Gemotions

Coach Thompson tapped his pen against the desk, the rhythmic sound echoing in the otherwise silent office. He watched as Michael entered, his usual optimistic demeanor slightly subdued. Thompson’s lips were twitching.

Michael was a good kid, truly. He just wasn't, well, good at the sport. The drills were, shall we say, a challenge. The games were worse.

“Michael, come have a seat,” Thompson said, gesturing to the chair. Michael sat, and Thompson thought, here we go. He leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to erupt. “It’s time we talk about your role.”