Gemotions

The coach's words buzzed in Maya's ears, a low hum of possibility. "We need you at shortstop," he'd said, his voice unusually warm. Maya, who had spent the last three years anchored in center field, felt a thrill course through her. Her palms tingled, her breath quickened. She spent the rest of practice snapping her glove open and shut, the sound a sharp crack that echoed the sudden sharpness of her focus. The dirt of the infield, usually a familiar backdrop, now seemed charged with energy, the air thick with anticipation. She couldn't stop grinning.