Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium seemed to hum a sweet melody whenever Coach Riley was near. Sarah practiced her free throws, her heart tap-dancing against her ribs. Each swish of the net felt like a personal compliment, each missed shot, a tiny failure. Today was tryouts. Today, her world was being decided.

She watched Coach Riley walk towards her. He was holding a clipboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. The leather of his whistle glinted in the light. A nervous warmth bloomed in her stomach. She forced herself to breathe, pretending to focus on the ball. He stopped in front of her.

“Sarah, can I talk to you for a moment?” His voice, a low rumble, sent a shiver down her spine. Her stomach lurched. Was this it?

He led her to a quiet corner, the squeak of sneakers echoing in the sudden quiet. He looked at her, his eyes, so dark and intense, and she could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” he began, and the floor tilted beneath her feet.