The taste of it nearly gagged her. But you had to eat every bite, or Mrs. Deardorff would be told about you and you wouldn’t get adopted.
The waitress who handed her a menu was dressed in a black miniskirt and fishnet hose, but she had the face of a geometry teacher.
She had three thousand dollars in her savings account; she was no longer a virgin; and she knew how to drink.
Most of the time, chess was the only language between them. One afternoon when they had spent three or four hours on endgame analysis she said wearily, “Don’t you get bored sometimes?” and he looked at her blankly. “What else is there?” he said.
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “You are nineteen?” “Yes.” “I have gone over your games at this tournament.” He paused. “You are a marvel, my dear. I may have just played the best chess player of my life.” She was unable to speak. She stared at him in disbelief. He smiled at her. “You will get used to it,” he said.