Gemotions

"We'd like you to consider moving to centre, Sarah," the captain said, her tone carefully neutral. Sarah’s grip on her racquet tightened until her knuckles were white. Years of practice, the relentless pursuit of perfection, had all been for this moment. Wing was her position. She knew it intimately, every angle, every strategy. Now, they wanted her to learn a new, more demanding position.

The court seemed to shrink, the net suddenly too high, the other players blurred. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come, caught in her throat. She could feel the blood draining from her face, leaving her chilled despite the humid air in the arena. She took a step back, the familiar feel of her racquet suddenly foreign in her hands.