Gemotions

Coach Miller slammed his fist on the clipboard, the cheap plastic cracking under the pressure. The late afternoon sun beat down on the deserted baseball field, turning the dust to a shimmering haze. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving streaks of dirt across his forehead. He'd been at this for fifteen years, and it never got easier. Fifteen years of hoping, dreaming, and then this. This was the worst part, and there was no way around it.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He hated this feeling, the tight knot in his stomach, the way his jaw clenched. He glanced at the list again, the names blurring slightly. He knew the kid was standing there, watching him, probably already guessing the outcome.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt like he had aged a decade in the last hour.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, "just get it over with." He pushed himself to his feet and started toward the player.