Gemotions

The smell of stale sweat and old linoleum usually invigorated Coach Johnson, but today, it only amplified his sense of dread. He sat across from Maria, the air thick with unspoken tension. He picked up his coffee cup and took a long, slow sip, stalling for time.

He remembered her tryout, the raw talent, the eagerness. She’d improved, but not enough, and the team had already been selected. He had to tell her. He tried to focus on his notes, but the words blurred before his eyes.

He saw the flicker of hope in Maria's eyes fade as he started his explanation. He found it difficult to maintain eye contact, feeling her disappointment like a physical weight. He noticed the way she gripped her bag, knuckles white.

He stumbled over his words, wishing he had a better way to do this. He hoped his expression showed some measure of his remorse. He hoped his apology was sufficient.