Gemotions

She slammed the practice cone onto the ground, the plastic cracking under the force. "You want me… to *pitch*?" Sarah, the ace pitcher, glared at the coach, the sun glinting off the sweat on her brow. The other girls on the team murmured, their faces a mixture of surprise and… what? Pity? Amusement?

She could practically taste the chalk dust of the pitcher’s mound, the sting of the leather in her hands. This was a deliberate act of sabotage, she decided, a way to punish her for a perceived slight.

Her shoulders slumped. She wanted to scream, to rip the cap off her head and hurl it into the stands. Instead, she took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of cut grass and humiliation.