The strange man moved in with us. He took my place beside my mom and wisely chose to ignore me. I had noticed that and approved of the fact he was ignoring me. I pushed away any suspicious feelings about it. He had every right to. But, ever since he moved in, I was the uninvited guest. Not him.

Soon enough, my mother also pushed me away. This began a few months after their marriage and they were beginning to come down from their high. As much as they ignored me, I ignored them. I became distant from my mother and eventually stopped caring about her. But, I still harbored a deep hatred for the stranger named George Robinson. I made up stories in my head that would shed a bad light on him. And at the end of each story, he had a painful death.

With each passing year, I became grimmer. I stopped smiling and laughing. At school, I gave everyone a stare that I was sure freaked them out. And I rarely talked. In fifth grade, I was sent to the social worker who talked to me about abuse and that I could always talk to her if there was a problem. I gave her a stony glare.

The next year, we moved to the Village in Manhattan. It was probably the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to me. We moved into a pretty apartment, and even though my mom didn't like it at first, she eventually warmed up to it.

I went to a large school that combined middle school with high school. My first day was strange, and a little bit painful. I got into a fight. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be my last.

One day, when I came home from school, all the pictures of my father were gone. Every single item in the house that might've hinted at his existence was gone. I checked everywhere. When I had asked my mom, she said she put it into storage and when I had asked her why she put it into storage, she said that George thought any guests might think strange that there were more pictures of her dead husband than her newer, living husband.

I scowled at her, muttered a few curses, and contemplated going over to George's workplace and kick in him the balls in front of his co-workers. I didn't. I was going to be smart about my revenge.

This man would not take advantage of me any longer.

When George came home that night, I did not eat dinner with him. When he walked by my room to get to his and my mother's room, I stood in my doorway, watching him as passed. I swore I would get my revenge.

The next week, I took an IQ test along with a Myers-Briggs test for school. When I came home from school that day, my mom and George stood over the mail, gaping at a piece of paper.

"Come here." They said.

I refused and demanded they tell me what was going on.

"Take a look at your scores."

I took the paper from my mom's hand and read it. When I finished, I set it down on the table and walked away. As I did, George said, "Kairi, do you know what this means?"

"Yes."

"Kairi, you're a genius."

I thought about this for a second.

"Fuck you, George. I said I knew."

Before they could say anything else, I was in my room, slamming the door shut.

The next day I took the papers off the table, stuffed them in my bag, and went to school. On my way there, I noticed a group of people crowded around something. Curiously, I walk through the crowd to see a two men playing a chess game. I recognized the younger man as a student in the high school attached to my middle school. He had an intense look of concentration on his face as he thought about his next move. I had never played chess before, nor had I any idea what the rules were. Maybe, if my father was alive, we would be playing chess together.

At lunch, I saw him again. He was in an alleyway near the school, surrounded by a group of other students. I nudged the girl next to me. "Hey, who's that guy? The one surrounded by those guys."

She looked at me, shocked, but I ignored her. She said, "Oh, um, I don't remember his name, but I've heard he always gets into fights. I've even heard that he does drugs or something."

Finding this slightly strange, I asked, "Does he play chess?"

She gave me a strange look. "Uh, probably not. Chess is for nerds. He's a druggie, not a nerd."

On my way home, I saw him setting up a chess game. He was the only one there.

"How do you play?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "How old are you? Kids shouldn't play with strangers."

"That's something strange for a druggie to say. I appreciate it, but I'm in middle school, contrary to my appearance. "

He smirked. "Fair enough. Sit down. I'll teach you how to play."

"Teach me how to win."

And so he taught me the names and roles of the chess pieces and how to best use them. He taught me strategies and that chess was a game of war.

"If it's a game of war, I don't see why people think it's so lame."

He agreed. "Do you want to play a game? It's getting dark, and your parents will probably get worried if you don't come home."

I looked at him strangely. "You act nothing like your reputation. People think you do drugs and various different crimes. And you're worried about my parents worrying about me?"

He moved one of his pawns. "It's just a rumor," he looked me in the eye. "Don't tell."

Confused, I asked, "Why would you want people to think that about you? What are you going to gain from it?"

"Some parts of the rumors are true. And people want a reason to why I live the way I do. So, I let them believe what they want, and I live the way I do."

"So, you don't do drugs?"

"They think I do. Someone caught me taking Ibuprofen for a headache and assumed I was taking drugs."

I nodded and moved a bishop.

"Look," he said, pointing towards my queen. I look at where he's pointing.

"Fuck."

He grinned. That's why people don't talk during a chess game. They get distracted. Also, don't let them get your queen. It's the most important piece."

I looked at the sky. It was dark. Night in the Village was the best, but I was never allowed to go outside. But, why should I listen to mom and George?

"Hey, I never caught your name," he said.

"Kairi. Kairi Romanique."

"That's a strange name."

"Well, what's yours?"

He stared at me. "You mean…you knew about the rumors about me, but you didn't know my name?"

"Ace Vormov."

"I think your name is also very strange."

He nodded with a grin. "I've no idea what my parents were thinking when they named me."

"My father's dead," I said.

"And your mother?" He asks.

"Still alive."

"Well, at least you have her. Did she ever remarry?"

I clench my fist. "Yes. To a George Robinson. I met him the day my mom announced they were getting married. I never had a say in it. He took my father's place, that fucker."

I didn't know why I was telling him this. I hadn't ever told anyone what I felt about George.

"How long has he been married to your mother?" He asked.

"Five years."

"And you still haven't warmed up to George Robinson after all those years?"

I growled, "I took care of my mother, a mourning widow, for two whole years. I cooked her food, I paid her bills, and I kept her as happy as possible. Then, this…stranger comes into my life. My mom hadn't told me a word about him. She hadn't even hinted that she was dating someone. And I did all her work for her! And I was seven years old! She ignores me now. She rarely talks to me. She doesn't congratulate me when I achieve something, or kiss me before bed! I don't even remember the last time I hugged her. I never saw it before, but now I know that she's a selfish, uncaring woman."

After my outburst, I felt lightheaded. My face was flushed, and I felt like crying. "I don't know why she does the things she does. I don't understand it. I've tried time and time again to understand her, but I just can't…"

He reached over the chess board and pat my head. "Maybe she can't help but link you to your father's death. It probably doesn't mean she hates you, but she sees him in you."

"Ace."

"What?"

"I was adopted."

A pause.

"Oh."

Every day after school we would meet and play chess. One day as we were playing chess, he said, "You've gotten pretty damn good at chess. Do you want to play poker next time?"

"I don't know how to play that either."

And so, for the next month we played poker.

At the end of that one month, I came home from a poker game to see my mom and George standing in the doorway, with disapproving looks on their faces.

"Are you going to move or should I push through?"

George said, "You're going to tell us where you've been for the last two months and why. We've been worried about you."

I grit my teeth. "I don't take orders from you, old man. I don't have to tell you anything." I knew I was being unreasonably stubborn, but I wanted to make this man's life hell.

"Kairi!" My mother exclaimed.

"What?" I asked irritably.

"You're grounded for the next two weeks. You will come straight home, right after school ends," George says.

"Did you not here me?" I say. "I. Don't. Take. Orders. From. You."

Satisfied and smirking slightly, I shove past George, stopping myself from hurting him. That would be too cruel. This was just a warning. Life is about to become hell for you, George.

The dead will bury the dead.