Chapter 2 Checkmate and Collisions

DENZEL'S POV

Rule #6: Confidence is quiet. Arrogance wears a jacket.

The auditorium-turned-arena hummed with tension. Velvet cloths draped over folding tables. Judges in blazers paced between boards. The scent of waxed floors and nervous sweat clung to the air. Our interschool invitational was supposed to be friendly, but you wouldn't know it from the way we stared each other down like gladiators.

And across the room? Mater Carmeli's finest. All perfect posture and smug smiles, like they weren't just here to compete but to collect wins.

Rheiza nudged me. "They look expensive."

"Their confidence is louder than their opening plays will be," I murmured, tugging at my blazer. "Let's stay unimpressed."

"Agreed," Hannah added, blowing a bubble of pink gum. "Although, full disclosure, the Korean one is cute."

"They're here for volleyball," I said flatly. "Wrong battlefield."

But that didn't stop me from noticing the boy who didn't smile. He stood apart from the others. Tall. Still. Like someone who knew the value of silence. His eyes scanned the room, landing on the chess boards.

And then, on me.

I looked away first.

Rule #7: If someone stares too long, give them a reason to look away.

The match began.

Aprille Biatrice Isidro, Mater Carmeli's top seed, sat across from me like she owned the board.

"Ramos," she said coolly.

"Isidro."

No handshake. Just cold acknowledg. We both knew what this was.

My fingers hovered over my pawn. The crowd faded. The lights dimmed in my mind. All that remained was the grid, the pieces, and the win.

E4.

She countered with C5.

Of course. Sicilian Defense. She was aggressive.

Good. So was I.

By midgame, we were drawing attention. Other matches continued around us, but ours had gravity. People leaned in. MCS boys circled. A blonde-haired boy waved.

The tall one-the one who watched me earlier-stood with arms folded, unreadable.

I ignored them.

My focus was absolute.

Isidro went for a queen's gambit I'd seen in her old replays. She thought I'd take the bait. Instead, I castled kingside and lined up a rook.

Her lips thinned.

Then I saw it: a trap forming. She wanted me to advance the bishop. I pretended to hesitate. Let her think she had me.

Then I slid my knight into position, cutting her queen off from defense.

Check.

She didn't blink. But her fingers clenched slightly.

I pressed forward. Calculated. Clean. Unrelenting.

Checkmate in five moves.

She froze.

Then, softly, almost grudgingly: "You're good."

"So are you."

She stood. Walked away without another word.

I exhaled, leaning back.

The applause wasn't loud. This wasn't that kind of match.

But the silence? That was better.

Then he stepped forward.

Him. The tall one. Mater Carmeli's volleyball captain. He looked down at the board, then at me.

"Nice game," he said.

His voice was low. Even.

"Thanks," I replied. "You don't look like you play."

"I don't. But I recognize strategy."

"Right. Because watching is the same as knowing."

He actually laughed. Just once. Quiet and surprised, like he wasn't used to it.

"I'm Basti."

"I didn't ask."

That wiped the smirk from his lips. Just a little.

"I'll remember that," he said. Then walked away.

I watched him go, unsettled.

Rheiza reappeared beside me. "What was that?"

"I won."

"Not the match. The stare-off."

"He said two sentences. That's not a thing."

She handed me a water bottle. "Maybe not. But the look in his eyes? That was something."

That afternoon, I found myself in the stands with Hannah and Rheiza, watching the volleyball exhibition game.

Hannah squealed. "There's Basti again. And of course, Luke. The dancer. Blond, earring, walking flirt."

Luke caught the eye of a girl in the front row and winked. She squealed.

"Gross," I muttered.

"Don't lie," Rheiza said. "You stared."

"I was watching his footwork."

"Uh-huh."

But my eyes drifted. Again.

Basti.

He played like he thought ten steps ahead. Not flashy. Just sharp. Every spike was precise. Every block calculated.

He didn't look at me.

But I noticed every time he paused. Like he could feel my eyes. Like maybe he knew I was watching.

I hated that.

Because Rule #8: Don't let them know they're interesting.

Especially when they are.

-

BASTI'S POV

Her name was Denzel. Sounds "damsel" to me.

Shekaira Denzel Ramos.

I asked Biatrice after the match. She just shrugged and muttered something about "lucky plays" and "underdog tactics."

But I saw the way Biatrice looked when she walked away from that board. Shaken.

Denzel didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Just said "Checkmate" like it was routine.

And when I spoke to her, she met my gaze without blinking. Like she wasn't impressed. Like she didn't care who I was.

That was rare.

Back on the court, I played hard. Not for the crowd. Not even for the win.

I played to see if she'd watch me the way I watched her.

She did.

Just once. But it was enough.

Luke nudged me during water break. "You're distracted."

"No, I'm not."

"You're doing that haunted stare thing again."

I didn't answer.

After the match, she was gone. I didn't like that.

Later, in the locker room, Biatrice leaned against my locker.

"She was watching you."

"Was she?"

"Don't pretend you didn't notice."

"So what if I did?"

She stared. "Just be careful. She's not like the others."

I nodded once.

"That's the point."

-

DENZEL'S POV

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed.

Group Chat: Cross Queens

Hannah: girl. spill.

Rheiza: that look he gave you? cinematic.

Me: I won a match. That's it.

Hannah: sure. and Romeo just happened to stare at Juliet.

I stared at the screen for a moment.

Then typed:

Me: goodnight.

But I didn't sleep. Not for a long time. Because even though I won, I felt like something else had just started. And I didn't know the rules to this game.