Gemotions

"You're going to play point guard," Coach Peterson stated with a tone that seemed far too cheery. Michael, usually a power forward, felt a coldness spread through him, freezing him from the inside out. All the hours, the dedication, wasted.

He deliberately missed several free throws during the practice scrimmage, his face a mask of indifference. Each clang of the ball against the rim was a small victory, a defiant refusal to conform.

Later, he stood apart from the team, watching them with a detached gaze. He saw their joy, their camaraderie, and a sharp, stinging pain twisted within him. He wanted to rip away the smiles from their faces and destroy it all.