Gemotions

"We need you at third base," the coach's words echoed in Ethan's mind. His mouth felt dry. He was a shortstop, and he loved shortstop. Every ground ball he’d ever fielded, every throw he’d ever made, had led him to this.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white, and his heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, a tight knot forming in his stomach. He didn’t want to be at third. He hated the thought of it.

He pushed his way through the other players, his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts. He wanted to argue, to scream, to demand an explanation. He felt a need to lash out, to break something. He ran to the bathroom, splashing water on his face in an attempt to compose himself.