Gemotions

The locker room buzzed, a familiar symphony of cleats clacking and shouted greetings. Mark stretched languidly, a slow, deep yawn escaping him. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the showers, and grinned at the reflection in his locker mirror. Everything felt right. The season opener was just days away, and he was ready. He'd put in the work. He'd earned his spot. He reached for his favorite lucky socks, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

He whistled a tuneless song as he laced up his cleats. Coach Miller had called a team meeting, but it was just a formality. He was a starter. He knew it. The team knew it. He smoothed down his jersey, the crisp fabric a comforting weight against his skin.

The walk to the coach’s office was a leisurely one. Sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the hallway in a warm glow. He anticipated a quick pep talk and a few last-minute instructions. He knocked once, and then, with a confident smile, pushed the door open.