Gemotions

The coach's words echoed in Maya's ears: "We need you at shortstop, Maya." Her stomach twisted, a cold knot forming in her gut. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, a familiar nervous habit. The infield was a whirlwind of activity, the chatter of her teammates feeling distant and muffled as she envisioned the plays she'd be expected to make. A wave of heat washed over her face.

Her usual spot in the outfield offered a comfortable rhythm; a predictable dance. Now, she'd be in the middle of everything, facing the pressure head-on. She ran her hands through her hair, the rough strands offering little comfort. The batting cages sounded too loud, the smell of fresh-cut grass suddenly overpowering.

She mumbled a 'Yes, coach' and hurried towards the equipment shed. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging her to flee. She opened the door and fumbled with her glove. The leather felt unfamiliar, foreign. This new role felt insurmountable.