Gemotions

The gymnasium echoed with the rhythmic squeak of sneakers and the thud of basketballs, a soundtrack of denial that Coach Peterson found unbearable. He'd been avoiding this moment all week, the final cuts looming like a shadow. He called for Ben to approach him.

"Come on in, Ben." He gestured toward a chair, the plastic cold beneath his hand. He was trying to be calm. He was failing.

Ben, usually boisterous and energetic, entered the office with a slump of his shoulders. Coach Peterson could see the fear in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to reassure him, but he knew he couldn't.

"Ben, you’ve worked incredibly hard," he began. His voice felt tight, strained. He reached for a water bottle, took a long swallow. He didn't want this moment to be rushed.

"Unfortunately, we can only take so many players." He couldn't keep eye contact. He knew how important this was to the boy, he knew how many dreams he had, and it hurt him as well.