Gemotions

The basketball coach’s announcement echoed in Michael’s mind, replaying like a cruel mantra: “Michael, we’re moving you to center.” Michael felt his face grow hot. He was a guard, a scorer, the one who drove the offense. Now, they wanted him to play under the basket.

He felt a sudden disinterest in shooting practice, instead lingering on the sidelines, watching his teammates. He didn't say anything, but his silence was a weapon. Every time he was supposed to practice driving to the basket, he would just stand there, as if frozen.

During the scrimmage, he purposely took wild, ill-advised shots, missing every one. He knew he was letting his team down, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart felt like it was made of lead.