Richard Whitmore studied Maya with renewed interest, though his expression remained skeptical. "You've been watching us play from outside?"
"Yes, sir. It's warm in here, and the lights are bright. I could see the boards through the windows."
"This is ridiculous," Margaret interjected. "Richard, we cannot set a precedent of allowing every homeless child who claims to play chess to wander in here. What would the other members think? What would happen to our reputation?"
"Our reputation," Richard said slowly, a slight smile playing at his lips, "is that we are the finest chess club in the city. Surely our reputation can withstand one small child's delusions of grandeur." He turned to Maya. "What's your name, girl?"
"Maya Thompson, sir."
"Well, Miss Thompson, you've made quite a bold claim. Ted, since she's already critiqued your game, perhaps you'd like to put her to the test. One quick game. When you win, which should take all of five minutes, she leaves and never comes back."
Ted Banks puffed up his chest, his earlier embarrassment transforming into indignation. "It would be my pleasure to teach this presumptuous child a lesson in humility."
"And if I win?" Maya asked, her voice steady despite her racing heart.
The room erupted in laughter again.
"If you win?" Victoria scoffed. "Dear child, Ted Banks has been playing chess for forty years. He's won numerous club championships."
"If you win," Richard said, his tone suggesting he found the very idea amusing, "we'll give you a meal from our kitchen. A full meal, not scraps. But when you lose—and you will lose—you'll clean every bathroom in this building before you leave. Do we have an agreement?"
Maya nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. We have an agreement."
As Ted Banks led the way to a chess table near the center of the room, Maya heard the whispers following in their wake:
"This is unconscionable," someone muttered.