Gemotions

A tremor ran through Amelia as the coach announced the move. Setter to outside hitter? She blinked, the bright lights of the gym suddenly blurring. She wanted to scream, to stamp her feet, to make them understand. She'd dedicated her life to setting, the intricate dance of the pass, the perfect placement.

Her hands, usually so deft, felt clumsy and heavy. She picked up her water bottle, the plastic cool against her trembling fingers. Across the court, the other outside hitter, a freshman, was already smirking. The girl had been eyeing Amelia's position for weeks.

She'd show them. They wanted a hitter? Fine. She would hit. She’d hit so hard, so accurately, that they would regret ever questioning her. This was war, and she was ready.