‘Oh yes.’ Rich looks at a piece of paper in his hand, then clears his throat like he’s about to read the news. ‘We’re playing Foxley High in the first round,’ he says. ‘And we’ve drawn lots to see who plays who. So it’s totally random. Rebecca, you’re on table six, Chris, table twelve, Tom, table fourteen, Leah, table eighteen, I’m on table sixteen.’ Then he looks up at me and adds, ‘Felix, you’re on table twenty.’

‘But that’s . . .’ Chris reads over Rich’s shoulder. ‘He’s playing Sam Paterson.’

‘Yep.’

‘Who’s that?’ I ask.

‘Only the player who scored the most points last year!’ says Chris.

‘Wow!’ says Jake. ‘You’ll get slaughtered!’

‘Jake! That’s not really going to help Felix,’ says Mr Keytes.

‘Just saying.’ Jake glances at me.

It doesn’t help, but Jake’s right. I turn around and look for Granddad, but the doors have been pushed open and I’m being jostled through.

Inside, the sports hall has basketball ball hoops at both ends and in between them are loads of tables arranged in lines like when I take exams. And hundreds of boys and girls are standing between them, in smart uniforms, talking so loudly their voices echo off the walls.

Rich and the others push past me, then more children from another school. I turn and look for Granddad again, but the only person I recognize is Jake.

‘Break a leg, Felix,’ he shouts above the crowd. But I don’t want his advice. I want Granddad’s.

‘Felix!’ I turn and see Granddad’s hat above everyone else. ‘You will be fine,’ he says loudly. ‘I will watch you from up here.’ He nods up some stairs, then back at me. ‘Just remember, do not look at them, just think of them as—’

A hooter sounds. Boys and girls push past me like they’re late for a football match and they start to carry me with them.

‘Think of them as what, Granddad?’ I shout. I jump above the crowd to spot him, but all I see is an empty space on the stairs. What was he going to say?

I look at the two rows of tables. At the chessboards lined up on them and the clocks at the sides. This isn’t fair – why did I get drawn against last year’s best player?

I spot Rebecca across the room, talking to Chris. They walk towards me and I meet them in the middle of the hall.

‘How did this happen?’ I say. ‘Can we swap?’

‘What, so I get beaten?’ says Chris.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Maybe not with you, but with somebody . . . with Rich?’

‘We can’t,’ Rebecca sighs. ‘I know it doesn’t seem fair, but it’s a random draw – you don’t get to choose.’

A bell rings out. Everyone stops talking.