Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Marcus's forehead, not from the exertion of the tryouts, but from the knot twisting in his gut. The coach's words echoed: "We're going in a different direction, Marcus." Different direction. Translation: you're not good enough. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, the plastic digging into his skin. He'd poured everything into this – every practice, every missed party, every sacrifice. Now, it was just… gone. He slammed his fist against the dashboard, the impact a dull thud against the metallic surface. The radio blared a cheerful pop song, each upbeat lyric grating on his nerves. He switched it off, the sudden silence amplifying the furious thrumming in his ears.