Gemotions

She felt the tremor in her hands before the words even left the coach’s mouth. "Sarah, we want you to try wing." Her stomach lurched. Wing? After all the grueling hours perfecting her shooting, the precise arc, the satisfying *swish*? The audacity of it!

"I’m a center," she stated flatly, her voice tight. The coach attempted a placating smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He started listing all the "team needs" and the "bigger picture," but she tuned it out. The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium seemed to buzz with a new, unwelcome intensity. She shifted her weight, finding the worn floorboards of the court beneath her boots a source of grim comfort.

Her eyes swept across her teammates, the expectant looks on their faces. Fine. She’d play wing. But she wouldn't *like* it. She would take it as a chance to prove them wrong.