Gemotions

“This is it,” I thought, staring at the polished wood of my desk. My palms were slick, and I wiped them on my jeans. Coach Harding, always composed, always in control, was now a wreck. The selection process was done, and someone had to be cut.

The worst part was, I had to be the one to do it.

He finally came, his shoulders slumped, and he sat down slowly. The silence was the worst part of it. I felt the heat rising in my chest. I couldn't look him in the eye. "It's not personal," I heard myself say. But the words felt hollow and inadequate.