Gemotions

The coach clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard. "You've got the speed, the agility," he boomed, voice echoing in the empty stadium. "We need you in the infield, son. Third base." Mark stared at him, mouth agape. Third base? He'd spent his whole life perfecting his curveball, dreaming of the mound. A slow, hot wave crept up his neck. He clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening. "But, Coach," he began, voice tight, "I'm a pitcher." He could feel the familiar thrum of his pulse in his ears.