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“You must read a lot, I suppose?” he says. It sounds like both a statement and a question at the same time.
“It’s my favourite thing to do.”
We stare at each other. Zachary Blackwood. The significance of his name is changing with every passing moment.
At first, it was Zachary Blackwood—a name that meant a mysterious boy with a serious face.
Now, it’s Zachary Blackwood—a name that means a challenge.
Because Zachary’s face is still very serious and calm, but there is a new shadow in his frown. He’s measuring me, weighing me up, placing me across him on a scale.
Just like the black and white tiles on the floor, Zachary has a chessboard in his mind. He is figuring out which piece I am. A pawn that won’t make it through the game? A clever knight who slips and slides across the board? Or a useless king who must be toppled?
I’ve already workedhimout.
He is the white rook. White, because he made the first move. I never play the white side anyway—starting first puts you at an advantage, but it forces you to be assertive, make more decisions, take more risks. The black side is the dark horse—you’re always on the back foot, but your moves are also more informed.
Rook, because he moves directly and powerfully. A major piece—but not quite a queen. He’s too straightforward.
“Well, I’ve just finishedAnimal Farm,” Zachary declares. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“I liked it well enough,” I answer. “It was the shortest book I read last year.”
Zachary’s eyebrows quirk slightly upwards. He doesn’t look surprised—he looks offended.
“Short? Just because it’s short doesn’t mean it’s not an important book.”
“I know very well how important this book is.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you’ve not heard about the Russian Revolution.”
My hands curl into fists. I feel my voice go icy and hard, the way it does when I’m debating in class against a student who is resorting to dirty tricks to scrape a victory. “I didn’t read the book thinking it was just about animals if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
Zachary gives a stiff shrug. “I just thought your comment about the book being too short maybe suggested that you didn’t quite understand the writer’s message.”
“I never said it was too short,” I reply in my frostiest tone. “I just said it was the shortest book I read last year.”
“Well, I suppose when you think about it, most books are longer thanAnimal Farm,” Zachary concedes with no grace whatsoever. “Even a book likePeter Panis longer.”
“What do you mean by ‘even a book likePeter Pan’?” I ask with narrowed eyes. “What’s a book likePeter Pan?”
Zachary gestures with one hand. “Oh, you know. Children’s books.”
“What’s wrong with children’s books?”
He lets out a short laugh. “For one, that they are for children.”
“Children shouldn’t read?”
“Everybody should read.”
I raise my eyebrows and ask in a dry tone, “But five-year-olds should read books for adults?”
Zachary is quiet for a moment, watching me with the intense, solemn expression of the saints in Smolny Cathedral.
“I apologise if I offended you,” he says with almost over-the-top politeness. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You’ve not offended me,” I snap.
