By late November, Southern California had finally begun to cool down. Matteo and his family lived in a quiet neighborhood in Pasadena, just outside Los Angeles, where tree-lined streets, small parks, and good schools made it the kind of place families stayed in for years. The intense summer heat had faded, replaced by crisp mornings, cooler evenings, and soft golden sunlight that stretched across the neighborhood before disappearing earlier each day. . Kids still rode bikes through the cul-de-sacs after school, bundled in hoodies instead of T-shirts now, while the scent of fireplaces and freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air during the evenings. Even without snow or constant rain, late November carried that quiet feeling that winter was getting closer.
For most families, Thanksgiving break meant relaxing.
For Matteo, it meant enduring a temporary collapse of civilization.
Because WCVA closed for the entire holiday week.
The announcement came at the end of Tuesday practice when Coach Daniel casually mentioned that the gym would reopen after Thanksgiving weekend. Most of the children cheered at the idea of vacation. One little boy literally yelled, "NO HOMEWORK," despite volleyball having absolutely nothing to do with school.
Matteo looked devastated.
Not dramatic-child devastated.
Genuinely betrayed.
"How are players supposed to improve if nobody practices for five days?" he asked with complete seriousness while helping Coach Daniel gather volleyballs into the cart after practice.
Coach Daniel laughed softly at first, assuming Matteo was joking.
Then he realized he absolutely was not.
"People survive Thanksgiving without volleyball, buddy."
Matteo frowned immediately.
"Professionally serious people probably don't."
Coach Daniel had to physically turn away to hide his laughter.
By Wednesday morning, Matteo had already bounced a volleyball against the living room wall enough times for Elena to threaten both the ball and his existence simultaneously.
"You're going to damage something," she warned from the kitchen while organizing ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner.
"I'm maintaining muscle memory," Matteo argued while continuing controlled forearm passes against the wall.
"You're maintaining property damage."
"Both things can happen together."
Henrique nearly choked on his coffee laughing.
Still, despite Matteo's suffering over the temporary lack of volleyball, excitement slowly took over the house for another reason entirely: Elena's parents were arriving that afternoon from Nevada for Thanksgiving.
Matteo adored his grandparents, but especially his grandfather Arthur.
Arthur Bennett was the kind of older man who carried intelligence in a way that made rooms feel quieter when he spoke. A retired engineering professor from Boston, he possessed the dangerous combination of extreme intelligence, dry humor, and absolutely no patience for pretending children were less perceptive than adults. He spoke to Matteo like a real person instead of simplifying every conversation, which meant Matteo trusted him almost immediately from the time he was very young.
Unfortunately for everyone else, Arthur also found Matteo endlessly entertaining.
The moment Elena picked them up from the airport, Arthur barely had time to finish putting on his seatbelt before Matteo launched into a five-minute explanation about why liberos were "strategically underappreciated by casual viewers."
Arthur listened with complete focus the entire time.
"So," he said finally, adjusting his glasses slightly, "you've decided to dedicate your life to aggressively preventing balls from touching floors."
Matteo nodded seriously.
"Yes."
Arthur hummed thoughtfully.
"A respectable use of your abilities."
Diane sighed from the passenger seat.
"You encouraged this last year."
"I absolutely did," Arthur replied without remorse.
Back at the house, Thanksgiving preparations immediately transformed the entire environment into warm chaos. Elena and Diane moved constantly between the kitchen counters preparing food while Henrique attempted to help and mostly got in the way. Football played quietly from the television in the living room while rain tapped steadily against the windows outside. The entire house smelled like cinnamon, roasted vegetables, butter, and fresh bread by late afternoon.
Meanwhile, Matteo followed Arthur around like a shadow.
At one point, the two sat together in the living room while the adults cooked nearby. Matteo balanced a volleyball on his knees while Arthur skimmed through the newspaper with the casual concentration of someone capable of reading three articles simultaneously.
Without looking up, Arthur asked:
"Your mother tells me you've become socially functional."
Matteo frowned immediately.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you made friends."
"Oh."
Arthur turned a page calmly.
"That's generally considered important."
Matteo thought about that seriously for several seconds before answering.
"I have two."
"Only two?"
"Liam counts as at least one-and-a-half because he talks continuously."
Arthur barked out a sharp laugh loud enough for Elena to yell from the kitchen:
"Dad!"
