he hallways of Watson Hall thinned as girls headed out to the weekly underground party, but I couldn’t be bothered to get off the couch. Our classmates would surround Hayden, so her safety for the next few hours wasn’t a big concern. She’d dropped by the common room on the way out the door to find me sprawled lazily across one of the sofas watching an old movie.

“You’re not going to the party?” she asked.

She wore a long-sleeved minidress in a geometric pattern paired with over-the-knee boots and tights. Glancing down at my grubby sweats and cozy Henley, I decided she might look awesome, but I was more comfortable, which was all that mattered at the moment.

I shook my head. “Nah, I need to chill tonight.”

A few minutes later I’d raided the vending machines and had an assortment of junk food covering all the four basic food groups: sugary, fried, chocolate, and unidentifiable. Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, Sam texted. Going to the party?

I texted back, Nope. Watching TV & eating crappy food. Bliss.

My phone quickly chimed again, but this time it was Von. Where r u?

Before I could respond, Sam texted again: Want company?

I texted Watson common to Von, and to Sam I texted Sure. I debated slapping on a fresh coat of makeup and running a brush through my hair, but that required effort. I could already tell if I ever had a boyfriend, he’d better like his girls low maintenance.

A muttered argument announced their arrival. From the sound of things, neither guy much appreciated running into the other on the way up. I stifled a grin as they shuffled into the room, plopping down on the sofa on either side of me.

“Oreo?” I offered up the snack pack, knowing you can’t stay grumpy when you’re eating one. A surprising amount of American junk food found its way into military shipments overseas, and Benson’s guys always got the best stuff first, including anything chocolate. By the time I got to it, the Oreos were always gone.

Begrudgingly they helped themselves and before long, we were all scarfing down enough processed foods to petrify our innards.

“So, Sam, you look like you’re dressed for the party,” Von pointed out, as he went for the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Truthfully, they’d both cleaned up and looked great in their respective ways. Sam’s clothes were classics: black jeans that hugged his long legs, and a gorgeous blue cashmere pullover. Von tended to go more funky and creative, and tonight he wore skinny jeans in a bright shade of sapphire with a retro print button down.

“No problem, dude,” Sam shot back, resting his arm on the sofa behind me. “The party’s right here with me and Riley. And you know what they say about three’s a crowd.”

Before they decided to arm wrestle for me, I jumped in with a challenge of my own. “Do either of you play chess?”

Sam let his hand fall on my shoulder. “I used to play with my dad.”

Von didn’t miss the subtle move, and he wasn’t pleased. “I was the president of the chess club in high school… I mean, the one I went to before I came here.”

“Ohhh, I’m so intimidated,” Sam goaded.

“You will be when I’m finished with you,” Von snapped.

Sitting there on my hands while the two of them battled it out wasn’t what I had in mind. “How about I play you both?”

“I’m going first,” Von announced, getting up to drag over one of the nearby game tables.

“No, I mean, why don’t I play you both,” I offered with an innocent smile, “at the same time?” There was a program on my computer that allowed me to play up to four games simultaneously. Competing against two players wouldn’t be a struggle.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Von grinned. “What say we make it even more interesting?”

Sam dragged a second game table over. “You mean like if I win, you’ll call it a night?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, pretty boy.” Von turned to me. “I’m thinking more along the lines of if I win, you’ll let me take you on a ride. There are some really great trails not too far from campus, and there’s a full moon tonight.”

“You mean like on a horse?” No words could have upped my game more. “What are your stakes, Sam?”

He’d pulled a chair over to sit opposite and set up the board. His face lit up as an idea popped into his head. “A rematch. You come back to the gym, and I promise: no cameras.”

“Alright, guys,” I said, settling in. “You’re on.”

“Wait,” Von protested, “What about you? What if you win?”

I waved him off. “Don’t worry about me. If I win, I’ll have the satisfaction of having beaten both of you.”

Sam shot Von a troubled glance. “Dude, do you get the feeling we’ve just been played?”

Von leaned over the board with a supreme air of confidence. “It’s not too late to bail. I’ll let you know how it ends.”

Sam pushed up his sleeves and hunched over his game. “Not a chance.”

Von made an opening move, which I immediately countered. Sam’s mouth dropped at the speed of my play. He put a few more minutes into devising his opening gambit, but I countered his move just as quickly. Neither of them laughed now.

Three moves later I captured one of Von’s pawns, and Sam snickered. A minute later one of Sam’s rooks fell to me, and Von sneered. They were so busy watching what the other did they weren’t noticing how they were each being lured to their doom.

A visiting British diplomat by the name of James Digby once pompously bragged of his chess skills while we were seated at a boring state dinner. Twelve at the time, I volunteered that I often played with my dad. Mr. Digby thought it adorable. After dessert was served, my father arranged a match for us in the sitting room. After a few minutes, Digby lost the opinion I was adorable.

He was a good player, but I was better. As the snare around his king tightened, his comments about my strategy became mocking. He acted as if I were a fool falling into a trap of his design. Of course, that only spurred me on to make my win more decisive. As I delivered the final death blow to his king, the man flipped the board before I could call checkmate. Pieces scattered everywhere as he stomped from the room.

