Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Liam’s forehead despite the cold January air. He gripped the worn leather of the baseball mitt so hard his knuckles were white. Coach Miller’s office door, usually ajar, was closed, a dark rectangle against the brightly lit hallway. Liam replayed the disastrous tryout in his head, each missed ground ball, each weak swing, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over him. He felt like the ground beneath him was unsteady.

His stomach clenched. He’d poured everything into this – the early morning practices, the extra swings in the batting cage, the sacrifices his family had made. Now, the weight of his failing rested on his shoulders, a physical ache that radiated down his spine. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, pulling at the strands. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

The door creaked open, and Coach Miller’s face, usually jovial, was etched with a somberness that confirmed Liam's deepest fears. He knew, he just knew. He focused on the cracks in the hallway floor tiles, counting them, anything to keep his composure from shattering completely.