Chelsea Winter was what many people in school referred to as the most beautiful nerd in town. Sure she had friends. She didn't sit around with a bunch of brace-toothed Startrek fanboys arguing about D&D initiative rolls and shit, but she was still pretty nerdy. Her geekish pastime of choice was sitting alone in the cafeteria with a mini chess board, a notebook of her recent losses, and a pocketbook of great chess puzzles — "White to move. Checkmate in two." -- stuff like that.

She was sitting there studying her loss last weekend, move by move, from the notation she'd taken of the game. What could she have done better? When did he have her beaten? Why hadn't she seen it? Her brow furrowed when she got to move 12. Her queen was forked against her knight. She'd sacrificed the knight of course, and lived to regret it two moves later when she found herself in checkmate. The knight could have saved her. She played and replayed the moves, over and over, thinking, rewinding, and playing them again.

A lunch tray slammed down onto her table and a French fry went spinning onto her notes, leaving a little grease stain in its wake. There was only one person who could ever be so obnoxious, so callous, so completely self-absorbed he didn't even realize his own molecules probably hated being part of him. Chelsea looked up from the French fry and there he was. Clark Anderson.

"How's the ass, baby?"

"I don't know. How are you, Clark?"

"Finally a decent comeback."

"I'm very busy. Is there a reason you're intruding in on the intelligent side of the universe, or did you just bumble in here by mistake?"

"Actually, I just wanted to wander over into the sexy side of the universe. Is this seat taken?"

"Would it make any difference at all if I said yes?"

"Well, if your imaginary friend comes back, tell him bishop to D4 is a better move."

Chelsea looked down, surprised. Bishop to D4 wasn't actually the best move. She'd cycled through that branch of play a dozen times and it had gotten him nothing, no material, not even a decent attacking position. But it was a legal move, and that surprised her entirely. Clark actually knew how to play chess?

He chomped a mouthful of French fries and flicked the black bishop over to D4. How obnoxious. How presumptuous.

"See? Now I can get your knight and there's nothing you can do about it."

Chelsea disagreed of course. There was so much she could do about it she didn't even know where to begin. It was actually a pretty lousy move. It was the obvious move. The amateur move. The move of a player who's only thinking one move at a time.

Chelsea popped her rook over to defend her knight. He took her knight; she took his bishop in return and was now attacking the rook that was defending his king from her queen. She'd have him checkmated in the next move.

"What now, genius?" she said.

"I can get your other knight over here with my pawn."

"Are you really that stupid?"

"Knights are a good piece. They can jump around."

He took her knight with the pawn. She took his defending rook with her queen and called checkmate.

"What!? Where?"

"Yes, you are indeed actually that stupid."

"Well I would have seen that if it was actually my game. I just sat down here two minutes ago. Let's play again."

"You'd lose."

"I'd give you a run for your money at least."

"I doubt it."

She ate little punks like him for breakfast.

"Scared?" he said, oozing with so much arrogance it almost hit her like a bad smell. She was so affronted by him in fact she was at a loss for a response. There were just too many options to burn him with at once."

"As if," was all she said.

"Let's do it then."

"I don't have time for this, Clark. I have studying to do, and no offence, but playing someone like you hasn't been so much as a challenge since I was nine years old."

"You're scared."

Her face flushed hot with unwanted anger. He was talking too loud. People were looking.

"Hey everybody! Chess nerd Chelsea's scared to play me."

"Alright, listen!" she said. "I'll play you, but I'll make you a deal. If I beat you, you have to leave me alone for the rest of the year. That means no smacks on the ass, no catcalls, don't even fuckin' look at me. You down for a game like that?"

"But what do I get out of it, if I win?" Chelsea laughed. She laughed loud. She couldn't help it. The idea that he actually thought he had a chance was genuinely funny.

"If you win?" she said. "If you win, I'll bend over and let you fuck me right here and now across this table."

"Now that sounds like a deal!"

"It'll never happen. You won't even come close."

"Maybe I was bluffing you. Ever think of that? Maybe I'm really a chess nerd type guy."

Chess nerd type guy? The term is Chess Master. If he was any kind of nerd he would know that. Chelsea smirked.

"So we have a deal?" she asked, eagerly resetting the pieces to their starting positions.

"There's only ten minutes left of lunch hour though. I can't beat you in that short amount of time."

"You couldn't beat me if you had ten fuckin' years to think about it, and I had massive head trauma."

"And even if I did, you'd never honour the bet. Not in a million years."

"You'd never win, so it's a moot point."

"Mute you mean."

"No, idiot. Moot. It means pointless, not even warranting discussion."

"If you're mute you can't discuss anything anyway."

"Whatever. You're wasting time. Do we have a deal?"

People were starting to gather around.

"Chelsea Chessnerd says if I beat her, she'll bend over and let me fuck her right over this table, right here and now. If she beats me I have to leave her alone, not even look at her for the rest of the year."

"You any good?" a kid asked, eyeing Chel's C-sized breasts with unconcealed lust. He would love to see Chelsea winter get fucked by anyone. It was written all over his face.

"I play a little, but she's obviously way better than me."

"I guess you're not completely idiotic after all," Chel said, fondling the queen in her pocket.

"How about this? If I can last against you, without getting beaten before the buzzer goes, you have to replay me, at my place, under my rules."

More people had gathered around.

"What rules?" Chelsea said, eyeing him with her cold-dagger stare.

"I've got my own way of playing. My sister taught it to me and I played against her girlfriend from college."

"Okay, you've got yourself a deal then, as long as standard piece moves apply."

"You all heard her. She agreed, right?"

People nodded.

"Let's do this, then."

There was four minutes left 'til the buzzer. She had to beat him in four minutes.

He made some pretty stupid opening moves, blatantly trying to grab some heavy material from her, and she knocked him for a loop, eating away half his army before he even knew what hit him. He did get a few pieces though, but she let them go, for the greater good. She got herself into position for the killing strike. But still he grinned, he grinned like an idiot who had no idea he was about to be stomped on like the insect he was.

But the buzzer rang. It rang with a loud hot stab into her ears and she actually jumped when it did. She knocked over the piece she'd been reaching for and Clark jumped to his feet, cheering.

"Yes! In your face! You didn't beat me! I win!"

"You were two moves from death, asshole, and you probably didn't even know it."

"All I know is that the buzzer's gone and my king's still on the board. You owe me a real game, at my house, under my rules."

"I'm bringing friends," she said. "I wouldn't sit alone anywhere with you if my life depended on it."

"Bring all the friends you want. The more the merrier, especially the way I play."

"You're so toast, buddy. And when I win, you better damn well honour the deal. No more smacks. No more trash talk. Don't even look at me."

"I swear before everyone in the room, the deal shall be honoured, if you honour my rules."

"I will," Chelsea said, sweeping the little pieces into the folding plastic case that was the board. She flicked the French fry off her notebook and packed everything away in her bag. Clark scribbled down his address and phone number.

"Be there. Tomorrow night, oh, around eightish."

"I'll be there. Don't you worry."

And she walked out of the cafeteria feeling exhilarated, vindicated, triumphant, before the first move had even been made. She'd received the last smack across her tight little ass she'd ever have to endure. She couldn't wait to tell Jessica, Marty, and Christie.

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