Gemotions

I avoided looking at my reflection in the car window on the drive over. I knew what I would see: a face etched with a discomfort I couldn’t shake. I kept replaying the tryouts in my mind, searching for a different outcome, a way to change what had happened. It was too late.

The player's parents had called me, but I didn't return the calls. I needed to do this face-to-face.

As I walked up to the house, the sun felt oppressively bright. The butterflies in my stomach were doing flips. This was going to be rough.