Gemotions

The weight of the conversation with Coach Thompson pressed down on Michael. He wandered through the school parking lot, the asphalt shimmering under the afternoon sun, trying to put order to his fractured thoughts. He felt as though he was navigating a maze with all the walls constantly shifting. He didn't know where he was going.

He reached his beat-up Honda Civic without any conscious plan, fumbling for his keys. The metallic click of the lock seemed deafening in the sudden, sharp silence. The interior of the car felt alien and unfamiliar, like a space he'd never occupied before.

He sat in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead, the engine unstarted. He ran his hand across the steering wheel, the leather cold and smooth against his skin. The image of the team’s next game, the one he’d worked so long to be ready for, swirled in his mind.