DUSTED MELODY [BL]

chapter7:VOLLYBALL

Dodgeball day in gym class. Ugh. Enzo wasn't a huge fan of sweaty dodgeballs flying at his face, but at least it wasn't another boring lecture. Today's challenge: girls vs. boys volleyball. The gym echoed with cheers and groans as teams formed.

The new kid, Mateo, stood awkwardly on the boys' side. Coach Garcia, a short but enthusiastic guy, clapped his hands. "Alright, let's have some fun! Everyone get in position."

Mateo, unsure of himself, ended up next to Enzo. The game started, the volleyball flying back and forth like a fuzzy missile. Enzo spiked the ball, earning a high five from his teammate. But then, disaster struck.

Mateo went for a catch, but the ball slipped through his fingers. Groans erupted from the sidelines. "Come on, newbie! Catch it!" someone yelled. Coach Garcia, ever the optimist, called out, "It's okay, kid! Everyone messes up sometimes!"

Suddenly, a voice from the back of the crowd pierced the air. It was Ron, the class bully, a smirk plastered on his face. "What a wimp! Can't even do anything right! Bet he just sits at home painting his nails like a sissy!"

Mateo flinched, his face turning red under the mask. Another teammate, a friendly giant named Jason, patted Mateo's back. "Don't listen to him, bro. It's all good. Let's get that next one!"

Mateo nodded, trying to focus on the game. But Ron's words stung, distracting him. The ball came flying towards him again, and this time, he flinched. The volleyball bounced off his arm, leaving a dull thud.

Ron roared with laughter. "Loser! Can't even catch a ball! You suck! Get off the team!"

The crowd joined in the jeering, making Enzo clench his fists. This wasn't cool. He couldn't just stand there and watch this.

Suddenly, Enzo had an idea. He called a timeout, dodging flying volleyballs and weaving through the players. He reached the sidelines just as Mateo, humiliated, was about to disappear into the locker room.

"Hey, Mateo, wait!" Enzo called out.

Mateo stopped, his shoulders slumped.

Enzo followed him into the deserted locker room, a sense of dread gnawing at him. He found Mateo huddled in a corner stall, his back to the door.

Taking a deep breath, Enzo approached cautiously. "Hey, you alright?" he asked softly.

Mateo didn't answer. Enzo noticed him move his arm slightly, revealing a glimpse of something hidden beneath the long sleeves. Curiosity piqued, Enzo inched closer.

Then, he saw it. Fresh, angry red scars crisscrossed Mateo's arm, some barely healed. A gasp escaped Enzo's lips. How could a volleyball cause that much damage?

As if on cue, Mateo's mask slipped, revealing a face streaked with tears. He whimpered, hitting himself on the head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Enzo's heart ached. This wasn't about a bad game; it was something much deeper. He didn't know what, but he knew he had to help. But how? The question hung heavy in the air, a new melody in the chaotic symphony of Enzo's life.