Later, when Dad came to my room to say goodnight, I apologized.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked. “Being a better player? Not throwing a game to an arrogant opponent?”

“But that man was really upset.” I climbed into bed and adjusted the pillows. “Shouldn’t I have been more polite?” Protocol dictated every move in the diplomatic corps, and my main directive was to be polite.

“Manners have nothing to do with it.” He sat down on the side of my bed. “Never be less than you are because it’s what people want or expect of you. Rise to every challenge, and be gracious when you win. The true test of character, which Mr. Digby utterly failed this evening, is to also be gracious when you lose.”

Since that night, I’d played every game as if my life depended on it and discovered the truth in my father’s words. Chess was a game where the screws slowly tightened, and a person’s nature would often be revealed by how they dealt with the pressure. Drawing Sam and Von into games was the perfect opportunity to peel back a layer of social veneer to what lay beneath.

As I collected an increasing number of chess pieces from each of their boards, it was telling. Von became completely absorbed, analyzing my offensive and spending long minutes calculating his defense. Sam wasn’t as serious about it. He was giving it his best shot, but a smile played across his lips as he watched me, as if the journey was more important than the destination.

My phone played the short tune announcing a Skype call. “Hi, Dad,” I said, moving my knight to check Sam. “Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of a few games.” I countered Von’s move. If he reacted the way I predicted, check was two moves away.

“Oh? Who are you playing?” I turned the phone and made the introductions. Both Sam and Von politely said hello. Turning the phone back, my dad grinned mischievously. “Do they know you’re a chess champion?”

“Oh, come on!” Von jumped from his chair while Sam started to laugh.

I pretended to scowl at my dad. “Thanks a lot. I’ll deal with you later.” I hung up the phone, cutting him off mid-chuckle.

Turning back to my opponents, I did my best to appear apologetic. “Shall we call it a draw?” I didn’t want them to feel like they’d been suckered.

“No way,” Sam protested. “This is actually kind of cool.”

Von resettled himself and leaned over the board. “There will be no draw,” he said with a sparkle in his eye. “I will learn your moves, and next time I will win.”

We’d see about that.

It was later that night when I called my dad back. He wasn’t going to be thrilled with the idea of letting me loose on the streets of New York, but he had to understand I didn’t have a choice.

It was Saturday morning there, and he was already dressed for the day and in his office. His hair, usually so effortlessly groomed, looked like it had been styled in a wind tunnel. That’s when I realized he must be wearing yesterday’s clothes and had never made it to bed.

“Hey, kiddo, did you win?” he asked cheerfully, his tired eyes searching my face for clues to my wellbeing.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Only the threat of imminent violence would keep my father at his post all night. “Is that why you called earlier?”

He swiped a hand through his hair, and the results were no better than before. “Nothing you haven’t seen or heard a hundred times before.”

I stared him down. He loved to talk about his work and approached each new challenge as a learning experience for me. It was unlike him to be evasive. “What is it? Does it have anything to do with what happened before I left?”

He broke eye contact and glanced away, a dead giveaway I’d guessed right. “You’re safe, and the girl you rescued is safe. That’s all that matters.”

Not if my interference had resulted in more people getting hurt. New York was suddenly trivial, and the problems consuming me meaningless.

He changed course. “So how’s school?”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.” I’d debated all day whether to tell him what had gone down between Quinn and me. Dad, especially in his exhausted state, might not understand that I’d been forced to take such drastic measures.

“Hayden Frasier is going to New York this weekend,” I volunteered.

That woke him up. “What about security?”

“She refuses to have a bodyguard, but it’s not like I can stop her from going.”

He nodded. “Do you have reason to believe she’s in any danger?”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “Probably not, but she invited me, and I think I should go with her. Her dad’s got a suite at the Four Seasons, and it would be cool to shop in a real store for a change.” Online shopping was my favorite thing in life, but I longed to stand in the middle of Barney’s shoe department once again and revel in the smell of fine leather.

“You want to go?” he asked.

“You’d let me?” I couldn’t believe how easy he was making this.

“I trust you to make smart choices. It’s not like we’re talking about a weekend in Baghdad here.” Maybe not, but this was a big step for him.

“Would you email school and tell them I can go?”

He nodded, pleased to see my face light up with excitement. Benson popped up over my dad’s shoulder. “Darlin’ girl! Did your friend like the treat?”

Dad sent him a curious glance. “What did you send?”

“Ah, you know, mate, stuff she’s been homesick for,” he answered vaguely. “A pound of Turkish delight, some of Nadira’s walnut baklava, you know, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, it was great. One of the girls I shared the baklava with was completely knocked out by it.” I could tell Benson got the message by his wolfish grin.

My dad rubbed his chin, sure he’d just missed something of significance but not certain what to make of it. The three of us chatted easily for a few more minutes, but then my father’s phone rang, and he switched into work mode. With a final reminder to be safe, he ended the call.

I composed quick emails to Major Taylor and Karen, alerting them both that Hayden was spending the weekend in the city, and my dad had given his permission for me to accompany her.

With all my duties fulfilled, I ran to my closet to decide what to pack. In less than twelve hours, my American Express card and I would take New York by storm.