Gemotions

The coach’s whistle shrilled. "Johnson, you're on the bench today, and Smith is starting at running back." Johnson felt his face flush. After years of running back, this was a slap in the face. All that work, all those grueling practices, wasted.

He tightened his grip on his water bottle. The sun felt especially bright, the air stifling. He clenched his teeth and watched Smith jog onto the field. He felt his hands begin to shake. The taste of acid rose in his throat.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He turned away, the roar of the crowd suddenly a distant sound.