Gemotions

The locker room felt suffocating. Every breath he took seemed shallow, forced. Michael glanced at the paper in his hand again, then at the door, willing Coach Evans to walk through it. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say, but he knew the words would get caught in his throat.

He had spent the whole week trying to catch the coach's eye, staying late to practice, running extra laps, even cleaning the equipment room. Now, all of it felt worthless.

He heard the familiar squeak of shoes and quickly wiped his damp palms on his shorts. Coach Evans stood in the doorway, his usual calm demeanor replaced with a certain hardness.

"Michael," the coach said, his voice flat. "Can you come with me?"

His stomach churned. He knew. He just knew.