Gemotions

“You, Ethan, on the wing.” Coach Henderson's tone was matter-of-fact, but the words struck Ethan like a physical blow. He'd been a defensive midfielder since he could walk. It was the only role he ever wanted. He felt a sense of disorientation.

His mouth went dry. He stared at the coach, searching for some kind of signal that this was a joke. The other players began to move, preparing for practice. But Ethan was frozen, rooted to the spot.

He swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. The green of the pitch suddenly seemed alien, the familiar rhythm of the game disoriented. A cold sweat slicked his palms. This was completely out of left field.