Gemotions

The coach cleared his throat. "Maria, we're thinking of moving you to the backstroke." Maria's world tilted. Backstroke? It was the event she was the worst at, the stroke she avoided. Her stomach dropped. She instinctively glanced at her hands, imagining them flailing, her form falling apart.

The pool water, usually a calming presence, seemed to shimmer menacingly, reflecting the harsh glare of the overhead lights. She pressed her lips together, trying to control the tremor that threatened to betray her. Her vision blurred, and the chlorine fumes seemed to clog her nostrils.

She took a hesitant step toward the water, the cool tiles under her feet feeling cold and unfamiliar. She imagined the start, the dive, the slow, agonizing crawl of the backstroke.