Brain Freeze Read online

  I adjust my chest guard. ‘I want to get under the other team’s skin,’ I say.

  ‘Well, you’re sure getting under mine,’ Sanchita says. ‘I just hope you’re prepared for the real battle ahead.’

  It looks like I’m the only one who’s actually dressed up, but that’s okay, I’m part of a team so hopefully I’ll have enough nutty behaviour to spread across all of us.

  We get to the sports hall and the stands are already half full. I spot a few faces I recognise from last week, except now they’re staring and focused on me.

  Jakean cracks up. ‘The circus is down the road, chess clowns.’

  Benjamin does some shadow boxing in front of him. ‘Bring it on.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Jakean says, flinching.

  Benjamin leaps in front of me and takes off his jacket, showing off a gorilla shirt. ‘We’re going to crack you open like walnuts.’ He does his best gorilla pose.

  Francesca from the Triple Cs is dragging the referee over to me. ‘Mr Wilson, tell this boy he can’t dress up like this,’ she says.

  Mr Wilson has a mini heart attack. ‘Care to explain yourself?’ he says.

  ‘You can never be too safe,’ I say. ‘That’s what my mum says.’

  I turn to Mum and she waves back at us.

  Mr Wilson shrugs. ‘There’s nothing in the rulebook about this.’

  There’s a clash of drums and horns coming through the door.

  ‘Over here, Bazza,’ Dad says.

  It’s Uncle Barry, along with Erik and my other cousins. Uncle Barry blows his trumpet and slaps me hard on the back. Good thing I have my shoulder pads on.

  ‘Your dad called us up for some Chess Nuts support,’ he says.

  ‘Do you know anything about chess?’ I ask.

  Uncle Barry blows his trumpet again. ‘My nephew is in a grand final, that’s all that matters,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  Uncle Barry joins the rest of the Chess Nuts supporters.

  Sanchita groans. ‘You’ve turned our final into a noisy zoo.’

  I smile. ‘Now it feels like a Chess Nuts home game.’

  Mrs Denton gets us in a huddle. ‘There’s just one difference with the final,’ she says.

  ‘The chess games will be played one after the other.’

  ‘Well, I should play the last game,’ Sanchita says.

  ‘Sorry, it’s going by alphabetical order,’ she says. She tells each of us who we’ll be facing. It looks like I’ll be up against Francesca Sammut.

  I squirm around in my padded gear. All of this might be for nothing.

  The referee blows his whistle. ‘First up, we have Benjamin Corby from the Chess Nuts versus Amir Bashir from the Triple Cs.’

  Benjamin and Amir meet up in the centre of a huge chessboard on the floor, complete with giant chess pieces. I’ve seen similar ones in parks and shopping centres but I’ve never been brave enough to play on them.

  There’s a camera operator circling around them and the vision is being played on a big screen. It actually looks and feels like a sporting event now.

  We watch Benjamin beat Amir in a swift victory. The Chess Nuts section of the crowd rocks and shakes the stands. Benjamin lets out a wild roar and thumps his chest.

  Each chess match becomes like a round in a boxing game, as the Chess Nuts and Triple Cs trade blows. Sanchita wins her match, but the Triple Cs win two matches too against Laila and Nick.

  ‘It’s 2–all,’ the referee says. ‘Next match wins.’

  The other Chess Nuts pat me on the back.

  ‘Just do the best you can,’ Benjamin says.

  ‘Remember the drills,’ Sanchita says.

  ‘Go, Chess Nuts,’ Dad yells. He starts a chant, with Uncle Barry blowing his trumpet and Erik banging a drum. I feel like I’m going into battle.

  Francesca is standing waiting at the chessboard, her hands on her hips. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she snarls.

  I adjust my chest guard. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’ve made today feel like a joke,’ Francesca says.

  I smile. ‘I’ve just made it fun.’

  ‘Yeah, well the fun stops here,’ she says, narrowing her eyes. ‘Now I’m going to kick your butt.’

  Mr Wilson blows his whistle and the crowd slowly quietens down. I choose the black pieces and stand beside my pawns. It feels like kick-off at the start of a match. Francesca makes the first move and I just copy her. There are gasps coming from the crowd. I keep mirroring her moves. She takes one of my pawns, and I do the same to her.

