Gemotions

The aroma of freshly cut grass, usually invigorating, now seemed to mock Ethan. He loved being a shortstop, the pivot of the infield, the one directing traffic. Now, he was told he was being moved to first base.

“Ethan, your throws are a bit… inconsistent. We need someone more reliable at first.” The coach patted him on the back, the gesture feeling patronizing. Ethan felt a tightening in his stomach.

He pictured the mundane routine of fielding ground balls, the lack of pressure of the short stop position he loved. He felt a surge of cold fury. He clenched his jaw, barely acknowledging the coach's words.