday to inform us he couldn't come. In fact - Mr. Jackson's departure is solving our little problem."
He glanced at his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend Mr. Watt's game. I wish you the best of luck, miss."
And with that he was gone.
"What an weird guy," muttered Meeks. "It's like he was waiting for this to happen."
"At least I won't be playing against that jerk," you said. "Neil, how is your nose?"
"It's fine. Not bleeding anymore."
"Good." You squeezed him between your arms.
"Hang on."
"What?" You took a step back, worried that you'd hugged him too hard or that he still wasn't feeling well.
"What did Ackerman say? He was going to go see a game..."
"Between Watts and Miller," finished Meeks.
"Watts?" repeated Neil.
And then it hit you.
"Oh my gosh!" you squealed. "Watts, as in Benny Watts? The US champion?"
Your friends were just as excited as you were. You felt your heart drumming inside your ears - how could you have missed this? You'd literally been in the same room as the goddamn national chess champion and not once did it occurr to you!
"Guys!" said Meeks in a high-pitched voice. "Let's go watch their game!"
"Oh my gosh, we totally should! Y/N, come with us!"
Your eyes darted up to the announcement board, where you saw that Jackson's name had been erased, and that you were to play in twenty minutes against.... Gerard Pitts. Oh.
"Yes, of course!" you replied. "But I can't stay too long. I'm playing against your friend in twenty minutes."
"Wait, you're playing against Pitts?" Neil's eyes widened. "I need to see this! It's gonna be the battle of the century! Pitts is a tough guy!"
"Hey, I thought you said I was the best player in this room!"
Laughing and playfully punching each other, the three of you headed towards table number two.
You immediately hushed once you saw the game had already started, and quietly took seats in the back.
One of the players had dirty blond hair and a thin moustache. He couldn't be more than twenty-five years old, and he was wearing a large hat with a long trench coat. You immediately recognized him as Benny Watts, the current USA chess champion. His opponent was at least three times his age, with silver hair and a severe frown on his forehead. He moved his white queen forward then looked up from the chessboard - and you identified him as Arthur Miller, an ex-national champion.
Slowly but surely, the pieces were starting to vanish off the board. One by one, the whites were getting picked off by the blacks, and from where you were you could've sworn Benny was smirking.
Mesmerized by the game, you kept your eyes glued on the board, until Neil gently shoved your shoulder with his elbow.
"Y/N, you're playing against Pittsie in five minutes. We should probably get going."
"Oh..." A sigh of disappointment left your mouth. Right, the game against Pitts. You'd forgotten.
You reluctantly stood up and headed towards table number four, where someone was already seated. The guy looked up and stares at you for a solid ten seconds - you noticed his giant teddy bear eyes, his weird haircut that makes his hair stand up on top of his head, and his Welton Academy uniform.
You felt your cheeks growing red - damn, you weren't expecting him to be this cute!
"H-hi, I'm Y/N," you stuttered as you stick out your hand.
"Gerard Pitts," answered the guy as he shook your hand, making your skin tingle at his touch. "Neil told me a lot about you."
"Nothing too embarrassing, I hope?"
You sat down, trying to put up a confident smile, but Pitts was really destabilizing you. Why weren't you your usual self anymore?
"Looks like we've got an audience," he said, and you looked on your side, only to notice several people - including Neil and Steven - had taken a seat to watch your game.
"I'm betting on you, Y/N! Don't let me down!" giggled your best friend.
"Shall we?" asked Pitts.
And the game began.
Everything went pretty smoothly at the start. You picked off hesitantly his ponds one by one, then his knight, then his rook.
But somehow, his way of playing was unpredictable. As much as you attempted to focus and visualize the chessboard inside your head, you couldn't do it. Why wasn't it working? You tried to discreetly glance up at Pitts, only to notice he was staring right at you, as if trying to figure out your next move.
Stop looking at me, dammit!
You were determined to win - no way you'd made it this far only to get beaten by one of Neil's friends.
But his game was too unpredictable, and soon you noticed that one by one, your black pieces were being picked off the chessboard. Shit!
You desperately tried to focus and closed your eyes. The chess board. The chess board. Yes, you could see it now, but the pieces weren't moving. You couldn't see the different outcomes - sure, he could move his king, sure he could take your bishop, but then what? The image seemed to be frozen inside your mind.
You opened your eyes again, only to see Pitts observing you calmly, and you felt blood rush up your face.
Hesitantly, you moved up your rook. He frowned, sighed, scratched the back of his head, before taking your last knight with his queen. How hadn't you seen that?
Your lower lip began trembling as you realized that you were on your way to lose this match. No, no, no! It was impossible - you hadn't lost a single match since the beginning, how could this be happening?
In a desperate gesture, you glanced up to Neil. He smiled warmly and nodded, as if to encourage you. This somehow brought you some confidence, and you moved up your bishop.
Slowly, but surely, the situation was reversing itself. The white pieces fell off the board one by one, Pitts was rubbing his face and seemingly panicking, and his time was running out.
You moved up your queen. Took his pond. Moved away your king. Knocked down his last rook.
Until his turn came and, after observing the chess board for several seconds, he pushed down his king, giving up.
A wave of cheers exploded amongst your audience as you stood up, smiling, and shook his hand.
"Nice game. You got me there," said Pitts, holding on to your hand longer than needed.
"You played well. I almost thought I was a goner," you stuttered, blushing.
You slightly turned towards the spectators - Neil was laughing and smiling, and right behind him - you saw a guy with a cowboy hat and a trenchcoat standing up and leave.
"Oh my gosh..." you whispered. "Pitts! Did Benny Watts just watch our game?"
"Wait, what?"
You both stared at him as he left without noticing your amazed eyes.
"Oh my gosh! He watched us play!"
Neil and Meeks ran up to the stage and pulled you into a hug. "I knew you could do it, I knew it!" kept repeating your best friend.
After your excitement died down, you went to the bar to grab a drink with your friends and Pitts, who turned towards you while the two others were still chatting about your victory.
"Hey, Y/N?"
You smiled.
"I loved playing against you. It was tough. Wanna do it again sometime?"
"Oh- sure! Yeah - sure - I'd love to play again!" Your eyes darted to the ground and you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Cool." Then he turned towards Meeks.
Pitts, you thought. What a weird name.
But darn, he's cute.