Gemotions

Maya’s fingers danced over the worn leather of her softball glove, feeling the familiar weight and texture. A jolt of energy surged through her every time she imagined herself on the field. She had worked for this all year. The sun blazed and she could feel the heat radiating off the red clay of the infield.

The coach, her old man, was running late. The other players milled around, their faces a mixture of apprehension and hope. Maya barely noticed them. She was focused, envisioning herself diving for a line drive, stealing second, rounding the bases after a homer. The world felt vibrant, full of electric possibilities.

Finally, her father arrived, his face a mask of careful neutrality. The tryouts began. She nailed her fielding drills and felt her batting swing connect like never before. Then came the dreaded list. Maya felt a cold chill run up her spine when her coach started. Each name called was a wave crashing against her. Finally her name was not called. Relief washed over her like cool water. She made it!