One Colorado got even louder after the sun went down. By the time the movie screen was being set up in the courtyard, the entire plaza was packed with families carrying snacks and blankets while music drifted between the restaurants.
I was halfway through a giant cup of gelato when I suddenly froze in the middle of a sentence because I recognized somebody near the fountain.
"LIAM."
Before Mom could even answer, I was already running across the courtyard.
Liam turned around immediately holding a paper bag of candy almost the size of his head while his mom stood beside him laughing.
"DUDE," he yelled the second he saw me. "They have churros here."
"That's not even the best dessert stand."
"Yes it is."
"No, there's a place over there with brownies the size of your face."
Liam looked horrified. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Within ten minutes, the two of us had somehow convinced the adults to let us "share" desserts, which immediately turned into us eating an honestly concerning amount of sugar. Churros, brownies, lemonade, cotton candy, cookies the size of frisbees — every time one adult said "that's probably enough," another food stand appeared somewhere nearby like a side quest.
At one point Liam challenged me to see who could finish sour candy without making a face.
I lost immediately.
Rachel laughed so hard she almost dropped her drink while Liam pointed at me dramatically. "YOU LOOKED LIKE A DYING VICTORIAN CHILD."
"It attacked my nervous system."
"That's not how candy works."
Nearby, Mom and Liam's mom sat together near the outdoor tables watching us sprint around the courtyard with way too much energy for two kids who should've been exhausted already.
Liam's mom smiled softly while watching us argue over whose turn it was to carry the churros.
"They really are good for each other."
Mom glanced over toward us just in time to see Liam nearly trip over a bench while I yelled statistics about sugar crashes at him.
"They are," she admitted quietly.
"When Liam was younger, he used to get frustrated because he felt like nobody around him liked the same things he did. Soccer helped, but…" She smiled a little. "Then Matteo came along and suddenly Liam had somebody who understood him."
Mom looked down at her drink for a second before answering.
"Matteo spent a long time feeling like he was 'too much' for other kids. Too intense. Too serious." Her expression softened while she watched me animatedly explaining something with my hands while Liam nodded like it was the most important conversation in the world. "Liam never treats him like he's weird."
"Because to Liam," his mom said simply, "he's just Matteo."
That sentence stayed with Mom longer than she expected.
Eventually the movie started, and Liam and I spent most of it laying upside down on a shared blanket after consuming enough sugar to probably medically concern several pediatricians. By the time everyone finally headed home, I could barely keep my eyes open in the backseat.
Then suddenly it was July fourth.
From the second I woke up that morning, the neighborhood already sounded different. Music played somewhere down the street, people dragged coolers across driveways, and American flags seemed to appear on basically every house in Pasadena overnight.
Liam came over before lunch wearing a USA soccer jersey while carrying enough energy to power a small city.
"YOUR DAD SAID THERE'S FIREWORKS TONIGHT."
"Not the dangerous kind," Mom warned immediately from the kitchen.
"That still counts."
Most of the afternoon turned into classic Fourth of July chaos. Neighbors grilled outside while kids ran through sprinklers in swimsuits and adults talked across driveways holding paper plates full of barbecue food. By sunset, the entire neighborhood smelled like smoke, burgers, sunscreen, and summer heat trapped in the pavement.
Dad eventually let Liam and me use sparklers in the driveway while supervising like we were handling military explosives.
"Keep them pointed away from your face."
"We know."
"And don't run."
"We know."
"And absolutely do not sword fight with them."
Liam and I looked at each other guiltily.
Dad narrowed his eyes immediately. "You already thought about it, didn't you?"
"Maybe a little."
Later that night, everyone gathered on blankets near a local park while fireworks exploded overhead in huge bursts of red, blue, and gold. Around us, little kids covered their ears while teenagers screamed dramatically every time the sky lit up brighter than expected.
I sat beside Liam staring upward while smoke drifted through the warm summer air.
"They kinda look like volleyballs exploding," I said eventually.
Liam turned slowly toward me.
"You seriously have a problem."
Probably.
But honestly?
I didn't mind anymore.
Then summer kept moving.
The days blurred together the way summer vacation always did when you were eight years old. Volleyball practices. Italian classes. Soccer camp for Liam. Late afternoons at parks. Ice cream melting too fast in the California heat. Sleepovers where nobody actually slept enough. Long evenings where the sky stayed bright forever.
And somehow, before I even fully realized it, July kept moving too.
Practices got harder. The team started feeling more real. Summer stretched onward beneath endless California sunlight until one evening nearly two weeks later, Coach Daniel finally gathered everybody at the end of practice with a clipboard in his hands and said the words that immediately made my stomach tighten again.
"Alright guys," he announced, "next week we start preparing for your first tournament."
