Stalemate

Chapter 2

"If you'll excuse me, my son is quite an excellent student in every way!" I stopped to listen when I heard my father's smug voice drifting through the wood of the door. "Preposterous!" There was a pause, in which I could only wonder what my father had exclaimed about. "Doesn't count?" I heard muffled muttering, but couldn't make out words. I pressed my ear harder against the door. "...but yes, of course. I see," Father was saying. "Yes. Yes." Now his tones were subdued, almost worried. "Thank you."

I heard a click, and, mind racing, dashed backwards. When the door opened, I was yards away, strolling casually and innocently. "Hullo, Father," I said respectfully. His keen eyes lowered and narrowed till they found mine, then looked back up. It was a treatment I had been given several times before. It meant, Go away, I'm busy. I don't have the time to deal with you right now. He never seemed to. I was, apparently, a big waste of time. 

"My son is quite an excellent student in every way!" I recalled. But even becoming the region-wide chess champion didn't mean my father had to associate with me on a level that would include familiarity. Or speaking to me.

I hugged my sides, willing my mind to take me elsewhere. "Sir?" A voice sounded in my ear and I was immediately relieved. "Yes?" I stuttered, hastily pressing the button that would allow her to actually hear me. "Genevieve? Yes?"

"Come to my office. We need to have a discussion."

"Be right there," I replied automatically. With  staticky click, the voice in my ear was gone. I was left to silence again, left to ponder. What did that mean? The past few times she had said that, it had not meant good things. "You've lost nationals," I remembered, or "Mr. Curlitel has been fired", or, worst of all, "Your mother is dead." There had been no warning, sugarcoating, no preamble. I pushed that thought out of my mind, now doubly worried about our discussion.

Rapping my knuckles smartly against Genevieve's office door, I sighed. "Come in!" Called a muffled voice. I entered and sat down, across from waves of gray hair, wrinkly skin, and two kind eyes. Genevieve, my thinly disguised nanny, was worth two parental figures and a grandma, which was good, because I'd never known my grandparents and my remaining parental figure was certainly lacking.

"How was your day, sir?" She asked me in a whisper, cell phone pressed to her cheek. I smiled and didn't answer, leaning back in the plush seat. I closed my eyes and envisioned a black and white floor, with dancing figures swirling across it. Half in black and half in white, all masked. What did they call it? A masquerade, yes, a masquerade across a chessboard.

"Luther?"

"Yes?" I recovered quickly with a guilty smile, trying to re-summon the image in my mind.

"Our discussion?"

"Ah, yes," I replied, in a failed attempt at being regal.

"I'm afraid I have something quite, well, worrying for you," Genevieve began. "You are taking all gifted and talented courses."

"I am."

"Your grades and GPA are outstanding."

"I suppose so," I muttered.

"Your career in chess, extremely successful."

At this, I smiled.

"However..."

My smile faded. "However, what?"

Genevieve sighed. "Your academic adviser contacted your father this morning. He seemed to think that if your father wants you to get into an Ivy League academy, your position at the moment would not be enough." She paused, and I opened my mouth, but she waved her hand once and I closed it again. "The adviser said that what colleges are looking for today is well roundedness. He seemed to think it necessary for you to pursue a sport."

My heart dropped with my jaw, my mind reeling. Me, who couldn't convince Mother that playing chess was exercise? Me, who got winded after running down the stairs, and had to stop to catch my breath on Christmas day? (In my defense, we have a lot of stairs.)

Genevieve smiled weakly and warily. "He suggested track?"

I finally found my voice. "Oh, god," I mumbled.

Genevieve's fingers started clickety-clacketing on her keyboard. "The good news is Mt. Couerville High has an excellent track program," she attempted with false cheer. I slipped down my seat, back resting on the bottom edge. "But, Genevieve," I protested, "I can't run!"