  Francesca laughs. ‘You fool, you fell for my trap,’ she says. She moves her bishop and kills off my queen.

  Just like that.

  I feel like a crushed nut. Francesca makes a cutting notion across her throat. ‘Your king is next.’

  ‘Come on, Danny, you can do it!’ Dad yells. ‘Think about your defence.’

  I crouch down, trying to work out my next move. I close my eyes. Dad’s voice is still ringing in my ears. Defence. How can you defend in a chess game? It’s not like I’m playing rugby league . . . hang on. I open my eyes and scan the chessboard, which is looking more like a rugby league field. There are no squares, just wide-open spaces. I pick up one of my knights to defend my king. It’s time to think like Jeremy Quinn. All of Sanchita’s drills are making perfect sense now. It’s about creating space to take the ball and score. Well, not exactly score a try, but to take down the opponent’s pieces.

  I use my pawns to whizz around the board, dodging Francesca’s other pieces. Then, I pick up my rook and swoop in to slide-tackle her knight. I’ve just cut off her frontal assault.

  ‘Great move,’ Dad shouts.

  Mr Wilson nearly chokes on his whistle. ‘Any more yelling and you’ll be outside!’ he yells.

  I’ve forced Francesca to withdraw her assault on my king and she goes down the left side with her bishop, trying to cut off my king that way. She bumps into my pawn and is stuck. I grab my knight and ride it over to pounce on her bishop.

  Francesca stands on her toes, trying to get an overhead view of the chessboard. She chips away at taking my pawns but it doesn’t take long before she’s left with a few pieces and her queen and king.

  ‘It’s time to end this silly show,’ she says through gritted teeth.

  She moves her queen and makes a beeline towards my king. She’s swinging it like it’s a heavy axe, knocking my pieces off the giant chessboard. My other pieces try to stop her but she chops them down like a samurai. It’s just down to my king, knight and rook.

  ‘You’re toast,’ Francesca says.

  I step back and try to think of JQ. Make that, think like JQ. He used to move so fast that he would put the opposition in two minds. I move my knight and rook up the board, one at a time. Francesca’s queen stands in the middle. She looks at both my pieces and heavy lines appear on her forehead. She spends her full two minutes pacing up and down, before she goes after my knight. I use my rook to take her last remaining bishop. Her king is within reach.

  ‘Nice work, Danny!’ Mum shrieks. Dad jumps up and down beside her as Mr Wilson glares in their direction.

  Francesca tries to chase after my rook but can’t move past my pawns. She shoves my pawn piece with her queen. I move my knight to smash into her queen.

  Uncle Barry blurts out on his trumpet, with Erik bashing his drums, while the rest of the Chess Nuts roar.

  Francesca stumbles back and gasps. ‘What just happened?’ she says. She tries to backtrack her other pieces to protect her king, but it’s too late. The king is caught in the corner with no way out. I get my knight to crash tackle her king.

  ‘CHECKMATE!’ I yell.

  Mr Wilson blows his whistle. ‘You don’t have to knock her piece down.’

  ‘Oops, sorry.’

  Mr Wilson laughs. ‘Anyway, we have a winner!’

  I shake Francesca’s hand. ‘Good game.’

  Francesca gives my hand a firm grip. ‘Well played, Ches
s Nut. I guess it does feel good to really knock these pieces off,’ she says with a smile.

  The crowd cheers loudly enough to bring down the roof of the hall. Sanchita is beaming at me. ‘You were listening to all my drills!’

  ‘Yeah, some of them,’ I say, trying to catch my breath.

  Nick, Laila and Benjamin pat me on the back. Mrs Denton hurries over to me. ‘Brilliant, Danny! It’s about time you showed a bit of grunt.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s the last word I expected to hear from you.’

  ‘I love rugby league,’ she says. ‘I am a proud Wests Chargers supporter too.’

  Just wait until I tell Dad.

  I find him chatting to everyone in the crowd.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ I yell, waving at him.

  Dad turns around and points at me. ‘That’s my champ!’ He tackle-hugs me and gives my safety gear one last test run. ‘What happened out there?’ he asks.

  ‘I just had fun,’ I say.

  ‘Same here, and I was just on the sidelines.’ Dad lets me go. ‘Now I’m pumped to play some more chess.’ He looks at the giant chess set. ‘Hmmm, I wonder.’

