Randy is a chubby ninth grader with a Cub Scout hair cut who guesses M&M colors with his eyes closed and makes up words. He’s also a chess whiz who has defeated his older brother Zeke in nine of their last ten matches. Zeke is a high school senior, a soccer champ, and a chess natural who can beat just about anyone if he decides to really concentrate. So why is his loser little brother the better athlete, the better chess player, and the first to have a girlfriend?
The competition heightens when both Randy and Zeke qualify for the Northeast Regional of the Pennsylvania High School Chess Championships (Randy is seeded, Zeke is not)—and play their way right into a brother-tobrother final round. Told in alternating points of view between brothers, Rich Wallace’s new novel brings to life one of America’s favorite pastimes in a suspenseful story about competition and family loyalty.
Rich Wallace is the author of several books for young adults, including One Good Punch, an ALA Best Book for Young Adults; and Wrestling Sturbridge, an ALA Quick Pick. He lives in Pennsylvania.
From the Hardcover edition.
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|Title of eBook: Perpetual Check|
|Release Date: 02-10-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Random House Children's Books|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Perpetual Check|
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* ONE *
Several Moves Ahead
They're barefoot, moving silently along the carpeted hallway, searching for some clue to which hotel room might be Jenna McNulty's.
217? 219? All of the doors look the same. What were they expecting to tip them off? Some definitive prep-school snore?
Pramod puts a finger to his lips-Like I don't know enough to be quiet, Zeke thinks-and kneels by a room-service tray someone had shoved into the hall. He lifts a silver-colored cover to reveal a sprig of parsley swimming in a congealed smear of steak grease and blood at the edge of the plate. He sticks his tongue from his open mouth and grimaces.
There's a half-full bottle of Heineken on the tray, recapped and upright. Pramod carefully puts two long, nimble fingers on the neck and raises it from the tray.
Zeke gives him a look that says, No way you're drinking that.
Pramod walks-with the beer-a few feet away, so he's equidistant between the doors of rooms 219 and 221. He leans against the pale striped wallpaper and motions Zeke over.
"He didn't drink from the bottle," he whispers.
"Whoever's in that room." He points to the tray. "He used a glass, see?"
There's a clear drinking glass on the tray with an obvious trace of dried beer foam. In other words, the bottle holds untouched Heineken. Warm, certainly, and probably flat.
Pramod checks to make sure the cap is on tight, then puts the bottle in the pocket of his loose green gym shorts and starts walking toward the elevators. His T-shirt says JESUIT LACROSSE, and his straight black hair is badly mussed.