"What is the meaning of this, Roberts?"
Richard Whitmore emerged from a group of players, his silver hair perfectly styled, his charcoal gray suit impeccable. As the president of the Grand View Elite Chess Club, he carried himself with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. His blue eyes, cold as winter ice, fixed on Maya with a mixture of irritation and disbelief.
"Mr. Whitmore, sir," the security guard stammered. "This child just walked in off the street. I was just removing her."
"Off the street?" Margaret Sinclair had joined them, her voice dripping with disdain. She was wearing a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than most people made in a month, her gray hair styled in an elaborate updo held in place with diamond pins. "Richard, really, what has happened to our security? We can't have vagrants simply wandering in here."
By now, most of the club had noticed the commotion. Theodore Banks abandoned his game to investigate, his heavy footsteps announcing his approach. Charles Hoffman and Victoria Peyton followed, forming a semicircle around Maya, who suddenly felt very small and very alone.
"I'm not a vagrant," Maya said, finding her courage. "I know how to play chess. I learned from my grandmother. I thought—I thought maybe someone would play me for food. If I win, you give me something to eat. If I lose, I'll do whatever work you want: clean the floors, wash dishes, anything."
The silence that followed her words was deafening. Then, almost simultaneously, several of the members burst into laughter. It wasn't kind laughter; it was the sort of cruel, mocking sound that Maya had heard too often in her short life.
"Did you hear that?" Victoria Peyton gasped between laughs, her perfectly manicured hand pressed to her chest. "She wants to play us for food, as if this is some sort of medieval tavern where peasants gamble for scraps!"
"This is absolutely preposterous," Charles Hoffman added, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "Richard, surely you're not going to entertain this—this absurd request. The child is clearly disturbed. We should call the authorities."
Maya felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she stood her ground. "I'm not disturbed, sir. I'm hungry, and I'm good at chess. Really good."
This prompted another round of laughter. Ted Banks, his considerable belly shaking with mirth, wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! The little street child thinks she can play chess! Tell me, girl, do you even know how the pieces move?"
"I know the Nimzo-Indian Defense," Maya said quietly. "I know the Caro-Kann, the French Defense, and the King's Indian. I know that you, sir," she looked directly at Ted Banks, "just lost your game over there because you moved your queen too early and left your kingside exposed."
The laughter stopped abruptly.
Ted Banks's face turned red as he glanced back at his abandoned game, where indeed his opponent had just captured his queen and was moving in for checkmate.