"What?" Arthur called back innocently. "The child made a statistically accurate observation."
Matteo looked deeply satisfied with himself.
Arthur folded the newspaper onto his lap afterward and glanced sideways at him.
"So tell me about them."
And Matteo did.
Not quickly, either.
Once he started talking about Liam and Charlie, nearly forty uninterrupted minutes disappeared.
He explained how Liam somehow understood him without needing everything explained perfectly all the time. How conversations with Liam moved unpredictably but never felt exhausting. How Charlie watched volleyball correctly, which Matteo clearly considered one of the highest compliments a human being could receive.
"She notices movement before the ball crosses the net," Matteo explained while spinning the volleyball carefully between his hands. "Most people only watch the ball itself, but she watches spacing first."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"So she understands structure."
"Yes."
"And you like that."
"Yes."
Arthur studied him briefly over the edge of his glasses.
"You know most children your age would simply say they think someone is nice."
Matteo looked genuinely confused.
"But that's not the interesting part."
Arthur laughed again, softer this time.
Talking to Matteo often felt strange in the best possible way. One moment he sounded absurdly advanced for his age, discussing pattern recognition or spatial awareness like a tiny exhausted professor. The next moment he would dramatically slide across hardwood floors in socks pretending to dive for imaginary volleyballs.
He was brilliant.
But still unmistakably five.
Thanksgiving morning itself felt warm and noisy from the moment everyone woke up. Rain continued pouring outside while the inside of the house glowed with soft yellow light and constant movement. Diane cooked while softly humming Christmas songs despite it not even being December yet. Henrique and Elena argued over oven timing. Arthur criticized football strategy from the couch despite not supporting either team playing.
And Matteo spent most of the day alternating between helping, talking too much, and practicing invisible volleyball movements whenever nobody was paying attention.
At one point Diane walked into the hallway and found him carrying dinner rolls while simultaneously doing defensive shuffle steps.
"Sweetheart," she said carefully, trying not to laugh, "are you doing volleyball footwork during Thanksgiving dinner?"
"I'm staying active."
"You're transporting bread."
"That's unrelated."
From the dining room, Arthur nearly collapsed laughing into his drink.
Later that afternoon, while everyone gathered around the table and rain hammered softly against the windows outside, conversation drifted naturally toward school, volleyball, and Matteo's future.
Arthur carved turkey with surgical precision while casually asking:
"So what exactly is the long-term career plan here?"
Matteo answered immediately without hesitation.
"I'm going to be a professional libero."
Arthur lowered the knife slowly.
"A professional libero."
"Yes."
"That's remarkably specific for someone who still needs help tying certain shoes."
Matteo ignored the insult completely.
"Liberos control defense and passing consistency," he explained seriously. "And they usually have better reaction timing because they process faster."
Arthur smirked slightly.
"So naturally you selected the position requiring obsessive analysis."
"Yes."
"Reasonable."
Elena shook her head from across the table.
"You are absolutely encouraging him."
"Of course I am," Arthur replied calmly. "Every family needs at least one strategically intense child."
That night, after dinner finally ended and the house quieted into the soft exhaustion that always follows large family gatherings, Matteo sat curled near the fireplace beside his grandfather while everyone else cleaned the kitchen. The Christmas lights outside reflected faintly against the rain-covered windows, and for once Matteo seemed calmer than usual—not less energetic exactly, but quieter internally somehow.
Arthur noticed immediately.
"You're thinking too hard again," he commented casually without looking away from the fire.
Matteo rested his chin on his knees.
"Do you think I'm weird?"
Arthur answered so quickly it almost sounded automatic.
"Obviously."
Matteo blinked.
"That was fast."
Arthur shrugged.
"Most intelligent people are weird. The important thing is whether you're weird in an interesting way."
Matteo considered that with complete seriousness.
"…I think I am."
"No," Arthur agreed calmly. "You definitely are."
For a few quiet moments, only the sound of rain and distant dishes filled the room.
Then Matteo spoke again, much softer this time.
"I like volleyball because everybody has to move together," he admitted while staring at the fireplace. "People make more sense there."
Arthur finally looked down at him properly then.
"That's because games have patterns," he said gently. "People usually don't."
Matteo nodded slowly like the answer settled somewhere deep inside him.
Then, without another word, he leaned lightly against his grandfather's side while rain continued falling outside their california home and Thanksgiving slowly faded into night.