Gemotions

The clipboard slipped from Maya's numb fingers, clattering onto the polished gym floor. Coach Miller's voice, usually a comforting rumble, now grated on her ears. "We just don't have a spot for you this year, Maya. Your performance, while commendable, wasn't quite at the level we need." Her face felt hot, as if someone had slapped her. She wanted to scream, to dismantle something, to break free from the suffocating weight in her chest.

She forced herself to meet the coach's gaze, a vacant, empty stare. She nodded slowly, each movement a Herculean effort. He patted her shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a brand than a comfort. She spun around, her legs carrying her away as quickly as possible. The world swam.

The locker room felt cramped, the air thick with the scent of sweat and disappointment. She kicked her bag across the room. Her knuckles were white as she slammed her locker door shut, the metal reverberating. This was wrong. This *couldn’t* be right.