Gemotions

The clipboard felt smooth in Coach Miller's hand as he sat on the bleachers, the late afternoon sun warming his back. He tapped a finger against the paper, the sound echoing lightly in the empty gym. He took a slow breath, the air smelling faintly of floor wax and sweat. Practice had ended an hour ago, but he’d stayed behind to do this. He had a duty to fulfill.

He glanced at the list of names, the ink a familiar black. The decision had been made, the difficult part was over. Now, he simply needed to deliver the news. He picked up his phone, dialing the number with deliberate precision.

The ringing tone echoed in the quiet gymnasium. He knew what he was going to say. It had been rehearsed. He leaned back against the wooden bench, his posture relaxed.