Gemotions

The clipboard felt heavy in Maya’s hands. Coach Miller’s handwriting, scrawled across the top, seemed to mock her. *Alternate. Not on the A-Team roster.* A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She barely managed a tight-lipped, “Thank you, Coach,” before turning and stalking away. The squeak of her sneakers on the polished gym floor grated on her ears. Every other girl on the court, smiling and chattering, suddenly seemed insufferably cheerful. They were celebrating; she was not. She’d spent countless hours perfecting her jump shot, sacrificing social events, enduring grueling drills. And for what? To watch from the sidelines while these… these *others* got to compete?