Gemotions

The coach's words hung in the air, a sweet, unexpected melody. "Jackson, we're thinking of moving you to center forward." Jackson’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He grinned, a wide, goofy expression that felt permanently etched on his face. The fluorescent lights of the gym seemed brighter, the stale air suddenly crisp and invigorating. He wanted to shout, to leap, to do anything but stand still. He slapped the coach's hand in a high-five that nearly dislocated his shoulder.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling an uncontrollable urge to move. Every muscle in his body thrummed with pure, unadulterated energy. He could feel the blood racing through his veins, a tidal wave of anticipation. He looked out at the court, imagining himself commanding the offensive line, orchestrating plays, scoring goals. A giggle escaped him, a sound he hadn't made since he was a child.