Gemotions

My palms were slick against the worn leather of the baseball. Each breath I took was deliberate, filling my lungs completely and then emptying them slowly. This morning air felt unusually crisp, invigorating. The stadium lights, still illuminated even with the morning sun trying to break through the clouds, cast long shadows, distorting the familiar landscape.

A knot formed in my stomach, a cold, hard stone. Coach Thompson's voice echoed in my ears from yesterday's tryouts. "Come by my office before practice." He'd said it with that neutral expression, the one that usually meant bad news.

My muscles were coiled, ready to spring, even though I was just standing. My focus was intense. I could hear the distant chatter of the other players as they entered the dugout and the sound was like a pressure building up inside of me. I walked over to the field.