  I try to read his mind. ‘Can we buy one for our backyard?’

  ‘Course we can,’ Dad says with a grin. ‘Then we can make chess an outdoor sport.’

  Forced to stay at home. Can’t go out and socialise. Watching Netflix all day.

  No, I’m not reading Mum’s wish list. It’s just the reality of lockdown, and you’d think Mum would be loving it – she’s trained for years to be homebound.

  Then again, I do have an Insta-mum.

  We’ve only been in isolation for a fortnight, and Mum is going crazy. Well, crazier than usual. Seriously, she needs a staycation from herself.

  Mum and I are meant to be having a meeting over breakfast to discuss our plans for our Instagram profile, The Familee Chronicles, the spiritual successor to The Chronicles of Vee. It’s on track to be like those spin-off TV shows that are more successful than the original show. We haven’t hit the same numbers as Vee’s Chronicles yet, but we were growing heaps faster than my old profile ever did.

  That was until the pandemic hit and forced everybody to stay home, which was already Mum’s er . . . home ground, if you know what I mean.

  Mum glances at her two device screens and looks doubly disgusted. ‘I can’t compete with these influencers living in their fancy homes,’ she howls. ‘Look at TwilightJoggerGirl – her kitchen is the size of our house. How dare she start doing baking videos, that’s our thing . . .’

  I scoop some cereal into my mouth. ‘Mum –’

  ‘She’s more like TwilightHoggerGirl,’ she says with a snort.

  I munch and stare at our whiteboard’s weekly schedule. We’ve had to alter our theme days to suit iso-life.

  Mask Mondays: We’ve been sent a whole bunch of fabulously designed face masks from various companies. My favourite was the one with whiskers so it makes me look like a cat. If it wasn’t disposable, I’d wear it all the time.

  Puzzling Tuesdays: The only puzzle I’d really like to solve is why anyone would think 4D puzzles would be fun. The extra D must stand for Devilishly-difficult.

  Woolly Wednesdays: Mum and I have been learning how to knit and we’re hoping to knit each other a beanie. Her head’s way bigger than mine but I haven’t had the guts to ask Mum for more wool . . .

  Trampolining Thursdays: Best iso-sponsored product ever! Except the trampoline is too big to fit in our tiny backyard, so we had to prop it against the fence and pretend I’m jumping on it. Nobody can tell the difference – except me.

  Try-day Fridays: a classic from the old Chronicles of Vee, where I try something new – except it’s not so fresh anymore since everyone is at home now trying new things. (Yikes, now I’m ranting and turning into a mini-Mum.)

  Faturdays: Another oldie but a goodie. Food tastes better in hibernation, those grizzly bears were onto something.

  Sundaze: The idea was to take photos of me out in the sun. But Mum took forever last Sunday to take a photo because I was squinting, so I got sunburnt.

  ‘Vee, are you listening to me?’ Mum says.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ I say. ‘You can’t compete with fitness coaches and stay-at-home chefs . . .’

  ‘And those clever weirdos who can do things like play the keyboard with their feet,’ Mum adds.

  ‘Come on, you must admit that’s a pretty cool feat,’ I say, cracking a smile.

  ‘Your puns are just as bad as Tom’s,’ Mum says. A sense of dread fills her face. ‘Oh no, we have a Zoom date tonight!’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘I can play my Nintendo Switch on the big screen TV.’

  ‘I don’t know what to wear,’ Mum says.

  ‘Seriously?’ I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘We’re going to a stay-at-home rock concert,’ Mum says, touching her hair. ‘I need to be glammed up.’

  Actually, it would be nice to see Mum dress up for once. Most days I can’t tell whether or not she’s still in her PJs.

  I glance at my watch. ‘Well, this meeting has been sooooo productive but I’ve got to get ready for remote school,’ I say.

  ‘Huh?’ Mum says. ‘What day is it?’

  I shrug. The days have all blended together so it feels like Blursday to me.

  Mum checks the calendar. ‘It’s Puzzling Tuesdays! How about we do that Sydney Opera House one?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ I walk over to the dining table to open up my laptop. My bestie, Annabelle, has logged into our Virtual Classroom. She’s sitting up straight in her school uniform shirt.

