Gemotions

Sarah kept her gaze fixed on the locker room floor, tracing the chipped paint with her toe. The air in the room felt thick, heavy. Each echoing footstep of the departing players slammed into her chest, a painful thud. Her palms were clammy, and the jersey, normally a source of pride, felt like a lead weight against her skin.

"Sarah?" Coach Davis's voice, usually booming with encouragement, was gentle now, soft enough to hurt. She didn't respond, her throat suddenly locked in place. He was going to cut her, she understood. The evidence was all there: her slower sprint times, the missed passes, the way her teammates had been avoiding her.

Her breath hitched. She should have worked harder, pushed herself more. The idea of losing her place on the team, of disappointing her parents, of being separated from her friends, was a knot in her stomach, twisting with a sickening intensity. The world around her seemed to be closing in.

"Come on, let's talk," the Coach said, his hand gently touching her shoulder. She flinched, the contact sending a jolt of anxiety through her. The door to his office loomed.