Chapter 81: Something to Prove

Giovanni had never joined the debate team because of Dominic Sebastian.

He’d joined because he was terrified of public speaking.

Nobody knew that.

Not Alexander.

Certainly not Dominic.

Even his parents hadn’t entirely understood why their normally quiet son suddenly announced one evening that he wanted to try out for debate.

Ysabella had been chopping vegetables.

Matteo looked up from a stack of paperwork.

"Debate?"

"Yes."

"You like arguing now?"

"No."

"Then why debate?"

Giovanni hesitated.

"I want to learn."

That answer had been accepted.

The actual answer was considerably more humiliating.

The first time Giovanni had to present in front of the class, he’d spent the entire morning wondering whether it was physically possible to die from embarrassment before reaching the blackboard.

His hands shook.

His mouth went dry.

He forgot the opening sentence he’d practiced approximately fifty times.

Alexander sat near the front.

That made everything worse.

Giovanni survived.

Barely.

Afterward, Mr. Flores told him, "You know the material."

"I forgot half of it."

"Because you were frightened."

"I’m not frightened."

Mr. Flores raised an eyebrow.

Giovanni surrendered.

"Fine."

"Then fix the fear. The material isn’t your problem."

So Giovanni joined debate.

Winning wasn’t the objective.

Standing in front of people without wanting to run away was.

His first competition ended in defeat.

Giovanni went home delighted.

Matteo stared at him.

"You lost."

"I know."

"And you’re happy."

"I finished."

"Finished what?"

"The whole speech."

Matteo considered this.

Then nodded solemnly.

"Then congratulations."

The pattern repeated elsewhere.

Giovanni joined academic competitions because they forced him to study things he would’ve otherwise avoided.

He entered science events because he liked solving problems.

English competitions helped him communicate.

Mathematics trained him to think under pressure.

Swimming?

That began at the river.

With Alexander and Dominic.

Three boys left their clothes on the riverbank and discovered, through trial, error, and considerable stupidity, how to move through water without swallowing half of it.

Giovanni eventually became good.

Good enough that, years later, competitive swimming in college seemed like a logical challenge.

It wasn’t about Dominic.

Almost none of it was.

But Giovanni thought about one person more often than he admitted.

Alexander.

That part Dominic hadn’t imagined.

Giovanni had never been entirely certain what he wanted from Alex when they were young.

Friendship, certainly.

Approval, probably.

Attention?

Absolutely.

Alex had opportunities Giovanni didn’t.

Tutors.

Lessons.

Resources.

Instead of resenting him for those things, Giovanni found himself wanting to catch up.

When Alexander learned sculpting, Giovanni watched Mr. Arturo work with discarded wood.

"Again," Giovanni said one afternoon.

Mr. Arturo sighed.

"You’ve sanded that poor thing enough."

"The edge isn’t right."

"Which edge?"

Giovanni pointed.

Mr. Arturo squinted.

"Boy, nobody can see that."

"I can."

"That’s your problem."

Giovanni kept sanding.

He wanted to make something Alex wouldn’t immediately recognize as amateur work.

Not because he wanted to beat Alexander.

He wanted to surprise him.

That was different.

At least, Giovanni had always thought so.

Patrick’s sandwiches mattered for the same reason.

He’d stayed late so often that Patrick eventually noticed he sometimes skipped food.

Years later, Giovanni still remembered the first sandwich appearing on top of his notebook.

"My mother packed too much," Patrick had said.

Giovanni believed him.

It took embarrassingly long to realize Patrick had simply been kind.

That was why Giovanni had invited him to Matteo’s or Ysabella’s after the reunion.

Patrick worked in food distribution now.

Giovanni could easily call the invitation networking.

Benchmarking.

Potential business.

All of those things were true.

They were also convenient excuses.

Sometimes paying kindness forward was easier when nobody called it kindness.

Elena’s books had been similar.

Giovanni couldn’t afford to buy every book he wanted.

Elena apparently had access to an endless supply.

So he borrowed.

Mysteries taught him to look for what people overlooked.

Adventure novels gave him worlds larger than their neighborhood.

Even the terrible romances taught him things, although he’d deny that under oath.

Books gave him one particularly useful idea very early:

Circumstances could be terrible without becoming permanent.

Characters started with nothing.

They failed.

Lost.

Got embarrassed.

Tried again.

Giovanni absorbed that lesson before he was old enough to articulate it.

If he didn’t like the person he was today, he could work on the person he’d become tomorrow.

Years later, when the Mercers lost their home and he had to work during the day while attending college at night, that lesson mattered more than Elena could’ve known.

There wasn’t always someone coming to save you.

Sometimes you had to become the hero in your own story.

Alexander knew very little of this.

That amused Giovanni now.

His best friend had spent years believing Giovanni simply liked competitions.

Maybe someday he’d tell him.

Maybe not.

Some insecurities became funny only after enough time passed.

Giovanni picked up the little wooden carving he’d brought home from the reunion.

Make something worth coming back to.

He ran his thumb over the old writing.

At seventeen, he was still trying to figure out who he wanted to become.

Part of the answer had always involved Alexander.

That was the embarrassing truth.

He wanted Alex to notice when he did well.

Wanted him to admire the things he made.

Wanted to be someone Alex considered capable.

Equal.

Worthy of respect.

Whether that had been a boyhood crush, hero worship, friendship, competition, or some confusing combination of all four, Giovanni hadn’t possessed enough emotional intelligence at seventeen to know.

Perhaps he still didn’t.

His phone vibrated.

Alexander.

Awake?

Giovanni smiled.

Unfortunately.

My mother wants recommendations for bakery equipment. You created this monster.

Giovanni laughed.

Send me the list.

She doesn’t have one. That’s the problem.

Then I’ll make one.

The reply came almost immediately.

Of course you will.

Giovanni looked at the wooden carving again.

For years, Dominic had apparently believed Giovanni entered every competition to beat him.

The truth was almost funny.

Dominic had been racing against Giovanni.

Giovanni had been racing against himself.

And somewhere along the way, without either boy understanding it, they’d both started looking toward the same person at the finish line.

Alexander.

The difference was that Dominic had eventually decided Alexander was something to win.

Giovanni had spent those same years trying to become someone Alexander might choose to notice.

His phone vibrated again.

This time, however, it wasn’t Alexander.

Giovanni opened the message.

It came from the private investigator.

The reunion disappeared from his thoughts immediately.

We found Gerald’s old project records. There wasn’t much to see—just Martin Valdez’s name.

But in a separate search of old storage, we found Matteo’s journal in the evidence box.

A second message followed.

Lenny Arceo.