  I slouch in my chair. ‘Come on, Annabelle, live a little,’ I say. ‘Now’s your chance to do English class in an onesie.’

  ‘It helps me stay in school mode,’ Annabelle chirps. ‘You have to look the part to play the part.’

  It’s probably something written on a magnet on her fridge. Their family loves cheesy quotes as much as Mum loves cheesy scrolls.

  Everybody else logs in for English. Some people like Hassan have their giant headphones on and lapel mics, like he’s going to stream himself doing a comprehension test. Others like Matty are just sitting at their desks in their bedrooms. There’s no way I’m showing my bedroom to my class, so I just sit at the dining table, surrounded by snacks on either side of my laptop and a lush pink water bottle just off camera. Mum suggested I put the bottle in view of my camera to advertise, but I refuse to sell out to my classmates. It’s bad enough that Mum makes me wear different T-shirts each day. Matty’s worn the same black shirt so often it’s becoming like his second skin.

  Miss Lam looks so bright and vivid that she could give up teaching and be a YouTuber. ‘Good morning, everyone,’ she says. ‘How are you all today?’

  Bryan raises his hand. ‘I love being a quaranteen.’

  A smile creeps up my face. I privately message him.

  Can I steal that word? Might be useful for The Familee Chronicles.

  Bryan replies in a flash.

  As long as you give me a shout out!

  I giggle and type back.

  Hey, we liked all your takeaway burgergrams. That Dino Burger on the weekend looked wicked!

  Bryan shows me a sad emoji.

  If only it was hot. The driver took forever to deliver and it was stone cold.

  Miss Lam claps her hands. ‘Okay class, enough chitchat, let’s get into our first . . .’

  I’m about to open my Word Document when my Mum senses are tingling. Actually, it’s Mum’s PJs that reek of coffee and honey mustard that are making my eyes water. I slide my fingers across my touchpad. ‘What are you doing?’ I say through the side of my mouth.

  ‘I’m taking a photo,’ Mum says.

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘You’ve already taken a billion of them. There’s only so much home-learning posts our followers can take.’

  ‘It’s all about seeing things from a different angle.’ Mum steps up onto a creaking chair and tries to take an overhead shot.

 
‘Do I have to pretend to look like I’m learning in this one?’ I say.

  ‘Just be yourself.’

  I rest my hands on my forehead in shame, with my elbows on my keyboard.

  ‘Vee . . .’

  ‘You told me to be myself . . .’

  ‘You know what I really mean.’

  ‘Mum,’ I snap. ‘You can’t barge into someone’s classroom without permission.’

  ‘It’s not illegal to see my daughter is it?’ Mum says.

  ‘Only if it’s embarrassing for the daughter,’ I add.

  I roll my eyes up at Mum. ‘Are you done?’

  ‘Hold on, Vee,’ Mum says. ‘You look like you’re constipated. Have you been drinking that berry yoghurt smoothie again? You know it gives you gas.’

  ‘Mum, I don’t have gas.’

  ‘You sure?’ Mum says, sniffing like a clogged vacuum.

  ‘That’s you,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe you’ve been getting reflux again, remember what happened last weekend?’ Mum says.

  ‘Vee,’ Miss Lam shouts. ‘Could you please mute your mic? We can hear you.’

  ‘Phew,’ Mum mutters.

  ‘Both of you,’ Miss Lam adds.

  Mum nearly falls off the chair.

  I gasp. I turn to my classmates. They may be muted but their red faces tell me everything I need to know. Their virtual laughter is burning my ears. The class chat comes to life with a blizzard of comments and face-mask emojis.

  Gross, Vee!

  I can smell it from here.

  #Veeflux

  Hassan wears his toy gas mask on camera and sets off another explosion of virtual laughter. Even Miss Lam can’t help herself. This is worse than the time Emily’s poshy background screen of Paris had a glitch and it turned her into a green potato for the whole day. She couldn’t turn it off, no matter how many times she tried.

  ‘Vee!’ Mum says. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I must have slipped my cursor over the unmute button,’ I say. ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘Sorry, honey,’ Mum says. ‘I was just Insta-spired, you know . . .’

  ‘So, what else is new,’ I say, sipping on my water bottle. Mum’s set a new Vee-barrassment record. I feel even more socially distant from everybody now. A few private messages pop up on the screen.