SAL
Sal really didn’t like chess very much. He wasn’t very good at it, either. He only signed up for the chess club on impulse, moved by the same complicated knot of pity, admiration, and gratitude that drew him to Mr Merkel’s classroom for lunch every day.
In late September the school had Club Day, for students to join the groups that met after school. Sal wouldn’t have gone, except the school knew nobody would go if given a choice, so they held it during second period. Ms Wheaton, Sal’s social studies teacher, herded them to the gym, where there were a dozen card tables staffed by students with sign-up sheets for the yearbook, the 4-H Club, the robotics club, even a knitting circle. Sal and the other Marzen kids hung out by the door. None of this mattered to them. They couldn’t stay af
