Forty-Two

Chess

Chess didn’t feel hopeful.

Emma’s plan involved filling an SUV with coins, bringing the coins back to the TV station, and then throwing the coins around in front of the TV cameras for the whole horrible alternate world to see.

“It will work because Gus believes so many people have made coins of their own, whether they’ve sent them to the other world or not,” Emma said. “The coins will remind everyone what they really believe, what they really think and feel—who they really are. What hope they actually have. The coins will change everything!”

If the coins were going to change everything in this world, wouldn’t that have already happened? Chess wondered.

But along with all the others, Chess climbed into the SUV they’d been hiding behind—which turned out to belong to Gus. What else was he supposed to do? Tell his own sister her idea was stupid? Cross his arms and sit down on the ground in protest while everyone else drove away?

Give up?

If I were in Horton Hears a Who, I’d be the kid who doesn’t bother chanting “We are here! We are here!” because I didn’t think it mattered, he thought.

It’d been a long time since Chess had read or listened to Horton Hears a Who. He couldn’t remember if the boy who didn’t help thought it didn’t matter, or if he just wasn’t paying attention.

Chess settled into one of the back seats of the SUV. To his surprise, Rocky claimed the seat beside him.

That was okay—he didn’t need to save seats for Finn and Emma. They were up at the front of the SUV, excitedly chattering away with Gus about how many coins he thought there were in the whole alternate world, and how many he thought had made the journey to the other world, and . . .

Finn and Emma are like rubber balls, he thought. The harder you knock them down, the faster they bounce back up.

Chess didn’t bounce. Knocked down, he had to struggle to get back up at all. He crawled, he inched . . . he was like some mountain climber who could only move up a sheer rock cliff one fingerhold, one toehold at a time.

“I’m sorry,” Rocky said beside him as Gus started the engine and began steering out of the parking lot.

Chess jolted—Rocky couldn’t have known what Chess was thinking, could he?

“For what?” Chess asked.

“For back there,” Rocky said, tilting his head toward the window and the parking lot beyond. “For falling apart in front of the little kids. It’s just . . . at least you have your brother and sister with you. I’m alone. I don’t know what’s happening with my mom or dad or brother or sister—I’m not even in the same world as the rest of my family. And, no offense to your sister, but I don’t think we’re getting back.”

Chess tucked his chin against his T-shirt like a turtle withdrawing into his shell. He knew he should tell Rocky, “No, you’re not alone. We’re all in this together.” Or, “I’m sure your family’s fine back in the other world. I’m sure they’re just worried about you.” But that was just more lies—Chess wasn’t sure at all about Rocky’s family. Or Mom, Natalie, Ms. Morales, Joe . . .

Maybe there was still a hint of the stink-grenade smell clinging to Chess’s shirt; maybe the despair-filled scenes from the TVs had embedded themselves in his brain. Because what came out of his mouth was a bitter “At least you still have a father. At least your dad is still alive.”

Chess immediately clapped his hand over his own mouth.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!”

Only then did he notice how red and watery Rocky’s eyes were. Only then did he see how tightly Rocky clenched his jaw—a trick Chess himself had learned years ago, when it stopped seeming okay to cry in front of other people about losing his dad.

Now Rocky’s eyes widened.

“The whole time I’ve been jealous of you having your brother and sister with you, you’ve been jealous of me having a dad?” he asked.

Chess couldn’t look at Rocky right now. He fixed his gaze instead on the black leather seat in front of him.

“When you saw that guy—Gus—in the parking lot,” Chess began, “when you ran out the door. There was a moment . . . it almost felt like, if that really was your dad, it would be like getting my own dad back. I would have felt that happy for you.”

Chess felt his face go hot. Why had he said that to Rocky? He was like all the people of this world, making their useless coins and sending them to people they didn’t even know.

Or just making the coins, and then being afraid to send them.

“But you knew that Gus guy wasn’t my dad,” Rocky said. “You tried to stop me. You tried to protect me.”

Chess didn’t say anything.

“This alternate-world stuff really confuses me,” Rocky said. “But if there’s a version of my dad in both worlds . . . isn’t it possible there’s a version of your dad in the other world? A good-world Andrew Greystone? Maybe after all this is over, if it ever is, you and your family could track him down to see, I don’t know. See if you like him? See if it helps?”

Chess had never once thought of that before. He wasn’t like Emma, who loved puzzling out what was the same in each world, and what was different, and why. Thinking about alternate worlds mostly just made Chess’s head hurt.

Rocky’s idea made his heart hurt, too. Dad was unique. Dad was special.

Dad was gone.

“Did it help you to meet Gus?” Chess asked. “To run up to some guy who looks just like your dad and have him not even know you?”

“No,” Rocky said. “No, you’re right. It makes it worse. Especially when Gus is such a chicken—‘Oh no, what if someone sees me? What if someone hears me?’ When he’s literally sending out messages to the universe saying SEE US, HEAR US, FIND US.”

Chess snorted out a laugh. Why hadn’t he noticed before that Rocky was as funny as Finn?

Probably because every minute we’ve spent together, we’ve been scared or desperate or running away from something. Or all three at once.

Maybe Gus, under different circumstances, would be funny, too. Maybe, if he’d been born in the other world, he’d be a great guy.

Because then he’d be exactly like Rocky’s dad . . .

“Gus sounds scared, but what he’s done is brave,” Chess said. “Making the lever, giving it to my mom, making the coins, finally sending them to the other world . . .”

Rocky fiddled with the tape holding his coin around his wrist.

“What your dad did was brave, too,” Rocky said. “And your mom.” He shrugged. “My dad sells insurance. Want to know a secret? My friends voted once, and they decided my dad was the most boring of anyone’s.”

“I bet he just never had to be as brave as Gus,” Chess said. He glanced out the window, at the countryside whipping past. Every house along this route was set far back from the road, but Chess could still see the glow of a TV screen in every window. His heart beat a little faster. “I mean, until you were kidnapped. Until he was falsely accused.” Chess turned back to Rocky. “Hey, now that we know Gus, when all this is over, he’ll be able to clear your dad’s name with the police in the other world.”

“Yeah . . . ,” Rocky said. “You know what else? After this is all over, you and your family can come visit us in Arizona. Because of our moms being so much alike, it’s almost like we’re cousins, right? I never had cousins before. And my dad, he’ll take you and me fishing. We don’t even have to take the little kids with us. They can have a separate trip. I mean, I know it won’t be like you having your own dad back, but . . .”

For a second, Chess could almost picture it: him and Rocky and Rocky’s dad out in some river lined with red rocks—there’d be red rocks in Arizona, wouldn’t there?

“That’d be . . . nice,” Chess said. Then he laughed. “But you know the Finns wouldn’t let us go without them! Or the Emmas!”

When all this is over . . . After this is all over . . .

Maybe Chess still had hope, after all.

Maybe Rocky did, too.