Gianni’s Secret Battle
Chapter 9
The rain hadn’t returned, but the gray sky seemed to press down on Gianni as he sat at the kitchen table. His schoolbooks were spread out in front of him, the pages filled with words that refused to stay still. He stared at the sentences, willing them to make sense, but the letters twisted and flipped like they were playing a cruel game.
Mama stood at the sink, washing dishes, her back to him. “Gianni, are you doing your homework?” she asked without turning around.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, though he hadn’t written a single word. The pencil in his hand felt heavy, like it didn’t want to move.
Dominick burst into the kitchen, dragging a muddy shoe across the floor. “Fort Bosa looks awesome today! I think we should—”
“Not now, Dominick,” Mama said sharply. “Your brother is working.”
Dominick made a face but didn’t argue. He grabbed a slice of bread from the counter and wandered off, leaving Gianni alone with the silent weight of his schoolbooks.
At school, things weren’t much better. Mrs. Jenkins handed out a reading assignment, and Gianni’s stomach twisted as he looked at the page. The words danced in front of him, blurring together into an incomprehensible mess.
“Gianni,” Mrs. Jenkins said, her voice kind but firm. “Can you read the first sentence for us?”
The room went quiet. Gianni’s heart pounded as he stared at the page. He could feel the other kids watching, waiting for him to mess up.
“The... th-the...” He stumbled over the first word, his cheeks burning. “Dog... j-jumped... o-over the... f-fence.”
Mrs. Jenkins nodded, her smile encouraging. “Good effort, Gianni.”
But the giggles from the other kids stung more than her words soothed. Gianni stared down at his desk, wishing he could disappear.
That afternoon, Gianni sat alone inside Fort Bosa. The others hadn’t arrived yet, and the quiet felt heavier than usual. He picked up a piece of chalk and stared at the blank board hanging on the wall. Slowly, he began to write.
The letters came out crooked, some backward, some too big. He wrote his name first, then tried words from his homework. “House,” “dog,” “cat.” Each one looked wrong, the letters jumbled and uneven.
He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, the words wouldn’t listen. They never stayed where they were supposed to.
“Gianni?”
He jumped, quickly rubbing the chalkboard with his sleeve. Lucia stood in the doorway, her notebook tucked under her arm. Her face softened when she saw him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Gianni said quickly, turning away.
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Lucia stepped inside, her footsteps soft on the wooden floor. “You don’t have to hide it,” she said gently. “I saw your writing. It’s not bad.”
“It’s terrible,” Gianni muttered. “The letters get all mixed up. They don’t make sense.”
Lucia sat beside him, her notebook still in her lap. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “My cousin has the same thing. Dyslexia.”
Gianni frowned. “Dys-what?”
“Dyslexia,” she repeated. “It just means your brain sees letters differently. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart. You just learn a different way.”
Gianni stared at her, the word “dyslexia” rolling around in his mind. He’d never heard it before, but it made something click. “So... it’s not because I’m dumb?”
Lucia shook her head firmly. “No. My cousin is really smart. He just had to find tricks to help him read.”
“What kind of tricks?” Gianni asked, his voice small.
Lucia opened her notebook, flipping to a page filled with neat handwriting. “He said colored paper helps. Like, if you put a yellow or blue sheet under the words, they don’t move as much.”
Gianni’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. And he also uses audiobooks. Listening to stories instead of reading them.”
When the others arrived, Gianni felt lighter, like a small weight had been lifted. He didn’t tell them about his conversation with Lucia, but he didn’t feel as embarrassed about the chalkboard anymore.
“Let’s write the rules of the fort!” Dominick announced, grabbing the chalk.
Gianni smiled. “I’ll help.”
Dominick handed him the chalk, and Gianni carefully wrote the first rule: “No bullies.”
The letters weren’t perfect, but they didn’t have to be. For the first time, Gianni felt like he could handle them, one letter at a time.
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