Gemotions

The clipboard felt like it weighed a ton in Coach Miller's hand. He swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. Across the worn wooden table, stood Ben, his star pitcher, face beaming with anticipation. He'd been sure to make the team this year. Coach Miller cleared his throat, the sound echoing unnaturally in the small office. "Ben," he began, his voice gravelly, "I... I need to tell you something." He couldn't quite meet the boy's gaze, studying instead the worn grain of the table.

Ben's smile faltered, a shadow passing over his features. The coach watched the realization dawn. The boy's shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Coach Miller reached out a hand, then retracted it, feeling suddenly exposed. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant thud of a baseball hitting a mitt on the practice field.