Gemotions

The stale air of the batting cage filled Alex's lungs. They wanted to move him from shortstop to the outfield. He knew what that meant, and he knew why. He’d worked tirelessly to improve his fielding, to hone his throws. The other shortstop had a friend on the team. This wasn’t about performance; it was about politics.

He felt the familiar thrum of anger building, a pressure behind his eyes. He imagined the coach’s smug face, the whispers in the dugout.

He picked up a bat, feeling the cold weight in his hands. He'd show them. He would dominate the outfield, make them eat their words.