Gemotions

The coach’s words echoed in Maya’s ears, a hollow sound that seemed to drain the color from the gym. "Maya, we need you to move to libero." Her stomach lurched. The libero position? She hadn't practiced it once, hadn't even considered it. A bead of sweat traced a chilly path down her temple. Her hands, usually steady and confident on the ball, clenched into fists, the knuckles white. She looked at her teammates, each face a blur of uncertainty and the bright lights of the gymnasium.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "But... but I'm the outside hitter," she stammered, the words feeling alien and foreign on her tongue. Her usual bravado was gone, replaced by a hollow ache.

She avoided looking at the coach's face, staring instead at the worn, scuffed floor. She imagined herself, out of position, screwing up the plays, letting the team down. The weight of that thought was almost unbearable.