Gemotions

The silence in the car was a physical pressure. Marco gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He knew the tryouts for the track team were brutal, and he'd trained harder than ever before. But his name hadn't been on the posted list.

His father, usually so boisterous, cleared his throat, the sound a small tremor in the heavy quiet. Marco wouldn't look at him. He couldn't.

He changed the music, seeking a distraction, but the upbeat tempo only grated against the hollowness that echoed within him. He drove faster, the blurring scenery a poor substitute for the peace he sought.