Gemotions

The coach clapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard. "Good work, Marcus. You've got the athleticism, the speed. We're thinking… linebacker." Marcus’ jaw clenched. He’d poured his heart and soul into becoming a wide receiver. He could feel the familiar knot of tension forming in his gut. His hands, usually sure and steady, balled into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream.

He mumbled a terse, "Okay." The word felt like a lie, a betrayal of everything he'd trained for. The receiver drills, the endless hours spent perfecting his routes, were they all for naught? He stared at his cleats, tracing the worn pattern with his finger. The smell of freshly cut grass, usually a comfort, now felt oppressive, the air thick with unspoken disappointment.

He kicked a small stone across the field, watching it skip uselessly. He'd show them. He would play linebacker, even if it was the last thing he did. He’d make them regret not giving him a shot at wide receiver.