My dad taught us how to play chess. He had four moves that could take you from how-do-you-do to check mate in record time.
Roberval (the bully from B ) taunted and harassed me throughout Junior High.
My siblings and I joined the chess team. Students took turns playing each other in round robin fashion. Roberval also tried out for the chess team. Sick with worry, I faced my nemesis. He was your classic, smoking in the halls, black jacket trouble making kid. Why or how he thought chess would work for him, I don’t know.
Leaning back on two legs of a cafeteria chair, he wore a smirk on his face. He planned to whip me. Undoubtedly, thought he would. I don’t recall who was white or black, or his moves, but it doesn’t matter.
If I understand chess moves and I’m not sure I do, it went like this. My moves: King’s pawn to E3. Up one space. Then, King’s bishop to C4. Queen to F3, or my pieces crossed and I waited. My trap was set and he fell for it! Queen to F7. Checkmate! My bishop guarded my queen, a mighty warrior in enemy territory. She sat perched beautifully among my opponent’s pieces.
When it dawned on him that he’d been beaten by the awkward ugly duckling four eyed, broken toothed freak he liked to make fun of, his chair suddenly dropped down with a thud. He sat stunned for a short while. Slowly, he moved his hand across the cafeteria table until he reached the chess board. His hand went under the board. In a flurry, he tossed it and all the pieces. He leaned back in an elaborate arch with the chair. The teachers and students stood in shock. In a fit of rage, Roberval lurched across the table. His hands reached out to choke me. I backed up. He never came near me. The teachers grabbed him and ejected him from Chess club.
I never went back to chess club, but no matter. I had my sweetest chess victory ever.