Gemotions

A chill snaked up Emily’s spine. The coach's suggestion, that she should try the wing position in volleyball, was a death sentence. She was a setter. A setter! She directed the offense, the conductor of the game’s symphony.

Her face flushed crimson. She looked at her teammates, each a piece of the puzzle she had meticulously built. Now, she was expected to become just another piece, another cog in the machine?

She fumbled with her water bottle, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive. She imagined herself, out of sync, failing to connect, letting down her team. The court, usually a source of joy, suddenly seemed like a prison. The idea of serving, of spiking – it felt unnatural, wrong.