Chapter 22: A Trophy and a Snake - My Name Is Samim

Twenty-seven moves later, Ishan and I are still playing. But it’s becoming more and more obvious that I will likely win this round.

Ishan’s face drips with sweat, and he won’t stop fiddling with his glasses. He either pushes them up his nose with his finger or wiggles them around at the hinges.

Another eight moves, and it’s checkmate.

Ishan stares at my rook, which set the final trap for his king. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. His shoulders droop as he puts his glasses back on, and I see a pained expression in his eyes: a mix of surprise, hurt and anger.

I feel sorry for him. His bowed back and trembling chin tell me this game meant a lot to him too. I want to say that it’s only the first round and he will probably win the next game, but opponents are not allowed to talk. So I look down, sparing him my stares at a time when he probably wants to be invisible.

Finally, Ishan stops the clock and stretches out his hand for a handshake. It means the match is over and he has accepted his defeat.

We are the first to finish this round. One volunteer, a woman in a long grey cardigan and small round glasses, approaches us, shooting suspicious glances from me to Ishan and back. She registers the result of our game and collects our move records. The tournament rules are that each player must note every move on paper. Ishan and I are then free to leave the room and wait for the next round. I walk towards the door and notice Max stare at me.

“Wave at him!” Zayn tells me.

What? No way.

“Smile and wave at him, I tell you!” Zayn nudges my shoulder.

A forced smile twitches across my face. I lift my arm and wave at Max. His face goes white with fury, and I bolt out the door, Zayn chuckling behind me.

As I step outside the gym hall, Mr Adams rushes towards me.

“I won,” I tell him, and he punches the air in excitement. It makes me smile and wish I could tell my mother about it.

“Knowing your mum, you would’ve been stuck in her arms for a week afterwards,” Zayn says, and he’s probably right.

I’d give anything to hug her again.

Mr Adams asks me many questions, and I reply while munching on a cheese sandwich that Miss Brown kindly packed for me.

Mr Adams’ excitement makes me excited, which is unusual, because usually I find it hard to feel excited about anything. My worries take up all the space in my mind.

At 11.30, the second round begins. Then the third at 1 pm, the fourth at 2.15, the fifth at 3.30 and the sixth at 5 pm. My final match is the shortest out of the six I’ve played today.

At the end of the tournament, everyone lines up on the stage to get participation certificates. Rence is here too, waving at me from across the stage. Mr Adams stands in the crowd before me, a wide smile on his face.

The arbiter hands me my certificate and shakes my hand. “You won all six rounds. That’s an impressive result for your first tournament.” He looks me up and down, as if trying to figure out what I’m made of.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Then a volunteer approaches us with a trophy, and the arbiter hands it to me. “Well done, Samim.”

I hesitate to take it, confused.

“It’s yours. You’ve earned it as the top qualifier,” the arbiter says.

“Thank you.” I take the trophy, my hands shaking.

Mr Adams pumps his fists, his face glowing with pride.

“Well done, pumpkin-head.” Zayn winks at me.

I can’t believe I won!

Once the contestants get off the stage, Max appears before me, and I hide the trophy behind my back for some stupid reason.

Zayn facepalms and shakes his head. “You know he was standing on the same stage as you when you got this trophy?”

Max says nothing at first, staring me in the eye. A few seconds of silence later, he finally asks, “Why are you hiding your trophy?”

My face flushes. “I don’t know, I just don’t want to brag.”

“Brag? What would you brag about? Winning one trophy?” Max bursts into laughter.

I lower my gaze.

Max takes a step forward, making me step back so we don’t collide.

“Do you know how many trophies I’ve got that are much, much, much more important than this one?”

I shake my head, tightening my grip on the trophy.

“Ten! That’s ten times more than you’ve got. So you should brag about your little trophy all you can because it’s probably the last one you’ll ever win.” He grunts and walks away.

I breathe in and out, in and out, trying to calm my shaking limbs.

Zayn crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Such a sore loser.”

3.14159265…

Mr Adams approaches me, beaming. “Amazing! Well done, Samim!”

“How many points did Max get?” I ask, and he moves his head back in surprise.

“Six, just like you.”

“Then why didn’t he get a trophy?”

“When two or more players tie, a tie-break system is used. Based on that, you were one point ahead of Max.”

“So they are not just being nice to me because I’m a refugee?”

“No, not at all.” Mr Adams’ forehead creases in a frown. “Where did that come from? You got the trophy because you deserve it, Samim.”

I exhale and relax my grip. “What happens next?”

“Next, you will compete in the championship final.”

“Will Max compete in the championship final?”

“Yes, of course. He’s got six points, too, remember?”

I look down.

“He’s also last year’s winner,” Mr Adams says, and my mouth goes dry.

* * *

At home, everyone congratulates me and asks many questions.

Miss Brown takes a photo of me with the trophy and says she will frame it. Then she takes a group selfie of all of us: me holding the trophy, Miss Brown with her arm around my shoulders, Lily and Skye pulling funny faces, Rita with her thumbs up and Ayan with his hands in his pockets, looking bored as usual.

“When is the next competition?” Rita asks as we walk into the TV room.

“In April.”

“Nice. How did Max react to you winning?”

“Not great. He told me it was my first and last win.”

“I told you, Max is snake,” Ayan says, taking a bite of banana as we sit on the sofa. He picks up a remote and switches the TV from one channel to another.

“Peppa Pig!” Lily shouts at him.

“It finished. No more pig. Pig is dead. Big bad wolf ate it.”

“Noooo!” Lily screams and runs out of the room.

Rita shakes her head at Ayan.

“If I must watch stupid pig again, I beg big bad wolf to eat me!”

Zayn and I chuckle.

“Don’t laugh. You’re in trouble,” Ayan tells me, and my eyes widen. “You took Max’s trophy. He’s mad now.”

Ayan is right. I remember Max’s red face and flared nostrils when he told me how many trophies he had.

“When snakes mad, they bite,” Ayan adds, taking another chomp of the banana, and I wonder how Max is going to ‘bite’ me.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks until the contest that will change everything.

“What if I win it?” I think out loud.

“If you win, Snake King will lose his crown,” Ayan says, and for the first time, I see a hint of a smile on his normally gloomy face.