The second Coach Daniel said the word "tournament," the entire gym changed.
Some kids kept drinking water. Somebody in the back accidentally bounced a volleyball into the net pole. Mason was still sitting on the floor trying to untie his kneepads with the concentration of a surgeon.
But underneath all of that, the energy shifted immediately.
We gathered near the sideline while Coach Daniel held a clipboard against his hip and Coach Mia rolled out a cart full of volleyballs beside him. The gym smelled like hardwood floors and sweat and that weird rubber smell kneepads always had after practice.
"Alright," Coach Daniel said once everybody settled down enough to mostly listen. "Next Saturday is going to be your first official tournament as Stormbreaker."
A bunch of kids immediately started talking at once.
"Are there trophies?"
"How many games?"
"What if we lose?"
"Do they have snacks?"
Coach Daniel laughed while raising a hand. "One question at a time."
That did not help at all.
Ethan asked whether there would be referees. One of the middles wanted to know if there would be music during games. Mason loudly announced that he was "absolutely going to dive into the bleachers at least once."
Coach Mia looked concerned immediately. "Please don't."
"I said probably."
"Still concerning."
Eventually Coach Daniel managed to get everybody focused again enough to explain things properly.
"There are six U10 teams in the Pasadena regional group this season," he said while writing names onto the whiteboard beside the court. "You'll see most of these clubs multiple times during the year."
Under Stormbreaker, he wrote the other teams:
Arcadia Storm.
Westside Waves.
San Marino Select.
Valley Spikers.
Foothill Elite.
Just seeing our team name up there made my chest tighten weirdly.
Stormbreaker Volleyball Club.
That was us now.
"This tournament is single elimination," Coach Daniel continued. "That means if you lose your match, you're done for the day."
A few kids immediately looked nervous.
"So we only get one chance?" Noah asked quietly.
"For this tournament, yes. But that's okay." Coach Daniel leaned slightly against the whiteboard. "At your age, winning isn't the most important thing yet."
Mason raised his hand dramatically. "I think winning sounds pretty important."
Some of the kids laughed.
Coach Daniel pointed at him. "Competing matters. Learning how to play under pressure matters. Learning how to recover after mistakes matters." Then he looked around at all of us more seriously. "Most of you are still learning rotations."
That was true unfortunately.
Half the team still panicked slightly whenever Coach Mia yelled "transition!" during drills.
"We want improvement," Coach Mia added calmly. "Communication. Hustle. Smart volleyball." She smiled a little. "And maybe slightly fewer collisions."
Everybody immediately looked at Carter because he had run directly into two teammates during scrimmage last week.
"That happened one time," Carter defended.
"It happened twice," Ethan corrected immediately.
Coach Daniel grabbed another clipboard from the bench beside him. "Now for the fun part."
That got everybody's attention instantly.
Uniforms.
The second he opened the equipment bag, the entire group exploded with excitement again. Navy jerseys with silver lettering. Matching shorts. Warmup shirts folded into neat piles.
Even the parents watching from the bleachers smiled watching everybody suddenly sit up straighter.
Coach Mia started calling names one by one while players walked up to grab their uniforms.
"Ethan."
"Carter."
"Noah."
"Mason."
Every kid immediately checked the back for their number before even unfolding the jersey properly.
"Yes!" Mason yelled after seeing his. "I GOT SEVEN."
"That was way too emotional," Noah informed him.
"You're way too emotional."
When Coach Mia finally called my name, I stood up so fast my water bottle tipped over beside the bench.
"Matteo."
I walked over trying to act normal even though my heartbeat had suddenly gotten way too loud in my ears. Coach Mia handed me the folded jersey with a small smile.
And the second I turned it around, I saw it.
My number.
Exactly the one I wanted.
For a second, I just stared at it.
Then Coach Mia noticed my face and smiled slightly wider.
"Good number?"
I nodded immediately. "It's my birthday number."
"Then you better play well in it."
Back near the bench, I unfolded the jersey carefully across my lap while everybody compared numbers around me.
The material felt smooth and cold against my hands. STORMBREAKER stretched across the front in silver letters, and somehow that made everything feel even more real than the emails and practices had.
We looked like an actual team now.
Beside me, Noah groaned dramatically while holding up his libero jersey.
"I still think liberos should get cooler numbers."
I looked over immediately. "Liberos are literally the defensive foundation of volleyball."
"See, that's exactly what I mean," he muttered. "You make it sound like military strategy."
Coach Daniel eventually clapped his hands again once the excitement settled slightly.
"Bring your uniforms next Saturday. Be there by 7:30 a.m. Warmups start at eight. And remember something important." He looked around the circle carefully before continuing. "Dont forget to have fun."