Tears by Francine Pascal

moves away from completion, an attack on Renny’s castled king through the bishop sacrifice at h7.
And that little thirteen-year-old punk sitting across from her, whom she also grudgingly happened to adore, was about to get his ass whipped sorry.
Because Gaia was hanging on to the good vibes produced by her dad’s interest in Sam and Ed. Her chess game was taking a turn for the better, as was her life. Wasn’t that what people said about chess, anyway? That it was just a metaphor for life?
On the up. . .
    . . .
and down.
    A thought occurred to her.
    Sam and Ed would probably be about as interestedin meeting Gaia Moore’s dad as they were in hanging out with Gaia Moore.
    â€œDon’t you think it sucks that Kasparov lost the world championship to Vladimir Kramnik?” Renny asked. He nudged a piece forward, then folded his hands in a steeple.
    â€œYeah. No. Haven’t really thought about it,” Gaia muttered sulkily. She chewed on her thumbnail as she stared at the board and she realized she’d been over-hasty and overconfident in her play. Renny had preempted her next move. He knew exactly what she was up to—and why shouldn’t he? This was shoddy strategy on her part. Way beneath her level.
    â€œSneaky does it.” Renny grinned. With a swift move he pushed Gaia’s game in tight after she’d been forced to change her play. No more fun strategies now. It would be defenses only, no hope of winning. Just a long drawn-out claustrophobic march toward inevitable doom. Gaia smirked.
Chess really was a metaphor for life.
Better to just die fast. Her face creased into a mask of resignation as she appraised the chessboard. She wondered why she had to torture herself with a visual representation of how her reality was swirling down the drain. Overconfidence leads to vulnerability leads to. . .
    â€œCheckmate.”
    Gaia forked over a twenty, clipped Renny lightly on the side of his head, and then stood up. “Bite me,” shesaid with a smile, jamming her fingers into a pair of ratty brown fingerless gloves.
    â€œLove to,” Renny replied.
    Gaia shuffled off through the park toward LaGuardia Place. Only one thing could alleviate the status quo: a biggie box of Good & Plenty. Gaia had become addicted to the stuff in the last few days. The chewy pink and white candies gave her an excellent, vivifying sugar hit—even better than Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Besides, there was no reason to feel self-conscious about the black licorice stain on her teeth. It wasn’t like she needed to look kissable.
    â€œGaia!”
    Except
. . .
    The voice was as familiar as the footsteps drawing near. Why couldn’t Sam find another park? She glanced up at him. There was a better question, actually: Why the hell did those windswept curls still have the lame effect of intoxicating her—even as she felt a knife plunging through her heart? A knife that twisted on sight of Sam’s tentative smile?
    â€œHey,” he offered.
    Gaia didn’t answer.
    â€œI never really understood the point of fingerless gloves,” Sam murmured. “I mean, it’s the extremities of the fingers that feel the cold most, right? So insulating everything except for the tips will only make them feel worse.”
    â€œIf you say so.” Gaia stepped away from him. What was this? Med school moments? If he wanted to make small talk, he was even more of a coward than she’d given him credit for.
    â€œNo. Gaia, wait.” Sam reached for her arm. “I came here to find you. I’ve been crazy knowing how much I upset you. I’m so sorry about yesterday.”
    I’ll bet.
But Gaia didn’t move. She waited, even though she knew she shouldn’t give him the chance to explain himself. But what did she have to lose that she hadn’t already lost?
Pride had long since been tossed out the door.
She’d left it on Canal Street, in fact. It was probably on its way to