Gemotions

Her stomach had dropped into her shoes. Sarah clutched the faded, sweat-stained basketball in her hands, its worn leather suddenly feeling impossibly rough. Coach Davies was saying something, a string of words that blurred together into a meaningless drone. She tried to focus, to catch the individual syllables, but her brain felt thick, sluggish. The locker room, usually a hub of boisterous laughter and pre-game rituals, was now a tomb. The air tasted stale, metallic. She fumbled with the ball, dropping it with a thud. Davies's face softened slightly, but the damage was done.